Talents Are Abundant Here (The Highlight of Poets Rally Week 28)

Modernity’s Muse:http://dasuntoucha.blogspot.com/2010/09/her-return.html


A. B. Thomas: http://abthomas.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/come-into-my-darkness-2/


700 Miles:http://700miles.wordpress.com/2010/08/31/5bythemoonlight/

five by the moonlight out by our sea
take my hand baby, come sit with me

ONE moment of pause, eyes captivate
consumed by desire and auspicious fate

TWO hands unite, sensual allusion
tangible heat is not an illusion

THREE words spoken, sweet harmony
heart singing out a special delivery

FOUR legs intertwined, vigor increased
summit the peak of passion’s release

FIVE moments to reflect, fortunate delight
together complete forever tonight


Amanda: http://buttercup600.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/musings/

Mystifying love

choices made

her enticing soul

in monologue

a confusing mind

tearing golden threads

from her puzzled heart

pondering when

she’d be filled with glee

time to lift

her lonely spirit

and fill her beating heart

with whispers of hope


in absence

to a cosmos of life



You want me?!

Come get me!

We shout

Who’s loud?

Listen to me,

Not hump on me,

Shout out?

Shut up!

Oh, orgasmic ?

Yeah, wargasmic!



The light through the window

lands on my hands as

words pour into the bright screen

where my feelings  seem to move

from my heart out of my fingernails

simply to prove that I am alive

not only from oxygen but from

the drama of life with its ups and downs

and the yearnings of my soul to be held

not only by adoring arms but by one

who sees me for who I am and needs me to

complete his life’s journey .

I look out the window and the light continues

to come in not only to lay rest upon my hands

but now I feel it inside me filling

me with illumination.



In a day

we go from

awake, present, cheerful

to a place

busy, active, thought-filled

to deep within

overwhelmed, distracted, contemplative

then nowhere

tired, unfocused, zombie

ending up somewhere

unwinding, relaxed, peaceful

in to night



You sit, absorbed in another thick spy intrigue murder mystery political uprising story with just enough sex in it to keep you checking the this-has-all-the-right-ingredients tick box, designating the author as a best seller, stellar tale-teller who makes lots of money writing. His books fill your shelves to prove it.  We had to get rid of some last year to just make room for more.

Meanwhile I reside here on my chair with a fifty-page volume, so slender it could be mistaken for a magazine – if only it was taller, wider and the cover more flimsy than it is now. My book is one of only two that the poet ever published before he died. I need never worry about running out of room for his books or becoming bored with the same shape, plot and characters that, reworked one hundred and one different ways, receive new names and settings in each predictable story.

There you, enmeshed with the pages of your New York Times book-of-the-week, engaged with fast-paced heroes and caricatured characters – thinner than the paper that holds their names – eat cereal and read, oblivious of my thoughts or even aware that I share the table with you, along with the salt, napkins and sugar bowl. I bet my poet would have written about the bowl; how the lid always drops sweet crumbs on the table; how I carefully wipe them up, look at you and smile.


Carolina: http://unprecedentedintellectual.wordpress.com/2010/06/14/my-backyard/

The world is fascinated by my backyard

The hot springs that warm my hot tubs

The Rift Valley my landscape

Mountains galore with and some without caps

Craters with Lakes

The Nile, my aisle

Carries me to Majestic Victoria

Sahara, a desert so vast, to visit is a must

My property line the equator

My household pets, The Big Five

Ellie the elephant, whose majesty is all i want

Simba the lion, who stands for more than Zion

Ray the rhino, looks as if to ask what we know

Hannah the hippo, her swagger stating she knows what we know

Gerald the giraffe, always proper, nature’s butler

Yes I am bragging

Watching your smug air sagging

All the weapons, computers, cars and oil spills galore

Cannot get you my backyard


Imagina:: http://imagina1.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/the-muse-and-the-messenger/

I nearly got accustomed to your sudden visits,

at such odd hours, between waking and dreaming,

In fleeting thoughts, or at the rare moments

When I feel most alive, saturated with life.

I recognize you, Goddess, although you are plainly

Cloaked in a commoner’s robe. You came to me in

Unremarkable things, like the sound of children’s

Laughter, a warm heart of an old friend, kind words

Uttered by strangers, or the cool scented breeze that

Escaped the scorching sun through my window.

At these times, the words flow through me, guided

With the brilliant light of the patron’s torch,

Effortlessly finding their sanctuary in my pages.

At other times, mercilessly you confront me in

Your worst effronteries. You use the not so random

Tragedies: the death of an estranged neighbor, of love

Found and lost, or of halted personal dreams. Sometimes

You took in a colossal scale: the slow annihilation

Of a nation, natural disasters that wiped out an entire

Island, humans crushed by their own frailties into pain

And loss. At unfortunate times like this, I stuttered,

Finding words utterly useless: metaphors inadequate, similes

Contrasted, empty and barren to convey the melancholy

Of life, of the curse of being human, the sheer tragedy of it.

The crushing magnitude of it is paralyzing, while still

I wrestle with the shattering affairs in my own small

Misshapen life, with my own personal trials.

A mere vessel I am,

interpreter of joy and sorrow, a messenger

At best. Ultimately, it is the words that chose me, bound me, and

Dutifully, I surrender to your will, my soul torn with every

Sorrow I echoed, then roughly patched up with brief humble raptures,

And torn all over again.


Dakshima: http://loveamongotherthings.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/voice-of-the-dead/

You said you’ve forgiven me

And what is done is done

You wanted me to resurrect from dead

You wanted to wipe blood from your hands

My blood

Warm, moist my blood

Blood will have blood,

No matter what we want,

And I am among the dead still,

How can I come back?

You stabbed mercilessly

You buried me and sealed my coffin

Sealed it with your own hand

And you ‘looked like the innocent flower’

But inside your head, you may hear my wail,

Its not that I’m afraid to live among dead,

Dead are far better than those who are alive,

They won’t harm you, or make your life miserable,

Life is so strange, to be killed by the hand once you held,

It’s my fate, to be killed by you,

Do not remember me, for I am among the dead now

But my blood is in your hand.


Anky0112: http://makeachange1.wordpress.com/2010/08/04/2611-mumbai-terror-attack-memories/

Blood, blitz everywhere,

Fire fumes high in the air,

But do they care??


The gunshots, the slaughtering,

The chaos, the howling,

Mumbai streets full of light

In a blink,

is turned into crimson sight.

Is it right??


So many kind of people,

each different at their birth

yet all now are joined in death and love

leaving behind their shadows.


they came to kill, to hurt,

to cause mayhem for 59 hours,

but they failed, like they should be.


Now, the flames are silent,

peace is violent,

tears are frozen

’cause massacre was chosen.


yet the pain, the tear

still etched into our head.

The heroes, the martyrs

will always be in our memories

who fought against ‘TEN’.


stand all together to pray

for freshness

A life without a shed of tear,

A life without an iota of pain.

stop this killing,

on name of religion,

stop allegations,

stop making political expressions.

and justify the situation.

Can you??


