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onlylovepoetry Feb 2018
why my existence was just one unending question?

even in the formless and endless pitch black (his Hello Poetry alias),
could hear Him smile and communicate:
if not You, then who?

love your dreams where answers run wild like an Oregon waterfall,
only you understand that the whole world encapsulates into:

love thy neighbor as thyself

which must be recited as a poem
standing on one left leg

then, smiling,
god extended his only finger, touching each of mine eyelids:

sleep, friend for we need your questioning dreams,
your faith unfurled unfulfilled
for in your unending inquiry
is all of our "in the beginning,"
the holy dark
2/19/18 3:06am
http://www.seraphicpress.com/rabbi-hillel-on-one-leg-me-too/

n the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
Juhlhaus May 26
Midway upon the journey of life I found myself
Riding zigzag through dark streets,
For there was no straight way
From Point A to Point B in the urban grid
And a ride share was only minutes away.
Thus I ventured deeper into the night,
While rosary beads swung hypnotic
At the mirror reflecting revenant eyes
Of one raised by an invisible hand
From salt water rocks where
As a boy, he said, he should have died.
Deftly navigating changing lights
Of amber, red, and green,
He humbly inquired after my beliefs
And the state of my soul.
As to this, I could not precisely say.
So I drew it out and held it gingerly
By the rough edges examining,
The best I might in that dim backseat,
Its creases, wrinkles, and scars.
In the rearview he saw all these clearly,
And with gentle resonance spoke
Of things impossible to know,
Less difficult to believe,
And blessed me so
That on passing out the door
I found my soul again soft and warm.
It was the most profound Uber ride I have ever experienced.
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Traveler Apr 2016
Two years ago a teacher here on HP messaged and informed me
that she used my poem in her classroom for a class assignment.
I've never felt so honored, I pictured twenty kids
With copies of my poem in hand analyzing it 
When I inquired where on earth this school was?!
She must have been here in the states
Because she quickly disappeared
She just signed off
I never heard from her again
To tell her Thank You!
Thank you for sharing my worthless words
And giving them value..

Some of my poems/songs
Have registered copyrights
So please ask permission before plagiarizing
Although I won't be flying across the sea to sue anybody
Because face it, having my words circulate
Even further
Is very appealing.
Just lately
I heard it explained on youtube
How copyright and Register copyrights work.

RE po to 2019 June
Clinton Arneson Dec 2015
If an orchid wished and wondered,
as a merchant slipped and blundered,
and from his pack was sundered
a genie's magic lamp...

and if this flower's dream,
was to know what it would mean,
to live life as human being,
as her petals brushed this lamp...

and our genie had desired,
to render wishes sired,
for now, no longer mired,
her having freed him of the lamp...

and if our genie was required,

to match to whom inquired,
by her beauty, so inspired,
he would make this flower

you
...and she totally shot me down lol
I'm on a train.

One of those red ones with black trimmed windows you can imagine rolling through the suburbs on the way to NYC. Not a subway car but a classier vintage with proper rows of cushioned seats and a lever to pull if there is an emergency. There are sparse shrubberies on one side of the tracks and the ocean on the other. Young trees and bushes stroll by.  A little wind is pushing off the ocean, massaging the car ever so gently back and forth as we move along. A gentle click-clack is on the tips of our ears.

We got on together. I hadn't known you for very long but the connection was stronger than anything I had ever felt or have since. You practically sat on top of me for the first few miles. Couldn't keep your hands off me,  staring in my eyes like you were searching for something lost but you couldn't remember what. The edges of your lips turned upwards permanently as if you were always at the verge of a laugh. You interlaced my fingers with yours and held on like you would be ripped away if your grip loosened for even a second. Slender fingers holding so tightly that they were becoming red.

You were excited to to be riding with me, about where we were going and all the things we would do when we got there. I would see you peer out of the corner of your eye, then lean over to brush your soft cheek against my budding stubble. Kissing and gently biting my lips insatiably. The suns rays coming in at an angle and lighting up your perfect smile and dimple.

I had to remind you we were in public.

I was lost in your blonde curls and the incense of your neck. I had fallen incredibly hard and so fast that my face hurt from smiling and my heart beat with vibrations I had never known. Not even a whiff of anxiety or neurosis. Some of the best memories of my life, as fleeting as they turned out to be.

I yawned and you put your finger in my mouth. I bent over to tie my shoe and you would poke my **** and laugh with your own reflection in the window, like this was the first and best joke of all time. Maybe it was and maybe it is.

