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337 · Nov 2019
Haiku's Dark Void
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Fear not the unknown
Rather, embrace its dark void
In it true self's found.
Haiku's Dark Void. A Journey Towards Self Actualization
322 · Nov 2019
The Mind Feigns
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
My mind
It is a friend
It is a foe

My mind is a child
Knows so little; Learns a lot
Clearly, I understand my world

My mind is extrapolated
Knows a lot; Learns so little
Hardly, I understand my world

It feigns
My mind, extrapolated
A friend
A foe
A curious thing the Mind
260 · Nov 2019
A Night Time Plot
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Time has plot with night
to do away with day

An evil plot they thought of
so Night was here to stay

You may not grasp this story
until your day is through

When time and night are your friends
and day now dead is you
A Night Time Plot
258 · Nov 2019
Sir V. S. Naipaul's Sword
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Every knight swords
A razor sharpened tip
To pare into the souls
Of their many subjects

Sir Very Special Naipaul
An august knight was he.
His felt-tipped glaive
Donned in ink stained valour

It cuts, this sword, above all
Deep into the mind
Bending, shaping its stream
Of understanding

Every knight who swords
A razor sharpened end
Must pen into our hearts
The most noble trend
A Free State is where I belong.
254 · Nov 2019
Haiku's Dawn
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
A galloping gale
sweeps away the lingering
fog of autumn's dawn
My first attempt at Haiku
235 · Nov 2019
She's So...
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
People said she's so... great
I had to see for myself... bait

and I saw what they said
and I am fond of it

She said she's so...concupiscent
I had to see for myself... contentment

and I felt what she had said
and I am fond of it

I said she's so... enticing
I had seen for myself... volatile

and I experienced for myself what I said
and I am all alone
She's So...
224 · Nov 2019
The Butterfly
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The butterfly is a frugal fellow
His dancing wings float ever aloft
He is always well mannered and mellow
Yet deemed queer because he's modest and soft

He passes his time in contemplation
Placates with colourful diplomacy
Works hard and avoids procrastination
He's artful and filled with tenacity

Not a slurp when, his ambrosia, he sips
His etiquette shows: it is well entrenched
For outings and ins he'll sure catch that tip
The rarest charm to behold but not clenched

Luck sees you such a butterfly at play
He's a frugal fellow and so he'll stay.
The Butterfly
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Crafted by the hands of a Master
Molded to the likes of Gods
Beauty more astute than the Heavens
An angel more mighty than Hordes

Made from mountains of Fire
Descendant of kings of Old
A prince revered in Legend
Who conquers with words of Gold

Escape with me to heaven
Beguiles the angel of Dawn
Or I will descend to earth with fire
Deleting the day that you were born

Dance with me in Lust
Feel ecstasy by my hand
Make my days immortal
Exclaims the God like Man

Fly with me to paradise
Enticed the comely face
I'll give to you awe and satisfaction
till time emerge as space

Make my soil your Homage
Bond in sensual love
Feel ****** in manly touch
And saw to heights Above

Walk with me to eternity
Seal your soul as groom
Bring to me your bloodline
Or I'll make the earth your tomb

Tour my earthly Palace
Sail my seven Seas
Avail yourself as Princess
And sons you'll have like trees

They walked and dance in passion
Flew from earth to Heaven's estate
Sailed through love and emotion
Mere mortals as they mate.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The Sun slips to sleep
on Ishigaki's retreat
under pastel sky
A Haiku's Sunset: On Ishigaki Island in Okinawa, Japan
196 · Nov 2019
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The apex of poetry
One word says it all
The Tetragrammaton is the pinnacle of poetry.
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
Its eighteen months since her delivery
Now she is penning odes ostensibly
Crayons in both hands: she is standing tall
What Dada says? "No writing on the wall."