C.: http://darkestdivide.wordpress.com/2010/09/10/ashes-of-my-fears/

Reality can’t see
What fantasy hides
I get lost in the truth
Find myself in a lie
You were but a dream
Now I’m not so sure
I used to be innocent
I’ve forgotten what’s pure
You were an illusion
A dream I dared to dream
Fading in to darkness
In the shadows of my whims
Until all that remained was
The ghost of a flickering flame
Fighting a losing battle
Against the winds of change


JP: http://jpbeaty.blogspot.com/2010/09/guides-window.html

(Poets Rally and Magpie Tale)

The forest morning was crisp. I walked alone with the leaves cracking under my feet. I clutched my coat closer against the chilling fall winds. The trees looked almost skeletal against the clear air. Up ahead along the trail — leaning against a fallen tree — was the person I had come to meet. He was my good friend and today we intended to wander the woods for the day with his acquaintance, a guide who knew the area quite well.

When I arrived the guide shook my hand. For a split second it seemed like the wind suddenly got colder, but the feeling soon passed. Then, for the next several hours we were shown all there was to see in the acres of wilderness. After this time we came upon a house in the woods sticking out like a sore thumb. Our guide strode confidently toward it. I stood hesitantly until something caught my eye. In the window was a transparent figure looking out the window. I ran away back to my car screaming.

The two remaining men look at each other for a second. The guide looked over to my friend and asked “Did you tell him about my wife and me by chance?” The friend replied “no, it must have slipped my mind.” The guide simply replied “Oh well, lets go see what’s for lunch”. With that the friend walked around to the door as the guide turned transparent and went through the wall.



Tears fall like drizzles,

Thoughts as grey as nimbus,

Cold air like winter,

That’s exactly how I feel.

Got to put on that mask,

Wear that smile,

Hug optimism,

And inwardly sigh.



Come with me
To the land of the gods
As we go into the City of Joy

You will see the busy roads
Full of vendors and animals
And the monkeys stealing the natives’ foods

Skip through the market place
See the colorful Punjabis
Be mesmerized by the snake charmers

Yes, you need to come
Taste the dal and the hot curry
Swallow it down with Mango Juice

Feel the heat
Feel the drum beat
Dance with me

We will go into the citadels
See the mansions
Of the Greatest Emperors that have lived

Walk through the festivities
Get caught up in the spirit
Of Krishna’s love for us

Smell the aroma
Of spices and incense
And find relics that are told in the famous legends

We will hear the laughter of children everywhere
Be part of a fisherman’s tale
Learn the history of an ancient world

Stick with me
We will ride in the man-made rickshawalla
Walk through shrines and temples

Be part of history
Stretch your arm
Expand your mind

Get dirty
Embrace the jewel towers
Wade through the holy waters

You will not forget
The memories you have made
The picturesque details of another life

Don’t let it go
Breathe it in
Let it expand your horizon


Bill Cook: http://beginningpoetry.wordpress.com/2010/09/10/intruders/

Of course resentment is the thing I feel,

Anger too; they should not allow them here.

These piles of rags. Ugly eyes that sow

Seeds of guilt, and of course the open hands.

The day was perfect. Sun thorough trees. The shops:

Attractive, quaint. Awnings: green and blue.

Then there she was. How dare she intrude!

I was determined not to stop.

As quickly as I could I hurried by

Then looking back I saw her unfurl wings, and fly.



I leaned against the wall
Tried to hear what it said
Its silence, hard as lead
Making all my spirits fall

I stared at the ceiling
Knowing not what to do
Your games of peekaboo
Playing at my feeling

I tried to smell the air
For traces of your scent
To me, no clue it lent
I thought this wasn’t fair

I touched the floor ‘beneath me
Hoped for your footsteps near
These tiles evoked a fear
And I wished I could flee

I stood by French windows
Tasted the finest scape
And let my thoughts escape
To the weeping willows

I let my senses drain
For sixth to run this show
And now I simply know
That hurt shall not remain

This torch lit in my core
I let its embers burn
A click and then a turn
And you walk in through that door.



a city I will never forget as it is a
famous artistic center
of the beautiful

The remains of Rocca Paolina
reside underneath of Perugia
is one of my favorite places
which led you to a street of
Medieval arts and culture
in the daylight

Cathedral of San Lorenzo
the unusual and unique layout
with Loggia di Braccio on the left
and Fontana Maggiore on the foreground
It is as if they were all made for each other
as the whole picture fit in perfectly

Beautiful streetscapes that bound to mesmerize you eyes
as you stroll down the Corso
from those steps of the Cathedral
looking over the lovely hills of Umbria
as the sun sets

A city that I will always remember
with the arts and the mouth-watering pizzas
that took my stomach on
a wonderful journey



Falling in love
is hard
to do
when you
know every

the scars
run deep
and wounds
are still

looking yourself
in the
makes you
cry out


the memories
that haunt
your mind
are so

How do
you find
another’s pain
fits you
like a glove

And all
you see
is their

Oh, yes …

Loving me
is hard
to do

It’s far
to love

and grace


It’s your
I cherish
as I hopefully
my identity

So that
one day
I too
can see
enough reason
to love



three is the rule to not rhyme

here its well defined

mom dad and a child



He is not one of them
He knows he is different
He belongs to far beyond their bare minds
To far beyond their deaf hearts

Perhaps he is a lie he told himself
And once had faith in his lie
Perhaps he is the one to blame
So many possibilities
As far as the horizon stretched in front of him
And he is convinced with them all

But he still embraces the fact
That he is a sole creature
Who passionately glance the oceans
Nostalgic to someone he can observe
And knows well his features

Although they are engraved in his heart
Those particular and exceptional features
He feels them
His soul touches that face
Looks quietly to those rebelled eyes
Black as his endless night of silence
Or perhaps as blue as the sea that runs deep his soul

But whenever he opens his eyes
Those features drift away
And he only sees his skin and numb senses

O, how much he hated those dull eyes
O, how much he hated those lifeless features
Reflected on the glass he’s holding
Where the waves collide and fight
Rise up and anchor
Till they finally rest to the glass walls peacefully

That was his destiny
To live his life embracing his death
Like two facing blank white papers
What is written on one
Is soon reflected on the other

That is his destiny
To live on the outside dead and soulless
No name
No age
No identity
Just different

His anger leans on the walls of his silence
Glimpsing at his ocean
As wide as his imagination
As clogged as a tight rope
Choking his free soul
He tries desperately to breathe
Through the tiny holes of his tight cocoon
Tighter and tighter
Till it stick to the miserable soul living within
His depressed soul

He is yearning to escape
To feel those unfolded colorful wings of freedom
No matter how tight his cocoon is
He suddenly feels the space
And slowly opens his eyes
Glimpsing back at the horizon
Somewhere where Heaven touches the sea
He raises his only question:
“Can I leave now?”

Eventually, came some tears
To wash the lifeless features
Of a Handsome Loner



A wise poet once surmised
“Fallen leaves will climb back into trees.”
I quickly dismissed such malarkey.
Fallen leaves can not climb back into trees
It is an impossibility. It is.
An impossibility.
They age: the leaves do. They turn brown
and get tired. They fall off the tree.
They return to the soil if they are lucky
or they get blown or raked and gathered
up and taken away to rot and decay
and they never I repeat never
reattach themselves to
the trees which once
loved them enough
to nourish them.

And what, what, what if leaves did,
one day, find their way back to the

They don’t.
They won’t.


Owen: http://creativemotive.wordpress.com/2010/08/16/zephyr/

It is delightful,
Seeing your name pass by.
Not because it’s love,
but because the previous is a lie.

