Friday, September 30, 2016

SeaScape II by Joan McNerney

SeaScape II

Let's dive in ocean hiss swish
riding with blue whales, bluewaves.Brush of foam and windy ripples
sunbeams chasing quicksilver fish.

Floating through our shining world
fragrant clouds, feathery clouds.
We weave one arm after another
wearing bracelets of salt pearl.


Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days.  Three Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Kind of A Hurricane Press Publications have accepted her work.  Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four Best of the Net nominations. 

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Bolivian Rhythms by Joanne Olivieri

Bolivian Rhythms

I remember these tunes
so vividly in my mind
Bolivian rhythms
wafting across the square.

Haunting flutes
echo against
once forgotten senses.

The memories linger
sweet incantations
swirling pulses
throughout my veins.

Ethnic vibrations
chanting strings
tell of the stories

hidden in my soul.


joanneolivieri.weebly.com Website
mypoeticjourney.weebly.com Poetry ebook Website

Saturday, September 24, 2016

It's What You Get For Dying On Me by John Grey

IT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR DYING ON ME

She lies in bed, near death,
her face pale as a wedding veil.
I used to think of death as Africa,
a country so far, so mysterious,
where I or no one I knew
would ever set foot.
A wedding veil?
I must be recalling
the photograph in the album -
half her face hidden in lace.
And Africa...
a car stops at a red light,
its speakers thumping like jungle drums.

Only the past wears wedding veils now.
Today's bride must be seen to be believed.
And Africa is front and center in the brochure
I pick up from the travel agency.
I can get there in a heartbeat,
not in a heart that beats no more.
Beliefs don't die. They just get more ridiculous.
And comparisons don't wear so well.
Or are lifetimes out of fashion.

Here is someone with the sense
draining out of her,
who cannot speak or remember,
whose arm-tubes feed her
like she's in a womb.
Ah, babies -there was one -just one -
snapshot of her at three months old.
But the rug, the naked belly,
the curl of hair, the burped smile,
won't save her.

She is pale and force-fed -
let's leave it at that.
She is still as if she's posing.
She's so vulnerable
like a body left out for the hyenas.
Allusions abound.
I cannot get my dying straight.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Stillwater Review and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.  

Friday, September 23, 2016

There Is A Bird by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

THERE IS A BIRD

There is a bird
that sings outside
all the time as
the sun begins
blazing away.
Inside I keep
cool. The bird sings
of desire. It
wants to tell its
tale. The tender
song gets me out
of bed. I fight
the sun and make
my way outside
to start the day.


In July 2016 Kendra Steiner Editions published my latest chapbook, Make
the Light Mine.  The chapbook could be ordered through Kendra Steiner
Editions, who also publish music as well.
https://kendrasteinereditions.wordpress.com/2016/07/15/new-poetry-chapbook-from-luis-cuauhtemoc-berriozabal-make-the-light-mine-kse-364/Bio:
Luis works in the mental health field in Los Angeles CA.  His poems in English
and Spanish have appeared in online and print journals.  His latest chapbook,
Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions. 

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Wetting The Ivy by William C, Blome

WETTING THE IVY

I can’t stand people who love certainty,
but I’m definite about how I want the ivy watered.
You can begin by filling the sitting-room samovar,
and then both of us will lug it outside.
We’re going to accidentally spill it at the base
of the stucco wall, and you could do far worse
than to take your cue from me: when I
exclaim “oops!” and suddenly lower and drop
my end of the samovar, you best follow suit,
and we’ll both jump back and watch
the silver top fly open, and I’m sure as anything
the water inside isn’t going to procrastinate,
‘won’t hesitate a moment to flood a small area,
‘won’t hesitate a second to soak the swell ivy.

William C. Blome writes poetry and short fiction. He lives wedged between Baltimore and Washington, DC, and he is a graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars. His work has previously seen the light of day in such fine little mags as Amarillo Bay, PRISM International, Fiction Southeast, Roanoke Review, Salted Feathers and The California Quarterly.

