Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
L B Jan 2017
Her shoulder rose like the moon
above the black velvet of bolero jacket
She took his arm, his eyes--
An apogee
She took the room
in reverence

So slowly
shed the mountains
shed the light
hand to touch their wonder
Gazing after
her noiseless ascent
which never happened
while they watched....

Pearls—
roll against warmth
luxuriating offspring
cool encircling
contents iridesce
their energies’ warning:
Nothing quite that simple
Nothing quite that still

Nothing like the opulence
on the Proud Eve of catastrophe

Pearls—
caught in the lining
of what never happens the first time....

She heard them before she saw them
rip their orbits!
fission her universe!
in the mezzanine of the symphony hall
Pin ball in the Fun House
Bingo bounce
off—
the hardwoods of space....

Universal Theory of Scatter?
Even now I can still hear the clatter
of their round smooth souls
in the doorways of distant relatives

How could I know?
You would condemn me
to find them all?
I think it is possible to know the high water mark of your life.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)

The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med

The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car

His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know

The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room

Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs

The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove

One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”

The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)

The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers

The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised

Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?

But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills
Every year it's the same troop
Who seem to show up in a group
Relations that you never see
But, still they are your family

Gifts are opened, clear the floor
Then you hear them at the door
Relations that you never see
Except to eat your food for free

They never write, they never phone
All they do is sit and moan
Relations that you never see
They don't look like either you or me

Every year it is the same
They burst on in, don't know your name
Relations that you never see
Thieving hospitality

We don't know where these people live
They always take, they never give
Relations that you never see
That's how it will always be

Merry Christmas, how's the folks
Drink your drink, and smoke your smokes
Relations that you never see
Fulfill their Christmas dream for free.
Gabrielle Isa Jan 2015
When she was born
Her relatives spat on the ground,
Called her mother a witch
And said "The only thing she's good for is dowry".

By 6 years old
She understood what being a girl meant;
Be still and quiet
Your opinion is irrelevant .

At 11 she watched her brothers go to school
As she sat in the kitchen,
Doing 'the work of a woman',
With tears of longing streaming down her face.

At 17, she slept with a man who was 67
Living with the cruel hand she'd been dealt;
How did she raise 2 children
When she was still a child herself?

At 35, no longer a child bride
She was replaced,
With a girl that had not
Even come of age.

She held the young woman
And dried her tears.
She understood her sorrow
She had felt it for years.

But this was her destiny,
Her role from birth.
To be the silent weeper,
The cleaner, the mother,
The lover; who would never know Love.

At 65 she's died,
Buried next to a man she never even knew.
Not a single male cries,
Her funeral attended by few.

So why the abuse?
Why so much pain?
Why raise such a brave soul in vain?

One rebellious voice cries,
With tears streaming down her face
"If only she were male!"
She looks to me and says

