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Deb Jones Oct 2017
I raised 3 boys
A kid having kids
Unto them I poured
All my love
I didn't have a mentor
Someone I could emulate
So I made things up
As I went along
Some things I got right
Some things I got wrong
Self help books
Filled my shelves
My boys would mutter
"Mom, got a new book"
When I implemented
Any new rules
My boys are men now
And I have a special bond
With each one of them
The late night calls
That last for hours
The tears they only show me
The heartbreaks I have soothed
The times they wanted me to just listen
The men they have become
I am so proud of every one
They adore me
They laugh at my quirks
They walk by my side with pride
Because I walk by theirs
Feeling the same
They are beautiful in my eyes
And I tell them so every chance
I get
Never will they doubt my love.
I make sure of that!
Deb Jones Jan 4
This is my heartache
To bear witness, to listen
As one of my adult sons
Cries from a heartbreak
Only to me will they cry
As I make soothing noises
Spenser Bennett Mar 2016
Writhing in our fevered sleep.
Sickness twisting our once golden fleece. Losing sight of what it means to believe in this American dream.
Have we become the ******* sons of liberty?
How can we hope to be free from war when there's no peace?
Robert G Page May 2013
by
rgpage

lonely is this life i live
i am the first son of death.
this lonely life he gave to me
when first i drew my breath.

i walk this earth without my kin
for he is in another life.
i live on earth in mortal sin
and leave his world in strife.

even now i see his life
the molten fires of hell.
the darkened heat and cries of fear,
and the devil's laughter as well.

and through the void of time i hear
a voice cry out in anguished vent.
as our father draws so near
“repent dear God, repent.”

for me this life goes oh so fast
at times i have no goal,
but accomplishments will always last
for this brother of mine my soul.
Ash Wilhelm Jul 2018
you say that the zodiac means nothing, but you have not seen the toxinity of two star signs that should have never collided.
a toxic relationship. it begins with their happiness depending on you. your smile fueling their existance into the night and hopes of seeing it in the morning. their aura consisting of depths of neverending black, you drown yourself in. their black swepted hair matching perfectly with their blues eyes of sadness. it continues with your sadness matching yours, two people barely hanging on to the world. you find yourself wondering why you are wasting your time with a 12% chance.
something different
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Inside the great
big global village
not everything is rosy
even a cat knows it
a leaf can sniff it.
The Moon shines
not in every night
nor God promised
always a blue sky.
Still the roses bloom
Cinderella has the lot
the reasons to groom.

The richest among the folks
turns philanthropist in the globe.
The wisest among the men
celebrate the era for it’s
the civilisation at its peak.
Hooray what now triumphs at last
is the wisdom and humanity!

Really? O please tell me?
Not very far, nor for much,
just because some differ in faith
mothers and fathers left in pain.
Not because they are to lose
Rohingyan sun nor the land
beneath their feet but in no time
their sons and daughters
can be put to death into fire
that too before their eyes
before the silent established world!
Robert Ronnow Nov 2017
What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.

Things could get worse
personally and for the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.

The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed,
Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister.

What abundance to fast or feast,
your choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.

So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.