With great care baby writes her graffiti
Not much untouched by her audacity
He tries to compromise with a new book
but baby says, "Daa Daa"; with a stern look

He has to admit the walls are hers now
Filled with scribbles and a chromatic cow
Its her version of Van Gogh's Starry Night
without the stars; a novice oversight

She's more surreal than Salvador Dali
The writing's on my wall: Pure Graffiti
Graffiti: Writing on My Wall
184 · Nov 2019
A Beating Heart
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The solitary beat
of a beating heart

The solitary heart
of a heartless man

The solitary man
of a crowded world

The solitary world
of a ludicrous dream

The solitary dream
of hideous music

The solitary music
of incoherent beats

The solitary beat
of a beating heart
A Beating Heart resonates throughout the vast fields of the universe impacting and being impacted. Consider the impact of one solitary beat.
179 · Nov 2019
The Finale of Mercury
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Why, oh Mercury
Where you sent
Quickly across the vastness
of forever?

In awe and supplication
Your audience awaits
Before the grandest stage
In the city of invisible stars

What, oh Mercury
Is this message
You have brought
For the abidance of men?

In awe and supplication
Your audience reverence
Before the grandiose sun
In the city of invisible stars
178 · Dec 2019
Wine & White Truffles
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
I had too much wine
He ate all my white truffles
That crude selfish boar
Wine & White Truffles
172 · Dec 2019
Crazy Tap Dancers
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
Tap tap tap like dancing feet
Crazy tap dancers on a streak
Tapping fast tapping slow
Tap dancing is all they know

Some tap dancers are on fleek
Amazing colours nice and sleek
Glittering dust on their heels
Neat and shiny like new wheels

One tap dancers was so vain
She was tap dancing on a plane
Some said this dancer was a fool
Then she tap danced into a pool

Tap a word or tap a page
Tap with joy or tap with rage
Make me laugh or make me cry
Tap tap tap till my battery die
168 · Nov 2019
Love's Language
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Harken not in hate
Whence thine love's words may repair
Hither, thine aching heart
Love's Language
159 · Dec 2019
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
This is not the first                  TIME

Nor is it the                      SECOND

while reading the      MINUTES

That this love of              OURS

has left me in a                 DAZE

Now I am so                            WEAK

I think this feeling will last a life-TIME
152 · Nov 2019
Haiku's Noon: Mount Fuji
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Above Mount Fuji
Sizzling, the noon sun suspend
frigid smoke erupts
Haiku at noon at Mount Fuji
146 · Nov 2019
Haiku's Novelty
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Novelty means new
A Poetic Novelty?
Explain this to me!
A Poetic Novelty? Can anyone explain what this mean?
133 · Dec 2019
Half Naked Haiku
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
She was half naked
I was caught between two minds
Our first rendezvous
130 · Nov 2019
Against the Odds
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On the busy floor
of life and death
stood a man
Against the odds
this man stood
A slender man
A well groomed man
Who wore a coat
A coat of wool
A sheep's coat.
Against the odds
This man stood
among the wolves
He held an umbrella
in his hand.
This umbrella...
it stopped not rain
it stopped not sun
of the volatile weather
but in his hand
the man held
this umbrella
against the odds
in volatile weather
he stood
well groomed
wearing his coat
his sheep's coat
among the wolves
on the busy floor
of life and death
against the odds
as he traded to the final bell
The Stockbroker of Life and Death
129 · Nov 2019
Hello ~ Poetry
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Hello... Poetry
It has been some time
since I've enjoyed you
as my company

There's a special joy
on a rain-filled night
to probe this site
with the cadence of ebony and ivory

Hello... my friend
would you mind a glass
red wine....Cabernet, Amarone
best yet, some Long Island tea

Such a pleasure filled mood
as my thoughts protrude
these splendid dictates
both old and new

So long, my esteemed friend
until we next meet
when I can repeat to you
Hello again...Hello Poetry
Suddenly it happened. A quiet night. Hello Poetry. Such a wonderful website. I'm just wondering if I am any good at this? Poetry.
128 · Dec 2019
A... A... Antidote
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
Splashing on the rocks
One more wave of contentment
This is my last drink
115 · Nov 2019
The Feast
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
One called alarmingly
and they all came
descending like vultures
encircling their prey

with razor sharp claws
sunk deep, purposely
into my open flesh
together, feasting one by one

my eyes quickly fainting
but theirs brazenly alert
grazing the fields of my soul
and my sleeping body

