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GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST > PLEASE POST YOUR POEM FOR THE DECEMBER GOODREADS NEWSLETTER CONTEST!

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message 1: by Amy (new)

Amy (AmyKing) | 485 comments Mod
Want your words to reach two and a half million people?

Goodreads and the ¡Poetry! group have partnered to create a contest in order to select a new poem each month for our newsletter.

1. Post your best poem here (*one poem per person*) in this folder (below as a "comment").

2. Goodreads and our three judges, Wendy Babiak, Andrew Haley, and Ruth Bavetta, will select six poems as finalists to be voted on by the Goodreads community.

3. ¡Poetry! group members will vote for the poem they like best (one vote per member). The poem with the most votes will be published in the Goodreads’ newsletter – distributed each month to more than 2.5 million people!

** If you have been a finalist more than three times in a year, you may not enter a poem for one year.

Good luck & please post your best work!

Thanks,

Amy King
¡Poetry! Moderator


message 2: by K (new)

K Anderson I splash the water gently on my face.
But what falls down my cheeks, is hard to tell.
In time, a face, a zest, somehow became
that part of mine will never be the same.

Forgive me when I give for what I love.
Is that not for a fair and truthful fate?
I firmly wish that concord soon will find,
the ones who shared their precious time with mine.

Missteps I made, I’ll make them once again.
Each time more modest, thought not faint of heart.
The thing is just to try make them right.
The message may be vast in what is slight.

I think the trick is in the way we share it.
To leave this haven, safe, within our own.
There lives an ancient art to this endeavor.
Tell me, how did I change you now, forever?

by Karen Anderson


message 3: by Dan (new)

Dan workman's song by Daniel Ambrose

i can smell the bodies burning in
the crematory across the street
and i hope as i inhale
that i am
consuming the dead and immolated

the former-human
carbon particles
waft into our windows
encouraged by the valley’s winds
and settle on our mantles,
shoulders and
eyelashes
     transferring from top to bottom
     (and back again)
     with each blink

i’m never more than a handful of hungry steps
from your breathing body

i can divine:
     we’re whistling as we work away
     in our ragged shacks at our own
     respective pursuits
     patching and planting
     seam-ripping and harvesting
and i’d rather:
     we were watering the garden with your secretions
     and passing silent prayers for the seedlings
     between our glances
     consecrating the soil with our laughter
     and bordering the strawberry patch with feather
     river rocks

oh, who am i kidding?
i’d really rather:
     we were splayed defenseless
     on shagged carpets
     filling you with yards of material
     and slowly retrieving it
     blinding you with scraps of sundress cloth
     and binding you with
     spider’s thread

     we were splayed defenseless
     on mounds of soil
     filling me with beans and peas
     and slowly retrieving them
     blinding me with green sunbeams
     and binding me
     with shrubbery

as we sleep,
we are smoking bodies.
the ash will cover
this whole small town


message 4: by Chella (new)

Chella Courington (chellac) | 6 comments When Berryman Died
by Chella Courington

He left his shoes, scuffed loafers,
on the bridge. A cordovan pair
he could have shed
anywhere: at the university,
beside his desk, under Tate’s coffee table,
at the foot of a lover’s bed.

Every night he thought, tomorrow.
Mornings, he remembered
his suit at the cleaners, his essay
on Marlowe, students waiting
outside his office. January 7
reasons ran dry.

He bathed and trimmed his beard,
put on a new shirt.
In eight degrees he walked
to the bridge.


message 5: by Sherrill (new)

Sherrill Cannon (SherrillCannon) WINTER'S NUPTIALS

Nature's waiting heart now sings
As she prepares to wed her king;
As she puts on with loving care
The lacy bridal gown he brings.

As through the fall he did prepare
To wed the matron cold and bare,
Transforms her to a maid again
And puts snow lilies in her hair.

And thus as it has always been,
Their sacred marriage, God attends;
The promised wedding vows to keep,
While all the world breathes the amen.

For from their union, so complete,
In consummation, earth will reap
The wonders of the seeds they sow
As on their wedding night they sleep.

And in her womb, the embryo
Of infant Spring, protected grows
Beneath the blanket of the snow...
The Winter's wedding gift of snow.

By Sherrill S. Cannon, Author "Santa's Birthday Gift" and "Peter and the Whimper-Whineys"


message 6: by Patty (new)

Patty Apostolides | 12 comments Soul Mate

Is that Sunlight in your eyes
A reflection of your soul,
Or is it caused by
Shades of thought
That like a dove fly
away as I approach -

Dare you reveal your very essence?

Yet I know your thoughts are pure
Like crystal water flowing,
Quenching the curious
Person that I am,
Always wondering who you are -
While your silence beckons

To me like a gentle, soothing dream.

Shades of thought, mixed with gray,
Once depicted rainy days
Now Immune to lonely thoughts
That cannot touch me
As I gather you in my arms -
One moment at a time

And when I look into the mirror
I see you in all your glory -
And the mirror never lies.