The waiter came and informed us that a thing called "the bar car" existed. We both jumped at the idea. I didn't exactly notice at the time, during our excitement, but that's when the train started going faster and everything out the windows began to blur.

The bar car was a wild ride and we took advantage of our lo'cal. All kinds of fine wine, liquors and illicit substances were available. We tried them all. You were beautiful, your laugh infecting everyone around you, I was charming and held a captive audience.   It was a dark, loud and glorious blur. We were the life of the party and it chugged on till dawn.

We woke up in our seats, disheveled and discombobulated. It was dark out already. Did we sleep through the entire day? The train was slowing down, maybe approaching a station. The party was amazing but we were certainly paying the price for the black out. You moved over to the seat across from me to have some more space and lay down. I saw myself in the reflection. My hat, charm and smile from the night before had vanished. I must have left them in the bar car the night before.
      You had changed, beauty uninterrupted but different somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it. Irritated maybe? I invited you to cuddle and battle the hangover together but you ignored me. Like you couldn't hear me or didn't want to. I decided to let you be.

I got up to use the bathroom and thought I would go look for my scattered belongings. Maybe I could find a scrap of leftover dignity while you rested. I inquired to the conductor who directed me to the bartender in the bar car. He hadn't changed a bit, somehow untouched and unaffected by last nights antics that had effected me so dramatically.  Same black suspenders and white pressed shirt with impeccably slicked hair. I asked him what happened and if I had an open tab. While slowly polishing a rocks glass he looked up and made eye contact for a split second before looking away.
He said:  "Oh the bar car takes its toll. In the end we all end up paying one way or another". I still don't know what he meant by that or if he knew.
      I asked him if he found my hat and he said he would check the camera. We walked in to a small back room, while he was reviewing the tape, over his shoulder I noticed a tragedy.

We were drunk. I was going on to a group of new friends on one side of the bar, they were hanging on my words and I was eagerly explaining whatever nonsense they were drooling over. You were in the corner wearing that red dress I love, with your hair up in a tight bun. A few curls had escaped and brushed your high cheekbones, a thin line of pearls dancing delicately across your perfectly symmetrical collar. You were stunning and inebriated, swaying with each bump and motion of the train. A man wearing my hat put his hand on your side to keep you from swaying over and then he left it there.
I took a sharp breath.

It looked like you put your hand on his hand to move it but then it stayed and you both swayed together. As the air left my lungs and the blood drained out of my face I watched your lips touch the strangers. A small piece of my soul slipped away forever. I couldn't watch any further. When I asked the bartender how long it went on he fidgeted for a moment and uncomfortably muttered "quite some time". I never found my hat or the other part of me that left that day.  

The train slowed. I walked to the back, as far away from you as I could get, in utter disbelief. How could you? I thought to myself.
I mourned the loss of the you as I knew you yesterday, quietly and to myself. A tear  escaped my eye and rolled down my now fully formed stubble as I fell in to a random seat in mild shock. There were a few passengers back there so I had to pull together relatively quickly. After gaining some composure I knew it was time to get off. I knew we could never get back to yesterday morning though I would have said or done anything to do so.

The train had stopped. I went back to my seat and you were sleeping. I took my coat and gathered my things. The conductor looked at me confused as to why I would leave something so magnificent, I assume he had no idea what had transpired.   

I walked to the rear of the car and slid the door open slower than required. I stepped to the stairs and put one foot down on the step and the other on the ground. I stopped, rooted with my hand on the railing, lingering between two very different paths.
     I knew that it was time to get off, I knew this was the sensible thing to do, that I couldn't get past this offense regardless of how I had felt earlier the day before. The whistle screamed from the locomotive. The conductor looked at me and shook his head, I'm not sure if he was trying to tell me to stay or go but a decision had to be made.

The train lurched forward and I watched as the station slip away slowly. I sat in between the cars for a while and watched the ocean and birds. With a heavy heart and shoes I walked back to my seat. You were waiting. Crying. You knew. The bartender had told you. You didn't mean do do it, didn't realize what you were doing and thought it was me. He was wearing my hat and the whole world was blurry and dark.

I believed you. Self anguish mixed with alcohol was dripping from your pores. I knew you didn't mean it and were drunk, but could I ever forgive you or trust you again?