Without A Prayer by Jerry Durick

  Without a Prayer

“All we can do now is wait,” they say, but
there was a time when they would have said,
“All we can do now is pray,” but today we have
devalued prayer and thus are left with just
waiting, that void, that wasteland we fill with
possible scenarios, those imagined outcomes
we are full of, always ready to play out, pray out –
the doctor coming in to say it all went well, or he
says the opposite and things come tumbling down,
or finally your child is pulling in the driveway with
stories of why they are late, didn’t call, or the police
pull in and grief is written all over the moment – 
our imaginings play out all the variations, the good
outcome, the bad; we fill in the blanks in our lives
with stories we hope for, with stories we dread, with
something that somehow seems like a prayer.


J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Social Justice Poetry, Tuck Magazine, Yellow Chair ReviewSynchronized Chaos, and Haikuniverse.


One Tuesday Morning by Colleen Keller Breuning

One Tuesday Morning 

The world was moving, she was floating above it
a painted fairy skirting wispy clouds
silk cobwebs against a field of crystal blue
as twisted metal rained down from the skies.

Shattered glass pierced the coldest heart
amidst bags of broken bone and skin
and blood spilled on the ground
the world crumbled right before our eyes.

Night must fall now.... darker, darker
pure evil buried beneath smoking rubble
the dust of death filled up our lungs
weary minds tainted with terror and fright.

Feeble, we crawled out of the wreckage
emerging from the dark of night
and she was waiting there, lantern aglow 
promising a new world of hope and light.

Colleen Keller Breuning © 2016

Colleen Keller Breuning is a poet and photographer who was born and raised in Maryland. She currently resides in Purcellville, Virginia with her husband and cats, Tommy and Jordan. Her poetry, short stories and photography have been published in a variety of print and online magazines during the past decade. Her first poetry book, Shadows of My Father, was a tribute to her father and published in 2011. She is currently working on her second book of poetry, along with assorted photography projects. She participates in several online writing groups. In addition to poetry and photography, she loves nature, music, cats and wine (not necessarily in that order).

"Shadows of My Father" is available for purchase at:https://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Father-Colleen-Keller-Breuning/dp/0983607206
My Wordpress site:  https://colleenbreuning.wordpress.com
My Blogspot site:  http://colleenkellerbreuning.blogspot.com
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/colleen.breuning
Fine Art America: http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/colleen-keller-breuning.html

Monday, September 19, 2016

Winter 1972 by Michael Paul Hogan

Winter 1972


The grass blades
on the lee side of the house
were crisp
as over-starched linen;

walked on they crunched
like gravel, lapped
by a tongue of snow that shelved
to deeper water.

By mid-morning
the bird prints were arranged
in neat, vertical columns
like Chinese writing. The sky

was the color of boiled rice.
Meanwhile, my father,
decked out like a submarine
commander, practiced his short irons

on the drawing room carpet.
Keeping his eye on an imaginary ball
he fantasized a succession
of six-inch putts.

“Don’t go too far,” he said, my hand
already pulling shut the screen door.
I imagined the distraction causing him
to slice one in a greenside bunker.

Outside
the air was tense as stretched elastic.
The frozen river had the scrubbed-clean look
of a fishmonger’s table.

With ruthless efficiency
a snow plow
filleted
the boned road bare.


Born in London, Michael Paul Hogan is a poet and journalist whose work has appeared extensively in the USA, UK, India and China. His most recent collection of poetry, Chinese Bolero, illustrated by the great contemporary Chinese painter Li Bin, was published in 2015.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Small Worlds I by Neil Ellman



Small Worlds I Painting by Wassily Kandinsky


Small Worlds I

(painting by Wassily Kandinsky)


Not an iota      not a dot
barely more than a particle of light
a syllable      a single word
a fragment of a sentence
without a point       and yet
contains  multitudes of meaning
myriad colors on a never-ending wheel
the shape of infinity in a drop of blood      
on the hands of time—
how small these worlds
this universe       in the darkness
of an amaranthine night
waiting for the light      the word
and the cries of a child
about to be born.


Neil Ellman is a poet from New Jersey.  He has published numerous poems, more than 1,000 of which are ekphrastic and written in response to works of modern art, in print and online journals, anthologies and chapbooks throughout the world.  He has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize and twice for Best of the Net.

Editors Note: This is an ekphrastic poem and based on a work of modern art. The title of this poem is that of the original image, Small Worlds I by Wassily Kandinsky - Image shown above.





