National Poetry Month, now held every April, was established by the Academy of American Poets as a way to raise awareness about poetry and its impact on our culture. When it was first celebrated in 1996, then President Bill Clinton said of poets:
"Their creativity and wealth of language enrich our culture and inspire a new generation of Americans to learn the power of reading and writing at its best."
We're giving you a chance to receive a collective of poetry books to entertain and inspire. You could win:
The 100 Best Poems of All Time By Leslie Pockell
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson By Emily Dickinson
The Poets' Corner By John Lithgow
Odes to Common Things By Pablo Neruda , Ken Krabbenhoft , Ferris Cook
American Primitive By Mary Oliver
Revolution on Canvas, Volume 1 By Rich Balling
For a chance to win a prize pack of these poetry books, we want you to get creative.
Share an original poem of any length in the comment field below.
Gather will draw five respondents to receive a copy of all six poetry books. Comments must be posted by Thursday, April 30th.
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by Trish Ayers
Aphrodite rests her head
cradled in the cast-iron bathtub.
Water caresses arms, legs,
belly rolls.
She reaches for a towel,
a wedding gift 27 years ago.
It pillows her
knotted neck muscles.
As she washes birth scars
she tries not to regret loss
of once firm breasts, taunt stomach,
sculpted legs.
Concerns of bills, grown children
and aging parents melt
as she gazes
through the skylight above.
Maple branches fluffy with snow
wave in a soft wind.
Aphrodite dreams--
winter's movement rocks her to sleep.
Smiles on faces
Ice cream cones
The noise of laughter fills the air
Time gives , Time takes
Hearts full of joy cry at the saddness
A precious gift given , Then stolen like a thief in the night
A prayer is spoken
Someone listened
A miracle
Sighs of relief
Hope is reborn
Faces smile
Laughter fills the air
Hearts are full of joy
Another day passes
Life goes on
Time is endless
Karen Denice Hudson
He played with Death,
but did not win.
Death dug a hole,
and he fell in.
He screamed for help,
but no one came.
My life will never be the same.
I see a light, I am afraid
It is cold
I am crying, I am breathing
I am alive
Some one holds me
There are smiling faces
Twinkling eyes
I am warm, I feel loved
I grow, I learn, I love, I laugh
I hurt, I cry, I feel everything.
I grow older
Someone holds me
I can hardly breathe
It is cold, I cry
I see darkness
I see a light
I walk toward it
Someone embraces me.
I feel love
I hear laughter, I am alive
Karen Hudson
Today I laughed
Not a tear in sight
My eyes were dry
Its been such a long time
No I haven't forgot you
Your memory is always here
I have waited forever
For the day you would be near
Today I laughed again
Oh the tear I have cried
Were together once more
Today I too have died
The look in your eyes touches my heart,
You reassure me that we are never to part.
The touch of your hand helps me to feel secure,
you give me passion that I have never endured.
The sound of your voice tells me you are there,
in my heart I feel that you really do care.
The words that you say overwhelm my heart,
they remind me that I've loved you from the very start.
The patience you have shown tells me your love is real,
& it gives to my the courage to share with you how I feel.
As time passes on, deep inside I know,
my love for you will always continue to grow.
I know I'm not perfect & I will never be,
but I promise to give to you..everything there is in me.
I give to you my life, to share it with you ,
I know in my soul, my love for you is true.
You will always have my heart , you will always by my friend,
I give to you my love, my life, until the very end.
Karen Hudson
(I am poetry format)
I am missing you and still mourning
I wonder if we ever cross your mind
I hear your voice saying “I’m dying”
I see your smile that could light up a room
I want you to know how much I love you
I am missing you and still mourning
I pretend that life has returned to “normal”
I feel my breath catch when I remember that day
I touch your memory to keep it alive
I worry that my boys may forget you
I cry more often than I probably should
I am missing you and still mourning
I understand you’re not in pain anymore
I say I will see you again one day
I dream of the joy of that reunion
I try to go on like everything is fine
I hope I learn to deal with your absence
I am your sister and still lost without you
Trio
Old heads bobbing
Suited shoulders swaying
Two hands with drumsticks making time
Dark fingers dancing on piano keys
Calloused digits pulling and slapping the base strings
Friday night low lights and melodic grooves
The tempo of a memory
Vibe stolen from a dream
The jazz makers
Trio
I gaze deep into a crystal glass of blood red wine
and see, unbidden, unwanted
a vision of destruction.
A vision so much like the others --
other times, other places.
A death of happiness and peace
too short, too fleeting,
flashing by in mere centuries
(split seconds to one doomed to live millennia).