I loved you still.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, a weaker version of myself looked back. As if an invisible chip in my teeth had developed and my shoulders lowered. The charming, confident man from the bar car the day before had been replaced. Something was off but not enough for anyone else to notice, just enough to know a change has happened.
       The train started to pick up speed again as we distanced ourselves from the station.  I second guessed my decision to stay but I didn't look back.

I found the man with my hat and punished him with a few blows in the dark. He knew he ****** up, apologized and took the beating like a man. I never got the hat back.

The engineer announced that we would be going through a tunnel soon and to turn on our lights and keep our hands in the windows.

It would be dark.  

We stayed away from the bar car for a while but the draw was irresistible. After a few hours we were there again but you never left my side.  Then you did. I was looking for you but you would disappear and not answer me when I called you name. The tunnel went deeper and darker and I didn't know where you were and I suspected you liked it that way. The train began to slow down again as we exited the tunnel.

I finally found you back at our seat, you had moved one row away from me. I asked you to come back, tried to hold your hands but you pulled away with vehemence. When I came back from the bathroom you had moved another row farther.
I knew I was losing you.
I begged you to return but you told me calmly that it was time for you to get off. At some point in the tunnel you had decided that you didn't want to go anymore . Your mind was made. You were going to catch another train at the next station.

When the train stopped I thought for sure you would reconsider but you didn't. Didn't even give it a thought. You just grabbed your coat and hat with one big bag under your arm. You kissed me on the cheek like a french stranger and were off. Going somewhere else on a different train. Just like that.

I rode the rails for quite some time by myself , many people getting on and getting off, passing me by. Every once in a while I would think I saw you at a station or in a **** though the window of another train. I often thought I could smell you but when I breathed deeper it was always gone. A ghost dancing on the edge of my senses.

A young girl in a headband got on the train. She was listening to headphones and dancing to herself as she bobbed along. She sat down in the seat next to me flashing a smile. She had a wedding ring on and I dismissed her immediately.  She didn't move from the seat or stop glancing my way. Eventually she confessed that she wanted to talk. I told her I wasn't interested but she persisted.  I hadn't talked to anyone on the train for quite some time and after some more mild persistence, I gave in.

We had a lot in common. We were both riding alone, desperately wanted attention and were thrilled to receive some.  After a few laughs she slid her hand in to mine and interlaced her fingers. I left it there. It was warm, comforting and wrong. She was married but I had been riding alone so long it felt good to have some company. She stayed and we talked. She was broken and I had a knack for fixing things. After a few hours of dramatic conversation I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

When I woke up  the train was flying up the track on the side of a mountain. Trees and rocks were a blur of green and grey. The engineer must be trying to make up for lost time I thought to myself.

The girl was asleep with her head on my lap. I looked down at her hand and the rings were gone. I woke her briefly to ask where they went. She said she didn't need them anymore and had thrown  them out the window.  She could of sold them, I said, but she said she just wanted them gone so she could be mine and fell back to sleep.  All of a sudden I couldn't breath. This train was roaring down the tracks, the once gentle click clack had become a loud hum. Suddenly too loud. This girl in my lap who had just gotten on the train wanted to stay. I considered her for a while as she looked up at me with big blue eyes, shining and wet, like a puppy in the shelter, terrified of rejection and desperate to be adopted.

At the peak of the mountain, just when the train began to even out, you waltzed back in to the car with a champagne flute in one hand and your bag in the other.

I don't know when or where you got back on, must have been a few stations ago when I stopped looking for you. Maybe you were wearing a disguise, who knows what you had been up to while you were gone. I'm not sure how long you were away but it was quite some time. That you had been through something was obvious, a new wrinkle had formed on your brow and you're once confident stride had changed to a cautious stroll. What actually happened out there I don't know.  I never asked and I don't want answers.

You looked at me and smiled. It was good to see that smile, like sun on my face on a brisk day.  You took a step toward me and then I looked down in my lap at the girl at the same time you did. I looked up. You and your smile were gone.

Everything I had begun to feel for this broken, head banded girl in my lap dried up like a puddle in  the dessert.  I quietly and gently nudged her awake and told her I had to use the bathroom. She put her head down on my coat and fell back into what ever trance she had been in, eyelids gently fluttering, eyes searching beneath them for what I would never give her.

I dashed up the isle and threw open the door, almost shattering the glass. The conductor glared at me and rolled his eyes as I barged past to the space between the cars.

There you were. Standing on the stairs with your head out the opening. The wind was blowing your perfectly formed curls around your head like a blonde explosion of familiarity. I yelled your name and you dove in to me. My senses erupted, my mind went numb as the train was nearing another station and I inhaled your essence greedily.