It is most phonic,
Seeing your gates open.
Not because your chords are sweet,
but because I didn’t notice.

It is the ergonomics,
Seeing the cubicle in your bosom.
Not because I’d be willing,
but because I can’t consider such an offer.

It is a sunny morning,
Seeing you in my thoughts.
Not because I long for you,
but because I remember your zephyr; now deceased.


Alethea: http://asmiworld.wordpress.com/2010/09/12/lost/

In a city that never sleeps,

I walked, lost in my thoughts so deep,

Oblivious to the crowd and the buildings,

Or to the rally of vehicles and their beeps

The streets look new; never seen before,

With their lights and turns and department stores,

Was this the place I grew up in,

played and laughed? ; not familiar anymore.

Gone is the playground and in it the ice-cream stall

On its place lies a mega mall……..

The sky no more sees the ascend of colorful kites

It has ended up being a vast empty wall

The pavement lined with trees, now left only with one or two

No one recalls that, or cares about it; just too many things to do

That banyan tree where we played hide and seek is no more there

Like the city and me, it must have got lost too….


ThedarkJasmine: http://newtha.wordpress.com/2008/08/03/i-name-it-flame/

going through the darkness,,

finding something that really pensioning,,

keep running and don’t turning back,,





until u find that u’ll never be there,,

unless U make a fire,,

flaming under ur desire,,

going through the blankness,,

with the eyes shut and the ears hear nothing,,

walking inside the path and beyond the line which is black,,



rolling like a monster,,

rubbing like a gangster,,

Never though that u’ll ever back there,,

unLess U wanna Make another fire,,

Running inside of your Flaming desire,



It was quiet outside,
No echo through the woods.
Though the wind blew,
And it pushed,
It hadn’t made a sound.

Her body burned inside,
No love for her at all.
She never knew,
How to smile,
How to lift her feet from the ground.

The rain fell patiently,
Then slowly starting to rage.
Thrashing the ground and it’s decor,
Destroying any castles,
Any sculptures made of sand.

Her thoughts paced absently,
Until she heard their taunts.
Their words swept in to make her sore,
Breaking her heart,
As well as the bones that let her stand.

Lightning sped across the sky,
Thunder roared too loudly.
Shaking the ground at it’s impact,
Shattering every child’s sleep,
And causing critters small and large to hide.

Starting only now to cry,
Her broken whimpers filled the room.
She had managed to keep her hope intact,
Until this very pressing moment,
When she let it start to slide.


Amanda: http://www.blogginwithamanda.com/2010/09/01/thursdays-poet-rally/

I am inviting, and my path is worn

Wooden planks creak with excitement

As salt kissed waves lap the shore.


Giggles become laughter, louder, stronger

Spirits are high, the tide is low

A fisherman casts out just a wee bit longer


Hot dogs, popcorn you can buy anything

Short shorts and small tops, oh and flip flops

And a ride on the merry-go-round might be the thing


There’s pushing and shoving but nobody cares

Everyone looks  to the horizon

While ivory whites sails command stares


Out to the west the sun starts to dip

The shore line is caressed in pink

And an Ice cold Coke is on the last sip


Neon lights cut through the dark

A summer evening casts out a breeze

A flash from a BBQ sends out a spark


All good things end at the last of the day

The pier has to close

Till the next summer day



Besides December,

U shall remember


A time everything changes,

A season position switches.

As poets go through the mill,

Pumpkins dominate the marketplace in town,

U sense the winds chill,

And eyewitness the leaves turning brown.

September is a magical season,

Your mood goes cheery for many a reason:

The ocean waves rising,

The orchards ripening,

The barns haunting,

The romance happening.

The baby sleeping,

The mother smiling…


Hindawy: http://hindawy.wordpress.com/2010/09/07/a-better-me-for-you/

In another deadly place
Locked within a maze
I could only care more not less
Than I should yet each day
I  reach beyond whats me
Fulfilling every dream
I ever had one day
Perfection is not seen
Lest the eyes have been
In a darker phase
Comfort you’ll never feel
Utopia is not real
My promise comes today
I can do my best I say
I can stretch the rules & play
As if it were a game

Its  a better me for you
Consummation due
From a different view
All you see is new
It can’t be true?
Till my life is through
Live & die for you
I thought I knew
Now its up to you

You close the door
Arms open wide
Opposing every might
What can I say?
We serve what we can’t see
Pleading not guilty
To a bloody crime
The stain won’t be erased
Soaking wet make haste
To leave the storm
Far beyond the road
You chose for you
A path to what you want
A path to what you need
Deserting those who bleed
What can I say?
Its just another test for me
To be the best that I can be

Its  a better me for you
Consummation due
From a different view
All you see is new
It can’t be true?
Till my life is through
Live & die for you
I thought I knew
Now its up to you

The river rises now
Full of corpses, how?
Could we tolerate?
The hurt & the pain
This is genocide
Has the world gone blind?
As not to see
The rockets & the F-16′s
Apaches only in your dream
Yes its war again
Against every Muslim
In life you’re only free to sin
Pray in defeat again
Surrender to your fate & then
When comes your day?
Not far away
You’d be stupid not to see
All the signs pointing to thee

Its  a better me for you
Consummation due
From a different view
All you see is new
It can’t be true?
Till my life is through
Live & die for you
I thought I said
Resurrection straight ahead
Cause the road left behind
Is the one that saves mankind.


Kyoichi: http://kyogakura.wordpress.com/2010/08/15/does-it-mean-that-im-indispensable/#comment-251

Here I thought I was an unessential,

Not more than a passing breeze to lighten

The harshness of this wounding heat,

Not more than a passing smile and nod,

Another count for approval

That soon, too, will be forgotten.

Here I thought I was an uncertainty,

An existence that would not be

Seen as more than what it presents;

Not that it is unknowable

But because it is not worth knowing.

But now, here I wonder why

Amidst all that I am not,

And all that I can no longer be,

He misses me.


Love, Life, & Misery:http://lifeloveandmisery.wordpress.com/2010/09/12/collapse/

red bricks tumbling,
wasting away
this wall of cracked plaster,
crumbling, carried away on winds afar

graffiti rainbow
seen by all, hidden by one

with thoughts of her leaving,
hollow footfalls upon aged wood floors,
the very floor he meant to replace,
never did,
now couldn’t
as he watches his firstborn daughter
run naked, mother in tow
a faded mirage;

a howling swirl,
wind chimes wailing sirens call,
protesting the storm where doors slam
glass explodes,
a myriad reflection, setting summer sun
the color of fire, bombs fall upon
weakened base, last defense;

my wall collapses,
dust and debris scatter,
guillotine cleaves my bleeding heart

I cry



Small boxes, lovingly gathered over the years,
And, stored with great hopes for future shares,
Only to be dusted off of big upsets in the now and here.

What could have been done,
What she wanted to do,
What was done instead.

Fingers curling, then unfurling,
Raveled by the weight of unspoken things.
Much mulling later, realization strikes her!

The boxed in cans of worms have festered all their fears,
She could hear the ram shackled emotions wringing out the last of their tears,
Trapped inside the boxes unwittingly, for no fault of theirs,
They were pleading their case, ‘hear, hear, liberation day is near’.

