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Permalink Reply by supriyahearts on April 4, 2010 at 10:07pm

havent been on here in awhile...i have another poem to contribute.
i wrote this one for my poetry class. i really like this one cause it took me out of my comfort zone

The Wall

As I am writing this with a wet face,
I stare at that blank wall where I can see,
It stares back looking right at me and I
See what it tries to say while slowly I,
Find the door as I walk down the street.
I hear sirens and chaos , the piercing sounds
Continued till I stepped into the sand,
And feeling it just really feeling it.
The moment when I seep into it; it
Almost feels like a second skin. A warmth,
That comforts you as you wail so helpless.
I turn my head to see the waves clashing
By rocks, I turn again to see the crest
Of the ocean as it turns into a red,
Then peach, then apricot, then nothing
Except the sky in its orchid color.
I close my eyes, feeling the wind move everything,
Inside and outside my body, and I
Now know that this life is worth living.

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Permalink Reply by JJ Christopher on April 7, 2010 at 1:44pm

I Am All I Have To Be and More (I'm Only Me)

I'm not strong
Never said I had to be
I'm me and me alone
I'm not afraid
I am all I've ever been
I'd never run away
I'm growing deeper in my feelings
I am deeper in my soul
I don't try to understand
I'm me
And now I'm whole
And I've listened to it all
They have molded and annoyed
All I've ever wanted was to never be destroyed
Did they ask me for a reason?
Did it matter to be brave?
I did not consider this
The life is mine to save
And I'll heal as I will it
And I'll suffer now to care
I am not the end of this
I'm only being there
And that end will not be close for now
And everyone will see
I am all I have to be and more
I'm only me

by JJ Christopher
www.jjchristopher.com

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Permalink Reply by JJ Christopher on April 7, 2010 at 1:51pm

The Black and Bleeding Dove

He wont share the pain
The wounds that run so deep
He will never let it go, and dream
Perchance to sleep
Yet here he waits forever
In the black skies high above
Waiting for someone to love the black and bleeding dove

No one knows that pain
The one he’ll never tell
The one that eats away his heart, his mind
And leaves him hell
Yet here he sees another
But runs far from that love
Shutting out the man who needs the black and bleeding dove

Herein lies the pain
That comes to him at night
The one that took away the good, the life
And left the fight
Yet drowned in this despair
Alone and without love
Needing someone’s arms to hold the black and bleeding dove

Inky fucking pain
That burns from deep within
The one that whispers nightmare, darkness
Innocence and sin
And this he hides away
Where pushed he starts to shove
Anyone away who loves the black and bleeding dove

Only him now, and the pain
The memories cut deep
Tearing out his innocence, his wicked
Soul to keep
And this makes up his cage
The hatred born from love
Desperation now the father of the black and bleeding dove

by JJ Christopher
www.jjchristopher.com

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Permalink Reply by Harriett on April 8, 2010 at 5:46pm

Some pretty good poems you guys have been posting!

Comb

Comb these weeds
Purple arm
Bear mean teeth
As we clap
Happy family, clap to the hymns
Sing!
Catch this soul
Catch this sister soul

Bless vague perception
Music to
One ear

Run
Run from the clapping
Nonsense hymns
Reap these weeds
Bear mean teeth

Catch this sister soul
In a pathetic butterfly net
Disperse!

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Permalink Reply by Mike A on April 9, 2010 at 5:36am

It seems I got what I deserved. Any moment can be turned,
and true, we're stranded and alone, stuck now with things best left alone.
But if there's things left in-between, perhaps it's best to leave the scene,
and start anew, just you and I; no upward hills for us to climb.

I'm truly sorry that I hurt you; all those times, those years ago;
even though I never meant to, I still do care. I hope you know.
And while I'm stupid and emotional, we both still act the same;
it's not just me who acts irrational. Now it's your turn to take the blame.

Words are empty and sound fake, they ring hollow and untrue.
Sometimes the truth is hard to take, but I still can't live without you.
Know I love you more than life, blessed to have you as my wife.
I'm not sorry that I'm mad 'cause you're the best I've ever had.

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Permalink Reply by PeejTastic on April 11, 2010 at 2:40pm

A silver-scaled dragon with jaws flaming red
Sits at my elbow and toasts my bread
I hand him fat slices and then one by one
He hands them back when he sees they are done

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Permalink Reply by PeejTastic on April 11, 2010 at 2:43pm

How about a limerick?

There was a young girl from Rabat,
who had triplets, Nat, Pat and Tat;
It was fun in the breeding,
But hell in the feeding,
When she found she had no tit for Tat.

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Permalink Reply by Ghost-Child550 on April 11, 2010 at 5:59pm

@SweetAsh: The Wall was very good. It's nice to see you return to the thread. Hope to see some more.
@JJ: Both wonderful poems as always, I prefer Black and Bleeding Dove myself. It was such a wonderful piece.
@Harriet: Yet again another poem that I just can't help but love. I really enjoy your poetry :)
@Mike: A very nice piece, sometimes not so subtle but very well written good job.
@PoejTastic: Very nice pieces, I think I'm going to enjoy further work from you.