We moved to another car. I abandoned my coat with the married girl and never looked back. I hope she found what she was looking for. I  never could have been the answer she was so desperately seeking but I know I  helped steer her towards it.

You told me you had encountered some other people out there on the rails and they had reminded you of what we had when we first left the station. I never forgot.  

The train started to rock and get going again. We were back in the bar car and starting to brown out. We had to get off of this train right ******* now. In a desperate moment we looked at each other and put our hands, together, on the emergency brake cord. I looked in your eyes with your hand on top of mine. You kissed me while yanking down on the cord. Time slowed, the breaks squealed and everything exploded throwing luggage, people and the entire contents of the bar car in to a nondiscriminatory chaos . We got up off the ground, ran to the end of the car, dove off the side in to a soft patch of grass and rolled down a small incline. We watched as the conductor sifted through  the mess and interrogated the passengers, trying to ferret out the party responsible for pulling the brake. He spotted us off the side of the tracks and shook his fist while shouting every conceivable obscenity combination.

We laughed, held each other in the grass and kissed deeply.

We watched the train pick up speed and disappear in to the hills as relief spread over me.

You interlaced your fingers in to mine and we both looked out to where the tracks disappeared into the horizon, wondering how far of a walk it was to the next station.
zebra Nov 2017
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged

but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières

"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"

after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
*** vampires adult explicit
William D Hearns May 2018
her cheeks, normally the color of moonlit marble,
burned.
all the rest of her had flushed, lending what little color she had
to that blush.

her eyes, deep and speckled sapphire,
drowned.
those lashes, longer than hell, dipped with the burden of those
tears she cried.

her hair, darker than ink in a starless night,
hung.
glossy raven tresses framed that sweet face, gently brushing
her teary chin.

She inquired my reason; asked me: "Why?"
I said, "You're Beautiful when you cry.”
Wk kortas Jul 2018
He’d been close to the big time,
If not a god of the fight game, perhaps a demigod;
He’d been possessed of considerable brute strength
And the ability to shut out concern for the well-being of others,
But there had been the odd ***** in his armor:
An overhand right which announced itself too early,
And arrived just a smidgen too late,
Plus an unhappy tendency to lose focus,
To stray from those plans his corner had set up chapter and verse,
Choosing the forbidden fruit of the quick knockout.

He had, after losing a bout to a top-ranked fighter
(He was eighth in the world, he would chuckle ruefully,
And I fought him like I was eight years old.)
Decided to chuck it all in,
Enrolling in a scruffy little bible college
Sitting just off an interstate on-ramp,
Cheek-to-jowl with a Wendy’s and 7-11,
In order to facilitate the transition from mayhem to ministry.
He’d soured on the process in fairly short order;
He understood instinctually that he, like all men,
Was a sinner, and likely unworthy of salvation,
And the faculty accentuated the notion daily, if not hourly,
Like so many jabs to the midsection.
He’d inquired, gently, as to the approach one should take
To addressing the worrisome paradox
That all men were imperfect beings
Marooned on an imperfect world,
Yet their fallibility was all they had to build on,
(A rickety ladder to scramble upwards, for sure,
But the only way to reach that golden fruit
Held out for him, though just beyond his grasp.)
The responses varied, from sputtering and vague parries
To the suggestion that such notions were heresy,
And so he’d returned to the club-and-casino circuit
Makin’ the best use of the gifts I have, he would sigh,
Before heading out once more,
Hoping there was one more short right at least one more time.
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018
NO. NO SUGAR THANK YOU.

Took the telegram
from the telegram boy.

He looked like an angel.

"STOP!"( stop )it said.
It was from Death.

"Ahhhhh man..!" I said.
"I haven't got time to die!"

I sent a telegram back
quick as a flash.,

" NO STOP!"(stop).

I deleted Death
from my facebook friends.

Death sulked.
Hotfooted it to God..

"Tell himmmm!" Death boo hoo hoo'd.
God called me up.

But I ooops dropped
my mobile down the loo.

Flushed it away.

I hid my soul
behind an ormolu clock

that  hadn't told the right time
for a long time now.

I stuck it to the back
with well masticated chewing gum.

Wrigleys.

The Devil I knew
invited me to tea.

"Is it hot in here or
. . .is it me"

My life struggled like a fly
stuck on flypaper.

"Shall I be mother?"

"One lump or two"
the Devil inquired politely.