It tormented me to see
the pleasure they took preying
So I cried in agony
and prayed my eyes shut

my eyes open with tears
as I lay drowsy near death's bed
with a scent the feast left over
and soft petals beside my head
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
How a humble son of Scotland
Fought to enviable height
First a paratrooper captain
Then as a British knight

This witty chap from Glasgow
Loaned himself, a decorated past
From Distinguished Service Order
To NATO's advisory cast

As the press took him in notice
His wiki posts drew no pity
As with his tale of valour
He was defamed: "Sir Walter Mitty"
Historical account: A Tale of Valour
108 · Nov 2019
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
By birth most knew
This name of stern
As mentors too
Some take this turn

Few tamed in domicile
Less in passive right
Age takes this notice
Not wisdom nor sight

Whose care can nurture
Great strength in a foal?
To yield such future
Mere presence can scold

With great hope so few
Enjoy this manly art
That horses will march
Long after they depart

I await this fortune
Time takes my reign
My worships in court
Years cannot regain

How will my horses march
On life's steeple chase
Without their father's hold
From this their tender age?
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Can you hear this rhythm
The sound of my rain
Feel the beats of dancing motion
Symbols of my pain

Look at my flower
Shear beauty clothed in obscure grace
Budding pleasure, childish dream
Dances with splendor, yet unseen.

Kept my comfort in orchestra
Thumping heart race with thoughts
Earthly music, sounds of nature
Why must I feel distraught

Dancing flower plays the wind
Blooming wisdom, notes of gold
Chanting melodies, hymns of magic
A son's brilliance thus unfold

Keep on dancing Queen of Clef
Move in motion through the streets
Dance in pleasure, dance in pain
Till my rain steeps the heaths

Keep this movement queen of grace
Let your petals sway in sound
Dance my flower, dance my mother
My symphony is abound
98 · Nov 2019
The Devil's Poetry
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
A gift wrapped prose
of undraped words
to confabulate or obfuscate
An incantation in every metre

It conjures a spell
on those that dwell
by their torpid state
in somnolent walls of each stanza

Never counts its lines
nor vocalize what rhymes, openly
'cause you won't ever tell
that you're in hell with the Devil's poetry.
96 · Nov 2019
Boca Chica's Bay
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On a street near Don Juan
In Boca Chica's bay
Nightly music and drums unwind
To a proclavity of dismay

Little seashells aplenty
For every pious gaze
Unripen beauty so varied
Habitual buyers unfaze

Rising tension of devout sinners
Smoke and coffee breach the air
A salted heart in a mink's coat
"Toma dos ahora" ; take a pair

In Boca Chica's bay, seashells aplenty
Little seashells: its sells, it sells
May your Interpretation guide you.
96 · Nov 2019
The Dullest Star
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Come and see
in the night painted sky
a scattered brilliance
vivid, ever aglow

Take time again to look
at each irrelevant speck
alight tonight
just for you... see

Didn't you notice
the dullest star
no longer shines
as before?

But today, yes today
it radiates more than most

Come and gaze
at the night painted sky
its passing; it is passing
the star inside of me
92 · Dec 2019
Where was your Love?
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
Where was your love?
Before the sun sets
his virginity ablaze on
the spirit of the waters

Where was your love?
Amidst the moon's splendour
As she slowly and shyly gyrates
to the great movement of tides

Where was your love?
For life. Its awesome existence.
Flawlessly adrift at sea, on land, and air
To heir: a seed in its seed.  To infinity's end

Where was your love?
For death's dark, decadent demons.
A great necessity in the cycle of life.
The Phoenix of forever.

