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message 1: by Amy (new)

Amy (AmyKing) | 567 comments Mod
Want your words to reach 7 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, Tara McDaniel, 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 7 million people!

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

** Please refrain from critiquing the contest entries - this is not a workshop thread.

Good luck & please post your best work!


Amy King
¡Poetry! Moderator

message 2: by Polly (new)

Polly | 3 comments A Minute

When I call her Mom,
she asks “who’s Mom?”
“You are my Mom” I say.

She does not recall last week.
I brought her favorite
double-dark chocolate brownie,
watched her eat.

Sometimes she forgets
my name.

The gift is this minute,
one entire minute,
together, free
just to be.

She exclaims,
like a sea-faring explorer
who has just sighted land,
“I can’t believe it, you are here!”

Now, here,
is all there is,
all there ever was,
finally enough.

Drifting into an afternoon nap,
she whispers
“It is so nice to have someone
here with me,
there really isn’t anyone else.”

Was there ever

Her honesty cuts
the space between us,
it silents my voice.

I fight an insatiable hunger
for air.

Now, within her silent slumber,
she is free of other times,
forgotten unrequited dreams.

But how can I live
without hope of relief -
from my pain – if only
for a minute or more.

Can I let it go?

message 3: by Denis (new)

Denis | 3 comments Not Long Ago
Looking back
I realize not long ago
my life was about rain, wind, grass,
and milky cows looking at the stars
under a cloudy sky

and a bit later

was about me
searching for stars
while closing my eyes
hearing only your breath.

All these things happened
not long ago.

message 4: by Chloe (new)

Chloe (MagnetawanGirl) | 1 comments A First Love Thought True

He sits in his seat,
With a smile on his face.
But I know the truth,
How his smile is a fake.

For this young man,
With very little to say,
Has lost his first love.
His true pride, and grace.

He wonders why,
It had to be him.
Why his true love,
Has flown like the wind.

For when he came home,
To his small little cottage,
A note was left,
With his name on it.

He read the note,
As tears sprung in his eyes.
His love had left him.
So he sat down and cried.

For days he was sad,
With sorrow building in his soul.
He didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t know where to go.

As he read the note one night,
Something strange happened.
He didn’t cry.

He put on a smile,
And left his house.
It had been so long,
He needed to get out.

So he went to a dear friends,
And they talked up a storm.
But still, he sat there,
With a fake smile on his face.

message 5: by [deleted user] (new)

You were there for me from beginning to end
Protecting me and the times we spent

You're value is greater than a thousand dimes
Accepting me with my flaws and crimes

Someone who could always read my eyes
Never did I have to show any cries

A person who knew me inside-out
Loving me without any hatred or doubt

You were my shield to every sword
I was your support praying to lord

We weren't related biologically
But our hearts were connected truly

It was destiny who brought us together
But life's torture to separate us forever

Our destinations are different too
Though my heart still beats for you

This world is a small place with bitter roses
Serving us poisonous medication in false doses

Don’t you ever get fooled in these traps
Cause I’m here for you with the right maps

I know our souls have suffered a lot
But survival on our memories is all we've got

Don’t you ever forget that I’ll always be waiting
We’re Forever Bound and nothing can get us breaking

Fatima Zahraa

This poem is dedicated to all the living relationships out there.

message 6: by Nicholas (new)

Nicholas Tan | 5 comments Nostalgia

Sing the songs of lovers past,
Of hearts once joined as one.
Dream the days of summers last,
Of swims in the midday sun.
Fit the frames of childhood glassed,
Of smiles and guileless fun.
Mount the moulds of friendships cast,
Of bonds and secrets spun.

Brush the bounds of attics’ dust
From books and trinkets bought.
Scrape the scales of crimsoned rust
From golds and victories wrought.
Sniff the scents of kitchens’ must
From grandma’s spices stored.
Flick the flakes of old paint’s crust
From papa’s sailboat moored.

But lovers past and friendships cast
Are ties that bind, not shackle.
And summers last and childhood glassed
Are times that pass, not settle.
So dust the dust and unrust the rust
And recall how it all begun.
But live your life for the future vast,
For the deeds of memories are done.

-Nick Tan

Author’s note: The rhyming scheme was constructed with the British accent in mind. Specifically, the “a” in words like “past” and “last” should sound like “ah”. The words “rust” and “vast” should therefore rhyme fairly closely with each other.

message 7: by Ray (new)

Ray | 5 comments TAILS

For the lynx, a bob,
a wooly stub above the anus
shaking off the snow
on a winter slope.

Studs and mares
in the southern, dust corrals
stand and fly their hairy flags,
dropping dung,
swatting off the gnats
and clouds of flies.

And dogs?
Thickened whips
tucking under hairless bellies,
curling over, standing sideways,
wagging out a figure-eight
of love.

For us,
nothing more
than a coccyx finger,
hook-like, pointing down,
in an X-ray.

But think about
the monkeys,
chattering bands,
traveling prehensile
through canopies
of shade and broken light,

the crocodiles
waving easily through silt
and lilies in the steamy bogs,

kangaroos leaning back,

beavers, slapping mud
on piles of birch and alder,

scorpions – the arc-sting
coiled overhead,

and vanishing back
along the evolutionary line,

pollywogs in
reproductive cream,

countless tiny trillions,

wriggling upstream
in search of eggs.

