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CK Baker Mar 2017
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
***** their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)

lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
CK Baker Mar 2017
its amazing what we’re capable of
when pressed;
lunar launches
and shaman healing
hail marys
and fortunes of gold
heavy hauls
and broken borders
war, compassion
and treaties of peace

all those wild and lofty regressions from the mean;
soul re-settings
(from deadly deeds)
scores and scriptures
liberty and peace
walls, asylums
(in the jaws of defeat)
channeled spirits
of warmth
and love
and connection

and sometimes, it’s just a little fodder;
pyramids and viaducts
aqua-lines and chunnels
spider climbs
and deep dives
base jumps near the high wire
gardens and divine art
and even water boards
(for beauty is in the eye of the beholder!)
have a look around
and let gratitude be your guide
CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession; subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bells
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terrace *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
the lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
Tammy M Darby Jan 2014
Evening slipped into the long abyss
So fell the red moon
Malicious shadows forecasting doom
For the cursed animal man
Inhabiting the precious earth

Fearsome rolling rivers ran dry
Black smoke filled the spanning azure skies
The churning murky green oceans gave up the bones of their dead
When the moon turned red

The crust of the hard ground shook
Split and burst into deep fiery crevasses
Dark yellow orange smoldering nooks
Swallowing all of life
So obliterated was mans world as we know it
Destroyed
Barron and dead
When the moon turned red

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan.10, 2014
Tammy M Darby Oct 2014
What do you think  xy would do?
If he dressed in red and high black shoes.
One fine summer day A = B met
Exactly alike in elements
Produced their own sets

With a ...
Everything keeps on going.
Out jumps { },
Nothing is showing.

So natural numbers are the same as counting
What other kinds are there?
Tell us quickly please
The tension is mounting

Did you say members or elements?
Are there many?
What a find.
Infinite or finite sets,
Numbers in a line

Taking the time,
Oh woeful occasion.
The struggle of learning
Mathematical expressions.

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Oct. 22, 2014
Tammy M Darby Dec 2013
****'s demons are everywhere
If I could only convince you to see
Drinking gin and tonic with style
Sipping haughtily on lemon and tea

Their distorted evil frightening faces
Are masked from human sight
As they pass you with indifference
Smiling and nodding
Moving left to right

However
Without warning
As their appetites call
Growing hungry for souls
In the night
They gobble up foolish sinners they encounter
That disappear forever from sight

So the next time you  have the desire to dine out
Take a  moment or a second or two
Remember faces are not all they seem
A demon may be sipping a martini,
While smiling and sitting right next to you


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.

It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.  
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Cause amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern!
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise.

Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
It is said by smell
Impossible be detected
I am here to say they are quite mistaken
For it is as heavy as night blooming jasmine
Overpowering
Intoxicating

The smell of white calla lilies
Heralds the coming of death
Announcing another soul from life taken
Despair  indeed has a scent

Lain on a headstone in reverence
The wreath of flowers
Posses a perfume of its own
Depression and loss infiltrate the heart
A cologne that permeates the air
There is I can assure you
A fragrance of despair

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
Happy Valentines Day

If Venus child
Come loves melody sing
I shall break the bow
And slash the string

If he dare to infect me
Trick my heart into desire
Seasoned on a spit he will be
Roasted in a blazing fire

Conniving
Whisper sweet nothings in my ear
Tear off his wings
Turn my eyes from his tears

Not by the all the gods decree
Will I commit my love to another
Binding his mischievous hands
Return him swiftly to his mother

My warnings are clear
Unheeded
Towards me he point the arrow
His last sweet breath
This cherub shall inhale
Never more see the morrow



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M. Darby
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
Pitter
Patter
Fall the rain
The dwelling
Bedlam of London
Residence of the insane

Behind metal rusted bars
Shall they forever remain
Raving madmen  
With minds chaos they lay

How many poets
Are in the echoing screams
The artists visions
In lifeless eyes
A vacant being

The sculptor
Genius hands
Frozen into stone
Frightened into psychosis
For fear being alone

Pitter Patter
The maniacs clatter
Lightly fall the rain
Upon the dark roof
As the lunatics howl

Pitter Patter



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Robert G Page Dec 2011
by
rgpage

in times long past young lovers dashed
to reach their secret space.
to kiss and ***** and plan and hope
their future's goals are placed.

never mind their path be lined
with unknown strife and pain.
their love is strong they'll carry on
with carefree youthful gain.

they don't see their life to be
past cupid's hot embrace.
as hot breath blends with kiss' deep
young lovers start their chase.

young love is hot and secrets not
shall block their youthful nest.
when young men dare and young girls share
young lovers start their quest.

its saturday night, dad's packard's right
with half a tank of gas.
with comb to hair in the bathroom mirror
he's thinking 'bout his lass.

its only been a week gone past
his greatest dream came true.
he staked his claim, with hopes on high
and pinned his Peggy Sue.

they talked of passages young men take
to cross that great divide.
to walk the way of their father's
and yes to take a bride.

in the grown up world so long past school
the grown ups just don't see.
teen love is true and made to last
the way it was meant to be.

he got on base with his varsity pin,
the base is numbered two.
this place before he'd never been
he hardly knew what to do.

his body went through changes great
his thoughts a swirling brook.
he cupped his prize with shaky hand
when before he could only look.

tonight's the night he's waited for
yes perhaps go all the way.
to walk with those who've beat love's quest
to become a man this day.

the time is ripe as is the night
it's planned in every way.
she won't resist his manly charms
WHAT MONTHLY FRIEND?
how long does she plan to stay?

and what's her visit to do with us
away from the lights of the city?
who is this friend to ruin this night?
his plans be dashed more the pity.
Rachel Ueda Oct 2013
13
first kiss
with a boy
man?
drinks in our
blood..
so
young....