"You wish to know,
why she could have had no joy?
The answer is simple
They wanted a boy"
duane hall May 2019
The predator was hungry, he was on the prowl
No one would suspect that something was afoul
Could it be he was abused as a young  child
Or maybe as he grew his brain became defiled
He wasn't on the radar, he didn't fit the profile
He could melt a young girl's heart with his boyish smile
But behind his façade and his mask of deception
He expertly concealed  his incurable infection
His brain's on fire,  he's  got snakes in his head
If you fall for his treachery you're gonna wind up dead
It's not just the young women who are his only prey
It's the relatives and friends that deal with the tragedy
How does society deal with such a deranged psychopath
And the carnage created by his insatiable bloodbath
The death sentence was created precisely for such monsters
This is a matter that should be taken up with Congress
I won't apologize not even a little bit
The Ted Bundy's of this world are psychological ****.
This poem is dedicated to Shannon and Diane(s)  Three local girls who died at the hands of a local serial killer.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2016
A minyan is an assembly of ten Jews.  With ten present, the group can perform a fuller service, adding congregational prayers that an individual alone cannot say, and in heaven, received, as if from a 
more powerful, unified voice.

~~~
Satan laughing with delight at the happy news,
unusually proud of his soul-retrieving,
red state minions,
having scored late in the '16 season,
a long awaited prize,
a high priest of music, a hallelujah singer
just come  cross the borderline,
once a mere earth bound legend,
now to be mockingly enjoyed
in this, his legendary peculiar tier of heaven
~
a banner year it was, a cornucopia of new arrivals,
singers, songwriters, composers, conductors, rock 'n rollers,
itinerant blues musicians,
who as a rule, were not the most faithful observers
of the Ten Commandments and its host of detailed relatives
~
body and drug abusers,
of traditional morals, not such big users,
and as for their *** lives,
best not discussed in front of the baby devils,
just quite yet
~
all this made for easy "pluckings,"
as he smiled devilishly, his own ironic sense of humor,
an added delight for the new American Pie
that would forever serenade him henceforth
~
indeed this Leo-nine most new arrival,
intensifies the pleasure,
for deep in this one had waxed the god-spark,
his own fractured demise,
now allowing the cracks of light to be closing,
lessening by an immeasurable fraction
the despised joy to the world
-
then a raucous rustling heard,
a voice unseen but siren penetratingly heard proclaiming:

**** you Satan,
this time you've gone too far!

return unto me them all,
for you have overstepped the boundaries I have constructed
when birthed I the universe so long ago

these children, mine,
for though they were not perfect in their lives,
they perfected ever so much my designs,
the world I granted them,
with their music, voice and hands,
absolving them of all their sins

Surrender to me them all!

my Prince,
my lion, Cohen, high priest of my temple,
my haggard and worn Merle,
the greyed and Frey'd eagle, Glenn,
Natalie, daughter of the Earth King of Cole,
my rose of Sharon Jones,
my Emerson and my Lake,
Leon Russell,
my white bearded russet
who wrote 'A Song For You,'
the Duchess, Patty,
my Bobby Vee,
the first ro see
'the night has a thousand eyes,'
Frank Sinatra Jr., his fathers torch bearer,
my David, my right arm, my Bowie knife carrier,
who fell from heaven and needs returning unto me,
mine own Kanter, Jeffersonian pilot of my Airplane,
my Michael, George,
my Martin, George,
who never sang a word
but gifted us some Beatles,
My black and White Maurice,
who reignited the Earth, with Wind and Fire

all these mine and all the musicians of this year,
they have died, but not their music,
now to join my heavenly chorus,
my musicians' minyan
Second of a trilogy, but the first one posted,
about Leonard Cohen

Kohen or cohen (or kohain; Hebrew: כֹּהֵן‎, "priest", pl. כֹּהֲנִים‎ kohanim) is the Hebrew word for priest used colloquially in reference to the Aaronic priesthood. Jewish kohanim are traditionally believed and halakhically required to be of direct patrilineal descent from the biblical Aaron. The term is colloquially used in Orthodox Judaism in reference to modern day descendants of Aharon, brother of Moses.