-- Ray DiZazzo

message 8: by Jeff (new)

Jeff Buehlow (jbbugz) | 6 comments What Do You Love?

An erotic aroma embraces the air as the heat lingers alerting my senses.
Classical aria tranquilize the tenor, as the caressing breeze drifts across our naked bodies,
Illuminating sweet passions in the air.
I am suspended into motionless stupor, trying to identify unacquainted sensations that begin with the heart.
It shatters into a vibrant array of colors’ without permitting trespass.
Must I surrender to it?
But as the romantic splendor prevails, I instantly fall upon the realism, that I must reach for you.
To touch your hard body only once, forever knowing the truth, that at that moment, I am in love with you.


message 9: by Lennox (last edited Dec 24, 2012 10:50AM) (new)

Lennox Jones | 7 comments Moonlight lays upon you,
as you sleep -
surveying, almost
And I wonder
if I could ever
touch you
as soft as
the moon does?
Wake you
without invitation,
to do all the things,
the moon cannot.

-Lennox Jones-

message 10: by Christine (new)

Christine Standing On Barren Land
By: Christine McFarlane

I stand on a barren expanse of land
The buildings and houses are sparse
Country as far as the eyes can see

The skies are gray
The ground cold to the touch
The wind bites at my cheeks

This place is supposed to be home
Because this is where my mom
Lives and breathes

To me this land is foreign.
Everything unfamiliar
As I navigate my way around
Trying to feel at ease

But feeling the quickening
Of my breath
And my heart pounding

There’s sadness
I can’t quite define

I just know
That right now
I stand on a barren expanse of land
Unfamiliar to me

I will be back in the city

But for now
I’ll pray to the Creator
For my mom and me

That we’ll be fine
And finally free
Of the past that haunts us
And makes us afraid to be

message 11: by Kayla (new)

Kayla Fioravanti (KaylaFioravanti) Koyaanaskatsi
(out of balance)

tiny toe steps on a time line
that is overcrowded
and unconscious.

tipping tripping
lost in a crowd
carried along by the moment
so fast no one sees the loss.

growing cities burying
the earth’s breath,
crumble in a stretch of mantle and crust.

city lights go on and off,
harnessed rivers run the city,
dry the bed.
feet pounding pavement
eroding cement slower than the sands

tiny toe steps
on a time line
that is out of balance
and killing time.

Kayla Fioravanti

message 12: by Woolfie (new)

Woolfie Silverbane (Nightlightknight) | 7 comments Which Was

I don't hear your name any more
Lips frozen on the cusp of a dream
My thoughts don't dance any more
heart impaled on the steel of a scream
Memories flicker fade and fall
like dusty forgotten wings all folded
The air around me waits for your call
I lie in the shape our love once moulded
Here now, stagnant are my tears
fallen stale into a pool of pity
I grow intimate with my fears
My cage is myself, in this prison city
Like a broken rudder you let me drift
Like a stifled light you're dark
Left me with nothing now to shift
Gone now, that which was my spark.

Ross Bauer

message 13: by Ashlie (new)

Ashlie Carlson (isarealgirl) Excalibur, Callandor, Needle

Day breaks
With a merciless clash that is not just steel on steel
But wills to live colliding.
Mortality is palpable
And it rests in empty sheaths at the hip
so the men can feel its weight.
“Men” is used loosely —
at least half of them have yet to grow beards
on their blemished faces, and the anticipation
in their eyes makes plain the fact
that it is not this day itself most prominent on their minds,
but the idea of recounting this day
to the auburn-haired serving maid two towns over
in the hopes that the pseudo-glory they achieve
might earn them another first.
The other half are those who know better,
whose hands are calloused and sure
and whose mail does its best to hide the evidence
of close calls best thought about under different circumstances,
or not at all.
They do not get to choose their partners.
They dance furiously with whomever is nearest them,
regardless of ability,
to a medley of feverish cries, wrathful crashes,
and the labored gulping of air,
but they hear none of it.
Hidden amongst the trees behind them,
Death taps his foot to the beat and waits patiently
for the opportune time to cut in.
A chance presents itself before long.

A man — one deserving of the title — with graying, oily hair
lunges toward a child whose instincts are commendable.
The child is terrified, but his maneuvers are fierce,
and that is all that counts.
Others drop around them, but they pay no heed.
The stakes are high in this game,
and they are the only two players who matter.
An ill-placed rock snags the boy’s foot as he skips backward,
and for a solitary moment, he falters.
That moment is all that it takes.
Within it, the seasoned fighter recognizes victory,
and he drives thirsty metal onward through yielding flesh
until the boy recognizes it too.
Consciousness begins to seep from his gut,
warm, thick, almost pleasant.
He falls to his side, his hands pressed
to the sticky, rust-colored lesion
as if to keep his life from flowing out
once it has already been invited to leave.
Darkness swims before his eyes, but he can still make out the shape
of the man who bested him,
a man who, outside of his armor,
might have kissed the brow of this child and lingered to see his spirit off.
Inside it, though, he cannot spare a second glance.
He whirls away to engage another,
acutely aware that with one misstep, it might have been he who never rose.