I must leave yet again.
Fear and self loathing mix --
a bitter parting from a sweet and fragrant world, doomed.
The visions are untimely --
decades and days are the same
in the view of immortality.
So I leave, not knowing if destruction comes in days,
or years, or decades.
I just know it will come;
and as it comes, I go.
Driven by my immortal's fear of death --
my immortal fear of death.
An icy flash of anger pierces my soul,
a stubborn refusal to leave this sweet world.
I will die with it, end this torture,
this endless torture,
of cold fear, bloody visions and ... fear.
Calm again, it was only a flash,
no will behind the thought.
I detest the coward in me, that coward
which has kept me alive longer
than I care to measure.
I sigh, resigned to leave,
resigned to my fate.
My fate! I laugh in bittersweet irony to know
that of all places,
this place, on this earth,
any one human would trade lives with me in a moment,
were it but possible.
But then, how happy could I be,
living my (now short) life,
knowing what purgatory I had doomed the innocent to?
No, best to leave,
take my cowardice far away from this brave planet.
Let it live out the fullness of its years --
however long that might be.
I have no place to be
Here the rooms tell stories
I cannot listen to them
I cannot quiet them
There is no peace
No sanctuary
Alone in the crowd I have no story
None that can be heard
I have no place to be
On my right--Miss Emily
To her left, ensconced like Buddha
Sits in delight guapo Neruda
Let me pour a spot of green
As we sit by Whitman's scene.
Pull up a chair Shel Silverstein.
For you I pour chokecherry wine.
Sappho, Sexton, Raymond Carver
All find a place beside my larder.
But even if my cupboard's bare
Their words--sweet honey--fill the fare.
A picture’s worth
A
Thousand words, but I
Would
Write them any day because
In order to communicate you have to speak intelligently
I Fear
nobody could ken my artistic gibberish.
I’ve tried valiantly with paint
soaked brush, chalk,
Charcoal, colored pencils, and it
Seems all for naught. Birds look like rocks.
Flowers resemble scrambled eggs. The cat appears to be
An inky puddle on the living room
Rug. Someone is liable to think I’ve
Lost my mind. But isn’t that what they thought
About Vincent VanGogh?
© Sue Barton 9/8/2004
Releasing sad thoughts
Returning lighter
by Katie Scarlett O.
(this was written a long time ago, putting into words my distaste for the internet nasties)
They stalk and they search
Just looking for fresh bait,
Watching from their perch
All the while they salivate.
Their number sometimes grow
And at others' they wane
One misstep, you'll soon know
They'll go straight for your vein.
The innocents, if they dare
To attempt a risky dive
"AHA!" they resound
"We'll eat them alive."
With ruthlessness well plotted
And a constant hanging of tongue,
A victim has been spotted
The killing has begun.
A fierce attack and practiced system
Destroy not all, leave but a smatter;
Alas, there is another victim
Of the Piranha of Gather.
"For two whole weeks I'm going on vacation.
The tip of the thumb is my destination."
You can tell my mother helped me. I would never have said "destination" wlhen I was 8. By the way, I lived/live in Michigan, the only state with a thumb.
"I never thought that you would be
Just across the street from me."
Yes, he lived across the street. And remember, Stephanie, you said "any length."
by Robinson Jeffers
It nearly cancels my fear of death, my dearest said,
When I think of cremation. To rot in the earth
Is a loathsome end, but to roar up in flames--besides, I
am used to it.
I have flamed with love or fury so often in my life,
No wonder my body is tired, no wonder it is dying,
We had great joy of my body. Scatter the ashes.
It's quite a sight to see.
I love him, so I don't mind
If he likes to sit on my behind.
I posted this awhile back...it is original...strange too I admit.
to feed the beauty of my soul.
To accompany me on my journey to a road.
All points follow in the direction of my sorrow.
You need not cry for me.
Me recollection is fine, my eyes dry.
My needs met.
All for the love of a poem,
I have no regret.
Twisted shadows
hide the truth.
Distorted darkness
masks the reality.
When night falls
fantasy reigns.
What is real
becomes illusion.
Dreams and make-believe
solidify in the dark.
Hidden magic
escapes from unseen hands.
Forces beyond comprehension
rule the starry night.
Nightmares take form
and wander unleashed.
There is no fear
among night's children.
"Walk with us"
they whisper on the wind.
"Take our hands"
they urge the unsuspecting.
Long the night is
but not unending.
The sun rises
and reality returns.
There is no magic
only the mundane.
Dreams escape
and hide from the light.