Among the few remaining responsibility of a cohen today is the chanting of the priestly  blessing in the synagogue on high holy days in a special tune, instantly recognizable  by every Jew.   When the  Jewish priest chants the blessing, the Spirit of God is presumed to become present in the synagogue, and all bow their heads, fathers cover their children's eyes, lest one witness  god's image. Ironically, the special way that a cohen extends his arms and holds his fingers in a V  shape, was borrowed by another Canadian Jew, Leonard Nimoy, as inspiration for Spock's  greeting.

see en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing

see
//jewcy.com/jewish-arts-and-culture/leonard-nimoy-vulcan-salute-yiddish
Phiness Guzman Mar 2014
Every time all we do is wonder,
Why do death even gets into our life.
But think of this and do a quick ponder..
..about giving away and the life afterlife
But death isn't as horrible as it looks

Have I but a very serious disease,
And nobody have yet found my cure
Which possibly makes tomorrow I be deceased
But my death is not what I lived for
And "Live like you're dying" I read from a book

Parents, teachers, friends and relatives
All circle up my bed and give looks of sympathy
But I needed their faces in a smiling positive
Not their pity and little empathy

And with happy faces I see them
It will feel like home
And dying for me will be an ecstasy
For even at my last breathes I made them happy

So please smile for me and everybody
For every death there will be a newborn baby.

                                                     | p . p |
posted this at poemish.com 7 months ago. Look at what my young and lonely mind had written. Look. At. It.
I am so often offended
By the brokenness of men
So let's resume the music
Clueless of the evidence
Of our improbable evolution
Mention my name to the same old songs
We are stronger now than we were then
Are we to blame for the way we came here
Standing on our innocence
Lest we defy the painter’s faith
The same old shapes are whispering again
That I am the sound that never gets found
And how can we be proud of our too loud relatives
Whenever jilted lovers become our mothers
In their pain and their nakedness
We forget ourselves completely
Logan Robertson May 2017
A Rogue Mind Attacks Manchester


A rogue mind descends on a village square
ravishing it's children without a prayer.
Birds of peace gather and fight the fire
on it's wings rest hopes, civility inspires.

Up in the sky clouds weep at the mass loss
of young ones taken early in bearing the cross.
From this World, the descendants left in pain,
relatives and love ones befallen, crying in vain.

It hurts me to see the breadbasket of life
filled with ISIS and terrorist inciting strife.
For the seeds they plant grab at our hearts,
such devilish intertwines taking our lives apart.

How I wish a drone peaks into their yellow skies,
taking them all out, like an eye for an eye.
Maybe so that's the solution for their pillage,
so, now, the World be tighter than the Olympic villages.

Logan Robertson

5/24/17
Steve Nov 2019
There’s good days
And there’s bad days
Then there’s days -
That’s relative.
There’s good relatives
And there’s bad relatives
Then there’s Dave -
That’s sensitive.
There’s good sense
And there’s nonsense
Then there’s scents -
That’s  cognitive.
We’re all bubbles
From different pipes
At first we fly
And we don’t get high
At worst we burst
And the stain remains
At best we nest
And the stars invest.
William A Poppen Mar 2018
Tonight is a cluster of
Recognitions, remembrances
Mostly reminiscence
Which sift in the breeze
Gusting beneath the temporary
Tarpaulin tent

Backs are slapped
Arms embraced
Smiles predominate
As shiny faces and gleaming  foreheads
Illuminated by flashing cameras
Twinkle like fireflies displaying
In a muggy June meadow

Photos pulled from stained
Billfolds move from hand to hand
Displaying glossies of babies, graduations
Weddings and “The big catch”

Relatives, friends and officials
Find their place on folded metal chairs
For a wedding ceremony

Tonight has become a gathering
Marriage planned for tonight
DivineDao Apr 2016
