If battles were waged on your friendly shore
You wouldn’t be friends with war anymore
If mothers were slain on Broad St. & Main
You’d quickly discern that war is insane

But you will not see the blood on the floor
And you will not smell the death & the gore
And you will not feel the gut-wrenching pain
And you notice not the babe’s oozing brain

What cowards you are, who choose to ignore
The evil that stalks from Washington’s door
What weaklings you are, who choose to refrain
From speaking the truth your neighbors disdain

--me

I'm a pipe pipe pipe pipe pipe puffin' man
And I puff puff puff it when I can
And it's pipe-puffin' pipe-puffin' time again

So I clean it up & I blow it out
And I'd rather be puffin' than watch Jackie Chan
As only a pipe-puffin' puffin' man can

So I pack it full & I light it up
And I take me a puff like a pipe-puffin' man
An' I reckon that makes me a pipe-puffin' fan

--me

The Usurper: I like your original poems. Thank you for posting.

TJ: Thank you. :o)

POETRY IS COMPETITION

Poetry is competition! brutal War & holy Mission
'Gainst the Evil opposition that around our Fortress lies
Armed with pen we force the Battle, poised upon the Charger's saddle
Swords & pikes & shields we rattle! to the Stars we lift our cries
Till the Vault of Heaven answers, till we conquer Tears & Sighs

Bow not beneath this dreadful Fate! why turn the cheek? why bar the Gate?
Why cower in this mortal State and die with false Tranquility?
If we must fall, let's fall like Men! and curse the gods for letting in
This wretched Death, this Timeless Sin, which robs us of our Dignity
To arms, I say, against this Doom which presses Irrevocably

So cry for Joy against all Odds, and scream in Rage against the gods
For Love! for Strength! for Victory! for blessed Immortality
For Life so Sacred, yes I say! and Death's a bitter Price to pay
For giving sport to gods at Play who gaze with Scorn on Me & Thee
They gaze with Malice & with Spite on mighty Souls who would be Free

--Me

More valued than gold, more precious than life,
Is the love that lifts me up higher than high.
We’re partners in all, yet I’m so free to be me,
I am better than I thought I ever could be.

The love of my life is so giving and kind,
But we give back to each other as though by design.
The love in our hearts will never run dry,
For it flows to each other from an endless supply.

The foundation is honesty and to ourselves being true,
And freely sharing love to revive and renew.
A life of togetherness that’s so rare and unheard,
Is a gift from above granted from His sacred word.

I know in my soul I shall treasure her always,
For what people call love is relatively just small ways.
The heartache and tears made me aware what I missed,
The pain from bad choices gave way to true bliss!

Tuesday:

Is this the Kung-fu Bruce Lee?

Tuesday: Thank you for posting very nice poems.

Tuesday: Thanks. We all look forward to it!

MORTAL:
"The night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and drear;
Who is it knocking at my door?"

THE NEW YEAR:
"I am Good Cheer."

MORTAL:
"Your voice is strange; I know you not; in shadows dark I grope.
What seek you here?"

THE NEW YEAR:
"Friend, let me in; my name is Hope."

MORTAL:
"And mine is Failure; you but mock the life you seek to bless. Pass on."

THE NEW YEAR:
"Nay, open wide the door; I am Success."

MORTAL:
"But I am ill and spent with pain; too late has come your wealth. I cannot use it."

THE NEW YEAR:
"Listen, friend; I am Good Health."

MORTAL:
"Now, wide I fling my door. Come in, and your fair statements prove."

THE NEW YEAR:
"But you must open, too, your heart, for I am Love."

Tuesday: Maya Angelou is one of my favorites. Thank you Tuesday!

"The heat we've been a havin' ain't necessarily pleasin', but there ain't no snow in the tomato patch, and there ain't nobody freezin'. It's only in the 90's, and the fishin's fairly good, so I figure summer's goin' pretty much the way it should.

"The squirrels are workin' the hick'ries, and somewhere's it's a rainin', so I'll wait 'til we get our share, and you won't hear me complainin'. Life is great on this old farm, and I ain't a gonna whine, cause as long as I can catch some fish, then things is goin' fine.

"Ma's cannin' is nigh over, 'til the apples come to ripen, I can't figure why that woman's always sittin' 'round and gripin'. I'd take her out a fishin', if she'd promise to be quite, but when she's rantin' and a rarin' I can't get the fish to bite.