Patty Apostolides, 2010


message 7: by Robert (new)

Robert Knox | 4 comments Late October, Berkshire Hills

A new look, sere, bare
Full of all that was passing
The trees? Fortitude


message 8: by Laurie (new)

Laurie Cain | 19 comments Stimulating Package



The economy is down
Our anxiety is high

The lost wealth is a figment
Imagination of greed’s conscience

Stumbling to an all time low
Triggering vast changes

To accommodate an income lack
Necessitating a new look

At how we do things
Because we may be learning

That everything counts
What we do….

What we fail to do
And what we carelessly or thoughtlessly do
Knowingly

Turn it around
Bail yourself out

Pick yourself up
Others will feel the difference.

laurie 3/2009


message 9: by Shane (new)

Shane (Thetaoofchaos) | 10 comments "Dreams That Bend" - by Shane M.

Today, I meet
your obsolescing
hope
like some cavalier appliance, silver polish
and shoveling
my shrill eruption
into the silent
space.

The glimmer of your assemblage,
counting down
each precious scene,
a humming prong, impending
to just twin away
from the last mitosis,
to leave your suitors
with an ivory vestige,

it has no fathom
within me.

I've followed in your weather
like a rusty vane
accusing wind of heresy
and waiting
for the paraffin
to swim apart
from angel-matter
and pour out from your apiaries

(and I've no cup . . . )

But, even as your copulas
are starved for sleep
and your paper lanterns
flare and leap
from their ruinous heights, I cannot leave
this moment
which still sings
of all I know
of you
nor will I seek
a remedy for dreams that bend the vine.


message 10: by Brittney (new)

Brittney i swallowed a bullet.
it slithered through brambles
of noncompliance
ducking through trenches
littered with bones of yore
passed unnoticed
camouflaged with accord
that tangles within the brush
plastered within
waiting for the pistol
to corrupt my mouth
finger caressing the trigger
the day
i swallowed a bullet.


- Brittney Weber, 2010


message 11: by michael (new)

michael onsando (onsando) | 29 comments The Dreamer

I walked through the pathway to my dreams,
Walked past the keepers of the key to the gate,
The gate that separates my dreams from my reality,
Separates what seems from what is meant to be.
I stepped through the gate and exited one realm only to enter another,
Into a different place in which my words are an order,
My thoughts are the only law within which I am bound to follow,
My mind is the scripture and of it alone need i bestow my hallow,
And like an eagle that catches the draft of a wind in its wings I soar,
To the Nether lands in my Neverland and I never land in another land,
But the land within my mind's expanse.
For my thoughts never too far can stray
And yet never too near can stay,
And in this realm of false truths and victorious defeat I reign,
King over all my loyal subjects,
Crown prince of all that I rule as far as the eye can see,
And with this power I decree that all evil from my presence will flee,
The birds of the sky and the beasts of the earth shall roam unperturbed,
And though it may look absurd it will by my word that they live undisturbed,
And as I walk through my kingdom and survey the lengths to which I have expanded,
See the people strive to work for all I have demanded,
The gatekeeper taps my shoulder,
Together we walk down the alley of my mind,
Leaving all my wealth and power behind,
Leaving behind all weight in the words I might have spoken,
Because you see the powerful king has been awoken,
So I walk out the gate and walk down the pathway of my dreams,
And walk to where the truth is just as real it seems.


message 12: by Dee (new)

Dee Martin (DeeMartin) | 8 comments Wolf Run

there's a wolf inside of me
lurking right there
behind the lungs curled
around veins and arteries
woven through sinew and viscera
so deep no surgery will remove
therapy can't heal him away
he wants to write the moon, the dawn
the stars are embedded in his eyes
his fur a lovers caress then a
ragged coarse coating of protection
he longs to be on the tip of
that highest branch - the end
the leaf too small even for the bird to
sing from
wolf wants to perch on
that rock outcropping unreachable
he wants to leap from the cliff and
fling himself to the sea
driving down down deep beyond
the coral reefs and trenches
where pressure bursts the bubble
of wolf's unrepentant howl at
the moon of songs from time
begun and end
wolf would eat the world
spitting out pieces of broken life
and chewing on dreams over and over
and over until nothing is left but the
gristle wolf is angry and claw swipes at
fireflies and bees as though they
could be dashed to the dirt that
keeps his prints and shows me where
he runs in the shadows
wolf sleeps in the cave of memories
that run through your blood and his blood
and the life's blood of history
wanting, longing, rejecting

hush now wolf
sleep in a bed
walk in the world
lock the door and stay hidden
behind skin and heart
and all that is good and
right and held to laws
held to fairness, to gravity
hush now

Dee Martin 2010


message 13: by Edith (last edited Nov 08, 2010 10:29AM) (new)

Edith (rainny4) | 1 comments The Vigil
By Edith D. Nielsen

The silence of a hospital room at 2:00am
Magnified by the drip-drip and click-click of the mechanical umbilical

Background noise filters through the waiting quiet
Mute voices...whirr of air conditioner
Constant drip-drip and click-click of the insidious umbilical

Small form huddled in the bed...chest straining...eyes staring towards
the heavens...searching out the path soon trod
Doesn't hear the drip-drip and click-click of the monotonous umbilical

Baby fine gray hair fanned on the pillow...soft baby skin
Hands swollen...arms bruised...relics of a hard-lost fight of feisty soul frail body
Welcomes the drip-drip and click-click of the pain-relieving umbilical

Memories stirred...bonds renewed
Waiting watchers with the quiet are once again
For the last time...mother son daughter brother sister
Listening to the drip-drip and click of the shared umbilical

Still form...waiting watchers...mid-wives at the rebirth of a finished life
Escorts to the solitary gates with the solace of clasped hands and a kiss
Intruded upon by the drip-drip and click-click of the relentless umbilical.

