OPEN MIC ARCHIVE
Crossing the Garonne
the bridge strains to rise
above the quais and the river
crosses under my feet
a d i s s e c t i n g serpent of deep momentum
a smell of dark color
sea birds cavort and cut circles in blue
bits of white far above my sphere
i see turrets outline Toulouse
papercuts define the sky
i mount the steep hill wrapped
in a moment in time
by cool green air
i stop on the crest to watch the interplay
of birds and clouds sketching against
surely Mallarmé inscribed his poems here
on this solid backdrop
the stage of our insignificant lives
I am being studied by a spy,
With wise and solemn chocolate eyes.
Various expressions flit across his face
While regarding ME, the subject of the case.
Eyebrows up, eyebrows down,
Ears flip forward to catch each sound.
Head cocked and ready for action
Motivated by my impending reaction.
I smile and motion "Come to me"
The spy bounds forward with graceful ease
Armed only with a wet, licking tongue
That proves more effective than a gun.
He disarms using his furry laughing mug
And then receives my wildly enthusiastic hug.
The spy wins overwhelmingly in this bout
Mission accomplished, over and out.
THERE ISN'T AN UGLY SOUND FROM THE SCISSORS, BUT AS FOR MY WHISTLE
TODAY IS NOT WITH A DOT OF DON'T, WE ONLY HAVE THE APOSTROPHE OF
Daisy's HAIRCUT on the floor being that trail of living of volume
not rejected, reciprocate the perfection of a clip with the clip-clop
after tangles are lopped off to keep the ponytail appropriately.
And a whole new day comes when the towel is taken off, get attached
to the rack like a saddle in a quicker ergonomics to the glamorous...
a typo to this stitch of wanting afraid to exit yet having to heave
in fascination that it goes without you and the remainder has its own
door of courage, the knob a corsage for the course where a dust pan gets
a poem which is padded with the organza exfoliated off organs finding again
blue and white without a blur rippling only around teary eyed shampoos
that can't be rinsed of a dither that turns into dandruff instead of end.
but keep looking at the border and beautiful bob arrives rather than boo.
THE Ghost Of Christmas Yesteryear
Thelma Elizabeth Barkman
Only echo sounds of christmas yesteryear,
as icy winds sweep through christmas trees
once were fully trimmed
like wind swept pages turning back,
happiness was full generous giving
chestnuts roasting, overhead mistletoe hung,
on the fireplace poinsettia sit crimson red
with a toast to the lighted tree
christmas songs of lore being sung
toes tingling crunching sidewalk snow,
fingers stinging the frosty air whips on
though the streets subdued brightness dimmed
warmed in memory of christmas the spell remains,
families more caring more dear
a tower of music on the guitar
Carpolyn Joyce Dutton
infrastructure for where to fit the chorus out of the chairs
and it becomes a swinging of no sorority or fraternity,
the ballad not balled up for the dormitory.
the quads are part of a cheering squad except for a climb down
Not a day goes bye when i don't think When
If or how you'll be back again
When your gone the nights seem long
and the days seem to drag which is oh so wrong
my life seems to stop or sometimes go slow
when i realize how much i love you so
when will you be back will you ever return
will i ever find out and will i ever learn
there are so many words i think of again
the word is not how, if, why but when
a long solo,
the piano man
through a gap
Watching it, wanting it, thinking only of that moment
as I close my eyes and imagine it right in front of me.
Touching it, feeling it, salivating for it; my senses are in turmoil because
it craves for utter fulfillment.
Tasting, biting, licking it as it slides down my chin
The sweet smell of chocolate
Yum! what a delicious sin it is.
MEM0RY IS THE MUSEUM
When does a stone
become a rock? When
does a rock become
We have asked these questions all
our life. And only
now do the answers
ROOM FULL OF VOICES
room full of voices,yet who really hears?
the laughs,the sobs,the chatter..who cares?
room full of voices,one mine, the rest not
conversations of recent and some i've forgot
room full of voices,some high and some low
stories from today and some long ago
room full of voices,talking and singing
happy shouts,joyous jabber and even some crying
room full of voices,all running together
from big and small,from sister to brother
room full of voices,one even belongs to me
so now i use this pen to set that voice free
by Lee Allen
Willing to Lie:
This world thinks my belief if more channels
But don't think of this as a seduction
Cruelly the lives of many sought for violas
But they never came
They moved on.
First you must take off your shoes and give them to me.
They kick yourself barefoot
It makes sense to you only when
You are dreaming awake.
I believe in you
I'd give up my fingernail for you.
I wish you were dead
I wish life could love.
I wish vials could talc.
Office edit favorites must to be
Resources and bashes worlds in hate.
Don't climb on the iguana.
I'm willing to lie.
But not for you.
Tears cried on an idle day in July
were burnt from the tracks of the Phoenix
moving in closer from the sky
They were jagged , yet whimsical
after floating on clouds
and creating runaway train impressions
Circumnavigate if they must by velvets' crush
they began to crystallize upon hitting the sand
turning them into dust
Returning home into the tide
they hitched with the auspicious sailor
waiting for the tempest to give them a ride...