I, sovereign of the modern convenience, share in that awareness.
I raptly watch the scene unfold
from decades upon decades away,
sitting regally atop my mass-manufactured suede throne
and digging my fingernails into the arms
where the fabric has begun wearing thin.
Not least among my luxuries is the certain knowledge
that the anxious breath I am holding in
will not be my last. I let it escape
and change the channel,
suddenly quite bitter that the closest I'll ever come to that,
the grisly pinnacle of exhilaration,
is walking down a dark alley in the dead of night
on the grimy side of town.

message 14: by Stephanie (new)

Stephanie Fidis (stephaniekfidis) | 5 comments “The Thing That Gets Me”
Love is not all roses and chocolate hearts.
It is definitely not the perfect mood music at the end of a movie.
There is no wind blowing or rain falling or camera circling the perfect kiss.
Love is a mess.
It is selfish and self-centered.
Love has no compassion for the plight of the heartbroken.
Love is always late and incredibly fickle.
It is always one step behind everyone else.
Love comes knocking on your heart at all the wrong times.
Love means wanting what we cannot have and feeling guilty for it.
It abandons anyone who is looking for it and those who truly need it.
If someone in love is not in pain, then he is not in love.
Love is depression and eating Magnum bars in the dark.
It makes us sick to our stomachs and achy all over.
It can be either the best thing or the worst thing to ever happen.
Is there really someone out there for everyone?

message 15: by Julie (last edited Dec 03, 2012 08:07PM) (new)

Julie Maclean | 10 comments axolotyl

in my melancholy baggage
there’s a dead dog a dead dad
a dead friend or two

a first love gone to fat
too many feuds a la Cab Sav

silver dance shoes
with a broken buckle

a black velvet dress for a boy
who danced a sore throat away

mum with a tongue sharp as a paper cut
a cream plastic lamb on a Xmas tree

one stillborn burning at my uncle’s farm
and the walking fish outside the Bio Lab

speared by Cousins with his compass
stopped in its placid tracks
minding its own business

message 16: by Barbara (new)

Barbara | 3 comments The Wheaton Exhibit
The west we know is not as far west
as we can go. The west we know lies
flat and low unto the far high hills.

Great gray sage grows alone in the dry
earth until men circle and square water
into a summer’s golden grain and grass.

In the distant serene space, winter rain reveals
its stony bones, black, silent, eternally still under
a hawk’s quiet flight unseen beyond the far west rim.

message 17: by Jordan (new)

Jordan Gray | 12 comments

check all that apply

wasn't i mesmerizing captivating
bewitching ensnaring?

do check all that apply

weren't you entrancing hypnotizing
enthralling anesthetizing?

those were the qualities i spotted with my mind's eye

yet we soon found ourselves trying desperately to avoid talk of them
luckily subterfuge is not acquainted with my pen
when i write i speak of who what where why and when
without thought to consequence without nod to hesitance
without care for evasiveness without regard for elusiveness
without plan for de-escalation without strategy for withdrawal

was she more than what i first appeared?
a long cool drink in a vast hot desert?
a body built solely for pleasure?
a worthy partner unable to be defined or measured?

i can't imagine you would have fallen for anything less
i am certain she was forced to earn your transgression
but isn't that what seductresses do best?

there's no need to ask after my accomplice in sin
i assure you he did not lack a single charm or talisman
from the onset i understood i would be born again
when he pinned me with his narrow hips
ordained me with his thick wet lips
enveloped me with his bull-broad shoulders
baptized me with his artist's smoulder

as with you for me only the highest quality would do
and now you know
revenge whether served hot or cold will run you through

our energies if properly channeled
might accomplish greater feats
if we cast aside our idolatries
committed ourselves in form and name
i know i for one am sick of our endless games

there is more to our limbs
than the weights we choose to fashion
then wrap them heavily in

there is more to our drive
than thoughtless interrogation
followed by bitter avengement

don't you want to change what can be changed?
don't you long to accept what can be accepted?
don't you wish you were able to tell the difference?

i hunger for serenity outside of prayer
i crave unbroken dreams and kinder stares
i am haunted by a thirst for respite from the evil lair
i've fashioned from disappointment's shadow and the rage found there

don't you want to turn over a new leaf?
don't you long to experience an emotion other than grief?
don't you wish to bathe in the pool of cosmic relief?

if we could start over would you take my hand?
if we were able to repair would you make amends?
if we were able to construct would you build with me
a higher purpose a better being?

with what might i tempt your minstrel's heart?
how might i convince you from the start
we are better together not apart?

might i once more mesmerize your greedy nature?
if committed might i captivate your wandering intrigue?
how might i bewitch your psyche to hold only thoughts of purity?
can you be ensnared by my choicer qualities?
tied to a greater devotion so we might earn our places pay our heed?

if i concentrate you will shine once more
i'll be anesthetized and hypnotized like before
entranced and enthralled i'll wash up on your shore
ready to start anew prepared to restore
aching to build a life and relinquish the war

regardless of your response i must confess
whether this is hello again or our last goodbye
i still cherish the qualities i first spotted with my mind's eye

what is your answer lover?
please check all that apply

message 18: by Gregory (new)