The night crawls towards the dying hour
Eyelids sag...heards jerk up...afraid to sleep
Check the vital signs...does she hear or know?
and in the waiting there is an orderliness and a dignity in the winding down
Slowly shutting off the drip-drip and click-click of the eternal umbilical.


message 14: by Andrea (new)

Andrea (littleredelf) | 10 comments sweet songs of winter sparrows

her breasts like birds
that shape upturned
he likes to call sparrows
and "stand there by the window"
narrow, profiled shadow
he commands and clothes like cages
open, free him under the gentle press
of birds upon his feathered chest.
kisses for the small of the back
the foreign curve of hip
on your collarbone she perches
purses her lip and before the rest
can come undone
the sparrows take their leave
in December’s twilight sun.

— Andrea Janda


message 15: by Rose (last edited Nov 08, 2010 10:31AM) (new)

Rose Boehm (rosemaryboehm) | 2602 comments Tangents

Reality is but an image in my mind
created by my inclinations.
Where your world ends, does mine begin?
What is the neutral ground on which we meet?
Can love make small of our visions or perhaps
it’s just a temporary truce of desperate need,
seeking respite from solitary walks,
lost in a space of our own perceptions
to which no other mortal has the key?

Where my world’s baleful grey and endless
dark melancholy fills cubic miles of empty heart,
you dance in light-filled glorious joy,
your breath brings colours to a shadow world.
A lark in ecstasy, a bird of paradise,
a nightingale that sings of love and tenderness.

You paint my black a darker shade of bright.
My heart is in your hands - a fearful, breathless bird.
The song I never sang for fear of drowning
in tears I never shed no longer stays unsung:
It can’t resist your smiling eyes, your wonder
at my sadness and the hope you bring.
I always wanted wings.

Where my blue and your yellow meet
a bright green has emerged.
Stay for a while.
We may have birthed a magic space,
a summer field that draws its life
from winter’s death and spring’s exuberance.

As autumn’s gold seeps into the greens of summer,
its brilliant colours cheat the mind that knows,
saddens the soul that can’t deny the signs.

Then winter touches gently but with urgency:
My friend, your summer days are done.
Remember what you’ve seen and don’t forget
that seasons come and go.

Good bye my love. You taught me how to sing.
Although I cannot be a lark, a nightingale,
you gave me voice and words and light
and memory of more than I alone could ever know.


message 16: by Vincent (new)

Vincent Lowry (vlowry) | 46 comments B-Day

The wrapped present, a train set, will make
the shape of a figure eight when the tracks
are snapped together.
And if I divide that double looped number by two, that is the age
you’ve stretched into, my son, on this day and year.
Let us whisk away on that new locomotive,
pretending together on the rails we’ve assembled,
tracing the sign of infinity,
another binary ring that means time without end.
I like that definition.
I know it isn’t true as I see these birthdays swiftly chug by—
passing stuffed bears, popup books, alphabet blocks—
but I can still use my imagination in the same way.
I just need to gather the tracks in my memory,
climb aboard with yesterday’s pictures,
and ride to that land of 2’s, 3’s, and 4’s.
A time without end...


B-Day (c) by Vincent Lowry


message 17: by Matthew (last edited Nov 08, 2010 11:03AM) (new)

Matthew (mephistofalafel) "The Tongue Louse"


In the Gulf of California (also called
the Sea of Cortez) you’ll find the tongue louse.
This parasitic crustacean is small
enough to slip between the gills of a rose
snapper, find the fish’s tongue and grasp
it with six tiny claws, then drink blood
until the tongue dries up and shrivels. Attached
to the exsanguinated stub,
the louse assumes the functions of the tongue.
Otherwise unharmed, the fish (new tongue no less
useful than the old) keeps swimming, while the sun
warms the pangas on the Sea of Cortez
full of fisherfolk all hauling in their nets,
harvesting rose snappers for the market.


message 18: by Sandra (new)

Sandra Thompson Not Far From Home
Grave with Bed as Marker (View 1) near Faunsdale, Alabama
Photographed by William Christenberry, 1965

Mama and the children, the Reverend
with Bible in hand, the sisters,
standing around that old bed the night he passed.
Their prayers a quiet southern wind,
embers warmed the worn walls,
the tomcat he loved curled at his feet.

He died and was born in that bed,
now it marks the grave by the road.
They decided they would bury him there,
his final resting place familiar,
dried wild grass blankets the ground.

If you look closely, you can see vines,
pink and lavender clematis
wound through the iron frame.
The old oak tree grows close to the bed,
a cat purring in its shadow.

