Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
love's sating river
streams through adoration's heart
beautiful of theme
Her eyes are kind her heart is warm
She is a Rose, I am a Thorn
We catch and ride the wild steed
I’m so alive and she’s so free

In the gazebo we dance until early dawn
Our bodies lay naked out on the lawn
Completely fulfilled and finally whole
I have no intention of letting her go

Wheels are turning my heart is yearning
A lust for life subconsciously burning
I breathe too deep and the dream is lost
I start the day with a secret thought

Perhaps she was fictional beyond conclusion
A kaleidoscope of colors, a beautiful delusion
If only to awake and find her near
Instead I sleep and gasp for air...
Traveler Tim
HP 4-15
HP !2-16
If rock concerts came first
Would churches have been needed?

                                       By Phil Roberts
===================
Watching my kids growing
looks like watching flowers grow
on my every look they appear different
as different as night and day

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
Life is purchased
with metaphors
you jingled those coins
loaned them to anyone
gave your students
a lift
down alliterative avenues
danced at the front
of the room

The plantation overseer
cruel as dominion allows
stirred your fears
made a ***** in your confidence
Schooled in permitted wrongs
she let the lash fall
on those on whom it is allowed
Indulged her charity
honeyed harms for some
obfuscated raw aggression to others
hooked the faithful
for the delicacy of a minnow glittered soul
because pain like tears
is a universal taste

You rallied and held on.
Recalling the poverty
of the adjunct
you feared falling
through that trap door
Oh faithful moon man
you leapt over the danger
turned fear to comedy
showed us the stairs
with howling laughter
and for a time
climbing the career steps
out of the basement
I tried a Vaudevillian
performance too
at your urging.

You cultivated adoring lines of students
your succulents
yearning for the secret
how to survive
in dry times
how to nourish the roots
when life is scorched
and fragile and taut
You imparted the gift to sustain the soul
to anyone who would listen
a verse on the tongue
is the secret wellspring
and you showed them all
how to find it.
remembering Chris as the autumn arrives
the night in which
the dead come alive for a while

only to be frightened back to their graves
by the horrible masks and spectacles
of the living
some people make you seriously wonder
    about
what makes them tick so brazenly
    against
all values they supposedly hold high

     is it a tunnel vision
     of greedy individuality?

    a dangerous mix
    of arrogance, innocence, ignorance?

    or are they simply overwhelmed
    with unexpectedly gained power
    mistake the votes of people
    for a mandate to play god?

unknown may be the causes
but the results are clear

if you preach water but drink wine
throw precious pearls before swine
say things today that you deny tomorrow

folks may still listen to your words
but do no longer follow the meaning
of perma-hype that makes no sense

sooner or later
they‘ll simply stop listening
Next page