Gregory Booker (goodreadscomgreg_booker) | 13 comments "Yellow Rose For Lisa"

So the day has come
and another year has passed.
To love the life you've run
That the Lord has caused it to last
and learning from each of all the years
as God has given so gracefully
Your forty ticks on the clock
is no to be measured hastily
For you are where he wants you to be
even after all the years
and even after all the tears.
For in your God did you not still believe
and while waiting so expectantly
You have given him thanks without hesitancy.
And so a yellow rose shall be given unto thee
For the brightness of his glory
in you of which I am blessed to see.
So from this friend do I proclaim
That God has a present in your name
And as I am by this birthday driven
To hope for that which in your heart shall be given
That your faith may be rewarded soon
By the gift of a yellow rose set to bloom.

by Gregory Booker
A birthday poem for a good friend at 40 years.

message 19: by Michael (new)

Michael | 7 comments Moths

We hold our Armageddon close.

Examine the deaths of others

to see our own.

Thousands daily die

in their sleep, or at war

with some enemy.

I walked outside

to smoke one cigarette.

A black moth flew at my shirt

as if I were the light of glory.

message 20: by Maddie (new)

Maddie | 21 comments “Long Distance Love”
Long Distance Love
Each day I check my emails waiting for that one email from you
Each day I check the calendar to see how much longer I will be waiting for you
Each day I daydream of seeing you
Each night you frequent my dreams
You are my long distance lover
This long distance love in which we share
This is how much I care__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
-Maddison Smith

message 21: by Amit (new)

Amit Herlekar (amitherlekar) | 5 comments Your Presence

I start my day with a warm greeting from you
That ignites my zeal to make boredom bid adieu
I long for you when I don't see you around
When this gloomy day is letting me down

I hardly know a thing about you
Yet I feel I know a lot about you
This eternal bond is built not in a day
But I feel we met only yesterday

I wonder why you are special to me
And how you never fail to make me smile
However hard the times may be
You make my heart dance with some style

The vibe you create is so magical
It takes me to a wonderland far away
The words you talk are so whimsical
The smile on my face never fades away

When your presence seizes my mind
It leaves all my annoying trifles far behind
Feeling the surge of joy inside me
I wonder if I ever have any misery

Why didn't I find you before?
Where have you been hiding all along?
You entered my life like an angel I yearned for
To keep me happily accompanied lifelong


This poem is composed and published in my blog at:

message 22: by Jack (new)

Jack Bowman (jackgbowman) | 91 comments Hard Perceptions

Reflect glass
forgotten memories,
some for breakthrough, calcite surface,
he lets go, knows the bite is soon to come
has already been snapped at... twice

plan of escape,
yet, lets some tangibles in
feels fear
lets it sit

then pass on.

message 23: by Carl (new)

Carl | 3 comments The little voice

I was standing in my bedroom
just about to get into my bed
when came a tiny little voice
as i listened this is what he said

Hey yall! you can't see me
but i wanted you to know
that i'm up here in heaven
and my father loves me so

My mama didn't want me
so she went to this place
where thay did an abortion
and it took my life away

I don't think she loved me
cause i don't have a name
but Jesus said...i love you
and then an angel came

She took me up to heaven
so i could run and play
with all the other children
that obortion took away

Wish i could see my mama
to ask her why she didn't care
althought she didn't love me
i'm still her cross to bare...

As i just stood there listening
the little voice continued on
Jesus said your not to worry
he'll bring the lost ones home

c w s

message 24: by Christos (new)

Christos Tsiailis (christosrodoullatsiailis) | 7 comments My Fig Tree Don’t Let Me Go.

“Where is your soul, now, my Queen, my fig tree?
Where your eyes?
Are your roots still there, rotten, proud and grey,
the hair of fate upside-down in dismay?
Where could this soul be flying?
Could she be in your seeds?
Inside your offspring?”

My Fig Tree won’t let me go.
I say this in certainty
for the little fig tree plants are still growing
among the wild bushes behind houses,
a treat for a look,
a tree and a hook you can never escape.
-not that it would let go anyway -

Which yards are you now shading with your million silver-green palms?
Which children are you feeding with your sumptuous fruit?
Your holy empire,
the priests, your followers.
If I dig now where you retire
and find the thirty pills I never took down,
what says you, if I do so,
and all the full quantity take
with a single swallow
and a pint of fine ouzo?
-you know, once I heard an ancient Greek call out “OU ZO!” -
I watched as he wisely fell from his own Queen Fig Tree,
and I saw him die right there
with splashed ripe figs under his smashed corpse.
Green figs smirking with red slashes
are still falling on his shattered chest bones.

“So tell me, Eternal Lady,
If I swallow them pills,
still dive from up there
and dance with your falling flesh,
Will it be over, will I be free?”

message 25: by Jenny (last edited Dec 03, 2012 09:25PM) (new)

Jenny (aldersoj40hotmailcom) | 59 comments The Rabbi's Daughter

There’s a sweet and sad anecdote
of which a Yiddish writer wrote
which involved a girl’s martyrdom
a rabbi’s daughter taken numb
by a mob filled with angry hate
as she had resisted a fate
of infamy in marriage to
a handsome youth who was no Jew
for he was dissolute in spite
of being charming at first sight.