Sandra Thompson Gillis


message 19: by Risa (new)

Risa Denenberg (risaden) | 13 comments Days are snowflakes

No two alike, but each the same.
Endless chains of icy H-2-Os
that slake, fade, return as rain,
dissolve in the great sea bath.

The stunt of endlessly recurring seasons
is stale. Death pours our draughts,
shares a swig. Life is a pie crust
that crumbles with its filling.


--Risa Denenberg


message 20: by Debi (new)

Debi increasing fear
and bottled despair
leaves it impossible to hope
impotent to cry
and doubt yields
it's callous shadow

the air is stale
thick and oppressive

the calm before the storm

suddenly the wind arrives
exciting and frightening
stoking the fire

to survive


message 21: by Connie (new)

Connie | 8 comments Bastard Child

You don't know me
but you are part of me
They say I have your brown eyes
and your wide nose
They say I even mimic gestures

I want you to know that
I am me--not you
But I was wondering what you think about
on August 4th--my birthday?
Have you ever thought about me?
Did you ever want to know anything about
that bastard child of yours?

Well, your sperm donation
was really a gift
not to you but to me
Because having to live with "bastard child"
has made me one damn
strong independent woman
No credit to you.


message 22: by John (last edited Nov 08, 2010 11:04AM) (new)

John Macular Degeneration

The leaves in the garden have music written in their veins.
She and I cannot read it but we love it just the same.
Sometimes we sat together waiting for the day to come.
One by one
the stars were gone,
and the garden played for the sun.

The path flows away from our windows. It trickle tinkles through the trees.
The bamboo violin bends and bows, making music of the breeze,
and the jacaranda keeps the time on a thousand-fingered-baton.
The birds are bells,
and the music swells,
and all day it plays on.

The crooked lone pine in the garden sounds a bugle call
and the ground beneath hears crunch crunch crunch where the tough pine needles fall,
and the music of the evening brings to mind my absent friends.
I hear them sing.
It's a curious thing.
It's a music that never ends.

There's the ghost of a dog on the path there, and he wags and barks for fun.
We look at the children's laughter where they played beneath the sun.
Crows and cockatoos rend the air with a trumpet voluntary.
And the lass who said
“I thee wed,”
is still listening here with me.

We are sitting now together listening for long night to come,
listening to the ancient music of the stars, the rain, the sun,
but hearing only lonely echoes of the lives that have touched ours.
The seasons pass.
Nothing lasts.
Our lives were passing showers.


message 23: by Rob (new)

Rob Krabbe (RobKrabbe) | 134 comments We Were Rock and Rollers
Rob Krabbe

At the Troubadour, gassed up for
the two hundred and twenty first show
of the year, one funked up night,
five more in North Hollywood.

Bend a few, see what gives.
“No Smoking!” a good thing,
till we smelled the club in it’s glory.

It was just one more dues-paying gig
and they all smelled like piss and beer.

Forty years of leaking drunks, uncovered
by a popular-but-not-around-here
greater LA ordinance, so my fellows,
“light up” we were pleading
way before happy hour.

Finally, an illegal herbal haze
was spreading in anticipation.
With the traditional mingling
of the herbs, bold cologne and fresh booze,
I pronounced the crowd “ready to ROCK”.

Drummer Dave winked at me,
twirled a hog's leg, and smashed a rim shot
that could have launched the Titanic
right to the deep, and saved the ice for the booze.

Little Bear announced the band.
“Ladies and Gentlemen”...

a deep-pocket zen groove slammed
into my chest like a steady panic attack.
During this yet one more moment
we’ve all been waiting for:

“The Jake Collins Band!”

The room exploded and pulsed like a fresh heart.
I defibrillated and Jack-Horner’d
to the bassman’s corner,
having lived too much life to
play center stage under the hot lights.
We had a young sexy front man for that
and he did aerobics and still slept
well on the bus at night.

I love to watch though, from
the 'best seat in the house' and,
baby, court was in session.

Posers, losers, and rock and rollers
hustling the want-to-be somebodys.
A leather wearing horny C.P.A. smiling behind a
cowboy pimp mask two decades too late.
His toupee flap-jacking to the beat, snapping his fingers
like he used to have some crazy power over women,
as he bobble-headed toward some forty year old
'single girls' at the end of the bar.

Looking damned cool doing it, I’d say,
as surprisingly he came on to cross-dressing Steve;
I guess he figured it out when Steve smiled, and asked
“did we just have a moment?”
Mr. Bad Hair Day couldn’t leave quick enough.

Guitar-man erupted, swirling his blade fast,
high and wide, and cut everyone
in the room, leaving bodies everywhere.
Cool swaying masses of pulsating flesh, reeling
from the opening solo, rhythmically licking the blood
off each other, while singer Jake lays back,
straddles the mike-stand like a forty dollar hooker.

I rif on my bass and drummer Dave kicks into
the deepest pocket ever created by men, and
the foundation for singer Jake’s smokey gravel
voice is in place; appetites are in peak season.

Making love to the microphone, Jake
lays the starving audience down onto
his bed, his gift: each person,
the only one in the room.

Mystic healer slinging a Ten-Penny
Hartford ale and sleazy lyrics
he found on a truck-stop bathroom wall
deep in the heart of the motor city,
back in nineteen-ninety-four.

