The stream (all workshops)
Life is like a journey
that takes us to different
path of emotional rides
it fills with joy of laughter
sorrow of tears
ups and downs
we stand to abide by
the witnessing of life
with the matter of given choices
to embrace with opportunity
make the best out of it
to never take anything
for granted to find
with an excuses
live life to the fullest
carry a memory of
a legacy to remember
until the final day
we are all going forward and we cant go back.
i realize this at 10 when i carry my great grandmothers jewelry box out of an apartment she won’t return to.
her skin is the color of daffodil petals and just as thin.
she lets me beat her in chinese checkers and slips me a 2 dollar bill on my way out the door.
“they don’t make these anymore” she says,
“this will be worth something someday”.
That bullet landed 3 inches away from my heart
Nearly if not almost killed me
Roses delivered to me fresh on a daily
I swear you could’ve said I was loved
Clown performances
Gifts and smiles from strangers I only knew by name
Extended time and to my bells ringing
Dark colorful nights
And glittery days
Exhibited before my funeral
All faded the night
The pastor sealed the deal with a kiss
And he locked it with a ring
As my heart laid to rest and my eyes it’s farewell
Venezuela's Angel Falls cascade down my face
When I think of you my love
I can only imagine how you must have felt
When your seedlings were uprooted from fertile ground before they could sprout
It must have reaped your womb apart to see them depart
Your memories of them fading with each sunset as you wondered if they've been watered and fed compost
I know this because
When you finally found them you watered them with a bucket full of love and compost big enough to fertalise the whole village
Her beauty is a refraction of the sun's warm and gentle touch. Without his light, she would not know here or there, whether there is movement or if she is stationary. She sees herself in his light, and she is seen. She turns the lights out to reacquaint herself with the reality she once knew, it seems the further she gets from the light, the farther it takes her when she steps into the spotlight. She feels overwhelmed and the crowd is raised from the depths as she is propelled into that light... another day... another night...in another life
On a dark, gloopy, Anti-Matter Planet (AMP)
Oscillating in an alternate universe,
A Judicial Provost (JP) from the Department for Artistic Development (DAD)
Described one aspiring laureate as a “pontificating twiddler”.
Another poet he described as a “pretext for a prig”.
The Judicial Provost praised Wordless, Shakenwords and Jon Wood Knot.
He lambasted free verse and decried Wallace Whitwoman and Esmerald Tonne.
He spewed upon contemporary verse,
In all its manifest forms.
Justice
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
*Content Warning*
Intimate partner violence and abuse
I know that there will never be justice.
What would justice even be?
He will never have to live in this world after being dismantled as a human being. After being chipped away at piece by piece until he doesn’t even recognize himself.
There's A Shady Grove Where The Morning Sun Gives Birth, 'Neath The Boughs Of A Sycamore Tree Where It Teases Mother Earth,
Where The Dew Drops Glisten On To The Grassy Verge And The Ants In Frantic Cycle,
As To Their Lives Purposeful Worth,
"Old Shep " Walks By As To Survey His Dominion, This Empire Soon To Awaken To His Heirs Timely Arrival,
His Majestic Prescence In This Perfect Morning Glory, Wary Of Unwelcome Foe's And Un witting Rivals,
Should I recall those blissful times
When we like climbing flowers entwined;
Our blossoms scented evenings air
As Love and Lust forsook our cares.
Your laugh was soft and gentle,
A butterflies wings in spring,
Dancing on the sunbeams
Enough to make me sing.
Eyes so bright they sparkled
Diamonds on moonlit snow;
Flashing hither and thither
To make my pulse race so.
We held each other gentle
Yet tight so not to break,
Though deep, our love could never last,
Different paths our lives would take.
Daffodils...those early spring gossips which come to tattle on summer every
year, are my favorite flower.
Don't get me wrong, crocus, tulips and others have been known to gossip and
tattle as well.
Every spring I listen as the flowers tell their tales, the birds vocalize their
wisdom, while the sun brings forth precious rays to offer encouragement to all.
It seems as though every season has its gossips who find it necessary to tattle
on the season ahead, also on one another.
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.