Choral and gospel babe's reciting a poetry
in a modern way. She is a choclate griotto
wrapped up in a southern comfort gown.

He guessed her amazingly hot origin from musicality in her velvety dark mane, in her ****, humming womanly voice. Appealing much as her bountyful body.

The excellerating vocal interpretation gaudied the lingering air surrendering to those poetic sounds coming from her to us, over and over again. If you want! Reciting some of the longer Jim's poems. In a dark room, remembered, spoken, where the cardinal curtains were shading the late afternoon beams. To get the genuine gut feeling ~ that"s something marvelously mysterious ~ as poetry ~ per se ~ is reeling all around. Having the great impact on the listeners.
               In another room across the Atlantic, just about few seconds before he saw her; quite an awkward idea have popped up : how identity unmistakebly identifies with the one-self in relation to relatives according to the grand relativity theory blurring a lot who's who among ancestor's honey glued lineage ... sprited like a helium baloon taken off the ground, up, having fun in the wide open bolstering from one white puffy figure grown out of the wildest indigo and cerulean heaven deeply falling in the prodigal fractalistic mannierisms dancing through the ultimate void as franticly beautiful Shakti having a blast with her Primordial man. Shiva the Creator ! Who poured, burnt and purred the poem's punctuation points into the poet's heart, tongue, soul and sprinkled them in between insightful words on the vintage parchment.
            Calligraphy images painted delicately in black ink on and have succesfully enhanced the artistically written haiku poems. In a book of poetry of another Author. From the land of sushi, robots and hi-tech dreams. The differece of being a straightforward contemporary creator to the one who sits silently under cherry blossoms beauty. Accepting the roots, harsh cosy tree trunk, breathing winds and the revolutions, sanities and insanities of mad Sun eruptions, spots and freckles on cute girls marching into the bright light, day after night, might after fight. The Inward diving.

Abstract phenomena. Silences. Was it any good!? Life has thought me about the cunning words. Happy random words like kiss, miss, beau, slurp, ice-cream delight, giggles, wonderful smiles, cherry lips, cherish your beloved ~ dear darling ~ la lingua. But please, never say that I should love difficult, occult words as purge, purgatory, creteins etc.  
                   Swear, baby - if you want it! ****! sweet *****! Move your hips, pointilists would point your *******, and made a swooshing swing, gladly tightening the narrow silky ropes around those fabulous moving hills.
                 What's the point of this poem!? Finding the existentialist in Finnland drinking a deliciously innocent yoghurt. Crashing into a Canadian household having the burglar tools pined up to your belt, not knowing about the utmost honesty of   the  open  doors  and  hospitability. Surfing on effervescent waves along Seyshelles, being outsmarted by a slick dolphin taking your gigantic wave. Transcending from a cop to a couplet master.

Poetic friends! Being a poet is *****! A total ******! A ***** Wonka going ballistic! A postcard from hell send through transgression, transforming living cosmic beams and  biiii bi bips. . . . Reaching beyond the larva and a cocoon stage.
I am. Stars we admire. Stars we praise. Stars who aspire. The union. The Bellevue. Be bop was kinda cool. Was not my thing... Be blogs. Be brave. Bear. Beer. Be on. Neon. Liberty.
Strange Musings Upon Many Begotten Realms
Ben McDermott Dec 2015
It's that time of year again,
the time we all know is coming,
and start thinking about the weather changes,
to frosty mornings and amber trees.

After a day of feasting,
avoiding questions from nosy relatives,
the nipping wind sends a chilling reminder,
that the time is almost here.

It's the night before,
everyone's eaten and
we rush off to bed,
but some can't sleep,
and stay up late into the night,
trying to find a hint of what's coming.

Then the next day comes,
where everyone wakes up,
and rushes down.

They shovel down their breakfast,
and check their bags to make sure they have everything,