But when he asked to marry her
she spoke with force of character,
“Your attention is flattering;
but I can’t take a Christian ring.”
She knew his reputation of
the seduction with words of love
the sweetest innocents there were
of non-Jewish girls just like her.

Spurned, he sought a crooked priest;
a mob rose like the great, foul beast
that Christian scriptures predict will
come intending to kill his fill.
The youth still hoped to marry her
for although she knew him a cur
her spirit hung like a sharpened knife
in between here and the next life.

“What is your final request, dear?”
he whispered into the girl’s ear.

“Give me,” she hesitated, “Two.
A pincushion with needles to
keep my skirts down from billowing
like a loaf of home cooked bread ring
as though they contain cooking yeast
and as I die let me face east—
to holy Jerusalem where
my final words to God I swear.”

The request was filled, the deed done
her last words were “My Lord is One.”
These words haunt vicious men who thrilled
to gathering here so they’d build
a funeral pyre burning her
and granting no one disinter
the Lord’s Name’s sanctification
the Kiddush Ha-Shem one to shun
to the great multitudes but loved
by the God whom she also loved.

For earthly lust was not for her;
the beauty plucked like the pale fur
of pussy willows in the wild
picked because chosen as a child
who can be tarnished in old age
as blossoming in childhood’s stage
for she as perfection right then
could not have improved any when
she grew from unsurpassed faith
to becoming a martyred wraith
who the world certainly will miss
as receiving the Divine Kiss.

message 26: by James (new)

James Hutchings (jameshutchings) The prettiest girl in the school
will be forty this coming September
and she can't be as kind as she is in your mind
or as beautiful as you remember.

You've lived and you've had a career
and you've mastered divorcing and dating
but you feel like you've been an eternal sixteen
hanging close by the telephone, waiting.

message 27: by Ravi (new)

Ravi | 5 comments Manga-Bangalore
by Ravi Chandra
Nov 2nd, 2012

The world beats in Bangalore;
My young girl cousins love Subway and Anime,
And spout Japanese phrases,
Cowboy Bebop their lingua manga.
Like children everywhere,
they complain their parents don’t understand them.
Like children everywhere,
they are inventing their own language
and creating identities that don’t hew
to the shape of an ancient, but timeworn, culture.
The call of India seems in part a din,
Something to wrestle with as much as love.

Growing up is always a struggle;
escape, always on the mind.
So Naruto, One Piece, Fairy Tail and K-On
give them homes when Bharat’s four walls
can’t hold their spacious souls -
Homes for the heroines they yearn to be -
the heroines they are.
They carry their own compasses,
unknown to parents, class, or clan.
They want to go to peace,
but they travel through war,
I have hope their journey
won’t suffocate.
Their hearts beat universal time,
and they need to breathe.

message 28: by Fons (new)

Fons (fonsverhoef) | 35 comments January Lane, by Fons Verhoef

Today smelt of winter. Crisp,
like the thinnest film of ice on that little pond down the road.
And I imagine distant quacks and titters of ducks and coots
secretly ice-skating when no one else watches. I want to be there.
I want to throw breadcrumbs, starting a frenzy,
like we once did every Wednesday afternoon.
The saddle of my bicycle crackles with the first
frost and the worn, leather handlebars mildly sting
my hands now silently asking for gloves.
The neighbour’s cat is sleeping in the winter sun,
melting on the windowsill, her syrupy tail slowly
drooping towards the floor. It’s winter, I yell, alive with cold.
But the furry tea cosy purrs only in her sleep. I don’t envy her, not any more.
A bright yellow football skitters across the street in a game
I no longer remember. A bundle of boys in hot pursuit, their breaths a
vapour as steam from a train. A little girl tries to keep
up, red-nosed and with a pair of mittens
dangling wildly
from her sleeves
like marionettes dressed for a snow fight.
I start whistling bars of Penny Lane but quickly break
into song soon carried away by wind tasting of snow as I cycle on.
Pond in sight and winter ahead, I look back once more.
Home, I think as an icy gust brings tears to my eyes.

message 29: by Vincent (new)

Vincent Lowry (vlowry) | 50 comments Father & Son

We took an afternoon walk together
the weekend after we gave thanks,
the autumn foliage drifting down
like a rainbow of giant snowflakes
from the shedding maples.

Some moments you asked me to stop
and recognize the picture in your hand,
a golden blossom as small as a quarter,
or one of fall’s crimson gifts,
a fiery leaf that colored our paved trail.

It wasn’t long before I turned
the eye of the camera on us,
father and son,
hand in hand,
just our shadows.

The most striking part of that picture
is our gaze, and I hope it always remains
that way as more seasons drift past us:
you looking up at me,
no matter how tall your shadow grows.

message 30: by Kripi (new)

Kripi Grey | 1 comments Blind Title

Blue screens are for replacement,
Bus rides are ebony

Grey leather death
Mermaid hair will

Flesh fixations seem like a lie
Untanglers of my wire

Porous lips are calling
The beginning of winter
The end of the yellow reign
Middle color rain

Depression is equality
Religion is irony

Brain contour travel
Let me catalyse your anatomy

Rescue mission from
Olfactory assault
Visual default
And a selective auditory tyranny

The answers of the universe
Can be found between warm hands
And lost braided hair

Woollen shawls are living after
Artificial time lapse travel

message 31: by Ram (new)

Ram Pradhan | 24 comments Heart break

It breaks my heart, said my heart
To see you two apart
She was made for you and you for her
Why did you two depart
You knew it then, you know it now
I would beat for her somehow
Why didnt you try some more
when your life walked out of the door
Did "buts" and  "ifs" seal your lips
or pride hold you to ransom ?
The answer, I said, that explains the slips,
"I was simply not that HANDSOME" !!

message 32: by Dave (new)

Dave | 382 comments Checkpoint

Lurching, they bluster - ghouls into the chasm.

