Open Mike

OPEN MIC

Imagine that you are sitting at a table in a coffeehouse in the big city. You had come to hear the featured poet read the latest poems and they were good! so right-on and inspiring. The latte cup is empty and the bagel is only crumbs. The announcer with the dumb jokes has just said the mic is now open for poems from the audience. And there you are, weaving between chairs to the front of the room with a paper crackling in your hand. There you are reading your poem and all those people are listening to you. Only later, with the applause still ringing in your ears, when your heart stops pounding even louder can you read over the rest of the poems of the evening, here on your computer. Enjoy!

May & June, 2007

PAINTED LOVE PAINTED by Chris Marello Love painted feathers lost on doves. Painted rooms painted rooms less lovers painted zoos. Piles of leaves drained with wax etched with an axe. It catches the lighting on the glooms and passes the weather with a filter. Let it fly and bring you happy content. Tainted hearts fainting parts it’s all just a mono groove trip down south. All our questions will be answered. A seen from a bar entrance blood and a scar. Words of friends, then forty pounds come crushing down. Lest be friends lets give our gold and watch others take us down. Can’t say it wasn’t fun. The lines out side were very concern and perhaps a little executed. Oooooooowhite American boy has blood on his face and down his hairy well defined chest. The women were eager to help.

WAR Robert G Sullivan III War is hell or so they say it damages the heart and mind. "Be all you can be" was something I didnt find. I wanted to be a hero I longed for a gun in my hands. Yet when the shots were fired I hid my head in the sand. My father too was a man of war he fought for the stars and stripes. Then he was shot by a foe his screams heard in the night. I wanted to be like my father, I wanted to do my best. And I was as I lay there with a bullet in My chest. So war is hell all my friends if you never stopped to wonder. How I know this is true? I lay here six feet under.

Who Are They Neisa Silence The world stops You can hear their cries They run as one Eyes like fire They wait for no one. Free Freedom wispers promises It spreads across the mountains Its thunder is like a heartbeat It waits for no one Hunters They tear them down They put fear in their minds They kill with guns and starvation They wait for no one Who are they They are the free spirits they are the ones forgotten.

Almost-friends Joelle Crystal Willsey Awkward silence Side by side Each waiting for the other To speak the first line Sit and wait Both lacking courage Afraid to say something They think would discourage The other against Being friends They sit stiff Unwilling to bend Each with a wish Each wanting to know But both yet afraid Of what they carry in tow All it takes is a word And maybe a smile To start a something That might last for a while A quiet hello Is a shy beginning But everyone knows As friends, we’re winning -0-

Families Becky Remoy Families get in your hair We didn't ask but they are there A sister who drives us round the bend A brother who won't make amends A Father the type we'd never wed Let alone take to bed A Mother just the epitome Of the person we'll never be And here we are that shining star Wishing every member was the way we are There'd be no hassle, there'd be no fuss If everyone was more like us You can't change them like currency When you're abroad Or skip them like chapters when you get bored You can' t spit them out Coz' you don't like their taste Or flush them down toilets like biological waste You can't turn them off at the switch of a light Or ask for a refund when they don't work right There IS no escape.... there is nothing to do For families are an extension of you. -0- Full Circle joan pond When I hear the peepers I am reminded of when we moved to the ‘country’. Dad said I was going to join the 4-H and someday I was going to have a horse. Well, the only horse I ever rode was at Coney Island. My dad laughed because it would not stop going round and round in circles. I heard the peepers last night and remembered my dad’s laughter . Yes, I’m still waiting for that horse. -0-

-0- HABITS: OXANA strands of silk around my finger twirling round and round. strands of brown caress my palms turning with no sound. a lace of highlights, twisted so keeps bending up and down. it's habit-forming from eight in the morning, to eight o'clock at night. my fingers keep whirling, my hair keeps on twirling it keeps my hands busy till twilight.

MY EULOGY TO AMPHETAMINES 1999 to 2007 we have been a team with no direction home fuelled by innocence eigth years 12 countries 16 cities with you in my belly home never felt far away life charged me pieces of my heart along the way the biggest piece i gave to you its time we say goodbye my dear friend in exchange i took time time gave me the definition of me memories to rely on foundation to build from stories to amaze acceptance for what's to come total trust in life countless sunrises its time we say goodbye my dear friend you know i know your good have to let you go time for dodo ill be back my dear friend when your lonely think of me and how you’re a part of me

I watch the clouds pass by in a world of many colors. A life of many lies and sorrows. Its clear to mea that i'm not the person who i use to be. Full of happiness and rainbows as many people call it, that's who i use to be. Now, everything's different dull and unfulfilling. That's me now since you went up to the clouds, as i stay left behind in a world of many colors.

-0- Fear Crystal Martinuk The little man lives under my bed Peeking out from oblivion to give me a fright He'll bit my toes, he'll eat my feet Mommy please don't turn out the light The boogie man lives in my closet Just awaiting his moment to strike He'll drag me off to his universe Daddy please don't leave tonight The monsters and ghosts are everywhere in here The windows to my deepest soul Mommy,daddy don't close the door I want to wake up hole I sit in fetal position The monsters and ghost swarm near Mommy and daddy left me again So all I have left is fear

The Forgotten Ruth Walters I buried you years ago consciously interring every painful thought beneath the earth. I got on with life hell bent to forget you letting the walls of time grow wide and tall. Then some jerk disturbed the grave. Oh what folly he did make. Now you have arisen and all my ogres too What am I to do? Damn those memories of school!

The Boys of Lough. Terry Collett Over the hills of Lough, The boys go now With their pockets Full of promises; And their heels kicking The dust from their feet, Like fathers pushing away The years shown in their greying hair. Listen. The voices carry. The boys have shouldered The labours of centuries; And now over the hills of Lough They go now, With their caps On their heads And over the brow; Leaving the girls To their maidenhood And the old men Who once climbed The hills, but soon Came back again.

Brilliance of Nature By:Umair Hussain Nature is brilliance in all its forms whether it's the deserts' heat or the lion's roar whether its the flamingo's feet or the apple's core whether its our beautiful teeth or our tiny pores Nature is brilliance in all its forms

-0- She is small, real small but the way she looks at me makes me small For a little one she judges well she knows the things that I know but can't tell For once I want to be undone maybe by her, maybe not could be by anyone she is my baby, my little treasure the reason I am still here why then do I struggle for pleasure She knows, its in her blood she is cut from the same cloth her daddy is a dud.

Barbless Bill Albright The hooks must be barbless No bait other than yarn and feathers Metal disdained by those With feathers and yarn, flies An elite of the fisher folk Seeking to duplicate a hatch Emergers, stoneflies, all Who live minutes of life As food, bait in a cycle of life A glimpse seen as we drift by Eager to impale a first fish, Many, lots upon the Barbless hooks, shaper Than our wits this day Drifting the Lower Sacramento During a Spring rain, feeling As wet as the trout we pursue Destined to be returned, if caught Guaranteed to be released Unlike us who feel similarly Only when drifting that Lower Sacramento.

THE LIGHT Francesca Johnson Heading towards the light The light is running from me. I run faster and faster yet I cannot get closer. My heart needs the light. The light will want me. I am sure of this! I have never been so near, until now. I can smell the warmth and flowers, so sweet! Yet the wind down the tunnel is pushing me back. I fight harder and harder never making progress. More and more distract me from my mission. Will I ever reach this damn light?

Go check out the AHA Archives for more poetry. If you would like to send in your poem to Open Mic. Go to the AHA!POETRY Homepage for new ideas.