Dance by David Bell

Dance

Dance for me on the moon of equity
Dance for me song of humility 
Dance for ever to be free
Dance with a shadow on my shoulder
Dance for ever or for no more
Dance at life's revolving door
Dance on wings of light
Dance both day and light
Dance your dreams away
Dance for years and life
Dance through your strife
Dance to become free
Dance for anyone but
Dance for me

Ghosts of Me by Melissa R. Mendelson

Ghosts of Me

Glimpses of a ghost
tells me that she is there still,
and time has not made her fade away.
The black holes of my life
have not kept her,
and the golden skies
of my dreams
has not found her.
She is there beside me,
and I am her in a blink.
Inside me,
she sleeps
along the scars of my mistakes
and of my nightmares,
and she looks out
into a world
that still doesn't see me.
They will is what my heart whispers,
and I can feel time drawing close.
The future is coming near.
I was hoping to leave
this person that I once was behind,
but she is there holding my hand,
a faded picture of me.
We are ready to take on the world
and see our dreams found.

http://channillo.com/series/lizardian/



Wednesday, September 14, 2016

A Place In Your Heart by Kimberlye Gold

A Place In Your Heart

A restless heart, a starry night, a yearning still unknown
For something I had yet to find I ventured out alone
As I arrived an angel's voice rang out of the blue
Suddenly I made my choice, the answer lies with you

Is there a place in your heart for me
Somewhere I could belong
Something in your eyes says wait and see
Is there a place in your heart for me

Should I trust this certainty that fate has brought me here
The magic and the mystery could quickly disappear
But pictures dance inside my head of stories yet untold
And all the things I've left unsaid I long to have and hold

Is there a place in your heart for me
Somewhere I could belong
Something in your eyes says wait and see
Is there a place in your heart for me

Watching you I feel the music play inside of me
Have I finally found the one to hear my melody

Is there a place in your heart for me
Somewhere I could belong
Something in your eyes says wait and see
This is the place I want to be
Is there a place in your heart for me



Words and Music by Kimberlye Gold (D.C. Gold Music, ASCAP) & Steve Siler (Fifty States Music, ASCAP)& Narada Michael Walden
Publishing Administered by Universal Music
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


BIO: KIMBERLYE GOLD – VOCALS/GUITAR –
A Bay Area native, Kimberlye’s career has taken her far and wide. Beginning with the award-winning San Francisco rock 'n roll musical comedy, Breakfast In Marin, starring as "Sunny" when she was a teenager, she has traveled to music hot spots world-wide, performing at venues such as Biscuits ‘N Blues in San Francisco, Molly Malone’s in Los Angeles, The Bitter End in New York City, The Bluebird Cafe in Nashville and 12 Bar in London. Kimberlye co-wrote "Don't Maybe Me", a cut on Nashville Atlantic Records recording artist Mila Mason's CD, The Strong One. Kimberlye’s songs have also appeared in the ABC TV series All My Children as well as motion pictures and documentaries. Steve Massam/BBC Radio, notes "Kimberlye is a breath of fresh air; she sings from the heart with true feeling and passion. She can rock, yet has a quality in her voice that easily compares with Emmylou Harris or Allison Krauss." Ben Fong-Torres, author/journalist & former senior editor of Rolling Stone magazine states, "Kimberlye has a way with words and music; based as much on heart and soul as they are on rock & roll, folk, country and the blues. Her voice, pretty, strong and rocking, is equally adept at covering all those musical bases a


Kimberlye Gold
Singer/Songwriter

The Pindaric Ode Peace by Joanne Olivieri

The Pindaric Ode

One of my favorite styles of poetry is called the Pindaric Ode named after the Greek poet Pindar. It is basically an enthusiastic and elaborately designed lyric which was composed by the poet Pindar. It’s comprised of a strophe and anti strophe and epode. I know, it’s all Greek to me too. A strophe is a turning as a chorus moving to one side. An antistrophe is the counter-turn as the chorus moves in the opposite direction. An epode is a standing still of the chorus. These were all used in plays and choruses. In general terms or plain English the strophe would consist of four rhyming lines with the first and third lines rhyming and the second and fourth lines rhyming. The antistrophe consists of two exact rhymed lines followed by two short rhymed lines in contrast to the strophe. The epode is the ending which consists of one line rhyming with the two shorts. I know this is confusing so here is an example. This is a pindaric ode I wrote several years ago for a religious publication:

Peace

On thy lips fruit of the vine
Shall evoke a taste of shame
Martyred bloodshed cup of wine
Invisible in His name.