"So if your lookin' for some good advice, I'm just the man to give it... I say summer won't be wasted, 'less you just forget to live it. There's a sunset that's worth seein' and the sky is full of stars, there's the sound of water flowin' over river gravel bars.

"There's fireflies o'er the meadows, summer flowers here and there, and I can hear a bullfrog beller, and a hoot owl off somewhere. When tomorrow comes a dawnin' its likely to be hot, but I can say that even if it is, I druther see it... than not.

"There's cooler days a comin', us old-timers can remember, but let's waste no days of August whilst we're waitin' on September. If your pinin' for a better time, just listen when I say, it may be all we got, so just enjoy today. God sends us autumn's beauty, He sends the springtime dew, He made the birds, He made the bugs, and He made August too."

A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather,
Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together.
Science announced nonentity and art admired decay;
The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay;
Round us in antic order their crippled vices came --
Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame.
Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom,
Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume.
Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung;
The world was very old indeed when you and I were young.
They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named:
Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed.
Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus;
When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us
Children we were -- our forts of sand were even as weak as eve,
High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea.
Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd,
When all church bells were silent our cap and beds were heard.

Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled;
Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world.
I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings
Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things;
And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass,
Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass;
Or sane and sweet and sudden as a bird sings in the rain --
Truth out of Tusitala spoke and pleasure out of pain.
Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey,
Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day.
But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms.
God and the good Republic come riding back in arms:
We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved --
Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed.

This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells,
And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells --
Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash,
Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash.
The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand --
Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand?
The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain,
And day had broken on the streets e'er it broke upon the brain.
Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told;
Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old.
We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed,
And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read.


-G. K. C.

This place is too quiet

THE FAMOUS POETRY QUOTE:

“To err is human; to forgive, divine.”
Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
English poet
The popular saying created by line 525 of Pope’s poem An Essay on Criticism, Part II (1711)
In the original poem, as published in 1711, the line is given as “To err is humane; to forgive, divine.” This is not because Pope erred in his spelling or believed that making a mistake was a compassionate thing to do. At the time, humane was the common spelling used for the word human.

I like a good mystery
To hold me in suspence
So bloody and eerie
In any old print
I like the clues
And the game of it
So I may be amused
And to check my wit
Along with Holmes
And Agatha Christie
Through London I'd roam
Boy,I like a good mystery

See�the house on Friers Bay,
Where the children love to play?
Yet in it's beauty,roams a killer,
In the presents of your sight,a chiller.
What makes the children so brave,
And the old folks so gray?
Even after six years of quiet,
The people knew the houses plight.
One time,there was the loudest scream,
The most horrid nightmare,youd dream.
On the morn,next day,
A tortured and beaten corpse lay.
Nobody could solve the crime,
No weapons or clues,they didn't find.
To this day,since that year,
This community lives in fear.
They know screams are still heard,
But not a soul admits the murmur.

Running through the mountains
Tramping through the woods
I saw a rugged hunter
Drinking his secret brew
Down from the mountain
A wolf came near
And surprized the hunter
And bit him on the rear
His blood started pouring
All over the camp
And I ran from there
As fast as I can
Running through the mountains
Running through the woods
I hurried on from there
As fast as I could

How did I get in this cavern
Along a winding wash?
Blanketed by the desert dust
Out of gas, hungry, and lost
With, maybe, a days supply of water
And my vehicle being my refuge
And, maybe, a few leftovers for dinner
I pray a rescue person comes soon
With this cold tonight, I'll sacrifice
Along with coyotes howling in chorus
And the infestation of hungry flies
I'll try to be courageous


By the next heated morn
I ached from my only bed
And my clothes were well-worn
And I rubbed the tension in my neck
Drinking my last drops of water
I head out for civilization
Tied a rag around my head to prevent burn
And to soak up any perspiration
Hours upon hours past, nothing
Only desert upon desert
And came across to the rockies
But all my watery eyes saw were blures
Was happy as a helicopter came
And flew this beat up body home
And I shall never forget the day
Of the walk inthe deserts, I'd roam