Fierce lava, blowing, nullifies their fall
And dissipates harsh gravity's concussion,
Forces a seething screen of phoenix cowardice,
Leaping to swell
Into a fresh, mendacious crust,
Tripping and throttling the led
Into a smear upon pure metamorphic beauty.

The skeleton's jaws yawn apart;
A stranded mountaineer was frozen
At his prime pinnacle,
Denied warm, compromised decay;
A calcium landmark now, but broken loose;
A boulder never neutral
To those in fear.

One gouged and bored -
New Sisyphus, with ever-sinking aspiration
For no stress, no fall -
For him the indefatigable light
Breathes limbo silicosis.

Can they combine? Eternity transcends the cheap ideal
Of mutual obliteration.

A mountaineer trapped in a submarine,
A miner in a satellite,
A megalomaniac performing his own precious lobotomy
Hoping the abolished question mark
Can keep things safe and solid.

Purgation's smudged when bound to fire,
Denied release from fizzy process,
And even air can clog and sludge
The ultimate suction of life's syllables
Into fatuous pinprick stars,

No line can break full circle.

David Russell

message 33: by Donny (new)

Donny Safranek | 2 comments "Mary"

In January I met Mary
Walking on the moors.

I asked her where she trod, and she
Said “I intend to see the sea.”
I said “So do my dog and me”
And captured Mary’s gaze.

And so we chose to walk together,
Fumbling blindly through the heather,
Until we saw a seagull’s feather,
And sat down by the waves.

In February I asked Mary
‘Bout the weight she carried.

She hemmed and hawed, but hardly tarried,
Said that she had never married,
Said that if I ever wearied,
We could part our ways.

The tale she told was full of woe.
Her body sagged, her head hung low,
But her eyes! – They had a kindling glow
That set my soul ablaze.

By March the warmth began to creep
Into the corners of our sleep,
And Mary dozed without a peep
As long as I was there.

I watched in silence as she’d sigh,
Decided that I’d rather die
Than live a life where she and I
Weren’t meant to be a pair.

But April rode on swaths of rain,
And in her eyes - Those eyes! - the pain
Of demons sprouting up again,
That stabbed her to the core.

And so I squeezed her hand in mine,
Our fingers locked and intertwined.
I held her close, enrobed, enshrined,
‘Til Mary cried no more.

Then May, sweet May, on breath of flowers!
Sunshine came and quelled the showers,
And Mary saw those dreaded powers
Simply were not there.

And thusly did we idle, lazy
Springtime memories soft and hazy.
We embraced. I plucked a daisy,
And stuck it in her hair.

My little flower.
My life.
My boon.
It was beneath a yellow moon
That we were wed in sultry June
Amongst the waves and sand.

Her eyes, they sparkled on that night,
All full with that same precious light,
Endowing fancy ’pon my flight
When I took Mary’s hand.

July we passed in throes of love,
Soaring on wings of bliss above
Those who pined with envy of
The journey we’d embarked.

But there was something in the way
That vanished ‘neath the light of day,
Yet stalked and hunted when she lay
Alone in silent dark.

In August, then, against her will,
Mary got prescribed a pill
That calmed her down and made her still
Against her inner war.

I brushed her hair and rubbed her back,
And watched alone through midnight’s black,
Expecting that veneer to crack,
But Mary cried no more.

September came without a hint
Of any wayward incident
And so we packed our things and went
To weekend at the shore.

And near that beach where first we met
I said I’d gladly place a bet
That we would make it through this yet
Despite the weight she bore.

With fading warmth upon the sand,
Mary, tender, stroked my hand,
And said that she had never planned
To love a person more.

All was well and right, but then
October came and cold crept in,
Through creaking bones and dimpling skin
And the demons I thought squashed again
Raised up their thorny heads.

And so it was I spied her walking
Through the garden softly talking
Quietly yet soundly mocking
The blossoms that lay dead.

The stench of death hung in the air
‘Twas in November she did share
The fullest breadth of her despair
Which made my blood go cold.

With horror, then, I realized
The fire I’d loved in Mary’s eyes
Was not the light that I so prized
It was a glow
From deep inside
The hell within her soul.

December, I remember thee
With spiteful animosity
And hope that I shall never see
Your bitter cold once more.

For while we tried to pass those days
And fumble blind through snowy haze
She fell into a deep malaise
And Mary cried…
“No more!”

I found her bathed in steamy mist
With crimson furrows down her wrist
I screamed her name and slammed my fist
Upon the wooden door.