Thy wrath befell upon the sight
Of Devils’ chance to winged flight

Yet we
Shall see

Lion and lamb lie down with thee.

The most important elements are that the lines have an exact rhyme scheme with a lyrical intent. When you recite or hear a pindaric ode it should sound like a song. The master at writing Pindaric odes was John Donne. So make sure to read some of his work. It is difficult to pull off a rhyme scheme such as this without sounding like greeting card verse. In today’s markets, there really isn’t a huge demand for this type of writing however when I read poetry for pleasure, these are the patterns I read.


The Etheree by Joanne Olivieri

As poets we have the ability to encapsulate our thoughts and ideas and create lasting impressions with words. There are literally thousands of poetic styles. The etheree is a strict form in which the structure is limited to ten lines and ten syllables. Much like a pyramid in form, the poem will begin with one syllable and end with a 10 syllable line. Or, it can be reversed with the first line employing 10 syllables and the last line one. It may seem an easy form however it is very difficult to write this style with the necessary components of imagery and flow. Below is a quickly written example to give you an idea of how the poem should be created and what it should look like when completed.

Are
you a
poet of
life who creates
poems with love and
passion? Who in nature
is peaceful and serene as
a tranquil waterfall flowing
freely into the depths of the mind
cleansing the spirit, caressing the heart.

I wrote this very quickly without any attention to imagery but rather form and style. I wanted to express the form as it should be unveiled to the reader. A pyramid or triangular appearance is the law of the land with an etheree. It should be rich in imagery and metaphor and should not be rhymed. There are many forms such as sonnets and odes which can be rhymed however many forms do not employ the style. And, always remember that even if you are writing in a metrical style there should be emphasis on imagery.


mypoeticjourney.weebly.com

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

THE LAZY GONDOLIER by William C. Blome

THE LAZY GONDOLIER

Rumor has it you’ve cast your lot
With one lazy gondolier, a melodious jerk
Who barcarolles with the very best of them,
But isn’t worth a crap when it comes
To finding treasure in the Lido’s squooshy turf
At daytime’s lowest tide. Oh he can expertly
Steady his boat into wasp-waisted slips
And rough-sea piers, but give your guy a shovel—
Even show him exactly where to dig or scoop—
And damned if he’ll ever turn over one ducat
Or even a corroded and encrusted bracelet.
Moreover, everybody sees he never breaks a sweat,
Never pants like a strung-out greyhound
From genuine exertion, which is why I rush
To call him lazy. But now confide in me, pretty-
Pretty please: is he the selfsame way when he’s
Practically all by himself? (You know, when
He’s with no one except the likes of you?) 

SeaScape I by Joan McNerney

SeaScape  I

Hearing waves from a distance and
feeling sea breezes brush our faces,
it seemed a century before we
came to the ocean.

So blue and bright to our eyes
its rhythm broke chains of
unremarkable days.

Over cool sand we ran and you picked
three perfect shells which fit
inside each other.  Swimming away in
that moving expanse below kiss
of fine spray and splashes.

With clouds cumulus we drifted while
gulls circled the island.  Together we
discovered beds of morning glories
climbing soft dunes.

Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days.  Three Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Kind of A Hurricane Press Publications have accepted her work.  Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four Best of the Net nominations. 

Speech by Jerry Durick

 Speech
The problem with public speaking is the public part,
That group there to observe, listen, absorb your words;
You know them well, have played that part many times,
You feel their discomfort with their passive role; at first
They feel a moment of empathy, imagine themselves
Alone up there about to speak, then they move on to
Discover the nature of the speaker, you this time, and
They watch for nervous gestures, any break in your voice,
Before they begin to weigh what you have to say; you
Know their part, and now at the lectern, podium, pulpit
On stage you begin your part, the one you watched often
Enough that you can play both parts out in your head,
Speaker and the spoken to; you adjust the mike and then
Search their faces, search the silence you need to fill and
Begin; the things that sounded so good in your head mock
You, form an echo, play out in a voice you don’t know,
The voice of the stranger you have become, the words
Bounce around, lose focus; the other you sits in the audience,
Embarrassed to think he knows the speaker, met him once
In passing in the hall outside the auditorium on his way
To hear yet another speaker speak.