Knowledge returns
forcing the fantasy away.
There is no question
as to what is real.
The light shines
and brings truth to the day.
But to whom
does this truth belong?
by Emily Dickinson
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
(I originally learned this with the fifth and sixth lines as "Or help one lonely person/Into happiness again"--I'm not sure if that's someone else's variant or a different version that Dickinson herself wrote.)
Could come up,
With a poem,
For you.
But my mind
Can't see,
The words,
Can't come through.
I hope you like.
My rhyme,
Because it's all,
Mine!
A life in Danger
Shy little girl,
Stringy hair,
No ones pearl,
Speak she didn't dare.
No one knew,
Anger aboard,
How the hands flew,
She was ignored.
Broken heart,
Bruised body,
To the others she was apart,
Some say she was snoddy.
Only one friend,
None invited over,
Parties she did not attend,
For her no four leaf clover.
She grew to a teen,
Rebelled against them,
Pain still not seen,
Her behavior she condemn.
Still no one knew,
Maybe no one cared,
They didn't see the clue,
The little girl still scared.
To them she was just odd,
Nothing like them,
For at home they hid the rod,
Her heart another hem.
The face hid,
Trained as a ranger,
She was just a kid,
But at home in danger.
S. Renee Hutchinson
Stained shadows slipping into smoke
Wrought-iron cities, my dimension
Black snow above rusted gardens
Humanity's funeral, wanders alone
Passing churned pavement, grim roses
Frosted grey with ash
--KDM
Gather in the morning
gather at night
gather in the evening
or when ever you like.
Leave a ping
make a post
upload a picture
of the West Coast.
Join a group
to help it out
or just to learn
what its all about.
Read a post about someones mother
or sister
or even someones brother.
Write a blog
write a book
write a sentence
your sure to take a look.
Earn some points
while you go
how to earn the most points you'll never ever know.
By Charity K
By: Sammie A.
Regret seeps from the sky tonight,
Forming puddles under pale moonlight
And every drop that hits the ground
Is a piece of heaven falling down.
The Reaper sheds his sullen tears
And slits his wrists to drown his fears
While, by his side, the hourglass sleeps.
It's been like this for several weeks.
Months have come and quickly passed--
The Reaper's dead; he's reaped his last.
Where leaves once fell, so angel's wings
Gather idly on the shifting springs
Where heaven lies in deep reflection.
Nothing's left but recollection.
Now that just makes me feel tense
Writing a poem for Gather
Now that really puts me in a lather.
Writing a poem is hard
Copying one is not.
By Teresa W.
Perhaps I am a dreamer,
and a dreamer's dream
mixed with a writer's talent
can often have devastating consequences.
I wouldn't call myself a poet,
had I not first called myself a dreamer—
an idealist—
in love with the mere thought of love
and all its tragedies.
My own soul is vacant,
but it's the dream that keeps my pen alive.
The dream that wakes me,
The dream that pains me,
The dream that inspires me.
And should I stop dreaming
should I go numb to thought,
all such inspiration,
all such pain and waking
would be in vain.
All that would be left of me
would be a stolen thought
from a dreamer's tongue
while I sat waiting in the corner,
forcing my eyes closed
and hoping for a dreamless sleep.
Cool breeze
I welcome Spring
Even though it make me sneeze!
She was an angel God lent us,
for such a short time.
To brighten our days
with her infectious smile,
To touch our hearts
with her unwavering faith.
We only had her for a while
Our sweet angel who rarely said too much
She just answered our questions
She just showed us the way
She was God's untiring servant
who kept us from going astray.
God took her back today,
breaking our hearts too soon.
We cried and comforted,
we celebrated her life.
And the only bond that held us
was the angel we missed.
It was amazing to see,
how many had gathered,
how many lives she touched,
how many had loved her -
our beautiful borrowed angel
forever in our hearts.
i wander through the darkness
away from my home
away from everything I've known
i've spent my days in harmony
in the hills and dales familiar
now everything is uncertain to me
the light has faded
on my old life
who knows where the road leads
danger to danger
pursuing me hotly
how will I ever find peace
old faces gone
new faces strange
everything much larger than me
when its over
will i find my way back
back to those days of peace
or will the shadow linger
discomfort and unease
until all my sufferings cease
Inspired by Frodo Baggins from Fellowship of the Rings, the book by J.R.R. Tolkien
a tree fell, a frog got smashed.
storm inspired haiku
You walk all over me
Taking pleasure from my pain
I cling to you
I've got everything to lose
And nothing left to gain
I can see you now
Pretending not to notice
The sand beneath your feet
You watch the rain fall
Washing me into a faded memory
I guess I'm settling for defeat
I cling to you
I've got everything to lose
And nothing left to gain
It's bittersweet
How neither of us care
I'm just sand beneath your feet
©Brittney R.