As “Auld Lang Syne” rang through the air,
And footsteps echoed on the stair,
I ran my fingers through her hair,
I checked her eyes…
And found them bare…
And Mary cried no more.

message 34: by Rahima (new)

Rahima Yasin | 97 comments Goodbye!

Nightingales singing deep in night
Two lovers sitting side by side
Tears rolling down their eyes
Their passion so high, time sighs

Saying goodbyes turns aloof
Clinging each other is all they do
Wishing upon a shooting star
That this was all not true

Every breath he takes
Is a blessing her way
Her grace, for him,
It forever stays! 

Captured by her twinkling beauty
And hypnotising smiles, 
Grabs her hand and whispers
She laughs and blithes

But the time draws near
The night grows old
They have to let go
And breach their hold

Love is thy, air is dry
Eyes water, they shudder
Distances grow, bonds break
Despair and pain, ensnared!

message 35: by Philomel (new)

Philomel chowdhury | 1 comments Lights,sound and action

She looked into his eyes
trying to find the truth
she already knew the truth,
it was her first time
and from there began her journey...

Now she knows the game well,
she sells her products
and she know what sells high.

Mornings;the market is usually down
sometimes the first timers come by
they are never hard nuts to crack.

Ah! it's only the nights...
dressed she stands
sometimes holding a cigarette
between her touched up lips.
Red...the colour of passion,
psychedellic lights
and I just watch
I am a passerby
who sees her everyday
and she looks into my eyes
and smile
a smile half senile...

message 36: by Philippa (new)

Philippa (Philippa-poet) | 19 comments Ergo...

If you bequeath me all your dreams unspent
that had their birth beneath the sheeted sky
Once dressed in music, they went penitent
through gold and gorse, for you walk solitary.
If I can turn a page within your past
and my slow eye peruse your slow delight
The landscape of your heart has found a mast
to lend perspective to its breadth and height.
I mapped your longing long before you thought
to give account of thirst, or dust or wine;
I laid your blooms of hope amidst the grass of doubt
I spread your pasture, I reseeded time.
What can I know but what I recognise
You are myself and yours are my own eyes.

message 37: by SK (last edited Dec 04, 2012 02:27AM) (new)

SK (SoandSoReads) | 12 comments A PAINTING OF HER LIFE

Heart was wrenched with pain,
Mind is all it takes to explain.
If Ego is hurt in the claim,
Why tear drops have to rain?

Living together was their aim,
Leaving was never a gain.
If alone they both faced the pain,
Why tear drops have to rain?

Running and havoc of life goes again,
Never was it the only thing sane.
If togetherness could not sustain,
Why tear drops have to rain?

Simmering under the burden of pain,
Her eyes looked out of the window pane.
If she knew he will never reclaim,
Why tear drops have to rain?

Setting the sun on the frame,
She painted the picture of her flame.
If nothing could bring about the same,
Why tear drops have to rain?

message 38: by Pepsie (new)

Pepsie (PepsieJ) | 78 comments Stalking Death As A Child 1965

I fought with the rain
And lost,
At five I didn't know I was the hunter
Sitting on the stoop
I was the prey
Or so I thought
Until my golden winged friend
Never came, never cared
to even say Hello
Ignored this mud haired girl
Crooked teeth and crooked smile
And oh, had I waited!
Wet, in my flannels with the pink roses
I picked them for my shroud
Something to hide my homely horse face
Something to catch the tears from my sad mother's eyes

When at last I could sleep in the box made for me.

message 39: by Arthur (new)


For Whitney Houston
Wayward ways are in us all,
Home is where we're bounded.
In prayer we find our piece and peace,
Time is love, that's founded.
Never to be forgotten
Every note you knit octaves
Yesteryears, can not be paved.

By:Arthur C. Ford,Sr.,poet

BIO-SKETCH OF Arthur C. Ford,Sr.,poet

Arthur C. Ford,Sr. was born and bred in New Orleans,LA. He earned a Bachelor
of Science Degree from Southern University in New Orleans,studied creative
writing and was a member of the Drama Society. He has visited 45 states in America
and resided for two years in Brussels,Belgium(Europe).
Recently he spent 30 days doing missionary work and travelling throughout the
country of India.
Mr. Ford currently resides in Pittsburgh,PA.,where he continues to write, edit and
publish poetry and prose.

message 40: by William (new)

William Robertson (goodreadscombillro) | 97 comments THE LOVE MACHINE

The love machine. . .plug her in. . .
synthetic smile. . .synthetic hair. . .
plastic lips. . .rubber thighs. . .
she makes no excuses. . .why should you. . .
does everything. . .a real woman can. . .
better. . .feel her smooth dancing belly. . .
smooth and firm and rubber. . .
close your eyes. . .you'll soon forget. . .
her state. . .you'll reach the climax. . .
just the same. . .she won't cry out in pain. . .
but you might. . .why you might forget. . .
to disconnect her. . .become her slave?

William P. Robertson

message 41: by Dave (new)

Dave Higgins (DaveHiggins) | 5 comments Leaves Fall - A Waka

Brown leaves fall on grass
Decay spreads across my sight
My work rendered naught

The dog is in the compost
At least it saves me mulching

message 42: by Justa335 (new)

Justa335 | 4 comments It is cold outside your door where I stand.