The old song still does the trick however.
He promises nothing, ever,
but tonight he was a one-audience man.

He tosses lies at the crowd but his eyes
reach out, prying into the loneliness, and
breaking down the work-a-day walls.

The divided sheep and goats melt
into a massive collective soul.
Men, women and in-betweens, hypnotized by
the voice of the son of an alcoholic Midwest druggist,
they became one creed, one race, one people.

Jake eases into his lover, pressing the
first verse slow and easy, deeper, and deeper
all the way in, to the chorus.

A french art student faints and slides to the ground
screaming, lies there panting and wiggling
between boots and heels, trying to catch her breath,
dodging vomit drops and once again
tries to master gravity but fails.

Me, I’m downing a bottle of 26-year-old Scotch.
Bloody wasted that award winning hootch,
chasing a 'bakers' dozen' beers, the blues,
and a random chunk of tooth; I still don’t know
where that came from, but afterwards I took
a long hot shower, and threw out my shoes.

Somehow, right after the third encore,
I woke up in the state of Arizona, getting off a
bus with no identification and
seven dollars in my pocket.

It was at that moment of discovery when
I found the note pinned to my jacket that read
“Write when you find work - like never.”

I laughed because
we were having too good a time
to think about tomorrow.
We were rock and rollers.


message 24: by Anni (new)

Anni | 1 comments A Box of Rain ~ Anni Morris

I can’t remember how long I walked that evening
On charcoal grey streets
Bathed with evening spring rain.
Time had stood still and it had no relevance.
My evening dress bought
With such excitement yesterday
Had now become some bad luck charm
Tear soaked it clung to me feeling my heart ache.
He had said he wanted to discuss something important
I had imagined a tiny velvet box, candle light and champagne
Not the sad eyes, and the “I’m very sorry but”…
My footsteps echoed on neon pavements
My shadow wove in and out of the railings
I can’t remember how long I walked that evening.


message 25: by Jerry (new)

Jerry Whalley (AlchemiA) | 15 comments civil-writes
by jeRRy whaLLey

?what does a Spiritual-Person look-like?
do they dare to look and look and see,
with an essential-self in-epiphany,

are they sloppy-solipsists for-soaking sentimental-reality,
hail'd by Mary everywhere on their pinnacle of doubt,
cross'd in-divinity, individuated against impossible odds,
a magnificent rebellious-angel both within and with-out,
so illuMentated with a fiercely-individual light,
or are they more often under
understood and out-of-sight

do they make meanings so merCuriously aware,
do they wear super-fantastic under-wear,
naked just-there, between their inner-whirl'ds and
outer-airs, expediting creative-destructions negative-space,
a certain semi-someone somewhere
so enthralled with all the rush
at the speed of life
rolling with their body of cycles to
cross the thresh-hold of push and shove
just to make-nice...


message 26: by Caritas (new)

Caritas (caritasd) | 1 comments Ghazal

What purpose lies do serve in this household, your Honor?
The motives vary, if truth be told, your Honor.

Poets and cheaters, alike, laugh at the
"Parsimony, please!" of the cuckold, your Honor

Lies are stories, too. Spun too taut. Pull them.
Snap! Unravelled ends could not be controlled, your Honor.

Where are the lines of innocence drawn? For
our intentions start to fester as we grow old, your Honor.

Simplicity's sake. Brevity is best.
Adorned with excuses. Lies are such gold, your Honor!

Honesty has had its rest. Awake now,
love. Did it hurt when you let the world mold your honor?

God's love can't judge what infidels she's met.
Here, her tongue is the fastest auctioneer. Sold! Your honor.


message 27: by Malia (new)

Malia | 1 comments Bounce

I am not resilient.
Not by definition.

I do not bounce or boomerang.

I used to.
Years ago, when everything from my curls, to my step, bounced.
Drag me through the mud, to a dark place I'd never been?
A diet coke, a viewing of Gone with the Wind, a new skirt
I'd be shiny and new, boomerang.

The smart, the useful, the desired resume their original shape
in an instant.

My elasticity has snapped.
I've distorted into the loathed one who does not spring back.
I am not resilient.
I am here, reprogramming, rewriting as fast as I can.

I now require softer touches, longer naps.
And, isn't there a beauty in this slowing?
I've quit bouncing, long enough to see that your love
is resilient.


message 28: by Stephen (new)

Stephen (boozer) | 138 comments A Standing Ovation


I pull my clothes from the dryer.
Seperate socks from shirts and slacks.
Then I carefully, slowly iron and fold each shirt.
Then I fold the slacks.
Then I grab each pair of socks

and roll them into a little ball.
Colors, shape, texture.
Simplicity surrounds me.

I've accomplished something.
I'm an accomplished person.

I move and marvel at the way space never seems too large
for the smallest task.

The universe applauds.

I'd like to thank the universe and all of my friends
for making this moment possible.


by Stephen Russell


message 29: by r o w a n (new)

r o w a n (thereisnobox) Please Say Please
By: Rowan Byrne

I am the girl
Who is carefree and careless,
Passing each day,
In a vulnerable state.

I am the boy
Who is wicked and lonely,
Searching for love,
Finding naught but cruel hate.