"No.  No sugar
thank you!"
Such fervour as thee recites the deciphered text of Gods, your vehemence is impressive.

'How agog, you are, from where do you find that spark?' I inquired.

'Only the fiery spirit of the life before mine.'
Willow Sophie May 13
You never know when you might lose something.
A bracelet, a bill, a pencil that you chewed nervously.
But sometimes, you lose a person;

I was in a classroom,
with great big tables
and walls that echoed the teenage chatter
of my class.

My love, he sat beside me.
My friends, a tad bit too loud
laughed behind us.
A modest couple
chuckle in the back.

A brilliant, clever man
with cunning yet tired eyes
look at me happily, solemnly.

A smile was traced
by his beard laced with silver
and his accent inquired professionally.

I remember how much fun he had,
how he filled the void in my soul,
how he shared his stories and wisdom.

I lost him; I miss him.
CeriseRed Sep 2018
The dying hero said
To his wife and his beloved children
"I obliged you not to follow the same path I took."

With those words,
His daughter inquired,
"Father, how come not if it was a beautiful path
with those roses and dandelions,
showered by a blazing yellow hot sun
glittered with cotton candy sky
and a bouquet of trees and a choir of angelical wind?"


The hero stared blanky at his daughter
His heart gasped a beat and mouthed the words,
"Singsong the truth without coated sugar,
the world needs the intellectuals
with skills and talents,
neccessary for humanity to survive,
be a doctor who cures the sick,
be an engineer who builds
be a lawyer, be a farmer or a fisher,
anything will do but not the one I am."


Silence.

"They are nothing without words,
They are nothing but robots,
without the tune of the tongue,
without the ink of the heart,
the world for them is all but rigid,
round but pointed,
with air but not breathing.
Words can **** but words can also heal."

The girl paused, then stand.
"Father can crack the caramel paint
and reveals of what's the truth,
I am who I am
and I am what father can do."


It was midnight.
The hero died.
A dead man and a dead will.
His deed still lives in pages,
and in the veins of his female kid.
A rebel daughter was born.
Her words were nothing for an empty soil.
A dead will and a dead man.
He wrote poems.
The X Rhymes Jun 10
just past darkest, in pre-dawn
where only ghosts belong
somnambulist stood on the lawn
in lonely morn birdsong

up high a sky of dark blue slate
and smudged by moonlit chalk
inquired why, so soon, too late
he’d judged it wise to walk

he’d missed the gold at set of sun
the cloak of night long fell
and kissed by cold, feet wet and numb
been woke under this spell

in bare feet, naked and alone
his toes caressed the grass
had rare, sweet, sacred things unknown
disposed themselves to pass?

if not then how had this occurred -
just slept-walked down the stairs?
alfresco now, from slumber stirred
and crept out unawares?

no light did switch, no latch did lift,
no dead bolt did he slide
what nightmare glitch cast him adrift
and led him on this ride?

to understand why he’d been drawn
he leaned upon the fence
and scanned the hills ahead, forlorn
but gleaned no ounce of sense

his thoughts parlayed a trick was played
a kind of waking dream
for sport that bade him walk or wade
the mind’s unconscious stream

but when coerced the mist did clear
on tracks once shaded black
how he’d traversed from there to here -
the facts cascaded back

he’d climbed in bed to get some rest
a touch before nightfall
an aching head and tight of chest
that much he could recall

he’d said “I’ll live, not really
ill
benign, not far from norm
I’m fed up with this winter chill
but fine, on par, just warm”

then pulled the sheets ‘til tightly wrapped
to burn that fever out
but lulled from sleep, felt shoulder tapped
he turned as if to shout

a djinn or sprite was in the room
beside him, floating there
it’s skin so white it lit the gloom
supplied him quite a scare

and tall and thin, half out, half in
each limb a branch of birch
with pointy chin and wicked grin
the grim of some dark church

he couldn’t deal with that right then
so lay to face the wall
in time he’d steal a look again
or maybe not at all

“I’ll save my view from things untrue
and hocus-pocus lies
that see-through, voodoo, bug-a-boo
made by unfocussed eyes.”

since that’s the way he dealt with things
and had done all his life
downplay, delay the woes it brings
he’d shun, defer all strife

with problems near, beset by fear
he’d sit them out and wait
his steer was clear, why interfere?
commit them unto fate

you might expect fiends from beyond
that form of fevered head
won’t interject, reply, respond -
but here’s what this one said