I try to see the warmth through your window,

But there is only an empty fireplace

And ashes where once a fire was aglow.

Did it burn itself out, unattended

By a thoughtless heart who could not care less?

Or did you not want to light it yourself

For winter would be a more welcome guest?

message 43: by M (last edited Dec 13, 2012 02:55PM) (new)

M | 1656 comments The Old Municipal Pool

The boards of the bathhouse are rotten,
deep in leaves the pool’s cracked floor.
The town has changed and has forgotten.
Broken steps of iron ore
lead to a jungle of huge vines,
some hanging from a rusting tower
like a schoolgirl’s doodled lines.
The air is thick with what’s in flower.

The strange stillness recalls her name,
the empty desk in the next row,
how time had stuck in one scratched frame
now fifteen Decembers ago.
They’d found her dead in the deep water,
beaten, bruises on her throat,
a used-car salesman’s long-haired daughter.
I still have her last love note.

I wander into the green gloom
beneath the canopy of leaves,
as though back into that classroom.
She had worn jeans and flowing sleeves
and turned to me with dreamy smiles,
our steps echoing in the school
as mine do now on ruined tiles
of an enormous swimming pool
the years have left a ghostly place
of rust, a splintered bathhouse door,
in whose shadows there is no trace
of what I had come looking for.

--M. Flynn Ragland

message 44: by Thing Two (last edited Mar 13, 2015 05:01PM) (new)

Thing Two (thingtwo) Mourners

After the funeral, the mourners gathered
under the swaying palms
to sneer at each other,
sharpening fronds and fencing for sport.
Black dresses and ties bonded
these athletes jousting for blood.
They came to settle a score,
to stake a claim, to squash an opponent.
The minister stood to the side
wondering if anyone heard him speak;
he had waved a different frond:

KJR 2012

message 45: by Dayne (new)

Dayne | 2 comments Anniversary

You're a bony, rangy old thing
Asking for love

You go to your desk 
Worry a line, worry a line

Flat- footed, crick in your neck
What a rickety mess

Never think for a second 
I don't want you

Dawn McGuire

message 46: by Fizaah (new)

Fizaah | 2 comments I Wish You Miss Me Too.

I gave you too much pain,
You too broke my heart,
But even when you are no longer a part of my life,
I miss you a lot.

I know I said, I didn't want to see your face,
But I didn't mean it that way,
Why couldn't we both control our angers?
Why couldn’t we just keep quite?

You were my Best Friend, my best pal,
How can a few misunderstandings,
Change our years of friendship,
How can we just not be friends?

Each and every day of my life,
Has been spent being your best friend,
Being there, when you laughed,
Being your shoulder, when you cried.

I was there all throughout college,
And was there when you got your first job,
The way we partied all night for,
Our birthdays and bitched against everyone.

Sorry is what I want to tell you,
But I guess I am not so strong,
I wish you would understand and,
Just forget everything.

I know I miss you,
I just wish you miss me too,
Yours truly and sincerely,
Best Friend.

~Fizaah Faiyaz

message 47: by Linda (new)

Linda Jacobs | 13 comments Distance

The boat rocks.
Birds fly around
eating the chum
my husband
put out.

We sit,
waiting for a tuna
to take our bait.
"I blind the mackerel,"
he says, "because

if they see a tuna
coming, they'll
try to avoid it."
I picture
that fish

doomed to swim
around and around,
go nowhere
and, now, can't
even see

the aqua bubbles,
the sun melting
through the water,
other fish,
and his death.

We are quiet.
"I wish you hadn't
told me that,"
I say through
the lump

in my throat.
He laughs.
I get up
but there is no
place to go.

I need to put distance
between us,
The sun blinds me.
I can't see how
to get

~Linda Jacobs

message 48: by Simon (new)

Simon | 40 comments CHUBASCO


By Simon Vincent

The palm leans forward
Gets its face washed
As each raindrop
Falling, scrubbing,
Pelts the green leaves,
Sets them trembling,
Leaves them laughing
On their boughs-
While gently, gently
The rain moves on.

message 49: by G.c. (new)

G.c. | 7 comments Intimations of Mortality
by GC Smith

My joints complain

Complaints not against
that strong young athlete
who pushed feats of prowess
much beyond endurance limits
but rather against wear of time

My brain falters

It frequently farts
suffering nascent dementia
Irish style, remembering only grudges
while stumbling again to find my own name
and knowing that your name is lost to the ether

My heart speaks

Its murmurs
not pretty poetry
nor deathless prose
but rather coded messages
about time's inexorable march

message 50: by Kapardeli (new)

Kapardeli Eftichia | 29 comments Why.................

Chrysanthemums in stone
still warm from the sun
to grow shoots in the air
roots pierce the stone
dig the dirt and waiting

Similar to light sailing
the color of the fermented nature
Ignore the lonely streets ...
with the scent of the wet soil

Your smile bridge
for me
A calm wind
brings the smell of hot bread
for the hungry
In large streets with fire
tears dry

In small corners of the paper
your hat names pathways numbers
distant states
I met
and trips I made with you

Why, kissing is not eternal
why a hug
my hands were filled with
your hair
border in the world
the hustle, indistinguishable faces
because there .. big your eyes

because the truth about you
with cold hands
I kept the destinies

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