'Jump,jump'yelled the pilot,
'Or you shall suffer by fire
I,in a chute,was thrown like a slingshot
Through a massive rain of crossfire
After a forced tug,on my weak frame
I floated gracefully at the air,I cut
And the plane and pilot were aflame
And the rain of bullets,I could not duck
As I hit the ground,just like the plane
I limp several times yet I'm fine
My senses confused of a bleak terrain
Where,there sits a shadow on the sky
As I walked towards it,there sat a German tamk Just sitting on the desert so dead
Left by them escaping'us yanks'
To the sea these Germans fled
In pride,I started the damn thing up
I figured,who'd mind my steal?
What it was,was a German frameup
For there stood an armed German in the field
As I steered the wild piece of machinery
The German was firing his gun
I became amused at the loony's galantry
I soon had this guy on the run'
I must kill this guy'I thought
Till out he flung a grenade
This was a very surpising onslaught
In my iron coffin,ready made
Of course,I died and am glad to be in heaven
Yet,I just had to tell this tale
For our young people,who've forgotten
This bloody war I had unveiled

The kite flew all around
As long as it didn't fly down
The wind was strong
The kite tale long
The crossbars were sturdy
Yet,the whole kite was jerky
I tuged once to hard on its string
And the kite,I didn't cling
It floated miles away
And I can't find it to this day
But I had it,oh so high
As it escaped,I cried

Very nice work Skyking!

Someone was getting board LOL

What life holds
I will not know?
As time gets darker
Yet,I'll hold my head high
And I will realize
That it all gets greater
When the chips are down
Forget this frown
As war rides over peace
I'll look for the strenth
That my heart will make
Over Lucifer,the beast
How we run our life?
Hold thy GOD up high
I'll plot my goals
For all the lost souls
If I start,I'll end my plight

By RAYMOND FRENCH

The Devil and I had it out on the grass
Yet,GOD was there so I kicked his*****
But the devil never gave up his clawing fight
And the Lord gave me the power of a knight
As the devil gave up,I was the champ
He left for his Hell and I was meek as a lamb

”it’s just a stupid band.”
Yeah sure it’s ‘just a stupid band’
but you know what
that ‘stupid band’ was there when you weren’t.
that ‘stupid band’ explained how I felt through lyrics.
that ‘stupid band’ made me laugh,cry,smile and have the ability to change mood easily.
that ‘stupid band’ means more to me than most people I know.
And you know what?
That ‘stupid band’ saved my life.

A bug landed on my fuzzy arm
Though I twitched,it showed no harm
With the speed of my hand,I did slap
But that insect moved to my lap
I missed that little bug
And the hairs on my knees,it tugged
The tingle on my skin affected the mind
And that little bug,I wanted to grind
Over my shoulder,because I was slow,
I grabed a swatter and gave a mighty blow
I brushed it off and looked away
On the floor,that bugger laid

Skyking: very funny.

I am sorry to announce that unfortunately happened to me something unexpected and sad in my life and with great sadness in my heart I can not come here anymore, so I wish the best for everyone and good luck in your games .. please forgive me any inconvenience I have caused.

Gattita.

Crosseyed, yes you are right so pardon me, then I will come every day to move my games a while ..

The white dogwood,growing in abundance
With its red wounds for our messiahs suffering
Areso very elegant and bright for my glance
To my feelng heart,this plant would be king
If I were to place a bundle in a beauty's hand
And place a nice kiss upon her cheek
She'd place me as a very radiant man
My heart and those white dogwood she'd keep
'Why not give the girl roses?' You may ask
A thorny stem lays under it's petals
A very painful hold of spears,she'd grasp
All the leaves and sharp needles
Though,giving roses over dogwood is most known
Dogwood stands out as being different
And more hollier than the sweet red rose
For CHRIST was naied to it,to save our sins

SONNET 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

W. Shakespeare

he old man stared at me
His white hair,I could see
Then,he would look another way
To light of the suns ray
Into a dirty window glass
To the trains that would pass
Lookin back at me again
Smiling his demonic grin
I moved towards the guy
Don't even ask me why?
'Sir,is there something I can do,
Are you sick or just blue?'
The man looked out at the arrived train
Looking at the passengers in vain
'Dear son,I don't mean you harm,
Please,dont mean you harm,
I have the sweetest girl your age
Who I've not seen a while on that train'
There she was,all dressed in white
And the old man enbraced her with might
I boarded the train and paid my fare
The man and his daughter,I showed no care

Carnie:

Carnie: love it