Where was your love?
Scripted in the fables of time.
Theatrically, poetically; a man-made muse.
Where was your love, but in my heart?
The Great Mystery. Where was you Love?
86 · Nov 2019
Two Voodoo dolls
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
There are two voodoo dolls
In my room
But I'm unsure
How they got here

Many a night
Beckoned to leave
These crazy dolls
Just stare

I'm paralyzed with fear
And a broken leg
Trapped and unable to leave
my horrid doom

It keeps getting worse
Inscriptions on the wall
And lighted candles
Surround me

The silence; the screams
of these voodoo dolls
They echo
Even in my dreams

There are two voodoo dolls
Right here in my room
Great trepidation; great horror
All in front a mirror
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
One thousand six hundred and sixty six
none: a salesman, a noble, or a cook
Macabre swam the sea of ****** Bay
In a fleet, the Dutch, French and Britsh he took

A crimson tide soaked the sand to a stain
Great reefs, he made, floating stench of maim
The more Macabre swam for lust of pain
More life, to the vast ocean floor, he claim

Now, three hundred and twenty three years on
Under a full moon in the depth of night
He, Macabre, still swims a ****** Bay
In search of an undaunted soul to fight.
A Personification of Macabre
77 · Nov 2019
Sacred Painting
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Trapped by nature
Entombed in art.
Sketches of the wind's blow
Details from a heart.

Search with brushes of passion
Make it a God
Where wisdom's devoid
Emotion is Lord.

Eyes paint on it's beauty
Traversing space and time
A sanctum for many
Unique in its kind.

Here lies that magic
Sent from heaven place
Art etched on mind's fabric
A beautiful face
76 · Dec 2019
Busy Bee
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
No!  No!
Busy little Bee
How many pretty flowers
You wish to **** dry tonight
74 · Nov 2019
Robin's Tune
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
I bought a bird
A singing bird to sing
The bird was a robin
I named him Robin

Robin was not communist
Robin was not socialist
He was an American
An American robin

Robin was not gay
Robin was not straight
He was a singing bird
A singing robin

Robin was not a Muslim
Robin was not a Christian
He was just a regular robin
A bird that I called Robin

But, this little bird
never sang a single song

He was not a mute
He could sing
He was free to sing anything
He chose not to sing his tune

So for me
Robin's silence was deafening
Robin's Tune.
72 · Nov 2019
A Vestige of Poetry
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
A word... an array
what can and can't they do?
Carefully, thoughtfully feathered
whispers of ink

For the Poet... poetry
art on display
expressions of the expressionless
in silence, pretermitted meaning convey

A word...a score
music to the soul
boldly, willfully etched
deep into your heart

For the poet.... poetry
a vestige that echoes over time
a word, a stanza
how beautiful is poetry to the poet?
71 · Nov 2019
A Peculiar Pen's Poem
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
In the weirdest turn of events that day
As a cop toting guns and pepper spray
I gathered an urge to pen my first ode
In my lunch hour, before hitting the road

To sirens and light of my precinct's space
not a stanza wrote, yet my mind's apace
the pen's the problem; confidence recede
Pondered a visit to a friend, indeed

Thoughtful I'm moving, this old clue I'd act
on Brooklyn's pen thief; kleptomaniac
acquired from him, an ink dipping quill
of Huia birds, still boxed with its bill

Case solved; on the back of the bill it hints
"Dear Mayor, pen's for poems; lead's for thugs."
A Peculiar Pen's Poem...still beating the street
N.B. Huia (pronounced HOO EE UH) birds feathers cost $10,000 a single pluck
68 · Dec 2019
To The Wind
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
Chastity went
Anxiety came
Thumping heart
Innocent no more
Over and over
Now it is all to the wind
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On islands of the tropics sweetly sets
over poignant scented bistros and tide
on a rich apricot, painted canvas
a gentle warmth for winter's hostile chide

As bare footed limps deep into the sand
To chirps, to giggles; crashing surf so glad
Briskly washing away all memory
of the wintered homage of Avon's bard

A pale mat lays hush, as red kites ascend
to prey in vast fields of his frigid shire
From a window's sill, his eyes thus pretend
A sonnet on the seaside's to retire

Seldom he escapes winter's icy grip
Shakespeare seaside sonnet: a mental trip
A sonnet for my friends in their winter estate
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
We all friends in Earth's society
No reason to start quaking
The Society of Friends are friends
The Quakers aren't shaking