For my Gather friends to see.
I'm not so good at writing them
But that doesn't matter much to me.
The books above could teach me things
About poetry rhyme and reason
So here's hoping the postman brings
A package of them this season.
Today is four sixteen two thousand and seven
Thirty two people ascended to Heaven
V.A. mourns and our country has gasped
To the wants of a man whose soul had lapsed
Knowing full well he would never pay
For quelling spirits, on this grey Monday
Colleges should be a place of learning
But not like this, with memories burning.
I wonder if when the names are released
if we will feel different about the deceased
So many great young ones, to die in a day
And mauling of the ones that got away.
What was the point and the plotting about
We as Americans help everyone out
Patriots day will forever be marred
Thirty two Patriots are buried and scarred
To America and the injured left behind
Trudge onward, keep healing and you will find
The names don't matter, Be it Mary or Kevin
These are the heroes of four sixteen two thousand and Seven
Copyright ©2007 Norene Mary Tighe
There are no grandiose gestures here,
no ripping open of the soul
and casting stars upon the sky.
I am not cut of that heroic cloth.
Rather I am a quilt of many patches,
each square a small moment
woven from the threads of life
and stitched together with my time.
I can offer you warmth on a winter's night
and solace when your heart is squeezed
and coffee brewed before you rise
and eyes that twinkle just for you.
Could I cast my life before your feet
and let you do with it what you will - I would
but that passion does not lie within.
I am a practioner of the little things.
When He walked the Galilee
He didn’t look like you or me
Short black AArab, shnoz of Jew
But now He’s blond with eyes of blue
Christ kilt every communist
Blew ‘em all to pieces
Smote ‘em jus’ like Joshua
Our blond haired blue eyed Jesus
Republican votin’
Six-gun totin’
Blond haired blue eyed Jesus
Profit takin’
Progress makin’
Blond haired blue eyed Jesus
Wheelin’ dealin’
Faith healin’
Blond haired blue eyed Jesus
The Doors Of The Past
My Lakeshore Of Memories
The Minds Eye rewinds
My life has been full of coming and going,
Mostly of those I love,
Some of those I hate.
Those who come with loving kindness
Then must leave -
Those I miss the most.
The comings of the ones who hurt
Seem to last so long,
And do not leave too soon.
My heart is full of the ones I love
So even when they must go,
They stay within my dreams.
Gentle, shaggy
ambling, rambling, shambling
a rollicking hayrick of unruly hair
Sadie
When Death comes for me, I want to be busy.
He'll just wait on the porch while I scrub the floors
And put up new curtains and find the cat's toy.
Impatiently waiting, he'll rock on his heels,
His unfiltered Camels soon turning to ash
'Times up' he'll say apologetically.
He'll be nice looking, aviator glasses,
Jeans, maybe leather jacket if it's winter.
And he'll smell like earth after a spring rainstorm
When I put on my makeup and comb my hair
And grab my purse and double lock the front door,
He'll take my arm and, smiling, we'll go.
I'll notice he looks like my Dad.
Then flowers start laughing, trees bend to kiss me,
I'll breathe in clouds and breathe out rivers.
Hearts are never silenced. Life goes, Love stays.
words rain down
like fire
as tears rise
to the heavens
pain
blood wells making
drops burn
as ashes crumble
to the wall
unfiltered
circling the drain
only pain inside
this brain
unfiltered
circling the drain
closer...and closer
feel the pain
wash away
the childhood memories
unfiltered is its name
closing in
unyielding circles
spin faster
no restrain
unfiltered
let it flow
In my mind, private and safe,
I write you love letters.
I look at you, and think "you are beautiful."
I tell you how sexy and handsome you are,
but I think "you are so beautiful".
Once I had briefly studied Renaissance art.
Before you came along, I marveled at the statues and paintings,
I dreamt in bold color, I dreamt with a chisel in my
hand.
Now I study your physique when you shower, and your profile while you look in the mirror.
You could have been a model for Michaelangelo, for Leonardo Da Vinci.
You are so beautiful.
And yet, I call you handsome and sexy, sometimes I call you cute.
Our modern culture associates beauty with the feminine.
You are masculine, in every sense of the word.
So as not to make you feel less of a man, I call you other things.
And yet I think . . .
"Wow . . . God made you so beautiful."