It’s easy enough to get trapped and cower,
Not so easy to let go,
But, exceedingly liberating to finally have the power
To stop, and, say, ‘No’.


A Poem A Day 2010:http://mstevensson.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/passion-found/

Passion found
Hidden under ground
So Profound.


Celebrating A Year:http://mairmusic.wordpress.com/

an interesting change
in the light here today
clouds drift and rearrange
and old ideas won’t stay

in the light here today
I read my discontent
and old ideas won’t stay
my happiness is spent

I read my discontent
in every passing breeze
my happiness is spent
its got me on my knees

in every passing breeze
my dreams sing azure blue
its got me on my knees
and I hope to slide through

my dreams sing azure blue
clouds drift and rearrange
and I hope to slide through
an interesting change



I’m no John Nash,
Though certainly this is a beautiful mind,
And how do I relate,
To men in black suits,
And secret missions,
My rationality working overtime,
To avoid what seemed inevitable,
I’ve learned it is not.

This beautiful mind,
Flows words mightier than the Nile,
More life affirming than the Amazon,
More wayward than the Mississippi,
The beauty,
In the lack of understanding where from the ether they come.

I’m no John Nash,
As at the first stroke of appearing demons,
My lover,
Kicked me while I was down,
Leaving me behind,
Troubled and menaced,
By this beautiful mind.

This beautiful mind,
Accepts the fate before me,
Though I and I do not,
I and I will kick, fight, punch and drag down,
Any that try to belittle what is so obvious,
Except to me,
Save that I improve daily.

I’m no John Nash,
No Nobel,
No magical theory,
Or office at Princeton,
I do have friends and interlocutors,
Who keep this mind alive,
Searching for the answer…

That perfect sentence.

This beautiful mind,
At times seems ugly,
Seems determined to have me fragment,
Hell bent on throwing me over that line,
Never to return,
But in the days between that day and this,
These words will filter out my anxieties,
Quash my angst,
Reveal the inner workings,
Of a beautiful mind.


Joanny: http://thedowsersdaughter.blogspot.com/2010/09/haunting-beauty.html

Come evening, my silent rendezvous,
raising my eyes toward the celestial sky,
I gaze into the night, to find the moon
encased in sublime velvet

silently moving across the heavens,
that I be intrepid to wonder in awe.


Deeper into the night,

the moon lights up half the room,
while a soundless whisper from the wind
dances with the candle

casting deep shadows on the wall.
In their simplicity,

with every passing breeze,
the leaves swirl and dance about
in the garden and back again

and all along the road.

The blueness of the winds sharp breath
enters my chamber

without permission and penetrates
the deep strata of my soul exposing
the naked and raw fastened from a fragile fabric
ephemeral -the fear -the loneliness -the pain,
shielding the beauty that hides inside.


The aroma of the night air fills me
with a compelling desire suddenly
I give way to the seduction that
surrounds and sequester my senses.

Alive with pulsing energy through my veins,
I sway to breath’s rhythm and dance
to the beat of my heart,

racing through the woods,
upon entering holy ground,

I take off my shoes,
and enter the autumn water!


Stars float in infinite space

and my thoughts
collide into the one universe

where dreams meet reality,
tears of joy pour forth

falling like mighty rain
as kindling unleashed

bursting open the petals.

Brighten with pure light

the water and the soul,
exuding ecstasy within

explodes in liquid brilliance.
Blessings pour forth

from a celestial mind, gone now,
are the endless dust-storm of troubles,
and the peccadilloes of my soul.


In Immortal Beloved,1994,
the film about Ludwig van Beethoven,
there is one scene of such power
and haunting beauty,
it captured my imagination,
and spoke to my soul.
I promise you it will stay
with you forever.
While you are watching
this short 4 minute clip,
it is art at its most dynamic,
invites us to dream,
to  live outside ourselves,
and go beyond and dream even greater


Patrice Berry:http://pdotberry.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/i-have-found-a-tailor/

your thread is closing
my seams – i’m used to holding
myself together,

used to sewing my
own tears, hemming my own pants –
but these new clothes fit

just like you do.



Folks all across the world.

Put yo’ hands up if you want to be heard.

Let the wave ripple across the nations.

Come on, forget about your play stations.

It’s the time to shout out in unity.

Forget about the quest for your purity.

And let’s celebrate the fact that we are all flawed.

The pain, it needs to be out poured.


I am not kidding’, i am here chilling’

For the first time in over a year.

Enjoying’ the fruits of my labor.

Giving’ my life a bloody great cheer.

If ya dig it, i sure fill feel it.

And raise my hands up into the air

If you know it, come on and show it.

Give me a hell yeah!


Liz: http://lizbethsgarden.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/in-rome/

Silent columns and benches rise
Around the deserted oval
Echoing the ancient cheers and screams.

Death once stalked this coliseum
Evil lurked in the arched doorways
Silent columns and benches rise

Testimony to time’s passage
The cheering men and women are dust
Around the deserted oval

Listen to the whispering breeze
Telling of men who fought and died
Echoing ancient cheers and screams



last week your were my inspiration
this week, freedom from thoughts of you
is my final destination
i’ve wanted to be free from you for a while now
but i’m always met with some hesitation

fate and truth told me you were mine
i can’t believe they lied to me
i can’t believe i made it all up in my mind
i can’t believe i was so fucking blind

it wasn’t meant to be
i can finally clearly see
there will never be a you and me
we will never be a we

you want things i no longer want
like kids and dicks
and a white picket fence made of sticks
you want to be stuck with mens pricks
when we were together we both liked chicks

you hold on to your own sadness
you wear that crown of thorns with pride
but i know what you are doing
you are just trying to hide

from yourself
your pain
the wicked thoughts in your mind
it’s much easier to blame me
than it is to look deep inside

your perception is flawed, my dear
a million monks could yell it from the rooftop
but you wouldn’t hear
because all you do is live in fear

you put down your guitar
you stopped playing your song
but it’s your purpose god admit
you’re not happy
you’re just wrong

you’re heading away from the light of day
you’re headed into the dark
shit man, darkness really calls to you huh?
it sings to you like a lark

lies have become your disguise
and i don’t want to a part of it
i hope this poem is the very last
of all my goodbyes



I pick up the pieces of the broken glass picture frame with my hands, vary of every piece left behind on the floor..

Tears run down my cheeks and there is only one thought in my head.. !

One by one I collect them nervously, this is my one year old’s favorite place to play in the entire house..

Right behind the TV stand, next to the dusty fire place.. this is his corner..

But, again, there is only one thought in my head..

“The vultures hover above their tiny heads..

The wind here has never stood still.. the putrid smell of decay fills the air..

Their dirty hands, the sewer nearby and the food crumbs tell an endless tale of survival..

There is no healing except from the spit of the child-bearer..

A life’s worth of lessons learnt, but there is no classroom in sight..

The friends are also here hunting for any pieces of metal or glass that they might stumble upon..

In the moonlight, the yellow teeth smile where a good catch for the day is an old ring on the finger..”



Incense burns for you here,
without implied ill-feeling.

Buried hero with such strong convictions,
it is not for I – no – not for I to salute
your memory in worship,
or some individualistic hypocrisy
or drag up grudges old
and amuse my muse with the stories you told:

Because, frankly, they weren’t for me.