I know this man in a magic chair
He wheels he spins goes everywhere
You quickly see him then he's gone
Like a spinning wheel spinning threads of Gold
He gives a smile and then a wave
A glance that warms your soul
The wheels they spin go round about
Like a gentle wind from the sky
He's off again in his Throne of Glory
His gift from God goes wheeling on
Stop Look and Listen as he passes by
Turning wheels go round and round
Spinning music to his sound
I know this man in the Magic Chair
Do you know his name?
Do you know his name?
THE MAGIC CHAIR
EUFEMIA DEE TATHAM
ALICE'S 210 CAFE
Laughter/curses delivering the night. Words born in steam that rises and
clouds the view of darkness, cups of coffee greeting hunger, living
life on frayed nerves of wit.
Oh I'm still fast and hard and just as mean....somewhere is my fortune but
not in this conversation.
Bits of night peer through the window. Yes you do know who I am
don't you. It is I, living off vapours of steam, sleeping on edges, stepping
on glass; But I'm still fast and hard and just as mean.
Pearl J. Nestor
NOT *once* upon a time-- for more than once--
A Bush was leader, but this time, a dunce,
Who, drunk with power-- better far than booze--
Who, never having won it, couldn't lose,
And having bought the very best support,
A whole news channel, and our highest court,
Put on the suit of fighter flying high
(Though those who only wear it do not die)
And drawling to the world with a grim smirk,
To millions here who couldn't go to work,
Declared, "Mission Accomplished"-- and it's clear
He didn't mean in war, recession, fear,
And not the soldiers who since then have died
(Knowing, Before the fall is chuckling pride),
But rather: his manhood had passed the test,
And Dad had been redeemed-- so damn the rest.
A payoff to the rich, with mud from Karl,
With rabid Rush, O'Reilly's foaming snarl,
He'll, sly as a Fox (evil feel his wrath),
Reach fifty-- fifty-one is fuzzy math.
Meanwhile, they'll wave their flags and wave their guns,
Call "traitor" any who against him runs,
Say God's in George's corner of the ring,
That Democrats will make Saddam our king--
And if one wins? Impeach him for a fling.
We have forgotten.
Only killing what they need
But never more than
People selfishly, foolishly, crush habitats
In place, tall buildings stand, skyscrapers
Ugly, made of steel, reaching to the sky as if to say 'We own this now'
Creating pollution, using electricity
Animals are pushed aside, send to live in whatever there is left of this
Whatever happened to natural beauty?
The sound of clear waters gently rolling
As the scaled salmon leap.
We have forgotten.
We don't remember that animals ruled first,
Embraced us, taught us, but mostly shared love.
Accepted us, rejoiced us, respected us.
We shared the world as brothers and sisters
Reigned together as a family.
But we got more power, and used it against them.
We have forgotten.
But when the dolphin leaps and the bird sings,
When the horse gallops and the lion roars,
They are trying to remind us of the peace,
We must remember, for we have forgotten
The Home Secretary
Oysters twitch on pallid plate.
Purple lips preach words of hate.
Solomon's judgment; divide and screw
those seeking shelter split in two.
Exposing corruption just a stunt.
So what if plod is with the Front.
His pointy hat in all of its glory
The yellow stars and moons consume his robe
And be forewarned, this ain't a love story
For this man, he has changed the whole globe
He mutters gibberish and waves his wand
The pointed is changed to whatever he wants
And thus, he is considered quite beyond
Inviting modern scientists to experience haunts
He has aided many, including great kings
His knowledge of life, gives power to all
Powerful enough to make men grow wings
As holy and as wise as Apostle Paul
His greatness is valued throughout many lands
Stretching from vast oceans to battered sands
In response to something of a question:
from one friend to the next, its just another set of tears to face...
and no distance can disconnect, what we have to give and take
(friends name),as your well aware i still live in orangeville, and i can tell
you i feel the same sense of removal as you do. for all the faces that i
rarely, never see, the only people i seem to know exist on this computer
screen. subtract bertu and kevin from the web, cause i see them
everyday, but i don't even come as close to them as to know who i'm so far
from. whether it be (friends name) for whom i destroyed in a swift
action of hoping to gain something more than a friend, now for how ever many
months have past... i can count the times i've seen her on the fingers of one
hand. and so i crumble, to know that what was happy can never truly
last, cause love it seems takes a cheap shot whenever it feels a need to
laugh. and pain will collide with the train wreck of denial, that to
think everyone who surrounds me has nothing compared to what i constantly am
ashamed to live through. destruction leaves it wake, as the stench of
death remains before it dissipates, while all the while !
those who survived choke on the fumes of breathing to stay alive.
and i'm talking about those that tried to end the pain, but thought only to no
avail, that pain denounces freedom, in restraint it kills its prisoners.
first (friends name), then (friends name)(he didn't want me to tell anyone)
and all those i could only imagine as to no surprise, that suicide would come
easy. friends falling, with my vision spinning, blurred behind the
thought that i'm dreaming. but stuck in this forsaken hell hole, that
i'm only screaming loud enough, to wake the dead. except myself.
