Daily Archives: March 14, 2010


“Time from Paradise” by Leonard M Parks

There you are so innocent
Why do you trouble so
With all my problems deep inside
Where no one dares to go

So much time do I consume
And guilty do I feel
From thoughts that one day I just might
Feel something not surreal

I cannot pay you for your mind
How could it have a price
I cannot pay you for the time
You take from paradise

There must be something I can do
For saying what's unsaid
And helping me find sanity
From what's inside my head.

“Jamie” by Stacie C C Graham

Jocund in the way she percolates
singing with heart, laughing with sensation
controverting her right to not conform
delivering a plea for animals
these are the subjects that move her,
the themes that impassion her

Alluring in the way of her disclosure
gleaming blue eyes, revealing white smile
persisting in spite of the unknown
inveighing intuition for the sake of consternation
this a showing of vitality,
a matter of endurance

Mercurial in the contrivance she declares
demanding assent, longing for apperception
receding inner progression
abdicating autonomy of thought
this marks an abeyance of growth,
a respite of relief

Invigorating is the titillation she sparks
kindling empressement, illuminating fervor
transpiring distant boundaries
emanating the depth of infatuation
her case con adoration,
a repudiation of affirmed predilection

Eminent in her exposition of desire
parading innocence, proclaiming liberty
seeking secretly security
desiderating dependable dependency
the paramour I once knew,
an inamorato with whom I yearn to re-unite

“Unborn Fare” by Ron Koppelberger

There, in gray agreements of cloudy mist, the sharp-edged desire
To flourish in secret sunglow and daytime moonshine,
The celebrated parish allure of ascendancy, beyond the veils of
Beaten soils and worn seams, beyond the smokey haze of
Lazy complacency and hazy whiskey wells, in mind
And neither hot nor cold reflections, a coveted flock
Flying in tall warbling songs of silence, by kind destinations
Of symmetry and balanced life, the soaring puff of unbound spirit,
Realms of sustained release allayed by a moment of hidden romance,
By the seconds in unborn fare.

“Wise Owls” by Ron Koppelberger

Surveying the design of twilight fire and ashen coals
Of ebony enchantment, allied, forever in a moment
Of glowing sensation, a delicate balance of clever
Caste and black cat cries of pleasure, the vein of cinders and
Dusty blood, a faint discovery followed by the sayings of muses
And wise owls, by the will of nighttime awareness
And the flight of ancient pilgrims in
Concealed vestures, in silhouette and
Eternal beauty.

“Sirens in Song” by Ron Koppelberger

Becoming the layers of affection and sweet embracing
Desire descried in exhaling wont and ventured cascades
Of pondered romance. A joyful, eminent break
In the professed worry of reflection and bothered
Visions, allayed by another tabloo of allure, by the
Overpowering kiss of tattered princesses and
Wild eyed maidens in meadows of amber and saffron,
The pleasure in roaming reveries of understanding
Myth, by the fable of sirens in song and quandaries
In verse.

“At Poe’s Tomb” by John Grey

It was the perfect pilgrimage.
No daylight trudge through
Baltimore backstreets.
This was a late night
orgy of terror.
And what weather.
If life had a soundtrack,
organ music would have played.

We saw the stone through
a rusty iron fence,
as cold to the touch
as coffin lids:
E. A. Poe,
and the dripping drool of years
more dead than lived.

The wind really did howl.
And lightning wreaked
a frightening electric vengeance
on the heavy sky.
Thunder shook the presbytery,
the webs that crawled across
its cold stone face.
And rain was heavy as knife thrusts,
then softened to drizzle
like the subsequent bleeding.

“Change” by Amanda DiDonna

We all feel pain as we hit our teens
The change is so bad
We have the choices but what to do
And to think you have puberty too
But puberty's fine
The kids they used to be so kind
The pain I'm talking about is worse
You would think they had you on a course
You find out who you want to be and who you are
And then your siblings set the bar
Some try to be better but that's not who they are
So then they hate their life
That's why they grab those drugs and knives
They must have skipped DARE
The cops say as the blood goes everywhere
No happy ending for them
To think it happens all the time
If they would just look to see who they are
They would be above their siblings' bar
For just being you is the greatest thing of all
Emo Skater Goth Prep Nerd Jock
They're all the same like were in a flock
Like a flock of birds we'll be soaring so high
Above and beyond but some are still left behind
The parents and the cops say we're nothing
And then they start their cussing
We fall because of you
And you say it's our fault too
But look where you are
You fell below your own bar
So don't tell us to be just like you
Because now we know what not to do

“Bang!” by Amanda DiDonna

In class kids are silent all around
Almost like this magic bond
We don't talk as the teacher drones on
Wishing we could be some where far beyond

When kids are wishing they could fly
I'm sitting here wondering why
They were learning
When one day well feel that burning