And at the rallies miners cheer
and at the marches traitors fear
and at the demos far and near
you kept the red flag flying here.

But by many you were castigated
Opponents of progress and principle
and though I claim to stand by your side,
I never knew the pioneers we should sing for.
Who waved the scarlet banner higher than
it had been in this land before.

And we romanticize the gruel
of lectures to weary crowds,
in battered town-halls,
in battered donkey-jackets,
flinging once-gloried names
from roof to floor
in Byronic mode,
with a zeal all
orators would die for.

The difficulties you faced
will soon be faced again
to join the warring sides
and appreciate instead the greater goal.
Of an end! An end to the tyranny
of bourgeois capital and
proverbial class walls.

But it is worthless,
to talk of historical necessity:

If we seek to create change,
then that change we must ourselves be.



I heard a footstep at my gate
and raised my eyes to see
the postman was, as usual, late.

My steps went to investigate
what news it brought to me,
that postman’s visit to my gate:

a symbol of the world so great,
words from across the sea.
The postman was, as usual, late.

Today a stranger at the gate
knocked and asked for me.
Bad news came through my gate:

so sad, you will appreciate,
he’s gone, too soon, you see.
I know now postman is ‘the late’.

I turn away, disconsolate
then back again to see,
as steps recede outside the gate,
the widow of the postman, late.





Rest in


Sweet room after room

Of my tender feelings for you!


Pink Lady: http://pinklady-bing.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-life-is-all-about.html

life is not about accumulating wealth

but about making one’s own dreams come true and

having a clean bill of health…

life is not about the mistakes you made

but the lessons you have learned along the way

and the strength you have gained…

life is not about disappointments

it’s just that some things are not meant to be

and there is such a thing called patience…

life is not about the people who put you down,

wait for you to stumble or don’t have anything nice to say

neither is it about those who wish for you to drown …

life is about the relationships you have built

and the people who truly care

and those who encourage you to live to the hilt…

life is about faith

when things go wrong and you’ve got nothing else left

you know that God is all you need…

life is about being free to live, love and laugh

anyone who tramples on that basic right

does not deserve to stay in your life…

life is about rising above any adversity,
picking up the pieces and moving on graciously
after all, you’ve got only one life to live…

life is about learning how to count your blessings
and the true meaning of contentment
gratitude is the key to happiness- one that’s real and permanent…



On my way to my rainbow

That is but in my mind,

I raced as always and met a spider

“You are mad” I said

Your web is nothing but a mirage

For you rule here alone

Unheard of, in a kingdom unknown

Too proud of your imaginary throne

Nay… friend, you are a like fellow too, said he

I live in my kingdom and you in your perception

That being but a faint shadow of reality

You erect huge walls and let not the ideas in

Stagnant frame rots and you dance in the sweet scent

Shunned ideas lay like dead and your merry your win

Are you not living in your own world?

My kingdom still is better for it is real and stout

And yours, made up of imperious walls

That keeps all new change far and out


In shame hung my head

How exact was each word he said!

I pondered and the spider was true

I am a criminal, the victim being my soul

As I broke the walls, like a bird it flew!



I migrate through the multitude.

Pushing through the pack, mile by mile,

I near my quest’s end with each advance.

Steel jaguars prowl and pursue through the

Concrete and metal metropolitan jungle.

Like an intrepid impala, I brave the wilderness

To reach the peaceful oasis on the other side.


Dennis: http://dennisgopoems.blogspot.com/2010/09/wandering-spirit_07.html

I came not for food
But for urges of the stomach;

Nor the clothing,
But for skins to cover souls;

Not for shelter,
But for thresholds to separate fear;

Nor the love,
But seams to shield away scars.

The soul desires only a dream:
An existence that paves the road
Of a wandering spirit

Roving undisturbed
Through time, space
And millenniums.



Why do I do this to myself? Why?

When I know the answer, why?


Keeping the hopes of flame burning?

Leaving my poor heart yearning..

Why do I look for every hint?

That can set my eyes at glint

Every minutiae that I can sift

To give my spirits a lift

Why do I do this to myself? Why?

When I know the answer, why?


Moments of Togetherness regaling

Relics of optimism still unfailing

A flickering prospect looms at large

Insanity seems to have taken charge

Albeit ruthless truth lashes out

Callous destiny I can’t flout

Why do I do this to myself? Why?

When I know the answer, Why?


Fantastic Minds:http://luisydomonique.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/guilt/

I will not try and dignify
The abuse of substance; outer stimuli
Sometimes the soul needs a jump start
To create that which is pegged as art

Really all I do is fantasize
About a better life as mine withers away
And then myself I victimize,
When I’m the only one to blame

Meandering through life I continue to stumble
Furthermore, try to project myself as decent – being humble
When in reality that which is base, is base
All that echoes are undeserved hymns of false praise

Even that is too much; it’ll actually enthuse –
My own guilt, which I had thereby tried to effuse.
A reversal, overbearing malfeasance I become engrossed;
A devastating state of depression from the world’s riposte

A new meaning to killing with kindness.


River: http://adventuresinpoesy.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/traps-of-diversion/

“The door has opened for us R…
So as before, you and I can dream of being together,
Or try to make that a reality….” DL

We walk parallel paths
Watching one another
Heading to our destiny.

As we round a corner
I see! our paths
Fork to one another

The distance is shrinking
Soon you will be my lover

You mouth the words
I long to kiss
Reminding me of our love

But your movement slows down
As diversion sets traps

I hold my breath at the test
Placed in your way
Of strength and faith

You stop to face your path of guilt
Unable to look back
You start down the way

Leaving me standing all alone
I turn and begin to trudge home…

“My heart cries for you R…..
Take care my sweetest lover”  DL

You are held back by the chains of choice.
I begin building a wall of protection.


Gray words:http://notjeffery1.wordpress.com/2010/08/18/silence/

If the world could keep quiet for a minute, would you embrace the overwhelming silence or begin to feel uncomfortable because all you know is noise? Would you embrace the crashing of the waves of the ocean against the rocks outside your house as you sit and sip your wine? Would you, as a caregiver, see the beauty of the children before you and forget about the emotional tension that they cause you each day? Would you reach a deep state of enlightenment, perhaps a new state of philosophical or religious awakening? Would you embrace yourself?

If the world could keep quiet for an hour, would you feel a sense of inner devastation because you nearly suffocated in the first minute of silence? Would you find your inner peace and figure out a way to save the Middle East? Would you learn to appreciate the magnificence of your spouse, life partner, best friend, soul-mate, brother, sister, next door neighbor? Would your inner enlightenment turn to a deep understanding of the eternal love that is God? Would you experience the universe in all its glory? Would you embrace another second?

If the world could keep quite for a day, would you begin to relate to the deaf and the mute? Would you see that words hold little importance in communication? Would you begin to understand the essence of love, peace, and joy? Would your period of reflection harness an answer to all the trials and tribulations that you have had to face throughout your life? How much of it is pragmatic? How much of it is yours? How much have you created? How much have you destroyed? If we had a day of absolute silence flood its way throughout the world, would you learn to love me? Would you learn to love yourself? Would you learn at all?