When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Father Jul 2018
Um basically that I'm not crazy that she's being rediculous  and selfish and legit tell me I'm right not dismiss it like oh how about we try and work with her even more then what I just sent u and have her make it even more difficult on me u all think it so easy I get off work at 9 no way I could take him to school and my son will want to see his family at my house not just Legoland everyone always thinking of themselves and **** one day I won't be here and then everyone will see how far I was pushed and how hard. I worked and how hard I tried and when that happens itll be too late because I'll be gone u have ur kids u have ur husband Stephen does everyone has someone I legit am all I have so the only kind of love I get to where I feel like I'm needed is my son he's all I have and what keeps me going but Jesus iv been fighting like a maniac for almost 6 years now to keep him in my life and sacrifice my health my happiness my everything just so I can pay child support and try to get him as much as I'm able outa of pure selfishness no one gets it no one trys to get it everyone is focused on everything else to really see what's going on u have no idea how many times I write my good bye letters to everyone but stop when I get to my son because I legit can't and won't and absolutely refuse to leave him alone with that ***** and that selfish family all he has but Jesus dude I'm not super man I get **** from everyone in every direction and constantly get told and made to feel like I'm hated and everything else when I legit do so much for everyone and care so much about everyone and the one thing I have my happiness is my child my son and I never get to even take him for more than a day and I'm dead tired because I work my *** off to distract myself from my ****** existence and misserey I've been thru hell and back my entire life and I'm stronger because of it but no one understands that my laughter my smiles my jokes my comedy is to distract me and everyone else to the reality that I'm on the verge of death the verge of giving up the verge of loosing hope the verge of saying goodbye to the one thing that deserves so much more than I could give my baby boy my hero my heart my soul my everything my pride and joy how happy I was to find out of his creation and ready I was to bring the beautiful blessing to the world into my life how ready I was to be there and watch the miracle of him every step every laugh every tiny amazing miracle of him growing and learning and I've had all the dreams all the hope  to be there and deserved to be there still deserve to be there and missed so much of his life because of a evil hateful selfish heartless demon that manipulated my mind my actions and my heart and took what strength I had and fed on it with pleasure and sick love for destroying my soul I'm living in hell and the demon that is evil has fed clawed and ****** away my will to the point where I'm just a dim light of what I was born to be and have the potential to be the light is almost out and my little savior my baby boy is left with nothing but a shadow a like a belief that his protector didn't care and wasn't there and the demon will feed him nothing but lies and hate and fill him with nothing but hate and  resentment and confusion and anger until his sweet Innocents vanishes and light starts to dim and left to feel all alone this is as deep as it gets do I share this do I send this questions I am left with do I open up and cry for help scream for help problem is I've been screaming for years and I'm trapped so far into the darkness that no one can see or hear the crys the begging and pleading for it to end save me Help me someone but there's no one just me my miracle and the demon trying to devour what's left of my soul and diminish me from existence and tarnish and manifest itself to become the very image of me and my baby boy will look at me as nothing but the very  demon  that left him without a father as the demon feeds him the darkness I left behind the memory of me will be nothing but a random thought that will be covered up by lies and fear and resentment in my child's eyes because the demon is now me in my child's eyes and that's when the demon wins that's when the demon is finally full not after I'm gone but when the last bit of love or light I leave behind is replaced with itself and my baby boy thinks of me as nothing but the very demon that destroyed me then just maybe then the demon will win cause now the demon is my son's mother the only one there and becomes the hero and I become the demon in his eyes I'm lost I'm afraid I'm alone and begging and pleading for it to change to end to stop in the end if hell is for ever and if I'm in hell and it really is for ever then the only thing I'll be wanting or screaming or hoping is for it to end to stop to cease to exist in the end my enemy is not the demon feeding on my soul it's the never ending pain and suffering the forever the continue the hope the urge to keep going in the end my enemy is time and the only way I can stop time is to take my self out of the equation and the light that is left the life the will to live goes out dies disappears and leaves nothing but a void and darkness like it never existed good bye is close and hope is lost my will is gone nothingness is where I'm headed my little miracle is all that keeps the light inside my soul lit the flame is low and I'm affraid that it won't last or make it
Comment
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Strong beings
Curious beings seeing man weak
Being seen of daughters of man

Curiosity itching lures
Scratches mar the sweat sheen
Leaving tears and blood
Begetting all the monsters of myth
imagined
by  tubal-cain's daughters
Deb Jones Dec 2018
If I had no other way, I’d walk, I’d crawl, I’d run.
And search to the very ends of the earth for you, my precious one…

I gave you life. Your heart beat because of me.
I played music to calm you and rocked you months before you were born

I wanted to teach the ways of the world. In words you understood. I thought it would be very hard to dim your brightness
I loved your spirit. I love it still.

Your spirit is stunted now. That haunts me. I created a perfect child and the world changed you.
I protected you as much as I could. But the world crept in. You grew up. I grew up too.
My child.
Nothing you could ever do would make me turn away from you
You are the home in my heart
The one I return to when my spirit needs solace
I know my boys think I am giddy and quirky
I actually enjoy the labels.
Kevin J Taylor Apr 2018
Do not the mothers and the fathers
of Islam love their daughters, love
their sons, love the children as ye love?
.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
.
Time to be in Tune with my own Best Dad
Much would it take to cause Celebration
Sermons apart, yet Insights I just had
Took me some Yards taped for Inspiration
Rarely such Species can just Understand
The Skirted *** most Males eliminate
Still most Sires force their Sons on Demand
To spout their Seeds for Pride to propagate
If you can recall those Sales-Slips within
How Footed and Devote your Presence was
Tri-Dimed Corporate; Or Sea-Tigers therein
Is just the Greeting Card I'll Love at last.
Senior come hither; In Prime Deposit
Father my Mentor; In Wisdom ask it.
Ashley Chapman Oct 2017
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.

