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Ace Malarky Jun 2013
the strain of labor
the pain of toil
the ache of legs and arms
the sweating brow
drudging farmer curse the soil
mutely chide the milkless cow

the demon waits for no man.
he rages forth
renders furrows charred
the fields so dry
the rocky ground so hard
does Famine truly want this to be so?
find him, ask him,
else we never know.

heyo Apr 10
Its funny how a single notion of you can make my day
Its not as though you ever intend to, or that you even care that you do
But the very idea of you brings such a warm tickly feeling and smile to my face, You’re one of the few things that makes me comfortable being happy

Sometimes I chide myself for being so vulnerable to someone so daring
I catch myself staring, taking in your eyes, your smile,
And most of all that ever-present contagious light that you worry so much is overbearing
It makes it even harder to see when that light dims down

I want to be able to fuel you, in the way that so few can do for you
Forgive me, I’m trying my best
For all the bads, I promise I’ll give you all the good I canYeah
Michael John Oct 2018

here we are then
same old ancient desire
same old scream
we chide dull fire

of unending unrelenting
will it never end..

our forelocks annointed
by a new ghost
something anew
we and i mean dead

toast look and pray
but it´s the same old
show a new day
we sit mouth open..

later,i will go to
the supermarker
sit in the park..

then,climb so
many steps
and what will
be will be..
The physics of divinity,
  atheists chide

Pews filled with charlatans,
  believers on trial

Trapped in their reasoning,
  with all logic stretched thin

Building walls to keep light out
  —and darkness within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Have our brains developed
  because of our minds

Is it thought over matter,
  free will to consign

Who gave us this power,
  to till and to sow

All fruit thus comprised.
  in our memory to know

A physicists nightmare,
  their theories contrive

This question much bigger
  than their formulas chide

Darwin’s evolution,
  not passive but active

As change does occur,
  whose affect we hold captive

Those traits we develop,
   from forces unconscious

A *** that we stir,
   as we ladle our promise

To wonder and hope,
  to dream and to wish

Only human confined,
   in our souls to subsist

These edicts we know,
  from our spirits sublime

Our destinies chosen
  —and fated divine

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2019)
Ormond Jan 12


Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”
soulpledgee Jan 30

It was fun when we laughed together
but it hurts,to wipe my tears alone

The stage doesn't scare me
being alone at backstage does hurt me

It doesn't  when you chide me
it hurts when you show no confidence in me

It didn't hurt when you pushed me on bed
I was hurt when you closed the door,on my face

I gave you my all
IT hurts when you left me following my fall

It's hard when I fail
it hurts when you glare

It's tough to meet every month's need
but it hurts when I can't fulfill your wish
tried touch every aspect of life with good times and bad times
I prefer to walk alone and pace my walk.
I have done this ever since I took my first step
Before I learnt to walk
And begun to measure my strides.
I do not chide myself or find fault with those who made me learn to walk.
I had to learn to walk because I could not have remained rooted like the plants
and the trees,
Or crawled like an insect or a reptile,
Or flown like a bird though I had no wings.
I did not learn to run;
I did not want to run away from my precious world and responsibilities.
My running could have made me chased
Right up to the very edge of my non-doings.

As is my wont
I still prefer to walk alone
I still prefer to recount the events of my recent past
Lest my remote past recalled
Taking me unaware
Suddenly checks or staggers my measured strides.

I am careful when I take any step on the path of life.

— The End —