I am the girl
Who believes she’s in love,
Falling into the trap,
Desperately trusting his lies.

I am the boy
Who is cunning and devious,
Winning her quickly,
With one look into her eyes.

I am the girl
Who is confused and unsure.
“Why is he,” I wonder,
“So different from before?”

I am the boy
Who took easy advantage.
Now I desire something;
I will take it by force.

I am the girl
Who is frightened and crying,
Begging the boy
With eyes now full of pain.

I am the boy
Who looks on, feeling nothing;
For though I may hurt her,
I’ve something to gain.

I was the girl
Who was innocent and happy.
And I was the boy
Who was never at ease.

But now I’m the girl
Who is trembling and broken.
And I am the boy
Who never said please.


message 30: by Zak (new)

Zak | 2 comments Trickle

Thunder,
A flash of Light.
Then came down her tears.
Mother Nature.

As I went outside to look;
There he stood,
Drenched.
In love.

A Lightning and thunder.
She danced.
A monsoon.
They kissed.

Trickling on his lips;
The Earth Stood still.
With Mother Nature
In his arms.

She shied away,
He stood in dismay.
She blew a final kiss
And left with that trickle on her lips.

There I stood
With the sun in my eyes.
With nothing more
than sweet scented petrichor.


-Muhammad Zakaria Suleman


message 31: by Mervyn (new)

Mervyn | 3 comments And we were kings
By mervyn cooke

We ate that day with grubby hands
Silken- floured farls straight from the griddle
The earth our table, the sky our roof
The farmer’s wife rough-red and rude

Poured liquid from a billy can
Golden tea fired our belly and strengthened our spine
As we stooped and skimmed and shook the soil
from those golden nuggets
Raped in the virgin furrow

At close of day we bumped along
Tired on the tail end of the tractor trailer
Grasping our crumpled, brown, ten-shilling note
And raced home with field laid bare
Nay not a backward glance
And we were kings for many a day


message 32: by Genesius (new)

Genesius | 4 comments Rainy Morning


The wind comes around once in a while,
In gasps, like it ran from a long way off
And is catching it’s breath before it runs on.
The clouds are perspiring, everything’s sweaty.

I got up to see the sun rise but
It’s been called off. The world is too tired
To show off this morning. Too wrung out
To flash its big gold tooth.


message 33: by Joan (new)

Joan Colby (joancolby) | 777 comments The Quick and the Dead

Promises to call, promises to write
No news, good news assuming you are okay
Because that was what I wanted to believe, needed
To believe. Today, your voice, a few more months to live
If you are lucky or unlucky. Your mother
Also died at 40, you remind me. You want to talk.

I am the one who listens. You are the one who talks.
You have the gift of hands. I am the writer
Who unwove the tapestry of your lost mother
Into an alphabet, a simple bouquet
Of language that bloomed like tulips, suddenly alive
And open. You sat there weeping over threads and needles.

Queen of needles
Keep talking, keep talking, keep talking
As long as you are talking, you’re alive.
The young women we were, writing
Our histories, our names, Joan and Kay,
Blood and bone, sleep and love, daughters, mothers.

You’ve always known how to be motherless.
Boarding school girl learning the art of darning needles
And field hockey. Archery and croquet
A father who kissed the housekeeper and talked
Of a dead woman whose face you borrowed. Writing
This hurts me. It hurts you simply to live.

Two colostomies, tubes in your kidneys, why do you insist on living
Now that pain has become the mother
Who sings you to sleep. Whose finger is writing
On the wall of your flesh. What do you need
That time can still give you? You need to keep talking,
Swallowing breathing saying I am Kay.

It’s okay, it’s okay, but it isn’t okay.
You have cancer of the liver.
Your husband cannot bear this talk
Of empty beds, motherless
Children. Perhaps it is needless
To put these words in writing?

But we were young together, Kay, mothering
Infants making the lives we thought we needed
Over coffee, small talk needlepoint and writing.


message 34: by Lexi (new)

Lexi (theonecalledwhatsername) | 6 comments Untitled Sonnet: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...

Contains a power that is not so mere,
May be as 'fluential as siren's song,
Will crush a dream like daggers to the ear,
And cause a mind to cònsider the wrong.

These spiteful utterances aren't for bet'r,
Their teeth tear us apart by pieces so
We are left wond'ring "Does it really mat'r?
What impact should this person have? Zerò."

Our complex lives are based 'round what is said,
A hidden meaning 'hind each formed bouquet.
Obsessing over what leaves us misled,
This dark focùs leaves us in disarray.

Instead of hate, tricks, and lies, could we wield
A word to change our realm that is unhealed?


message 35: by Cassandra (new)

Cassandra Metamorphosis (Life of a Girl)

I. Cocoon
We struggle in the dark places.
Bones break.
Wings form underneath the skin,
rip through the back.
We transform in the warmth
of a folded leaf -
always in agony,
always quiet.

II. Transition
A tiny light grows.
The dark gives way to the sun
and the wings unfold -
still weak,
still unsure.
Then we move in a new way.
Once we crawled on our bellies,
now we fly above the flowers.

