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Levi Andrew May 2014
It's hard to fall asleep without you.
Guess I never thought this weekend
would be so hard..
It's dark and I'm alone..
And I'm thinking about you..
Yeah.. You know I love you?
With everything I have?
Every part of me craves you.
And Monday can not come soon enough.
Martin Narrod May 2014
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.
KA Apr 2014
I look up into the heavens and it whispers....................

Be Peace. Be Still.
The Universe follows.



Kt April, 21, 2014
Harry Toye Apr 2014
Does God Love Me?
By Harry Toye

He suffered and He died for you,
An agonising death on a rugged cross;
Tortured and crucified for you,
To save the sick, the lonely and the lost.

Black hearted Pilate washed his hands in a dish of delph,
It could have been in blood as much as in water.
He may as well have nailed Jesus to the cross himself,
For it was he who gave the fatal order.

They surrounded Him in the dark of night,
Armed guards with torches aglow;
The crowds milled expecting a fight,
But Jesus said, “It is I you seek, let the others go”.

On His Head a crown of black thorns they did add,
Their tips dipped in a deadly poison;
A practice that could drive ordinary men mad,
As the Blood of Christ turned those tips to crimson.

The mass of bleeding tissue was revealed,
As ruthless Romans scourged again and again;
Strips of skin were torn and peeled,
But not even once did Jesus complain.

They mocked and insulted,
They ripped the cloak from blood congealed;
They pierced His Hands and His feet,
His back was like a furrowed field.

When they nailed Him to that cross,
They nailed our sickness and our sin;
They nailed your pain and your loss,
So you would learn the Kingdom of God is within.

His friends who loved Him looked up and cried,
The sky darkened and clouds gathered as if nightfall;
When Jesus looked down at the mob, just before He died,
His Heart of Love still forgave them all.

He had created the very wood and also the nails,
And even the merciless men who drove them through;
Despite the leather whip with it’s leaded tails,
He pleaded, “Forgive them Father; they know not what they do”.

They took Him from the cross and gave Him to His Mother,
She cradled and she held this Blessed Fruit of her womb;
She cried for her baby that once she lay in a manger,
But now she prepared to lay her baby in a tomb.

However three days later the impossible happened,
And Mary’s pierced heart was healed;
She screamed with Joy as the tomb was opened,
Jesus had defeated death, to all it was revealed.

He had endured and He had triumphed, this story is true,
How He dispelled darkness with the light of love that day;
And He would suffer it all over again, even if for only you,
So that you too can live again in a most abundant way.

Who is this faithful man who now holds out His Hand?
This man who is always honest, always true.
Who speaks to pain and misery and it’s forever banned,
He is the one who will never leave or forsake you.

You may not know Him yet but He knew you before you were born,
He knows everything about you, your strength and your frailties;
He loved you in the womb, before you were even formed,
And He will love you forever, and through all eternities.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
John 3:16

©Harry Toye 2014.  http://www.fivefoldministryireland.com
Claire Howes Apr 2014
Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.

They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.

They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.

They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.

They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.

But then Monday comes...

Mondays are different.

He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.

So he changes that.

He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.

He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.

He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.

She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.

He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.

She smiles on Monday mornings.

They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.

She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.

It remains there ‘til night fall.

They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.

Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.
ms reluctance Apr 2014
It’s day seven of NaPoWriMo;
I have to write a fresh poem.
But it is also Monday
and I have no topic,
no inspiration.
So this feeble
nonet will
have to
do.
NaPoWriMo Day #7
Poetry form : Nonet
He says, "How many trucks will wreck
On that one stinkin' highway?"
"Many more," I said, "and then the world will end
And no more trucks will wreck on that highway."

— The End —