no, i stay in my grave, and decay, letting the maggots feast on my brain.
hah! for how i wish to reminisce on all those times before we cried.
for all those times where weed played nothing but a part of a little wholesome
fun, and we talked more than we joked. and your right, abundance of
addiction, craving escape from daily drenches, as nothing solves the blues
like weed for two, but troubled times!
lead to troubled minds. (friends name), i have this intense
and as i write this i have forgotten what i've said but the jist is this:
the love we seek, the pain we need, we cut ourselves to bleed, and need our
friends to heal.
to all those that suffer, we hold on even stronger
to not forget passion defined is the memory of laughter.
i foresee a terrible disease, that prays its hate on those that love
just so it can have its fun. its the terrible laughter we're forced to
and i apologize, for i can offer no comfort, just the words of thoughts that
i've come to live by. and to ease this pain, we can only hope, that who
we know, for who they were, will change nothing of what they are.
friends, those chosen for the bearing of a fate undetermined, but foreseen in
the eyes of the beholder, incase their will starts to break.
to all those that i have loved, i'm afraid i know nothing of its meaning.
as i take for granted all the words i've come to hear, i thought them only as
pity, for i was too afraid of fear, that one day i'd be standing here.
next to you, and next to them, amongst the sea of faces, dead.
Once upon a midnight dreary I sat upon my bed so weary
Sitting on my bed just waiting when suddenly I felt a fright
For nearly I was napping but then came the sound of tapping
Just about to fetch a nap then arrived the tap, tap, tap
All I heard was tap, tap, tap coming from my closet door
Only this and nothing more
Walked up quietly got on the floor and slowly opened the closet door
All there was were stuff just thrown upon my closet ground
I slammed the door and ran back to my bed saying everything’s alright Ned.
Ran back to my bed but sure I was alright
Heard something mutter in the room “I’m here for you now”
Just a voice and nothing more
Creepy as it seems it was all so real if I only I could make it a deal
Underneath the bed sheet covers waiting until my mind shuts down
Then suddenly the voice is there not only one place but everywhere
Tried to think it was only a dream but voices all around crazy as it seemed
The voices say to me I’m going to die
Merely this and nothing more
Fearing the worst shocked as I was really scared of what it does
Waiting and waiting for it to be over until the dawn of sunrise appears
My bed starts to shake side to side I got so scared and then I cried
Crying so much fearing my death today was the worst day of my life
I was about to die from a silly voice
That’s it was and nothing more
Kept saying to this is all so fake wishing I were never awake
The sheets were thrown from over me and then onto the floor
A creature was standing over me that’s all that was there and all I could
The ugliest thing I ever had seen it was all over and on top of me
It opened its mouth and pulled me in
That was the end and nothing more
A BlOOD HOUND'S OATH
The scent of a Women is on the rise
A sweetness that's hard to find, Thoughts linger in my mind
This succulent tasty morsel, its sweet and thick like honey
Flowing like the sea,
I wait in anticipation, Its a need like no other
For this Nectar feeds me, Fills me with such Desire
This Passion, This Lust is like nothing ever before
Its the scent of a Women that takes me there
Time and Time again, I'm always on the prowl
Waiting-Wanting, until the time comes
I will consume her, Leave nothing behind
No tracks of my existence
Just the scent of a Women on my mind.
When Clocks Retreat
Kevin R. Carr
It's over now
that page is turned
reach deep for calm
and walk the wire
to bridge the tic
and span the toc
in twilit dreams
of starlit peaks.
to walk instead
in daybreak hour
and be addressed
on lighted streets
of inner thought
that lie ahead
when clocks retreat
and fear is less
This Messed Up World We Live In
What is this world coming too? Why is life so bad? Why is there so much death
in this world? This world makes me so sad! How long will this world last, for
future generations? We waste time building atomic bombs, to annihilate other
nations. Children are starving living without hope. While their parent are too
busy wasting their money on dope. So many children are forced to live in
the streets, while Bill Gates and Donald Trump live in million dollar suites!
A homeless man begging on Wall Street with only two dollars in his can. what
happened to good will and helping out our fellow man? The President is sitting
in the oval office attempting to establish his power, while terrorists are
taking our own planes and flying them into our towers. We need to make
preparations. We need to be ready and willing, to stop the next Tim Mcvey from
blowing up a Federal building. People sitting in first class sipping on
Champaign, while children in Afghanistan are being bombed by our planes. P!
aren't are too busy and they assume their kids are fine, while their
kids are planning tragedies to follow Columbine! Maybe these kids wouldn't be
trying to build a bomb, if maybe every once in a while they could spend time
with their dad and mom! I don't want my children to grow up not knowing what
peace is! I wanna make this world a better place for the future and my
THE SEVEN ACRE FIELD
There am I
in the seven acre field
where the corn is high
and I lie waiting
my bones are cold
touching the earth
where seeds sown
like me to swell
and spring to life
them plump with
root and cotyledon
life for them
but not for me
what is this death
that sweeps upon me
steals my presence
and is watchful
of those who walk
the earth alive.
Poems copyright ©
designated authors 2004.
Page Copyright © AHApoetry.com 2004.
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