Have you ever had a minute
Just a minute
To say “Thanks” to your teacher
Who is the one that
Generously gives you the key
So you can open the door,
To step out of your darkness?
Have you ever had a minute
Just a minute
To say “Thanks” to your teacher
Who is such a ladder
For you
To climb up to your success?
Have you ever had a minute
Just a minute
To say “Thanks” to your teacher
Who definitely gives you… hope, strength
And believes in you
Softly says “You can do it”
Even though you don't believe in yourself
Even though you eventually want to give up?
Have you ever had a minute
Just a minute
To say “Thanks” to your teacher?
I believe
That is
A lovely song whisper to her ears,
That is
A beautiful flower blossom in her heart.
Have you ever… ever… ever
had a minute
just a minute
to spare?
by Brett Ortler
I've got my funeral all planned out – I want to be cremated. Then, I want my surviving relatives to throw a huge party, but not just any party, a costume party, and I want the costumes to be of dead people only.
Imagine it:
Cigarettes and whiskey handed out at the door. Shakespeare, Bonnie & Clyde smoking stogies, Dillinger drunk, alcohol leaking from every bullet wound. Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton look-alikes discussing suicide while downing mock-purple Kool Aid martinis next to St. John the Baptist, who is carrying around his head. All of the little children will be dressed as witches, ghouls and goblins (in fact, the more ghosts the better), and I expect at least ten people dressed up like Death. A band should be playing Slayer, taps, or Bach's Toccata in D Minor at all times.
The dinner will be the highlight. There will be cyanide surprise, arsenic aardvark, McDonald's salads, and the drinks will all come straight from Jonestown, but the soup – the soup will be best of all. It will be served before the meal, and everyone will get some. Make it chicken little noodle or big bird wild rice, I don't care, but everyone has to have some, and before the service, here's what you do – mix me into the soup. That's right, take my ashes, mix them in, and be sure to stir a lot, because I'll be uncooperative.
Then, serve it, and after everyone's had some, some schmuck will go up to the microphone and he'll start some sob-story speech and everyone will be crying and then he'll say the line I'm paying him to say, "Brett is with us all now." And it will be true. It will be true.
i ran up the door
and closed the stairs
said my pajamas
and put on my prayers
turned off my bed
and jumped into the light
all because you kissed me goodnight!
I opened my eyes
I pushed back my covers
I pet the cat
I put on my slippers
I made my bed
I put a load of clothes in to strart
I started the coffee pot
I showered and dressed
I dried the clothes
I drank my coffee
I pulled dinner out of the freezer
My grandson arrives
Together we go to many far away places. We have lots of cartoon friends join us in our adventures. Sponge bob is there to chase bubbles with! Diego helps us find the ant hills, Curious George helps us find and feel textures. We eat lunch with our pretend friends. They even take a nap with us! when we wake up we get to play with playdough and if we still have a lil time we use our sidewalk chalks and draw lots of things and
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MOMMIES HEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I WANNA STAY WITH MOMMOM NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
PEASE MOMMIE PEASE!
there ya go.. that about the jist of my days.. in poem form lol
Your Smile
brightens my day
Your kisses
melt my heart
I have been wrapped around
your tiny little finger
from the very start
The very first time
that I saw you
you were still growing
in my womb
But at that very moment
right then and there I knew
I could never love another
with the Love I have for you
You are my first born child
In my heart
a special place you hold
You will always be my baby
even when you have grown
and are ready to start a family
with children of your own
When that day comes
my precious child
you will understand
why I will always love you
unconditionally
till the very end
I reached out to you in the midst of this fog
While questioning everything that is
Sane and insane weighing me down like a bog
I had to have faith that there would soon be light
Trying to make sense of everything that went wrong
And how I could best try to make everything right
The road that I had spiraled down was very long
And suddenly I saw that there was indeed light
And with the light there comes hope
With the mighty becoming meek and the meek becoming might
I grabbed on with everything I had on to the lifeline of a rope
Inside cozy chrysalis
Butterfly bursts forth
by
Sandi
An afternoon sun dancing on rainbow shells;
Toes buried in the caverns of warm crystals;
Water tiptoes up the sand and I anticipate
the time that the swells will dive for dry land.
Spray touches my cheek as salt encompasses my tongue.
I reach to stroke the abrasive from my skin yet savor it for a moment.
An abandoned castle, with tufts of seaweed encircling the edge, lay before me,
built by a shadow. The base of this dedication is draped in a carpet of budding seaweed
and laced with tufts of mossy leaves.
The smells of days gone by permeate the air around the memorial.
