Archive for April 9th, 2011

National Poetry Month, Part Three

I offered my readers the opportunity to have their favorite poems featured here. Their poem of choice could either be written by them or one of their favorite authors in the public domain. Here are the poems.

by Rochelle Royal

“Time is of an essence!”
He disregards as nonsense
fading away into colorful fantasy.
Why hasn’t he noticed that sky before?
Did birds always sing this good?
Interrupted by the harsh reality of police sirens –
reminding the people the prison they already live in.

“Time is of an essence!”
Gallantly charge through and dominate
Oh, knight in rusting armor.
All we ever wanted was control
but we and control are an impossibility.
So we created prisons.
So we created careers.
So we created anti-depressants.
Tools of control in this system….but time is of an essence!
He disregards as nonsense
fading away into the colorful fantasy.

Baby Queen
by Chick Under Construction

She sleeps in lip gloss and earrings
So she can dream pretty dreams
Shuns the simple things, opts for the extreme
Has goals smaller than the lumps on a pre-teen
Craves the attention to be seen
Those of you with daughters know what I mean
It’s time for some of us to intervene
Pull the societal pacifier – wean
…she has to be taught to be a Queen!

by Stacey

Don’t  you see me? I’m standing right here.
Your lack of acknowledgment causes my eyes to tear.
I say hi, I wave, I scream, I cry.
Thinking you will at least give me your eye.
Yet you turn around and walk away
Not giving me the time of day.
Where did you go, why can’t you see
I’m still here, I’m still me.
Despite my faults and flaws,
I still care
Wanting my life and yours
to be shared.
What happened to us
How did we get to this place?
Let’s wave our white flags
Of forgiveness and grace.

The Last In The Monarchy Of Lions
by Blaga Todorova

In the time of silence, when dimness is all I see,
you can make me believe the world is maybe royal.
Across the bed with silk and mirrors, where lies my pride,
you may convince me I’m the last in the monarchy of lions.

If the edges of my ivory gown touch the ballroom floor,
you can turn into ashes my crystal crown, let my hair flow down.
And when the neon in your eyes set in flames my naive heart,
I can even let you call me a Queen, I can accept your endearment.

But in mornings with coffee, when the sound of traffic is all I hear,
don’t say a word, don’t send me orchid petals in envelopes.
When your voice is just an echo in the distance, I tremble under
the spell of my own world, for I can only be a lady, but never royal.

Chamomile & Lavender
by Jacque

She seduces me with her eyes
without even knowing it
and takes me from a crowded room
into our own private world

Her kisses are
Her life energy travels through me
with each breath of hers
I breathe in

I am the Earth
to her Northwest rain
taking in every drop
of her wetness

She is my morning meditation

My afternoon Reiki

My Chamomile and Lavender

Late into the night

Less To More
by Dean

I suppose it would be easier
To love a hundred women
I could divide my loyalties,
Give way less to more
…I could xerox Christmas cards
And even with the extra work
The extra cost of gas, the mileage on my smile…
Still it might be  advantageous
To love a lot of women a little
To give each one just enough voice
So that I could hear them if they called
And wouldn’t miss them if they didn’t
Sure… I wouldn’t climb the walls as often
Neither would I fear the falling
Neither would I smack so cruelly on the concrete
Yeah…even with the added pressure
Of remembering all those names and birthdays
Even at the risk of lapsing into mediocrity
Even with the wear and tear
On all my vital organs
…I think it may be easier
To love a lot of women a little
Than to love just one woman a lot

The Model
by Ina

So I sit here completely naked and cold
In front of this art class of men young and old
Trying hard not to feel awkward at all
I shiver a bit on the stool that’s too small
Hearing the pencils  drawing my curves
I am smiling away what is left of my nerves
Someone is coughing, but no body speaks
A chair’s loudly moved and the door slightly shreeks
Alone with twenty four eyes watching me
From nine till eleven in my nudity
And then thank heaven it is time for their break
I  secretly look what it is that they make
Twelve sheets of paper all showing my figure of speech:
Three cubics, two circles and a triangle each…

by Cherlyn Cochrane

Once before, I could fly – I could soar
into the clouds.  There was joy before
lightning struck. Forever on the ground,
still alive – but I feel like I’ve drowned
in a pool of my own wretched tears;
I have succumbed to all of my fears.
And as I begin to use my feet,
I feel myself collapse in defeat,
crying out “Why?” to my maker.  Crying
for what’s lost, wishing I was flying,
wishing I was living like the kings –
forever mourning my broken wings.
And life moves on, with or without me,
no matter how much I beg or plea.
I stagger on, keep moving along
without my wings.  And I don’t belong
in a world without the wind – no clouds
to protect me with their silver shroud.
I look up to the sky, see the blue
fantastic world, the places I knew.
And I can almost reach, almost feel
the only heaven I knew was real.

, , , , , , , , , ,