The City and the Pencil

In the city's
foreign sleep
The man will open
the pencil shavings
meant to
spray camera pictures
over the dead

Intrigue
Loveless
Born alive
So the pencil
says

Look deeper

For an old meaning
controversial
Uprise
Chant the Devil's Anthem
on the fourth day
of that month
We all know

Take the pencil shavings

Throw them to
the wind
And pray
for a change
in their esoteric
mindset

Were we meant
to fall
from inglorious
visions
The infinite
self-depravation
We all hold true

Self-righteous
idols
and their Christian songs
Play demi-god
for the shallow mind

Throw their stones

At whoever
they damn well please

Give the city
a name
whatever you want
He'll give you
your shavings
She'll take your
tired and hungry
your weak and poor
As long as you obey
and sell your freedoms
at the porch

This city no longer
has a name

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Permalink Reply by Harriett on April 12, 2010 at 8:20pm

I love those poems PeeJTastic! They were playful and well-written. The limerick made me laugh :)

Mike A, your poem was truly heartfelt.

A very good long one from you Ghost-Child550! Thanks for the compliment!

Junk Utopia

I found me, in the absence of calls and best friends
fanned half-helmet pressed
hot and weaved as best
little stubborn exceptions, I love more
It is me

Dry forehead, gleaming nose
the glare I drifted in a streamer
from the pillar
I accepted with dignity and confidence
I found me

Booming speakers
silent as I interpret the cooling flames in lean eyes
memories in an empty lot
the sparrows and lover insects are curious
I found self-confidence

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Permalink Reply by JJ Christopher on April 12, 2010 at 10:44pm

Wings of Steel
(For Jared)

Imagine
All the fun that can be made
In the clearing where he played
With nothing else to gain
With a fragile, toy airplane
How a child could make real
A paper airplane, wings of steel

Imagine
Watch him laugh and run around
Falling down upon the ground
Getting up to throw the plane
Without anything to gain
How a child could make real
A paper airplane, wings of steel

by JJ Christopher
www.jjchristopher.com
Facebook: JJ Christopher

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Permalink Reply by Mike A on April 13, 2010 at 8:00am

The second-hand citizens breathe the fumes,
of today’s advertisements and yesterdays news:
“50% off of whatever purchase you choose!”
quickly followed by “convict hung by his own noose”.
The headlines are startling in their effectiveness;
men and women alike go ape for the best possible deal,
it be in furniture or capital punishment.
The comical effect is spread out like petals from star lilies,
where the difference between morality and mortality,
is defined by the swipe of a bargaining corrupt hand,
as the right hand still has a crooked finger on the red button.
Intricate weavings of manipulated perceptions does not the truth make.
Point the finger. Cock your head backwards and wait for the spine to break.

God help us all.

Read the papers front to back, it’s the same story all the time.
All are disillusioned still. No one’s truly satisfied.
The invoices state the same – “P&S to be returned to_”.
It’s a never ending paper mill of bureaucracy.
so much that even different addresses appear to be identical.
It’s a grind we live in and it’s a grind we work for,
it's the bread we’re given and by law we get taxed more.
In this fancy world of color codes on tightly pressed suits,
the smell of concrete slabs and asphalt dust,
is impregnated and solidified by the ever-boorish impeccable rich-man gratitude.
The only way to make a mark and a slight dent in the machinery,
is to shop with coupons, rebates and a savvy consumer mind.

I’m not grateful for what I have. I never am.
I always want more, but I never shop with coupons.
It never made sense to me. It never appealed to me,
the same way shopping with your stomach does.
You always keep your receipts tightly pressed to your heart,
as if having them is a fluffy cushion for a failed purchase.
You are a staunch advocate for the mindless consumer syndicate,
where the dollars fill your registers and the pockets of the corporate.
Count me out. This mindset is fake.
Too blind to realize that every time you enter the four-digit number,
on your unlimited VISA gold card,
reserved only for the most extravagant shopper,
you eat away your own future.
But don’t worry, you sheep - that’s alright, it’s okay.
That’s why your coupons and rebates are made.

Every day, the consumers grow in bounds and leaps, expanding uncontrollably.
Trading blows for the better deal, secretly wishing you had spent more.
Our wallets bleed into a thin line with what was once called currency.
My friends and loved ones;
haha, this is what we work for…

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Permalink Reply by Mike A on April 13, 2010 at 8:04am

A bomb detonates in a nearby building from where I’m standing.
The estimated numbers of casualties are around the millions.
It was meant as the weapon to end all wars, to end strife.
The mushroom cloud was pretty only in pictures seen later on,
and the shadows embedded into history on walls and concrete?
They scream as the Geiger-count runs amok once again.
It was the modern day re-enactment of poor old Jerusalem.

The bread was broken under the false pretense of friendship and community.
Wayward men with fringed robes stare blankly at the contract which binds,
which undeniably argues whether or not it was the right decision.
There is no more room for mistakes or misunderstandings.
They all speak clearly now, lest they mince words which could undo us all.
The button pushed. The hairpin removed.
The bio-hazard signs remain the only tangible remnants left for the maggots of the ages.

They swing the broken fist of God.
Impotence is an excuse to wage war, wreak havoc and mass destruction.
When national morale is about as sour as battery acid,
the mob of men sit conveniently and demonstrate in their living rooms,
protesting in various sordid emails to their representatives.
They’re all laughing.
What will the unruly e-mob do if their demands are not pursued?
Send more and hope that someone will take it seriously?
To receive a reply saying, “Stop it! You’re scaring me!”?
The cogwheel’s broken. The machinery falters eventually.

A massive moving throng is always a constant.
a sign that things are awry in the land where turmoil is abundant.
I will let you see my face in that throng; let you remember,
that I was angry enough to be seen, to be heard and to be noticed.
I accept bribery the same way I accept political stupidity:
I accept it with fists aimed at teeth, jaws and nose.
What are you? Cheaply venal. Stupidly verbose.
Here’s your freedom. Eat it through your IV tubes.

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