Not knowing what to do
When there all worried about who's dating who
We feel the love
We feel the hate

I don't know why were all in this place
The preps are all wearing lace
Then there's me
Jeans and a shirt is all I need

We pass in the hall
They say noting at all
But as she goes to leave
Something is heaved
She turns around to hear
Go home and cry emo kid get outta here

So she goes home
The next day at school they're not alone
As they say the names
She just smiles and waves bye
As she pulls out that gun places it to her head and
BANG!
She's finally gone

“What Do You See?” by Amanda DiDonna

When I look at you I see something different
But nothing bad
I see the you that you show
You're sitting there with a bow in your hair
I'm not like you but that's not rare
I don't get you

You don't hate your life
You don't wanna die but...
You do feel love
And you are you
And you do feel this hate
that's aiming at me

So why don't you stop it
All this hate its nothing you cant see
If you don't like me then why don't you just leave me be
I would do that to you but
Were so much alike but you wont show it

There are some differences but nothing big
If you take out that bow you'll see were not so different
So why are you so mean we could be friends but you wont let it be
Now I look at you and what do I see???

I see the you that you show
If you give me a chance it would be something more
You wont and that's ok
Maybe one day
I will see the real you then
Now you know what I see but
I'm standing here and what do you see
Because I know you don't see me
You see what you think I am
But that's not who or what I am
I'm not Emo I'm not skater
If you think that then you can come back later

Now I'm mad
You're standing here telling me what I am
Let me tell you I'm not like Bam
Just because I hate my life
You're telling me I wouldn't be a good wife

I am who I am and I'm not gonna change
You can make fun of me you can talk about me
I don't care its not true
I'll tell you how I feel
I don't hate my life
I don't wanna die
I am mad about a lot of things but...

I am me and I do love
And I do feel the hate you give off
You're pointing it at me
And I don't get it what do you see
Now that you know me it may change your mind
If you still don't get me then you're just blind
Because its just me, so now what do you see???

“My Own Sea” by Daniel Garcia

I have my own sea
But I never learned to swim
Now I need floaties

I have my own depths
Maybe they came about when
I gazed into death

Vampires could never
Empty my strong resilience
Or freeze my fever

I cling to my quirks
And all my sensitivity
As the monsters lurk

Life experience
Like changing my climate
Shows I go the distance

And if a merman
Comes along and asks me for
My intricate hand

I will share my sea
And let him in my abyss
As it lifts lightly.

“Elegy of J. Alfred Prufrock” by Jack Merrywell

i've seen the beast,
of that i know
that no death can measure
by coffee spoons

there is a place yet
i'd like to go,
where no one speaks
of michelangelo

wandering (Nowhere)
i came upon a man
drowning in filth,
lethargically awaiting
his own end of time

piercing yellowgray eyes
grasping at my coat,
pleading "mercy, sir, mercy?"
but i walked along
and i walked along

i only walked along

down the road, then,
a proud man stood,
a titan (full of the life
that lies beyond my door)

two creatures,
worlds apart
(so painfully distant)

but which of these was Prufrock
and which was michelangelo?

“Expulsion” by Jack Merrywell

Foolish words
fall asleep holding wisdom
to their breasts:
the two are inseparable,
this is the way of contradictions.

The prophet alone
sees his unabashed naivety
as beautiful:
it is beautiful!
It is the lover of wisdom,
the lifeblood of intellect.

And slowly,
slowly,
the master
accumulates
his insane ramblings
and with them makes sense
of the world,
makes sense of our eternal
insanity.

The contradictions, the insane demands,
the wars, the lovers...
become each other
and explode:

humanity's very own big bang.

“Some Haiku” by Mike Berger

EPIC

I am writing an epic poem
about a poets frustrations, but
I can't get past this writer's block.

BUMPER STICKER

I can't read that bumper sticker;
I pulled up very close. It read:
"Help stomp out bumper stickers."

TANTALIZING

I love the bite on my tongue.
The pungent odor makes me drool.
I taste that turnip for a week.

“Trinkets” by Lottie Corley

Our mom passed away in '84
We looked at each other and opened her door.
Trinkets of love throughout the years.
My sisters and I broke into tears.
Lockets of hair and baby barrettes.
Among all the trinkets that she had kept.
Handmade jewelry for her birthday.
And bright colored cards that we had made.
So you don't get a mother's day.
Or the joy of watching our children play.
A mother, a teacher and so much more.
A guardian angel at our door.
Trinkets of love you kept through the years.
We stood there wiping away our tears.

“A Working Life” by Walter Sullivan

Waves from nature
and man made
churn out spasms
of bell sound
from the bell buoy.

Anchored as it is
below the surface
to give it a floor
from which to
distractedly warn
of the depths here about,
resembles our man
who on occasion has become
a man of parts that work.