Smoldering fires bring back memories of finer days in this
same setting. I observe time for more recollections.
I search for mysteries yet to unfold and turn back in to perceive in awe the marmalade
sun as she dips into the sea.
I feel a surge of wonder as I
wish myself to dance for the final curtain.
silky
silent
slinky
sinuous
stealthy
skulking
slithery
smooth
salient
satiny
sleek
sable
snake
By Ashley B.
The stars are all around me
in the cold night sky.
The breeze envelopes my very being
I'm in a state of total relaxation
Stars are falling among me
Music of long ago is drifting in the wind
The music fades as the constellations
Are dancing at the celestial ball
For once, there is complete serenity
As I fall asleep beneath the stars.
Soon the morning falls upon the world
I awake to the warmth of the sun
Just beginning to break through the horizon
I watch as the sun walks up the stairs
To his appointment in the sky.
The day is calm and cool
Yet it is not quiet.
Music is playing after all.
Life is a song,
Love is only the music.
By donna f.
Should I acquire another dog
A collie pup I'd choose
A wee fur ball of red and white
To chew up all my shoes
I'd play with her from dawn till dusk
And teach her to roll over
I'd call her Melon just because
Its more unique than Rover.
Or Cantaloupe, yes that would do
Then when I call her, maybe
I could yell"Please come to me
My Melon Collie Baby".
Searching within your dreams
Searching for something to hold onto
Searching, but never quite finding
Searching for the elusive rapture
My hands,
Reaching for the one thing
Reaching for the fullness
Reaching, to uncover its hiding place
Reaching as far I as can reach
My hands,
Feeling for the sweet embodiment
Feeling for the goodness that swells
Feeling, like I have just begun
Feeling for the first time
so wonderful that it's pitiful.
I caused you pain, I caused myself pain,
I meant for happiness to remain.
I wanted you,
you claimed you wanted me too.
I never meant any harm,
I never meant to make my way out of your arms.
I never meant to make those mistakes,
to have you back I'd do anything it takes.
This is just wonderful,
we are both misberable.
I never thought it would hurt so bad,
you were the best relationship I ever had.
Then I did something wrong,
then all your feelings for me were gone.
Everything disappeared,
everything was the way that I had feared.
I never meant any harm,
I never meant to make my way out of your arms.
I never meant to make those mistakes,
to have you back I'd do anything it takes.
This is just wonderful,
we are both misberable.
Everything's destroyed,
I destroyed something that I enjoyed.
I destroyed the person I cared for,
I made his feelings towards me not exist anymore.
Everything was so wonderful,
now it's all miserable.
I never meant any harm,
I never meant to make my way out of your arms.
I never meant to make those mistakes,
to have you back I'd do anything it takes.
This is just wonderful,
we are both misberable.
I guess I should just let you go,
I wanted my feelings to be known.
I wanted to tell you that I care,
if you ever need anything I'd be there.
I don't want you away,
I wish you would chose to stay.
I never meant any harm,
I never meant to make my way out of your arms.
I never meant to make those mistakes,
to have you back I'd do anything it takes.
This is just wonderful,
we are both misberable.
The day started out with a hit,
There was laughter everywhere.
Then before I knew it,
You were standing there.
I was so very scared,
Because I knew it was you.
I did'nt run I did'nt dare,
You knew I would'nt too.
Now I lay in this hospital bed,
While you sit in jail.
Wishing you were dead,
So I would never again have to go through this hell.
Still I fear for my life,
Thanks to your strange fixation.
And your obsession with a knife,
Why did'nt you go ahead and end my confusion.
When I told you no,
Did'nt it mean anything.
Why did'nt you just go,
Did'nt a signal ring.
Yes you are a sick man,
I'll never be safe and secure.
Knowing about you what I can,
If only there was a cure.
For the stalkers we fear,
And safety for people like me.
Who our lives we hold dear,
Hoping one day we will be free.
Goodbyes…
It was good
Seeing you there today.
Like an old, faded pair of jeans,
When you put them on,
After not wearing them
For a while.
They fit,
And you know
They look good.
It was nice to hear
You say my name
Again.
Brings back memories
Of days better left long gone.
Yeah,
I am doing fine,
It’s good to hear that
You are too.
I’m still that girl,
Who disappointed you
So many times.
I remember the way
You would touch my check
Right before putting me
In my place.
I’m NOT sorry we ended,
I am just sorry we ended
The way we did.
But then we never
Were friends really
Anyways.
So forgive me if
I think a hand shake
Will do just fine
As we say our
Goodbyes.