III. Weathered
Our wings are strong for a long time,
but the days are stronger.
We live and let go
and go back to that place of quiet darkness,
only this time,
not in agony.
The wings fold in -
a cocoon of color,
and that is where we say
goodbye.


message 36: by Jamie (new)

Jamie (reyjamiei) | 3 comments Ode To No One
by Jamie Collins

I
Mine eyes opened upon your face
Visions of wonder filled my head
Sending me to your holy place.

Raising my heart from the dead
And reinventing the secrets of love
From the skin it has shed.

And everything exists above
The teaching of a higher learning
And the secrets of a new love.

My heart for your heart is yearning
And I feel it when we are near
Love in my heart is burning

And from the secrets of love, I hear
Love is burning everywhere.

II
Wild winds my love has blown
Into the bowels of darkest night
On wild winds my love has flown

From the dimmest starlight
Into something far below
New feelings take flight

Feelings I thought I’d never know
From the chasms of despair
Only happiness can show

My love needs no repair
Even though I can see
Sometimes life isn’t fair

You live your life for loving me
And I live my life for loving thee.


message 37: by Dennis (new)

Dennis Pennefather | 167 comments A New Clear Light

Flaming missiles, rotting corpses,
death around me is all I see,
Pounds of flesh corrupt the lawyers,
how can justice ever be?
Hear the daywhores denounce the nightwhores,
with vicious words said piously,
Commentate to celebrate,
the deeds of mediocrity.

"Thank God", salvation in religion,
frequent prayer will ease the pain,
A little 'white powder', just a smidgeon,
medicinal to calm my brain,
Medication to chase the bad dreams,
holy elixer, spirit of grain,
Hail the captains of the breweries,
over the sodden long to reign.

Exaltation of the slaughter,
our enemies let's bring to doom,
Let's mutilate each son and daughter,
wrong race and religion, fashioned tomb.
Celebrate the cleansing fire,
turn their existence into ash,
Given souls in instant pyre,
and ours too in nuclear flash!


message 38: by James (new)

James Random Words

errand
chime
crater
eviction
chilli
chaperone
dazzle
fingerprinting
cornmeal
tuxedo

weights chime incessantly
worry burns a crater
burns like fresh chilli
as it travels from tongue to gut
so deep, like a fire that cries
for the cool taste of water

oh, arrogant pride
you dazzle in your tuxedo
then kneel on cornmeal, repent your sins
fingerprinting your soul in the hearts
of those who pray for your eviction

you don’ t require a chaperone
you just need an errand
something to remind you
of the toils of living flesh
of the weights that chime incessantly
of worry that burns one more crater
in the minds of humanity


message 39: by Connie (new)

Connie UNDERSTANDING

In every loss there is a gain,
Or so the sages say,
So, if, in fact it is through pain
That we must make our way,
Then we should welcome, not resist
The tears through which we pay
Our debt from former selfish acts
That illumine today.

It seems the best thing we can do
To minimize our sorrow
Is to live each day to pave the way
For what meets us tomorrow.
To recognize another's plight
And help to ease his load,
Then we need never question
The rightness of OUR road.


ღஜ♥ Kim ♥ღஜ (Ikre8) Eyes Wide Shut by Kim Chase

We walk around daily, blinded by greed and material obsession.
We talk about global warming, and Middle-Eastern oppression.
Yet we fail in our attempt to recognize the struggle.
Our country must learn not to discriminate or hate.
We are a country of diversity from all around the world.
To embrace all ethnicities and immigrants.
To empower gender equality for all.
To eradicate classism and oppressive patriarchy.
To encourage, educate, and expect excellence in all citizens.
We are a "United" country that should be setting the world standard.
However, equality and acceptance for all only applies to the chosen few.
Our eyes are wide shut and ignorance is not bliss.


message 41: by [deleted user] (new)

"DREAMING"

It could’ve been you.
I wanted it to be.
It should’ve been you
Here with me.
I wanted your sounds
Making love to my ears
I wanted your arms,
Quelling my fears.
It would’ve been you,
We could’ve been free.
It should’ve been you,
Here, loving me.
I wanted it to be
I wanted it so bad.
You could’ve been the very best
That I ever had.
It could’ve been you.
It should’ve been me.
Why wasn’t it us?
Why couldn’t it be?
I wanted your touch
It’s driving me mad.
I could’ve been the very best
That you ever had.
It could’ve been.
It would’ve been.
It should’ve been so.

But what could’ve, would’ve, should’ve…

Now.. we’ll never know.


message 42: by Verodarling (new)

Verodarling Melani | 25 comments Reflection

There is silence
Between night and day,
Between the stars and the sea,
Between our bodies.