No Quaking in Rome?
Nor the Sistine Chapel?
Black smoke, White Hope
White smoke, Black Pope

Does this seem dope? Just wait,
White State, Black Faith
Black State, White Fate
The impossible a possibility and a dope bomb

Start with a Quake, make a Quaker
If its a shake, make a shaker
Where's his taker of notes
penned at the Apostolic Nunciature

He heard a friend tell a friend's friend
Its getting late; confess your faith
If you ain't straight, you'll be left by the gate
near the wall with the writing

No thunder nor lightning
while I AM walking and all
In the city of the Monk
Graffiti: Writing on the Wall
Graffiti: Writing on the Wall
63 · Oct 2019
The Depths of Hope
Anthony Pierre Oct 2019
Born to a culture
common its faith
of shallow waters
schooled in this trait

Great motion of tides
ebbs most to modal tasks
like sand on beaches
the future's unmask

but without notice
some dove deep in fears
for comfort n solace
swam away with years

In the darkest of waters
a home made for few
where hope is deep
a new species grew.
62 · Nov 2019
The Boy was Homeless
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
The boy was homeless
He had been strolling the streets
amid all the bustle and haste
He was lost at every turn

Gazing wildly
he saw everything
Nothing was the same
An old soda can

He kicked it with contentment
along his journey
to no discernible place
Frail and pale
He limped along

Not a visible emotion
garnished his fragile face
His body kept some secrets
It murmured
softly into the darkness.

What's heaven for waking eyes?
A ripened pleasure hanging in dawn
On the last limb of a tree
A mango
As yellow as the sunshine

Filled with a fresh determination
wearing a precious laugh
He climbed
Trembling to the very top

He stretched to the fruit
The fruit stretched
Into his hand
and his sinking teeth
quenched his dying hunger

The boy's face dripping with joy
as he dripped
to a trodden sidewalk

He held a solemn smile
on his crimson face
This once homeless boy
had found
his own place
The Boy was Homeless
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
I set my sight far on China
abacus counting; without confusion
But they're mostly short sighted
and that's no delusion

Heard about the Hong Kong march
but didn't recall till I'd seen what I saw
So I did what I did, now I understood
what I could, with Confucius

Never take a pen to a pig
nor your litter to the swine
for one, H one N one
Can I get myself the Canadian kind?

Import... extort, not for the canola  
nor the coals down under
If I'm selling what I stole from selling Inuit
like the forty thieves and Ali's plunder

How many men can stand as tall
without writing Graffiti on the Great Wall
that they built, that's psychopathic
for the people, by the people, the Great Republic
The Great Wall of China is such a magnificent feat of human capability. I could not resist writing some Graffiti on this wall. Next up: Berlin. Feel free the write your own Graffiti on a wall near you.
51 · Nov 2019
Haiku's Passion
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Pursue with passion,
all those things your heart desires
they're life's contentment
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
My home, your home
Come home, our home

Come home my sweet love
Come home tonight

Come home

Our home

Come home my sweet wife
Come home tonight


You know I needed you here
And its right
You know I want you close
Holding you tight
All night

Come home
Music is poetry. Erik Satie a poet. The piano is his pen. So listen carefully and interpret this poem in your own way.
31 · Nov 2019
An Old Weathered House
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On a seaside *****,
there is an old weathered house
resting in its place

Many sun shines alone
burnt, but steadfast to its role
Cool breezes maintained

While angry storms wrecked
a quiet escape it kept
Lightning struck and soaked

The garden lay waste
leaves high, shrubs dried: untended
All unintended

In adversity
this old weathered house stood firm
till its job was done

Now, the sun shines through
a hole for every year passed
and heat pierce its flaws

Tattered windows shut.
Splendid views cannot be seen
like eyes closed to sleep

Garden's lush and groomed
Flowers adorn every niche
Wreaths of perfection

On a seaside *****
there is an old weathered house
resting in her grave
An Old Weathered House

— The End —