14
second base
groped me
high on
hate
so
numb

15
our lips
weren't used
for kissing
I've had enough
so
done

16
self respecting
and confident
loving...
finally
so
happy

17
Just kidding
That was a dream
a temporary fantasy
Torn by real love

17.5
Real love
What I would give
To not know your
Sweetest remedy
20
Love within myself
Is the sweetest I have known
Tammy M Darby Aug 2013
Who will place two coins on my eyes
Down the river  Styx
My shade must glide

Two coins for the boatman
Ferry me away
To the throne of beautiful Persephone
Snatched from light of day

Two coins I cry
Two coins for my eyes
Through dark waters I float
To where my body must lie

Two coins for Charon
Always silent looks away
Never seeing a face
Or the light of day
Two coins


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Tammy M Darby Jan 2016
Words flow across my skin'
Icy Poisoned Silver droplets
I wash way the thoughts of normality
To dance with shadowy images of time  
As I plunge into the waters of emotions seething wildly
And my face reveal the sublime

Death take my cold hand bade me follow
I swim in the ocean of forever's sorrow
So cloak my cold body with the stars of sadness
As I bathe in the moonlight of madness


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Johnny Noiπ Aug 2018
Donald Trump never said
a single edifying thing, yet
has an avid following; ***
are they following; nothing
King Panda Jan 2017
My weapon is our memory
Is a  language of the undead
Alive
To the tuning base
And the clock ticks to
Midnight as
We kiss
In the New Forest my Base had discovered
The Rites of Pannage those Back-Breakers do
Sows and their Cousins their Instinct recovered
Took a Year's Break from Storage and Stew
Which Proud Members chose Estovers on-edge
Then for Dessert from their Month's Turbary
A Better Concern than Motors bred at-stake,
A chance for their King to pay his Duty
So, my Conqueror, tell me that Ballad
Or must I force that Verderer to Sing
With Acorns, Truffles and all Nuts at-hand
Till he spits out the Seed which bore my Ring.
Tell you what. This Porker you just provide
I'll relish its Pudding and wear its Hide.
Tammy M Darby Jan 2014
The battle ensued
Between combatants  heart and mind
As loneliness whispered softly
Of tenderness
In cooing song and rhyme

The brain issued stern warning
Of heartache and sorrow
Turmoil of the soul
The price
Pain of storms coming

Love ignored words of caution
Without thought of consequence
Forged fearlessly ahead
Igniting a small spark
Smoldering in the night
Long ago thought dead

Glowing orange embers
Soon a smoldering burning fire
Did awaken from memories sleep
The emotion
Desire

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Dec. 26, 2014
Tammy M Darby Jan 2016
Muffle echoing screams
Brush hot tears from heavy brown lashes
Falling from violent dreams

Kiss trembling lips lightly
When the monster comes
Till blackness permeated with pain
Flees from the rising sun

Caress oh so tenderly
The hesitant outstretched hand
Gaze upon the shattered being
The artwork of the species man


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M Darby
Perched upon a corporate throne,

We march into the great unknown

As wasted words of gossip drone

And steel replaces brick and stone.
Soon you find yourself alone

In crowded streets with a global phone,

Doing a random strangers bidding.



A means to an end they say,

As poor men die while rich men play,

When honest work brings modest pay,

And doesn't last 'em through the day

Though profiteers in moral grey 

Flood the airwaves to in turn say,

"Our wealth simply paves  the way,

Tomorrow is your salvation day,

You want peace? Then war is only fitting."



Look and you will see

Money buys democracy,

The Citizens United, see?

If we knew the truth, would we agree?

Those answers are not  going to be

Yes or no but more likely

Maybe, perhaps, or possibly,

Because in reality,

Right and wrong are just kidding.



To those who fret the plagues we face,
Yet believe we can change this place,
Who stifle doubts about the Human Race,
And yearn to e together in this chase,
With subdued pride and envy, in every case,

Seeking common goals to found the base,

May we lay the evil plots to waste,

For evils clients who once stood are now sitting.



The time is now, make a stand
,
Pull our heads out of the sand

Call their bluff with a hidden hand

Of virtue they don’t quite understand,
Defy procedure’s they have planned
,
Unite across the lines that brand,

Refuse all prejudice, none may be accepted.



Some know for they already looked

And the flow of money keeps them booked,

Takes but once to have them hooked,

Setting the table with food uncooked

For others whose foundations shook

Are pitted against the small time crook

Hoping only that we be protected

.