I don't need words,
Just the light of dawn
To pierce,
To caress,
To reveal,
Until
There is only my smile
Reflected in your eyes.


message 43: by Karen (new)

Karen (farrelldoc) | 1 comments The Package

When I picked you up
I held you close

I cradled you
in my arms
next to my breast

I didn’t want to drop you

Such a small package,
yet so
weighty

I cried
as I carried you
to your car

for your final ride home

No longer
in the driver’s seat

The strongest woman
I’ve ever known

Reduced
to this pitiful package

the remains of the body
that loved my grandfather
and bore my father

reduced to a
paper-wrapped package
of ash

- by Karen Farrell


message 44: by Rich (last edited Nov 08, 2010 03:26PM) (new)

Rich Linder | 3 comments old lions

they surface two
together exhaling
the sound sudden a gust
of wet air as they exit
the harbor old lions
heads up scarred leathery
moving west night
on the left closing in
they wheeze they grunt
oil-smooth
as they disappear


message 45: by Natasha (new)

Natasha | 23 comments An Untitled Season

Verticle.
We.
Scrutinizing the passing
of
the seasons.

I watch the trees.
And I think
We all drink
the same water.
It nourishes
the both of us.
Did you think
our love would be like the evergreen
tree?

Would you constrict it to that?
Never empowering its leaves to blossom in spring
change color in autumn?
Never to let us be beautiful
in all our vulnerability?
Stripped bare?
Ice crystals forming in winter
on our branches?
There is beauty
Even.
In that.
In that
bitter cold.


message 46: by Meghanangier (new)

Meghanangier | 1 comments The Hawk

I met a hawk the other day.
He was perched at the top
Of the great pine tree
In my back yard.
He was thinking intently about something
And so I,
Being the curious thing I am,
Climbed up to see
What he was thinking about.
When I said hello,
I frightened him a bit,
Him being so absorbed in his thoughts,
Almost dreaming,
And he jumped and spread his wings
Ready to fly away.
I cried for him to wait
And told him I didn’t want to hurt him,
Just talk for awhile.
So we sat up on top of the tree
And he told me all about the world
And how it looks from the sky
And I told him how it looks from the ground.


message 47: by Astrid (last edited Nov 08, 2010 04:45PM) (new)

Astrid Reyes (MargoTheWriter) | 1 comments 'This Tale' by Astrid Reyes

Expectations are so real,
Yet what we want comes nowhere near,
Although it's always so near.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so bad.
The pain slowly eating the smile,
The smile hiding in the darkest cave,
The pain ruling like it has no reins.
The town pretends that it's not there,
Pretending to smile every single day;
Every single hour, every single second.
It's fake, it's not real; yet it's always there.
But one day the villagers talked.
Deciding what to do with that monstrous place,
Planning to make smiles, planning to make cakes.
But the smart king didn't want to be chased away,
Thinking he could stop them at any single rate.
They fought and fought,
King Pain advancing in the bloody game.
Almost every smile died away,
Letting pain and misery play ahead.
When the battle was over there was only silence,
Villagers going to back to nothingness.
All of their hope drifting away,
Wondering if Lady Hope would ever come to their aid.
Many, many years after.
Kind Pain found Queen Pain, letting grief take over.
But what they did not know was that,
Inside of the darkest Darkness Forest
There was a small young child.
A child who would sooner or later be called as
"Our Lady Hope"


message 48: by Jess (new)

Jess "I Am Proud"

I am Dido on the funeral pyre
Burn me up and let’s begin it again
Do not risk tarrying with forgiveness
Break the boundaries of the old order
Drop me in the dark red of my own blood
So I may taste life with its iron bite
So I may soak in charred and rotten flesh
Make me glad, the glorified bull in the ring
Who fights to the end with Achilles’ wrath
Who knows the favor of God as it falls
Thus, when I die it will be life who begs
For one last moment linked to my soul
It will be life who swoons with regretting
For he senses real art rushing away
With the flame-eaten air goes true beauty
And death descends to claim what is her right
The one and forgotten mother of joy


message 49: by Patrick (new)

Patrick Dowie | 2 comments Sea of Glass

Where are the words
when a son goes off to war
long the farewell
when a father stays
and a mother cries
a brother says goodbye
and a family

Steels itself
marks each day on a calendar
and counts the emails
as gold in a precious horde

So proud
he walks so tall
in humanities fall
While we wait
slave to the latest news
bound to CNN and BBC and
End of tour

Some nights i pray for peace
yet i would have a sea of glass
from Mecca to Kandahar
for his safe return.

patrick dowie


message 50: by Mandy (new)

Mandy Burbank | 6 comments shouldered

wild man you are
gentle
when you place my calloused soles upon the fragrant debris
softly decaying forest floor and take my hand
wend a path through the ancient evergreens
prickly as we pass
broken bark clinging to my unbound hair we travel
unmeasured distance in this pair
pack of two
watching the broken sky for reminders
we exist within time
separated by light
surrounded by beasts who like we
must hunt to eat
warrior’s son you were born to run
but your two legs are sometimes insufficient
I carry my own weight without worry but at times
a woman tolerates being slung
for there is freedom in letting go
you hold me above gravity I don’t mind
being the eyes in the back of your head
you make me feel weightless and winged
when once I was

grounded


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Books mentioned in this topic

Bootin' About The Bush (other topics)
For the Love of Art (other topics)
Cassie Draws the Universe (other topics)
Coming Home to My Heart: Abuse Victim to Survivor; Inspirations for Inner Peace (other topics)
Embrace the Light: A Woman's Story Through Poetry to Touch Your Heart (other topics)

Authors mentioned in this topic

Rob Krabbe (other topics)
Shermaine Williams (other topics)