Wiserskydive’s Blog:http://wiserskydiver.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/words-are-defined/

words that define
words that rhyme
words those are mine
words i am saying
words i have said
words that will be uttered
if they are shaped by my lips
then they are my predomination

when said for me
deciphers my head with verbs
for not always words follow with actions

words that hurt
words that care
words i use to pray
words i use to betray
words so blunt that make dents
if they shaped by my lips
then its my punishments

when said by me
hearts cry out abstracts
for they are hurt just wish i had a prayer

words for love
words for care
words i hear
words i need to hear
words so beautiful that make me gay
if they shaped by her lips
then its my divine plan

when said to me
pulse race to a beat
for her rhythmic divine fills my life with every chord to note

words make words but its us who define them.


The 10th Muse: http://arspoetica.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/awens-footprint/

i am a blade of grass
bent into muddied waters;
i am gravel displaced
by the pressure of loss;
i am glass become sand
become glass again:
the injunction of a clear singer,
the wisdom of the sea.


Follow me uphill;
roll aside
the Sarsen stone set
over my
soul, unearthing
the well of stale
passion that
expires breath-
wise under damp
breasts and dry heat.
Find me a new
shrine to an old
desperation buried in clouds
of molded hope, somewhere
deep and high where i
can claw out and
lay down with pride
the four bloodied
chambers of this broken


Tolle Lege: http://walker287.wordpress.com/view-my-recent-work-2009-present/heartbreak/

The tears roll

Down my face

Like a river

Down a mountain.

The pain sears

Through my body

Like voltage

Through a plug.

My heart shatters

Into ten pieces

Like a stone

Into a window.


Angela: http://angelacohan321.wordpress.com/2010/04/27/the-thief-of-time/

He smiles his weak smile

as he reclines on his favorite chair

His receding white hair is a symbol of a long life

and every wrinkle on his kind face tells a different story

But at time his memory fails him

He forgets names and dates

Yet he is an eternal optimist

and my favorite person in the world

I sit next to him and stare into his wise brown eyes

“I remember you.  You’re my oldest grandchild”

he says to me

“Yes grandpa.

Tell the thief of time to stay away from you

Tell it to give us more time together

I want to hear more stories about your life

I long to hear you recount the stories of

Moses and Joseph again

Please stay with me grandpa

Our family will fall apart if you go away

Grandma will fall into a deep despair

and your grandchildren will slowly but surely

forget your stories

Grandpa–stay with me.”

It breaks my heart when he turns to me and asks

“Who are you?”


Wondrinsoul: http://everwondrinsoul.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/thursday-poets-rally-week-28-poem-post-perfect-poet-award-acceptance/

A single flower

bends with the wind in a field

A perfect pairing

I need attention

I need attention

I need to be heard and seen and felt

I need to be loved and cherished and held

Without this attention I am like a

flower left without water and

a child locked in a dark room

all shriveled, emaciated and reaching

I need to know I matter

I need to know I matter

and that I matter to you.

I want to be counted

relied on, thought of,

longed for, and to know that whatever I do

I have your support.

I hope this is a wake up call, I hope you read this

I hope you absorb it and realize that I need you

just as much as you need me and without us

working together

my back can only bend so far

until it breaks.


Chris G.: http://cianphelan.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/deception/

The fire dips beneath the azure sea;

All eyes turn to their own hands.

No one spies the serpents slithering

From the long stretched shadows

Of a garden ripe with glistening fruit.

Demons whisper in the peoples’ ears—

The straw cast down,

The crows descend.

Fruit rots and garden fades—

Ravens circle high above

The corpses of the fools.

Old men stir within their ancient tombs—

The dream is dead,

Another Rome, decayed.


83October: http://83october.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/i-cannot-write-another-poem-gaia/

For you are not you

i breathe you like a thousand years before
your sweet scent of lilac gone

you smell of prostitute–
nicotine, smoke and sweat
used times too many

i stare into you like a thousand years before
your eyes of cobalt spheres depthless

mirroring a hippie child—
drugged, oiled and greased
beyond help

My fingers remember your honey brown skin
moist, supple, and smooth
i touch you again, like i did eons ago
and find it dry, ashen and barren
an old abandoned woman’s landscape
a war veteran in drought

your hair of soft strands
like grass in early morning
linger but in memory
long forgotten in the ages that passed
For the meadows have gone empty
and your crown of curls
limp in its unnatural light

and the kiss, so soft
wet, but wanted,
has gone acidic,
burning no more in passion, but in pain
hard to the lips, urgent in thirst
black in intention

I cannot write another poem
for You
are gone
you are no longer you
you are gray, cynical and bleak
and i blame myself

for i turned my back on you—





A stretch of white.
You scrape a knife
through black, then indigo,
layer darkness,
across the horizon.
Reach for a tube of
chestnut brown,
squeeze the contents
onto the lower half
and smear.
Payne’s grey sky.
A slash of crimson,
a miniscule orb
in orange.


Raven: http://autumnraven.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/thursday-poets-rally-land-of-the-broken-heart/

Welcome to the land of the broken heart
To your left you’ll see regret
Blocked to this day by tears unshed
Up ahead an endless road
Covered in darkness and always cold
To your right a river of tears
It hasn’t been dry for many years
Move on and a bridge that burns
Appears as the road sharply turns
It once led, it seems
To a house of innocent dreams
We pass the hills of despair
The sun no longer rises there
And now to our final destination
A plot of land of sad creation
A dark and lonely cemetery
Where this broken heart lies buried
The light that shined is no more
Locked behind an iron door
All around are broken stones
Resting quiet shattered bones
The walls meant to save
Became the grave
Here a door, locked and bound
An ancient passage to a world unsound
Where hope and fear are leery partners
A shaky union of uncanny gardeners
Now leaving the land of the broken heart



The sweet female fragrance
Fills my unworthy nose
Followed by flames of arrogance
Sparks the fire of the rose

Every rose is covered in thorns
Protecting itself from others
As each devil masks its horns
Every demon has a mother

Rose’s colors do vary
As do the sins each comment
Every beauty has something scary
With dangerously hidden content

Roses know their own game
Hate watching others gain
What they believe is their fame
Till each rose lives in vain

The fire of roses will always burn
For each are selfish with their desire
None of which they can ever earn
As each calls the other a liar

Using their beauty and scent
To destroy a rival’s hope
Never to feel bad or repent
As they tighten the emotional rope

The fire of roses can only end
When one is finally plucked
Once they have lost their only friend
Will they realize all was fucked.




as sunbeams

sprinkle warmth on

sleepy canvas of

tangerine horizon;

blinking, yawning milieu wakes,

feathers flutter higher, chirping

a song of life, dancing to the tune

that embraces another beautiful morn.


Frayed Edges:http://frayedges.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/loxahatchee-3-oclock/

Loxahatchee, 3 o’clock
My father’s anger whips around the room
With unrelenting verbal blows
And angry hands.
I glance outside the window
At the storm thundering its rage,
Lashing through the trees
Which offer no protection to the birds
That seek asylum within their leafy arms.
They get no reprieve
Until the storm is spent
And my daddy passes out
Upon the couch.

Loxahatchee, 5 o’clock
The walking catfish emerge from canals
To skip among puddles dotting the dirt road
Delighting in their new-found freedom
Basking in the sunshine.
I step outside
Into the oppressive humidity that threatens
To steal my breath,
Glad to be free, at least for now.
I play among the pine trees
Wishing I were someone else,
Somewhere else
Because I know,
Like the birds and the catfish know,
That tomorrow the storm will come again.