Seeing you today
Showed me exactly
What I knew,
All along.
~Jamie M Williams
Teardrops fall from Heaven
As they do my eye
Angels show their sorrow
Bow their heads and cry
They see our breaking hearts
They feel our loss and pain
They show they understand
By letting out the rain
Heavenly angels reaching out
Trying to wash it all away
Wanting us to know
We’ll see him again one day
God called him home
For reasons we don’t know
And one day we’ll rejoice
Happy he got to go
But for now we’ll hang our heads
For an angel who had to fly
Teardrops fall from Heaven
As we say goodbye.
Cynthia Dockery Allgood
Welcome to my dreamtime Tea.
On my right--Miss Emily
To her left, ensconced like Buddha
Sits resplendent Sir Neruda
Let me pour a spot of green
As we sit by Whitman's scene.
Pull up a chair Shel Silverstein.
For you I pour chokecherry wine.
Sappho, Sexton, Raymond Carver
All find a place beside my larder.
But even if my cupboard's bare
Their words--sweet honey--fill the fare
In spring, the Sacred Firs in Mexico are resplendent
With Monarch blossoms.
Awakening to an inner chronology
The butterflies collectively take flight,
A deep hunger pushing them onward
To the succulent milk pods growing
On the far Gulf coast of Texas. Breaking the fast
They gorge on tender leaves,
Lay their eggs, and fall to the ground.
How do they find their way
Without flight plans and computers?
And how do their children and
Grandchildren, born in foreign lands,
Find their way back to Mexico
Year after year
As they have since the first Monarchs
Were born?
A serendipitous gift of nature,
An innate sense that the Universe
Provides for them to find their way
During an arduous flight.
They arrive, tired and hungry,
Prepared to give up their existence
For the sake of their species,
For the sake of continuity.
“What good are butterflies?” you ask.
I say they are a determined hope
In a sometimes hopeless, always finite world.
I wish to live on butterfly time,
Fragile, yet determined. Wild and fluttering,
Breathlessly elegant to the last,
Then, dying gracefully,
Relinquishing the sky to other wings.
the Virgin hangs
beneath blue beads,
gasping between my empty breasts
She peers into me
through the mirrors.
navy orbs veil my grief
jesus is crucified
in a man's denim pocket,
so placed by my groping hand-
a moment of mutual amnesia
...a Virgin conceived,
but I?
....I bleed.
"Tell all the Truth, but tell it Slant,
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm delight
The Truth's superb surprise.
"As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The Truth must dazzle gradually,
Or every man be blind."
He squeaked when he walked, his step a hinge in need of oil. There were liver spots on his hands, and no color left to show what the gray of his hair had once been. He walked behind his wife pushing her chair. She sat, her hands neatly folded in her lap, knees together with vestiges of the old feminine mystique, skirt smooth across her legs, draping down her shins with the gentle curves of heavy fabric. Matching spots climbed her arms, disappearing into pale papery skin. She sat stiffly upright, the posture of a dancer, a ballerina holding a perfect frame as her partner twirls her round. Wheels glide soundlessly on either side of her, propelled by an old man and his squeaking step.
by Tiffany Crowley
"Even before the wake of that airplane," she sighed,
"I found myself in constant distraction among the curtains of this room.
this house, every mint color wall, the fresh
of new carpet, rain in summer
lit my dreams with a lamp of baby-blue."
She leaned on the stove, doused herself
with vanilla perfume in the form of a dust, mornings
under a yellow light, ice bathing the car.
those first weeks, with elbows on the counters of diners
I watched her eyes for a hint of regret.
life could be motionless, soaked in love,
and the days beg not to be compared with the past or future,
"...but I woke up from my nap-dreams panting, wanting them back,
ashamed to think I could yearn for such a thing."
I Am
26 Marches old
three months away
from an eternity of loving one more of you.
One day ahead and one day behind
from falling apart into world of yes and no.
A wife of a man with a thousand dreams
and a trillion steps in between.
I am no more and no less confused
today than I was yesterday,
yet I am abundantly content despite the 1,2,3… obstacles
dragging me down into a deep set wave of uncontrollable emotions
100% of my life - half labeled as spirit, half a handicap to my success.
Still only one moment away from having everything
many have always wanted.
It was a requirement for us to write "Who Am I" at the recover center I checked myself into after his death..
Plz, do not post or share this beyond its use here on GAther unless with permission. These are/is "my" words for myself and my son and unless it will help another soul, I do not want it shared just "anywhere".
Who Am I?
I am but a moment in time.