then it's time for the surprise.

The surprise everyone has been waiting for,
everyone anxiously waiting,
with an eerie silence that hangs like a dense fog,
only broken by the sounds of paper being flipped around.

Some go through it quickly,
while others take their time.
When they finish,
there are shouts of joy and happiness.

And once it's all over,
everyone sleeps and relaxes.

The time has past,
until the end of the next semester.
Big Virge Jul 2014
I've Been TRULY SURPRISED ... !!!
In Fact ... " MESMERISED " ....... !!!!
  
By The ... Volume of People ...  
Who Tell Themselves Lies ... !!!
  
These Acts I Believe ...
Give Liars ... " Relief " ...  
  
But Liars Are FOOLS ...
Who Simply ... AREN'T Cool ... !!!
  
And People Like These ...  
Know NOT What They Do ... ?!?
  
In Fact That's NOT TRUE ... !!!!
  
But Does Give You Some Clues ...
On Why These FAKE People ...
Don't Have ... SHINY Shoes ... !!!  
  
They Walk In A Mire ...
of .... " Liars for Hire " ....  
  
They Claim The Good Life ...
But Are NOT Richard Briers ... ?!?
  
They DO ...  
Make Me Laugh ... !!!
  
But They AIN'T Richard Pryor ... !!!!  
  
Their ... " Devilish Ways " ...
Will Earn Them ... " HELLS' FIRE " ... !!!!
  
This Thing Has NO COLOUR ... !!!
  
A Liar's ... A LIAR ... !!!!!
  
But That ISN'T ME ... !!!
Try ... Tapping My Wire ... !!!
  
"IT ISN'T JUST WHITES !
YES BLACKS DO IT TOO !"
  
To Think It's One Culture ...
Is Really .... " NOT COOL " .... !!!
  
DON'T BE  ... " A Fool " ... !!!
  
You're Lying To ... YOU ... !?!
  
To Think That ... " Your Creed " ..
Has Always Been ... " True " ...
  
It's Time To Move On ...
And Give You Some Proof ...  
That ... Loved Ones You Have ...
May Just ... TAINT Your View ... !!!
  
Those Who You Feel ...  
Would NOT ... Lie To You ...  
  
Does Your Family ... ?
Have A ... GENUINE Crew ... ?!?
  
Or Do You Have Relatives ... ?
Being .... UNTRUE ... ?!? ...
  
Who ... Travel Through Time ...
WITHOUT ... " Doctor Who " ... !!!
  
Their Ship Is UNStabLE ...  
Their Life Is .... " A Fable " ....
Kind of Like Guys ...
Who Sell ... " DODGY CABLE " ... !!!
  
Yeah ... Funny I Know ...
But ... Who's At YOUR Table ... ?!?
  
ROCKING ... Your Cradle ... !?!
  
I'll ... Give You A Choice ....
These Two ... Cain or Abel ... ???
  
Marriage Is Something ...
To Give You ... MORE Clues ...  
  
That ... LOVE Is A Word ...  
That ... GOOD LIARS Use ... !!!!!
  
DON'T ... Get It Confused ...  
This ... LOVE Thing's ABUSED ...  
By Liars Who ... USE It ...
To Get Some ... NEW Shoes ... !!!
  
It's Money ... You See ...
That Gives Liars GLEE ... !!!
  
Emotions Get Played With ...
Right To ... " Pregnancy " ... !!!  
  
LOVE Is A ... GREAT THING ... !!!!
  
When Given For FREE ... !!!!!
  
But MANY Now USE IT ...
To ... Fulfil Their Greed ...  
  
Just Look At Divorce Rates ...
Or ... Watch Your TV ...
  
I Really ... DON'T Care ...
If You ... Don't Want To See ... !!!!!
  
THE TRUTH Is This Simple ...  
  
It's .... REALITY .... !!!!!
  
We All May ... Fall Victim ...  
of Those Who Proceed ...
To ..."Hide Who They Are" ...
Behind LIES ... That They Feed ...
  
They're ... LYING To You ...
And ... LYING To Me ... !!!
  
Some of These People ...
.... Recite Poetry .... !!!
  
Some of These People ...
Are Rappers ... BELIEVE ... !!!
  
They Really Don't Know ... ?
What It Is To ... " Emcee " ... ?
  
This Is A MASTER ...
of .... " Ceremonies " ....  
  
These Are TRUE POETS ...
Like ..... " Talib Kweli " .....  
  
or Maybe THIS NAME ... ?
  
The Brother ... " Big V " ... ?!?
Or A Guy Called ... BIG VIRGE ... !?!
  
Okay I Mean .... ME .... !!!!!
  
A Man Who Speaks TRUTH ...
In This Here .... " Poetry " ....  
  
I DON'T Want To Be ...
Above ... Humility ... !!!!!!
  
I Just Want To See ...
More ... TRUE Poetry ...  
  
That SHUNS Foolish Pride ...  
And Liars Who Feed ...
On ... " Poetic Liars " ...
  
These ... " Fictional Writers " ...
Just Write For THEMSELVES ...  
To Earn A .... " FAST BUCK " ....  
From .... " Media Wealth " ....
  
PLEASE OPEN Your Eyes ...  
  
Let TRUTH Be Your Guide ...
Cos' It Really AIN'T Wise ...  
To Have A ... FAKE Guise ... !!!!!  
  
REMEMBER This Poem ....
  
... " Don't Tell Yourself Lies !!! " ...
The path to denial is lying to oneself, it's not good for yours, or, society's health ....
Next page