J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Social Justice Poetry, Tuck Magazine, Yellow Chair ReviewSynchronized Chaos, and Haikuniverse.

Thursday, September 8, 2016

The Ordinary Stars by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

THE ORDINARY STARS
So tired
of looking
at the stars
that become
so ordinary
as I count them
one by one.
Perhaps I
get tired of
counting
them instead
of looking
at them as
something
beautiful
and not
so ordinary.


July 2016 Kendra Steiner Editions published my latest chapbook, Make
the Light Mine.  The chapbook could be ordered through Kendra Steiner
Editions, who also publish music as well.
Bio:
Luis works in the mental health field in Los Angeles CA.  His poems in English
and Spanish have appeared in online and print journals.  His latest chapbook,
Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions. 

YOU ARE SO GOOD TO ME Words & Music by Jerry Holland

YOU ARE SO GOOD TO ME
words & music Jerry Holland
c. Heebalibra Music / BMI

Life is hard, filled with stress
But you treat me with such tenderness
That's why I feel as lucky as can be
My bones are tired, I scrape along
And yet I sing a thankful song
Cause you are so good to me

Love is rare, time is swift
And every hour a fleeting gift
A gift that comes without a guarantee
But when I'm down, battered and blue
No matter if you're hurting too
You are so good to me

In silent hours I pray
Never will I take your love for granted
For at the dark end of the day
You make my night a world enchanted

Lightning strikes, thunder roars
The wind it howls, and rain it pours
But in your arms I'm wrapped up peacefully
You're sweet and kind, never mean
You make this girl feel like an English Queen
You are so good to me
You are so good to me...


www.sonyholland.com


Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Morning by Dianne Robitaille


Morning

New Day - my
feet meet the
floor -
Smooth pine -
The planks
creaks from
the Ancient -
each step -
a ritual of
tones -
our silent
prayer.
--Dianne Robitaille


Dianne Robitaille is an editor for the Ibbetson Street Press. Her work has appeared widely in the small press. She was the secretary for the New England Poetry Club, and is a graduate of Regis College in Weston, Mass.

Aquatic Wanderlust by Joanne Olivieri

Aquatic Wanderlust

Dancing waves
ebb and flow
to nature's percussion
as I silently
become entranced
in aqueous vibrato
pulsating gently
softly caressing
nocturnal rhythms.


mypoeticjourney.weebly.com

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

No Longer Are You Mine lyrics by Joanne Olivieri

No Longer Are You Mine

Your piercing eyes see through
A mirror to my soul
Our love , my heart, we grew
You were what made me whole


I now no longer smile
When thoughts of you appear
Pleasure, but for a while
Fades away, my dear.


With lips as sweets as wine
You kissed my cares away
No longer are you mine
Forever and today.