Good, and so you ought.

Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.

Millions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world; know how dead, inside, I feel.

You, yes, you:

Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind in here,
In hair, hear her: har, har, har…

A box of lies...

A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.

The real thing, the men, the women, their animals,
Made in the wild, wild desert, in the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea; now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
This comes from my fascination with Philip K. **** and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. In this, his future dystopian vision, androids are retired, a euphemism for terminated, when they have passed their legal age limit after four years. Humans, us, have by now ruined our environment and become enthralled to a false religion, Mercerism , a fabricated make belief, spun by an actor, Al Jerry. The empathy boxes plunge the followers of Mercerism into a shared virtual hallucination. I was also enthralled by Jude Law in AI by Steven Spielberg who gave what I thought was a mesmerising portrait of a *** robot, the ultimate Lothario and so tragically programmed to flaw.

Earlier this year Mercerism was the theme of The Tunnel, an art collective to which I am a participator, through poetry.

Blade Runner, the film, now Blade Runner 49, is based on this dark interpretation of where we could all be headed.
Anay Contractor Dec 2018
The sons of Hades
Roam the earth with glee
Infecting the minds of men tirelessly

The effect is such
That the earth is ravaged
By the blood, sweat, and tears
Of the millions She nurtured and nourished

The sons of Hades
Sprout up in the annals of the brain
Banishing all the innate consciences of men

Homes become hostile
Streets become sanguine
Buildings become battlefields
Such is the ability of the sons of Hades

The end is nigh
With humanity embroiled in its last battle
But is it one with the conscience
Or the pawns of the sons of Hades

Soon few remain
Hidden in the shadows of dystopia
But the sons of Hades
Will taint the purity of all
Sid Lollan Apr 2018
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines

Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand

and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon

in big pink petals of bloom;

A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
       patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
      the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (


be gentle, though whispering wind)

Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign

      fears,
      as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
      Consume the years between Here and Now;
      Watching from blank perch, among
      the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
      Sing the branches of experience, to wake
      in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
      of waking,

ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—

Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;

                          Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
        and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
        of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
futility fought futurity
     in this moment
        memories!
Sons and
daughters
of my future
walk beside me -
simulacra in a
dreaming sun.

Please, tell me
their names.
Tell me if they
had my coffee
eyes. If they
had your
sweet voice.
Tell me what
you remember -
this reverie
is yours, too -

I fasten my
dreams to you
with the soft
strings of
my marrow.
Left Foot Poet Sep 2017
spend /broke

I am here.  I could spend all my days reading your wires.  I could spend all my nights writhing writing responsa psalms.  
perhaps I do, for after all, I am here  
{~for Mara, Denel, Liz B.; Patty~}

I string fences too, bury birds, insects, living sons, tho just out in the back of my ex-mansion brain. want to write simple, effectively, like you guys, and want to live simple ample effectively. cant cursed, cursed canticle Kant cant.  so the day commences   2000 plus emails chirping read me and I've just arrived, but I do not, bury them in a mass grave with an effective 'delete all,'  not even thinking what might be missed, missed

what happens when u run out of fence, land, good silences, and spending becomes broken? spending, breaking, chicken, egg, simple, too many words, to read, to write, so which will come first?

738am
Liz B.Fledgling

Traci Brimhall
I scare away rabbits stripping the strawberries
in the garden, ripened ovaries reddening
their mouths. You take down the hanging basket
and show it to our son—a nest, secret as a heart,
throbbing between flowers. Look, but don’t touch,
you instruct our son who has already begun
to reach for the black globes of a new bird’s eyes,
wanting to touch the world. To know it.
Disappointed, you say: Common house finch,
as if even banal miracles aren’t still pink
and blind and heaving with life. When the cat
your ex-wife gave you died, I was grateful.
I’d never seen a man grieve like that
for an animal. I held you like a victory,
embarrassed and relieved that this was how
you loved. To the bone of you. To the meat.
And we want the stricken pleasure of intimacy,
so we risk it. We do. Every day we take down
the basket and prove it to our son. Just look
at its rawness, its tenderness, it’s almost flying.
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