“Why, don’t be shy, deny your eye
or will me to wink out
divert, decry, dismiss, defy
I’ll still be here, don’t doubt

concerns you spurn when trouble stirs
you never make a stand
your court adjourns, your head inters
wherever you find sand

but think on this, somnambulist
who sleeps all through his day
ignorant bliss by case dismissed
won’t keep my kiss at bay

Death, the darkest, endless black
says nigh it’s time to pay
somnambulist get off your back
or die right where you lay.”

what happened then remained occult
but hindsight left implied
the whys and whens and end result
was in the night - he’d died

a skipped heat beat, forgotten breath
then pale and stiff and cold
beneath the sheet, begotten death
the tale at last was told

unless, undressed he’d thought to rise
impressed by Death’s dark voice
duress he guessed might make him wise
if pressed with that stark choice

to Heaven’s bliss, to Hell to roast
or on Earth still to dwell
somnambulist or new born ghost?
the birthing morn would tell.
Spoiler alert:
This is a long poem.
If you don’t like long poems...
don’t read this far.
Candi Mar 15
Amongst the smudges I see a hidden face
Round in shape and trying to peak through
A story to tell but was once erased

Conclusions about a face that someone else drew
Secrets inside but tucked deep away
A story of time that was misconstrued

The solemn lips parted as to say
If only you'd ask you'd be surprised what you could learn
A pity the lips were not molded from clay

To withstand time making this story easy to discern
All ambiguity removed nothing left to gauge
But now this phantom creature is left to yearn

Silently dying to pour her story upon the page
But content with waiting to be inquired
Forever subjected to be in this cage

A beautiful specimen destined to be admired
Until the next becomes inspired
04-05-2019
I did a mini exercise to write in specific styles to try to and break from my typical rhyme scheme. This was my Terza Rima attempt
CharlesC Oct 21
This..our true Lens
Has been shaded by
Life-long beliefs and
conditioning..
A lens of separation
Depicting subject and object
Whole and parts
Good and bad
Seems to be our perception..

In pockets of history
There are those who
Have always known the
Availability of the Lens
But most of us..alas
Have not inquired
On how this Lens
Might be recognized..

We are cautioned that
Such Recognition is the
Only path to Freedom...
Can't remember
The last time
Anyone inquired
How am I?
The days have blended
A smooth seamless
Desert of time,
Endless grains
Of minutes
Stacked high
As far as anyone can see,
It just dawned on me
How parched I am,
But not for water
Just a small oasis
Of me, for me,
For I am without
A sense of self
Where am I going?
Where have I been?
I wish to soar
But I'm sunk
Have to dig
Myself out,
Before I forget
Again...

-okpoet
Thanks to Mia for this inspired post.
Bo Tansky Dec 2018
It was the coldest day of the year.
We welcomed the return of cooler weather,
Fellow followers of the southern sun.
Winter had almost begun.
Delicious cool breezes uplifted our spirits.
Inspired these awesome(?) lyrics
There was a luminescence to the light.
It sparkled with the dearest delight.
The days were shorter.
The nights' longer.
The seasons were changing.
Change was in the air..
Change was everywhere.

Southern change is slow and steady.
Unlike the north where one must always be ready
The mass migration from the north was still underway.
Hordes and hordes of high blood pressure,
Scoliosis afflicted octogenarians invaded our state.
We who bore the brunt of the brutal summers,
Felt like we belonged to a sunny exclusive club.
Entitled to space, the roads, the sunshine.  
Now we must share with the worst drivers of vehicular crime
Accidents galore.
Everywhere you go.
Someone overran the barricade,
Cars totaled
Cars mangled
Twisted and tangled
Cars flipped & chipped  
A road detours
In the land of the aged & mature
Mature, I say, only in age
Otherwise, it would be an absolute outrage.
And it is.

People meeting people in the most unfortunate way.
I tell you it tests your mettle,
It tests your patience,
It tests your good nature,
Not to mention the nomenclature
of your exclusivity.  
Better rethink civility.
Better rethink senility.
Better rethink livability
In the south
In the wintertime
  
Missing you had become a pastime of mine...
Seeing you and Robert in the coffee shop that day-
Delighted me.  
So that I completely forgot to order tea.
I knew I would see you soon,
As fate would have it.
Not being in the habit
Of that particular time
That particular coffee shop
That day,
Anyway
Unplanned as this was.
That is to say
Not planned in the usual way.
Did the afternoon gods align?
Should I take it as a sign
Or is it pure coincidence
I know you agree with the ladder
It doesn’t much matter
Coincidence and me don’t agree
Nothing is accidental
No, I’m not mental
If you agree with me.
I admit it’s a hard nut to swallow,
Unless you’re in the habit of swallowing hard nuts,
Which most, I think, are not
Although I’ve never actually inquired
For the usual reasons
Excuse the nut reference
If you have a hard nut allergy
In which case you should stay away  
It’s not a bad thing,
More hard nuts for the rascal squirrels,
No hard nuts for the hard nut adverse.
How nutty is this verse?