Thoughts Not Lost:http://thoughtsnotlost.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/passing-by/

Shred, shave time.

Time when life was mine, world’s promise.

Premise–wonders of mind.

Now so hard to find..

place where hope does dwell…

far from depths of sea delve.

Brighten path’s potential–release past’s grip.

Plant seeds ripe, resilient soul.

Time adores as it falls.

Life passing by.

Tied together tender shavings, shreds.

Some say it’s in the head. The heart. Or the art.

Dart together, mind the time passing by.



The sad part about us

is the fact that

there’s no tomorrow

and what is “us”?

if tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

I love us

and each minute

makes me love us more;

But on what foundation

does love stand

if there’s no tomorrow.

I want to keep us

Longer than you’d expect

But there is no tomorrow

how long can I get?

So Just rock me baby, today

Let your soul

meet mine at the junction

where we’ll get soaked

in the rain of pleasure;

enjoying every jiffy

we have to share.

Don’t think of the damages

because there wont be any.

Just me and you

Just us

Building memories,

memories we’ll keep in our archive;

memories we’ll cherish tomorrow.


Ms. Peaches:http://peachpitproduction.wordpress.com/

Gloriously wonderful I stare at you
in awe of all your hues of blues and
greens seemingly sees of beautiful
mountains, BlUe rIDgeS cascading
across the sky speaking volumes
of hi…tongues of hello, chills of
wisdom strewn from here to there
creating this sea of mountains
right here, RIGHT HERE I’m telling
you, right here in front of me…

Inhaling I try to suck it all in but
only I remain calm with excitement
and glee because all things are
beautiful that I see before me
my eyes are caught up in all
the wondrous glory that
natures soul has laid before
me…calming ur heart, leaving
you peace opening up your

well maybe…if you
can feel me…?



Sitting in Solitude, whispering to myself,
Often I have dreamt of Becoming Divine.
To achieve a status Of super- conscience-
Gaining ability to travel through timelines..
Raising myself above the mundane;
Sit, stoned, watch and laugh from within..!!


Afternoon Tea:http://madisonreece.blogspot.com/2010/09/there-is-pair-of-mooncalves-blue-and.html

There is a pair of mooncalves,
blue and stagnant on the wall,
and the window traffic slurs
and the legs begin to crawl.
Their cold protruding caps
are enticing like the tides
and my sweet Achilles gills
are all sputtering in stride.
The water here is murky
as my chest compresses bones
and I’m thirsty for escaping
and not for casting stones.



His father spoke;

“It’s the deadliest creature in the world.”

But it gave water grace simply by its presence

His mind melted towards her

He tried to turn it away

Again and again, he tried to turn his mind away

She’s the loveliest creature I have ever encountered

Never could I have dreamt of such a creation as you

For you, life leaves it slumber and resumes it’s dance

These were his thoughts

But she was gone

He now felt the reality of his fathers’ words



The chair rocks
with an imperial creak
as father tells his stories.

The children listen
with jellied brains
melting into cracked
and faded molds.

Father spins tales
with well designed lies
woven together through sparkling
bits of indefinable truth.

They lap at his words
with pink tongues.
slurping stories into
tiny cavernous tummies.

The sovereign chair sways
creaking across small fingers
crushing tiny, little bones
into a dismissed reality
that father calls a lie.


Dancing Freak:http://harshikaram.wordpress.com/2010/09/08/a-rainbow-thursday-poets-rally-week-28/

The colourful rainbow shining in the sky,

Seven lovely colors combined.

Forming the first arc of rainbow , a clue ,

It’s violet – A divine color so true.

The second is unique and rare in a way,

It’s Indigo – nearly everyone’s fav.

A smooth color , so beautiful and nice

It’s Blue –  the sea it symbolize.

It’s a part of the scenery  everywhere ,

It’s Green – the nature’s lair.

It’s so indescribable , related to so many things,

It’s Yellow – the sun behind the sea sinks.

It stands out no matter what the crowd,

It’s Orange – the day is out.

The final arc making the scene,

It’s Red in  –  so light in color , beautiful and serene.


Someone Is Special:http://pendownmythought.blogspot.com/2010/09/sweet-dish.html

Tastes good, perhaps, an easy success

But, one that finds you not so soon,

After hard lessons of corrections and try

That instills a passion to prove a thing,

With a brave heart, enduring pains,

And the best wishes of dear and near;

One that is meant this way,

With his choicest blessings!

That is True Success!

It does vanish in time, but leaves its trails;

Adds more meaning to the journey

Than boast of the momentary destination.

Invites real joy and content like no other

And lifts your life to another level!

Wish you such a delicious success

Believe me; it tastes sweeter than the old!



White beauty

Life within

White beauty

Naked still

In wind, flies

White beauty

Quickly dies

Yet wind tries

Gives it life

Phoenix like

Now reborn


White beauty


Katherine: http://kashaw.wordpress.com/2010/08/27/casino-jinks/

I walk into the casino, it is loud, and it is busy

I am feeling rather lucky; I am all in a tizzy

The music I hear helps me remain calm

As others rush about like cows in a cattle farm

I hum to the music playing in the back ground

I can see a roulette wheel spin around and around

Every machine is colored, either red, green or gold

Everything seems bright, enchanting and bold

Four pillars in the centre, holding up the ceiling

They need to be repainted, as the old paint is peeling

The carpet is a deep, maroon red

Across the vast floor it does spread

The whole casino is very well lit

Although it has a strange odor, I have to admit

I make my way to the bar and order myself a drink

The odor is getting stronger here, it really does stink

All I can smell is sweat and stale beer

Think I’ll sit else where, I don’t fancy sitting here

I go to the cashier’s desk, exchange my cash for chips

A few hundred for gaming and twenty quid for tips

I go over to a fruit machine

At least this area is kept somewhat clean

I try to insert a green plastic token

But the machine appears lifeless and broken

I make my way over to another one

Token accepted, now it is time for some fun!

It costs me a pound a shot

Blooming heck that is a lot

The four wheels finish spinning around

I win nothing; that just cost me a pound!

But I am not one to be outdone

So I insert another green one

The four wheels spin around

Then I hear a ringing sound

Oh my god I have just won the jack pot

Oh my word it is rather a lot

The manager comes over and gives me a small case

I wonder if I now should leave this place

It is just not right to leave without putting on a bet

So I decide to have a flutter on roulette

I take myself and my wine to the table

My hands and legs are shaking, I feel unstable

I put all my chips on number nine

I sit back and gulp nearly half my wine

The ball span around and then it stopped

And from their head my eyes almost popped

The ball has landed on number nine

That’s two big wins in a line

I think I am on a winning streak

And I do not even have a technique

I put a grand on number ten

And guess what? I win again

The manager swapped my small case

For another one with more space

I am in a good mood, I feel like a joker

And because I’m on a winning spree, I have a game of poker

The cards get dealt, the river comes out

I am finding it hard not to shout

I am trying to read the punters faces

Because I have just pulled, Quad Aces!

Everyone turns there cards, sit with their fingers crossed

Well guess what you guys? You have all just lost.


Jamie Dedes:http://musingbymoonlight.com/2010/09/08/baruch-the-baker/

Your heart is smarter, my Baruch,

then your head,

which is smart indeed –

and your hands and gnarly fingers

are smarter still.