Chorus:
No longer are you mine
Forever and today
We simply sip some wine
And toast our love away
~~~~~~~~
Your soft and gentle touch
Soothed my every need
I loved you, oh so much
Now my heart can only bleed.


We shared our every thought
Each moment a fantasy
Of late we only fought
Unforgiving on bended knee.


I must now thank you so
For the joy you gave to me
Seems a lifetime ago
Again, I am now free.


Chorus:
No longer are you mine
Forever and today
We simply sip some wine
And toast our love away



joanneolivieri.weebly.com

mypoeticjourney.weebly.com

In His Hands by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

IN HIS HANDS


In his hands
he holds the shadows
and the sun that shines.
Magically, he
holds a rose and a
yellow sunflower
that Van Gough painted
with his last brush stroke.
He holds a gift
that keeps on giving,
a burning rose
saved from oblivion.
In his hands
the world was born.



In July 2016 Kendra Steiner Editions published my latest chapbook, Make
the Light Mine.  The chapbook could be ordered through Kendra Steiner
Editions, who also publish music as well.

https://kendrasteinereditions.wordpress.com/2016/07/15/new-poetry-chapbook-from-luis-cuauhtemoc-berriozabal-make-the-light-mine-kse-364/ 
Bio:

Luis works in the mental health field in Los Angeles CA.  His poems in English
and Spanish have appeared in online and print journals.  His latest chapbook,
Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions. 



Sunday, September 4, 2016

Wet Soil Beneath My Hand by Melissa R. Mendelson

Wet Soil Beneath My Hand
by, Melissa R. Mendelson 


This world was haven once,
and life was destiny
to be written
and remembered.
And then the ground broke,
and everything fell apart.
Where forests stood
now stand concrete.
The taste of fresh air
is now stale and congested.
Dreams loved the silver lining
on clouds now grown dark,
and nature suffers,
weeping still
from what she lost.
This world is locked
in a vice
that we call our own,
and all those
free to roam
now run toward extinction.
Ghosts are left behind
in fearful eyes of the ones
hoping that we do not steal them away
from life,
from this world,
but we still hunt.
No satisfaction lies within hunger of human nature,
and extinction is our end result.
But what will happen when time comes
for us,
and nature with all her fury
unleashes all her spirit upon us?
Will we too fade away,
or will we realize this world
once a haven
is now being destroyed
by us
because we never seem to get enough
of the hunt,
of shopping malls,
or endless searching
of trying to make this world
our own?


http://channillo.com/series/lizardian/


ENCUMBERED by Danielle Pierre

ENCUMBERED 

Forged sight conveyed a portrayal of lack, 
Aged fingers grasped firmly around desire.
She carried its burden upon her back,
Perched heavily upon wearied shoulders.
Eyes once filled with hope, faded miles ago,
Now blinded to a path left abandoned.
Walking the old road, in circles; she goes,
Encumbered by a fate she imagined.
Foolish is the mind which takes up the torch,
Of worn travelers whose sight betrayed them.
Licking the flames; dreams unwittingly scorched,
A once budding rose, left only a stem.
To break free from the grip of days gone by,
Bears gifts, seen only through an open eye.

Saturday, September 3, 2016

As You Are by Jerry Holland

AS YOU ARE
Music and Lyrics: Jerry Holland

You’re a man of many moods
Sudden silent interludes
Like a summer storm that’s slowly brewing

Morning clouds and midnight sun
Mixed emotions on the run
Can’t you see the hurt in what you’re doing

Sometimes I don’t understand you
I wish I could command you
To let your feelings show through
Heart to heart don’t you know
I will always love you
The light and dark sides of you
I’ll take you as you are

Whisper low in careless rhymes
Like wind blowing through the chimes
Let your blues become as light as laughter

Lose yourself in sweet amore
Lie upon my peaceful shore
What more could you seek for ever after

Sometimes I don’t understand you, I wish I could command you
To let your feelings show through, Heart to heart deep down I
I wish that I could save you, But I can only love you, And take you as you are

Final chorus

Sometimes I don’t understand you, Wish I could command you
To let your feelings show through, Heart to heart don’t you know
I will always love you, The light and dark sides of you
I’ll take you as you are, Deep down I wish that I could save you
But I can only love you, And take you as you are

http://www.sonyholland.com




Friday, September 2, 2016

Quotes by Miko Romo

As each day passes I realize that I was given one more day for whatever reason. May I find it. With each day I realize I was gifted with one more day, and that helps me want to become someone who does good things unto others, and treat today with love Blessings to you all and have a great day!

You could be gone tomorrow, love today

I still believe in respecting our woman... No one can take that away from me. Open her door, allow her to enter first, and be a Gentleman.

“Remember, buying something is not the problem. The problem comes when we believe, for that moment, that the object we’re buying is going to make us happy.”

“The world always pays you less than you are worth. Don't sell yourself short even further.”