Hark the sounds of rebellious cries

For those that call, they realize

All that lives sure enough dies
But when displeased we close our eyes

To the masters of disguise

Who think their profit justifies

The invisible hand growing in size

While their strings attached go uncorrected



They kept us quiet all the while

Waiting with numbers dialed

To put the innocent to trial

Lining up in single file

To be cast into the same old pile

None willing to lay down their tile,

Casting shadows upon their guile,

The double agent mercantile,

Lobbying candidates to endorse.



All I ask, is to what do we base belief?

Dying children get no relief

Oil poisons the coral reef

Prophecy of the fallen chief

Given a thought but a bit too brief
Together a tree, alone but a leaf
Although it is all who feel the grief

Of our actions consequential course



Corrupted elites discuss our goals

So we continue to dig our holes

To depths that darken souls

Rigging markets to decide our roles

Assumptions made so that greed controls

They draw their graphs till the pencil dulls

Then add a factor, see how that goes

Without even the slightest feeling of remorse



Growth is sacred, but is it moral?

Strengthen reason yet we quarrel

Over falsities of ***** oral

Arrangements like that of floral

Remedies but not doctoral

Blood of fallen lives pastoral

Remind that we’re all mortal

But all thereafter bear the force.



So please tell me at what cost?

In a moments past our objectives lost

Compassion was our hand now tossed

Lines we’ve drawn, lines we’ve crossed

How much dirt can be washed

From our conscience we exhaust

Before shattering glass of fate we sloshed?

Working from the scattered pieces back to the source



It is us who blindly lead the strut

We are the source and nothing but

Whose center point is one giant rut

Where false desires cracked and cut

And the selfish feed an endless gut,

When our culture begins to split and jut,

We might finally ask... It was all for what?
Inspired by the great Bob Dylan. I refer you to the song “It’s Alright Ma’”
Establish a research and development facility tasked with recycling 100,000 commonly used household goods or packaged products back into the original base material needed to remake it into new product packaging. Pass legislation requiring all companies selling products with packaging to buy their source materials from a registered public-private venture allowing any firm willing to participate to do so. Companies must then manufacture packaging locally using source materials supplied by one of the public-private companies. Companies will also be required to hire locally using a diversity and economic income model incorporating or locating the participating companies in the poorest rural counties in the state.










Society grows great when Old Men plant trees.  -Socrates
Tammy M Darby Nov 2013
He touched her with his big hands,
Kissed away the flow of tears
He offered his strength
She let the pain go.
He was the only one she could do this with

Rocking her gently
Pretending not to notice,
The quiet whimpering.
The muffled cries
Guarding her heart from all trespassers
While he stared into the night

He would never again allow sadness to befall her,
An oath he took to himself.
To the gods he prayed,
To protect her from harm
Pledging his soul
Any who dare try he would slay.
He is now and forever her protector,
She loved him,
Though some fear remained.

He was solid and hard as granite,
She was very dear to him,
His love.
His life.
Knowing of her sadness
He saw lines of violence
Written upon the small face

After a while the shadows disappeared,
From his beloved’s world
As he held her close, stroked her hair and sighed.
She was oh so very dear to him this damaged soul
His love,
His life.



This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
For Rob, bearer of absinthe

Could it have troubled Pandora’s mind,
On learning where Hope springs -
At the base of her box she chanced to find
The cruellest devil with angel’s wings?

To foresee it seep into our veins -
Leave us to trip, blunder and fall,
Cause mankind monumental pains,
And make a mockery of us all.

As the drowning atheist looks to the skies -
Before a wave knocks him to his demise
Into an absurd and uncaring ocean.

Somewhere a poet quietly smarts
The excess love from her swollen heart
And on a page whispers her devotion.
A poem inspired by the work of Charles Baudelaire that mostly came about because I told a guy I'd write him a sonnet when I was drunk and it still seemed like a fun idea sober.
Kevin J Taylor Sep 2015
I am the fulcrum, the base and the lever.
I am the space and the form and the game.

I am the maker, the vessel, the dreamer,
the teller, the namer—I naming, un-named.

I am the vision, the vista, the seer.
I am the lintel, the door and the frame.

I am the lock, the key and the knocker,
the handle, the pause and the knocker again.

I am the palm and the fist and the shoulder.
I am the sole and the road and the stride.

I am the still—all that echo, and echoes.
I am Freedom. My counsel. My guide.
Your Clouds, judged be it pickled or disdain
Have mostly trained your canaries to think
Whether to ruffle more Feathers; Then feign
Those Truest Notes dipped; And begroom your Mink
For who could solve what your Tampered Mind spies
Then translates such Harvest for a Desert
To Good Sense cheer; From Truth becomes a Lie
With Random Calls ring your Body to advert
And whilst you do, any Cause to forget
Those Taped Pioneers who endured your Phase
Pray for your Interview; And chance to beget
Which Startled Sweets was the Sweetest at base.
Yet still Occupied to that Video owned
Belittle what Possum's Cry now reknowned.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
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