I digress
As you can see
My thoughts always take me back to thee
Thought I’d get a little fancy.
Back to the Day in question
Referenced by me in this digression
If I thought something interesting was about to unfold
Oh no, oh no
It was the same old, same old
After the polite amount of time
You picked up your phone
It was a sign
Business as usual
Or is it you hiding behind
Some kind of some kind  
I don’t know what
I such a nut
Stale coffee sits in the microwave
It pings its readiness
Forget my forgetfulness
One more round
The coffee’s cold
Like you
Still
I take it out
Drink it anyway
While I wait
Still
The coffee’s cold
And so are you
That’s all I have to say
And that’s why
Without thinking
I grabbed the phone that day
While you were busy texting
Hey, I wasn’t getting in the boxing ring
You knew that

Robert was rather overreactive
It was only me being me
I’ll meet your cold
And up the ante
Are you all in
Do I win
I was only playing, all along
That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t write me a love song
Two for her
One for me
I think you’ll agree
It’s quite unfair
And you want to be fair
Don’t you
This isn't optional
Even rational
Or actionable
*******
My phantom love
I get it.
Still
I’m missing you.
Do you miss me too?
Perdue Poems Apr 20
to what shall I write on an empty day
when skies are grey
when I feel no play
within my soul
to whom can I write ink on pages
in dark ages
while rage is
within my soul
to when will I write stories of old
when all is told
when I feel mold
within my soul
Oh! Why should I write about inside emotions
disturb unchecked notions
and increase commotion
within my soul

do I dare defy my mind's pristine palace?
with challenging concepts
with wild words
to shake the foundations
within my soul
do I wish to write words true?
or explore ideas new
or release the twisted tortures
trapped deep
within my soul
do I hope for exultations?
congrats and celebrations?
for words wandering in my mind
while words lost weep
within my soul
do I do or do I die
do I tell truths or do I tell lies
do I hide or do I show
the words I know
within my soul

All I wish to see
is some melody
pour upon the pages
while the pitcher in my heart
remains unpoured
within my soul
All I wish to do
is draft divine brews
with ingredients inquired
from the world around
rather than pieces profound
within my soul
All I wish to be
is a virtuoso visionary
whose name is heard around
the world tenfold
while the true tenderness remains
within my soul
All I say I misconstrue
to bury what I knew
could never leak upon the papers
of the world
and keep my paper heart locked
within my soul

But if my pen's ink
came not from where I think
but from my chest where my heart beats
and the words I write
came not from nature's daylight
or from words announced from other's lips
but from wells
within my soul
might I find
though not celebrations
perhaps personal thanks
and reconciliation
for myself
and frustrations found
within my soul
Write what's real
Anya Sep 2018
She came that day
On the verge of tears
Certain,
Something tragic had occurred
I inquired as to the cause
Of her distress

“I told him...and he...”
Oh.
I didn’t have to hear any more.
I responded with sympathy
And let her rant out her emotions
As I considered what angle would be best
To complete my drawing
Considering this project could very well dictate our trimester grade...

Another girl came in the room
And was subject to the same story
She, unlike me, gave her a hug

Now,
You may be wondering
Or shocked
By my callous behavior
But see,
This was nothing new

From two years prior
Since the time we’d known each other
It was like this
She,
Colorful, cheerful, charismatic yet melancholic
Smart as well
Attracting friends to her
Like bees to honey

But...
She also had crushes
Loads of them
At least three to five a year

She cried in eighth grade
In ninth grade she actually went one with one
Then,
They broke up
After a week of neglect

Another guy liked her
But she didn’t like him
Despit confiding in him
Constantly
His emotional tendencies
Grew too much for her

Then she liked another,
But he was gay
So they stayed friends
But apparently she likes him again

No offense,
But I’m currently at the end of my tether
I have things to worry about
And it really makes me wonder,
How can someone feel so deeply each time?
It seems painful