They fashion bread from

cream-colored flours,

silky to the touch.

Kneading the dough

patiently, patiently

letting it rise

while I sleep –

safe, untouched in my little bed

with a soft pink woolly for comfort.

Up at six a.m. we walk sleepily

down our lavender-gray street

an apricot sun peaking at us

and, rising higher in the sky,

it seemingly follows us to you.


Cheer-filled arrival with greetings

and smiles from dear Baruch and

warm sugar smells, yeasty scents

and the sight of golden loaves,

some voluptuous rounds and

others sturdy rectangular.

You have baked cinnamon rolls,

a child’s dear delight, pies and

sticky buns too…and cookies!

Mom takes off her frayed gloves

and opens her worn purse –

“We’ll take a French bread” she says

pointing to a crispy brown baguette.

“And a raisin bread.”

She adds …

“We’ll need that sliced.”


I watch your hands flit gracefully

like butterflies in a green valley

stopping here and then there

to pull fragrant loaves from display

and slicing them, neatly packaging,

then reaching down over the counter

you hand me a little bag of rugelach,

knowing Mom can’t pay.

As I look up, reaching for your gift

my breath catches, arrested –

by a wisp of blue on your forearm.

I am studious, a reader, dear Baruch,

I know what that tattoo* means …

Looking down, with a whisper I choke

“Thank you, Baruch!”

swallowing that lump of sadness,

trying not to show my tears.

What right have I to tears?

But then you, dear Baruch, come

bounding round the counter

with warm hugs and soft tissues –

as though I was the one hurt.

From that day forever more,

you wore long sleeves.


At lunchtime, I demanded –

“Mom, tell me about Baruch.”

And she does.

I am pensive over our meal –

canned marinara and slices of

of your baguette.

Dear Baruch, with each salty bite

I eat your tears and

the blood of your child.

Nights she stares at me from that

sepia photo behind your register.

Baruch, did she, like me, assume

a grown-up life

of school and jobs,

marriage and children?

And you! You must have assumed

the tender comfort of

her love in your old age.

Do you hold the vision of her

young and happy in your

brave, kindly old heart?

Does your ear still play back

her childish laughter,

the sound of her voice

begging for a story?

Do your warm brown eyes still hold

her smile in remembrance?

When you see little girls at play,

does your anguish grow?

Dear Baruch, our dear Baruch –

how will you set your child free

from that faraway land and

cold, unmarked mass grave?


Inelle: http://inellezshayra.wordpress.com/2010/09/04/save-the-planet-earth/

Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause we’re not too late.
Save the planet Earth!
It is the only planet with chocolates.
Save the planet Earth!
Can you breathe oxygen in Neptune?
Save the planet Earth!
Can you now hear the tune?
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause this is where we play.
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause this is where we learned about cathode rays.
Save the planet Earth!
Can you understand the language in Mars?
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause this planet is ours.
Save the planet Earth!
This is where we learn Chemistry.
Save the planet Earth!
Can a Venusians teach you Histology?
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause I believe we can.
Save the planet Earth!
Let’s just stick to this plan.
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause life here is so great!
Save the planet Earth!
We can ’cause we’re more than thousands of eight.
Save the planet Earth!
Let’s unite and keep the faith.
Save the planet Earth!
As long as we can fight with fate.
Save the planet Earth!
It is the only place with rainbows and hues.
Save the planet Earth!
‘Cause it’s the only place where I can be with you.



The harmony of these illusions dissolve,
Under the influence of unfathomable pain.

Oh, ’twas but the death of a dream.
Did you hear the silence overwhelm?
All that remains is this path of annihilation,
Holding back the recesses of life.

The valley of solitude darkens,
As the sun hides behind the shadow of the Moon.
Lost is the path to salvation,
The path once lit with the echo of laughter.
Forever remains this broken land,
Cracked and forsaken,
Under the reign of the Moon.
And a solitary thought crosses
The fields of this mind.

A lone splinter of wood burns,
Under the intensity of your gaze.
A silent whisper traverses
The depths of space and time,
Only to fall upon this moment,
With a splash of expression.
These words writ in stone,
Wash over the singularity of this existence,
With an absolution so far unknown.

And the world lets out a sigh,
A single slip of emotion,
A single flash of weakness,
And the chaos softly sets in.

It took only one infinitesimal mistake,
One momentary lapse of reason.


Caty: http://fools-heart.blogspot.com/2010/09/hobbies-of-apple.html

A hypocrite of sorts,
you play both sides.
Your outer beauty
will lure anyone in.
and you know it
in the vain way you
hang around.
The delicious scent
you drown yourself in
and your promise
of fulfillment
is too much temptation
for any hungry soul.
You say you will
keep the doctor away
but you’ve spent
your time
poisoning princesses
and tempting Eve
into sin against
her own father.
you remind me
of someone I know.


Lest I Smite Thee: http://lestismitethee.wordpress.com/2010/07/31/writing-rape/

They laughed.
Sat there and laughed.
I struggled
to keep in tears
as fears resurfaced
and they laughed.
“I’d rape that meal!”
“I raped him in that game!”
“I’ll rape you in the face!”
Men joking around me
so casually,
so oblivious,
so apathetic
to the real nightmares
haunting countless women
every night
in every city
in every country.

Nightmare Corporeal,
a shadow lurking,
a beast stalking,
ravenous and waiting
as I walked
from car to apartment.
No one answered my screams
as he grabbed me
and gagged me
and dragged me
into his dark lair.
Slammed onto the floor
like a bitch dog,
hair entwined in his greedy grip
like a tangled leash
ripping out of my skull,
cracking under his heavy body.
I kicked and moaned
until he beat me into obedience
with club-like fists
and razor knuckles.
Blood, sweat, tears
trailing down the chain
choking my frail neck,
constricting twisted wrists
as he grabbed my jaw
and squeezed tight, tighter,
thick, bony, calloused fingers
pressing, bruising, crushing
as he whispered,
“Shut up
or I’ll slit your throat.”

and spread open,
I could only watch
as he took off his pants,
panting with anticipation,
his barbed wire uncoiling
and then
slice slice slice
sinking, searing
like a white-hot poker
burning my womb to ashes,
like demon claws burrowing,
carving trenches deep
into my most sacred secret
I had kept to one day share
with my true love.

Defiler, Impeller, Executioner.
I died inside that night
and drowned in the filthy spawn of hate.
A devil’s horn
tearing me asunder
from the inside out
as I laid quaking with pain,
shivering with shame,
quivering with all-consuming fear.

And how they laughed
as they brought memories back
of my torture,
my degradation,
my relentless rapist
with one simple, careless word.


Hello, everyone!

Promising Poets Parking Lot is excited to publish the 5h poetry journal of the week-Sept 9-15 celebrating remarkable ending of Thursday Poets Rally week 28  All our poets are brilliant artists who have been excellent writers and poetry promotion leaders…We are proud that we have about more than a dozen FRESH talents coming in this past week.

Let me know if I have overlooked your work or you have found errors in the work being represented here.

Thursday Poets Rally Week  29


take place during the week

September 23-29

A post about the detailed information of the Rally will be up on

September 22,

2010 at


More than 80 poets

are represented, Many thanks to all of you4 the outstanding contributions…