Life as Serendipity

How much of yourself is really you?

Construct yourself and build YOU. Knowledge is everywhere..go get some and apply it. The more you know the better off you will be in this world!

READ, READ, READ , AND keep READING !

Thursday, September 1, 2016

The Unpredictable Sea by Pat St. Pierre

The Unpredictable Sea
(previously published 2011 in Eye of the Needle)


The sea, an angry huntress,
thrusts itself upon the sea rover.
Wild winds hamper massive sails.
The ocean’s white foam
curls;
thunderous waves
explode
against the bluff.
The sea is fearless
and wants to be in control
but the mariner is relentless.

He struggles to assert his authority.
As he shouts to the heavens.
the mariner’s scream is carried away.
His body crumbles;
the ocean once more defeats man 

and again assumes command.



Bio: Pat St. Pierre is a freelance writer for both adults and children in poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. She has had three poetry books published. Her latest is "Full Circle" and was published by Kelsay Books. Her work has been on in ezines and in print. She is also an amateur photographer whose photos have been on the covers and included in ezines and print. Her most recent photo is on the cover of Touch, The Journal of Healing" issue 19. Her blog is www.pstpierre.wordpress.com.

Make America Grate Again by Stephen Dreyfuss

MAKE AMERICA GRATE AGAIN          
by Stephen Dreyfuss

Let’s make America grate again, grate like grated cheese
And shred that solid voting block, bring Justice to her knees
Let’s make America Grate again, grate like grated cheese
Bring our great democracy, down on humbled knees

Just like grated cheese, the voting block is shredded bit by bit
With our newsy infotainment, the truth does take a hit
Those glory days those happy days, so difficult to resist
Dreaming of times those gone by, but just when did they exist?
Now when was our true greatness at its greatest peak?
1890’s…..1980’s, politicians dare not speak
Or specify which time it was our enemies were proven weak
And all our citizens worked together, like a pump without a leak
Memories of the golden days, America was truly great
Let me find my pen and paper so I can record the date…

Was that when we shot the natives right off the prairie plains?
Or kept all slaves secure locked up in iron chains?
Or the time of Robber Barons, with their thieving souls?
Or the mighty great Depression, in the Age of dusty bowls?
Here in Sunny California now we’re serfing USA
Hipsters, I tried to warn ya, now you’re laboring for low pay
All you serfs and overlords keep to the status quo
While the Central Valley migrants work row after row after row after row….

Confusion knows no bounds and the math is way too hard
 Complete history of the U.S.A. on a single index card
Confusion knows no bounds, they cut schooling for the masses
Supreme Courts meet in secret, all of Congress like molasses
Let’s make America grate again, grate like grated cheese
And shred that true democracy, bring Justice to her knees
Now he might be the REAL Lucifer,   real fleshy one at that
With “Make America Grate Again” printed on his hat
A sheep in wolf’s clothing, wearing flip-flops makes a switch
Many, many, many people think so… vainglorious son ‘o the rich
Shows up at the Last Supper, he tries to make a deal
Told Christ and twelve disciples:
“Get me a taco bowl, a vanilla shake, extra-large  fries, hot onion rings  and I’ll have the  12 mock Donald happy meals-TO GO!
….and hand the bill off to Mexico”
Let’s make America grate again, grate like grated cheese
And shred our true democracy, bring Lady Justice to her knees!

Copyright 2016 Triple Cliff Publishing (BMI)




The Meadow by Danielle Pierre

THE MEADOW 
(c) 2008 Danielle Pierre

Intently, she veers off a path of gloom,
wandering into a meadow, soft hue, full in bloom.
Tossed sporadically, flowers shading tomorrow,
amongst strangling weeds, breeding yesterday’s sorrow;
she picks a flower while wandering through,
its fragrance familiar, a scent fading; you.
A drop of memory falls from her eye, watering soil
with days gone by.
A new path ahead leads to love, new tomorrow;
she sets down the flower, and with it her sorrow;
joyous anticipation accompanies fresh ground;
she glances back at what was, as flowers wither; abound.

http://daniellepierre.net

One Million Eyes by Danielle Pierre

ONE MILLION EYES 
(c) 2009 Danielle Pierre

Weaving in and out I lost my way,
distorted by my own soul grieving;
yearning for sight to shed its light
and direct me to where you stand;
the sun did rise and lit up the skies,
not to find you, but to see them.

And before my sight
cried one million eyes,
damp and dimming, they waited.

They probed my eyes where they found the sun,
shadowed by their own reflection;
as they turned away I swallowed my shame,
letting it catch in my throat, whence I choked; 
for one million eyes seeped, in vain.

And before my sight
cried one million eyes,
damp and dimming, they waited.

While just beyond the silent skies
through this maze of dark and light,
again came your cries where I found your eyes
caressing their pain, and I wept;
for the sun had set upon their lids,
now dark and dry, they slept

http://daniellepierre.net