She’s a wonderful person
But, very ephemeral
Her attention flits like a bird
And her attraction is deep
But short

As a friend though she’s great
And I have nothing against her
I think with a sigh as I look out the window
And she heaves a breath
On the verge of tears
Just another day of the symphony between a helpless romantic
And
A
Cynic
If you’re a helpless romantic out there, I’m really sorry if this hurts your feelings. Feel free to message me and I can make this private. This poem is just meant to be about two friends who, due to their opposing natures, have trouble understanding each other.
Godawan Feb 20
Yesterday I posted a selfie
With some worthy words key
Comment came "pujo selfie"
Googled the meaning of Pujo
and became impatient
as result shown was indecent
Took assistance from
a language expert
She said you are a foul
and went on retort
Messaged to the sender
And inquired meaning
He explained Pujo is Hindi
word with worship meaning
Thereby "pujo selfie"
Carried the message of
"Worship the selfie and
those who are  seen in selfie"
Felt relieved and went on lol
How two languages used
together break the soul.
Yenson Aug 13
Ben, Ben! the voice cried out...
I looked back to the source of the sound
along came running a very very skinny man
now alongside the face looked familiar yet still unknown
Ben! it me, its me Eric...its me
It dawned, then it puzzled, then it alarmed, then it made me laugh
wow, hey! Eric old bean, where have you been hiding, whats de show
the last time I saw you at the Student Bar, you were talking blonds
now look at you, looking like a praying mantis on a diet of water
you just disappeared, thought you left college, I couldn't find you
yeah! Eric said, his face falling and hollowed eyes searched mine
Ben, he said in lowered tones
Man, I've had quite a rough time of late,  been out of College, man!
yea, I know that, silly, I just said so, dumdum!
he smile a thin smile on a thin face in a thin kinda way
Ben!
Yessss
Well, remember that blond gal I was raving about to you, that night
yea, the last time I saw you, you were sited with Phoebe
both of you playing tongue Tennis, she was really hung on you
yes, said I, but back to you, I said, still not believing what I'm seeing
Well, I went home with the blond gal, that evening
Yessss, said I again
well things got exciting
OOhh....said I with a smile, naturally, I expect, I added
The thing is, he stammered as I raised an eye brow
the thing is, I spent a long time eating her!
you did what? I inquired, like I didn't hear first time
You know, says Eric with a sly look, I ate her
Ok, Ok, says I, I get the picture, I've done likewise myself
we both laughed, the way errant young men do
So, continued Eric, the next day I couldn't eat a thing
what do you mean, says I. You didn't eat the poor gal, I hope
God, are you a cannibal now, where is she, I said in mock horror
No, I didn't eat her like that, I just ate her, you know
Anyway, all next day and days and days after I couldn't keep food down
went to the hospital, they said its some endo-something bug
I've taken all kinds of tablets and potions, still I can't keep food in
my tummy  screams and hurt, my insides fight them-selves
I suffer all the time, I think I'm gonna die
I didn't know if to laugh or cry or do both
Oh Christ Eric, is these all true, you sure its not cancer you've got
No, they said its not cancer and they've done lots of tests.
Where is the blond gal, I asked, as if that would help anything
I haven't been to College, I don't know
Oh man, I'm sorry to hear all this, so sorry for what's happening
listen, lets meet up later, we'll talk more, take it easy old chap
where are you going now, Eric asked
I looked at scarecrow Eric, I did not smile
" I'm going to cancel a date with a blond I'd made for tonight"
Homunculus Aug 4
Observing the gait
of the irksome stranger
the intrigued spectator
commented thus:

"Sir,
  your manner of walking
  is a monument
  to idiosyncrasy"

At this observation,
the stranger responded thus:

"You are mistaken,
  for I do not walk.
  The ground moves beneath me,
  and my steps rotate the Earth.
  The world shall lament
  the day of my death,
  for as I depart:
  so shall the passage of seasons.
  Each hemisphere will abide
  in the perpetuity  
  of ever enduring climes:

  Winter for North
  Summer for South
  Autumn for West
  Spring for East"

"And what of the center?"
Inquired the spectator.

"****** if I know,
we're just characters
in a poem, anyway"
Replied the stranger.

"If you pay close attention,
you will notice that our bodies
are composed not of parts,
but of letters and punctuation marks."

"So what you mean to suggest,"
  observed the spectator
  is that we are merely ideas?"

"Aye."
Replied the stranger
"Poorly conceived ones, at that."
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