I am nothing more than a small speck of dust in this great big universe.
I am a Child, I am a Mother.
I am a stem without a rose.
I am a heart without a heart beat,
I am pain, I am sadness, I am anger.
I am on a path filled with loneliness and confusion.
I am lost!
In an instant my universe changed, and I no longer know who I am.
I once was a strong beautiful rose which gave others great joy,
with my fragrance and vitality, just by my mere existence.
If someone had a need I saw it and helped with compassion.
If someone needed strength, I helped build them up.
If someone needed a smile, I gave them mine.
All that I thought I knew changed in an instant, and I no longer know who I am.
Where there was courage, now there is fear.
Where there was strength, now there is weakness.
Where there was confidence, now there is uncertainty.
Where there was a heart, now there is nothing.
All my hopes, dreams and plans for the future are gone.
I am something.
I am nothing.
I am old.
I am new.
Now, I do not know "who I am".
My clothes don't fit and I'm ugly.
For many years I heard the mean words
"Noone else will want you"
Over & over until I believed.
But now the voice is gone and it's time for me
To take back my life so I can be happy.
I pray for the day when my smile comes naturally,
when i can look in the mirror & like what I see.
It's late at night and I can't sleep
I can't imagine living my life without you
Why do so many of my questions have no answers?
I keep on searching in my head for the reasons we went wrong
Where is our yesterday - I could use it right now
But if this is goodbye, don't take my heart when you go
You have already taken too much away from me
Altho I don't have a need for it right now I might in the future
Here we are taking the final step to the finish line of our relationship
I cannot fool myself & I know there is no turning back the clock for us
Because when the love is gone you're left with nothing
I'd give up everything if only I could turn back time
But this is goodbye instead
I will always love you but you're too hard to hold onto
Please leave me something
I need my heart to heal so tomorrow I can start my life over again
pains
snow
blows
~~~~~~~
by SeleneSkye
Sparrow came from the thicket
he wore a mask of jewels and hummingbird feathers
his eyes were twin moons
his beak
a golden blade
curved over the edge of hope;
she curled his tethers around her goldilocks
and dipped deep
to curtsy into the moment
of flight
to be taken into the sugar glazed world
outside the fey liquids
of redemption;
"Sparrow," she said, "I am human and that will never change."
Sparrow opened his beak
and ate the marzipan swans off her plate of jade
his feathers fell to the ground
and his moon eyes turned island colors
and he fell out of the sparrow
into a boy
"That's all right", sparrow said to the girl, "I will be a human for you."
The girl smiled rose lips of blush
and slipped the glass slippers from her feet
and loosened all the curls of her silk hair from her updo
Sparrow called the Arabian carpet from the clouds
unwound each thread
and reshaped it into a stallion
Sparrow and the girl
rode out of the fairy tale
to dream up their own
Pan played his lute
and thumped his hooves against the earth
in approval
Does God really have healing hands?
Or am I the outcome of disbelief?
I abhor relying on powder
It supposedly contains my relief
I am a distant clown
My smile often radiates happiness
Which is a liar to others
Sinful to me as I slip into sadness
Colors of love and joy I paint to express what I struggle to keep
These pretty painted pictures I hold up for most people to see
As absence of color boldly outlines and
Highlights the hurt and anger within me
Yearning to crawl back into the realm of darkness
Slowly starts to kill the Jesus inside
The pain pries into my heart and
The vibrant colors drip off my mask revealing a different side
i’ll sew it to my own with a carpet needle
finally infallible
my dad it at it again
putting his hands in the dirt
silver lines on the ride to the trestle
where everyman speaks but does not listen
only the tree frogs
and what causes the birds beaks to differ so
by Heather Lyon
Up before the sun,
By choice?
Wind blowing in my face,
On the lake as the sun,
Crawls around lazy clouds,
In the darkness.
Shadows of the lake,
Pass by,
As we move to begin our day,
Spent struggling with pesky fish,
And thoughts,
The Catfish and Sucker,
The one just beyond my reach,
Sorting through it all,
Red-Ear Sunfish here 13 number 6's.
Open my eyes to beauty blind,
Soft brown eyes,
With wind blown sandy blonde hair,
Combined with gentle masculinity.
Blue eyes sparkle,
In amusement seldom seen,
At the bonding banter,
Between "length sorters."
Basking in his smile,
As I brush spiders,
From his hair.
In the afternoon,
Tired beyond belief,
Skin shining,
With mutant scales.
Wind again in blonde hair,
Closed eyes savoring,
The moments before,
I must walk away.
By Bethann Korsmit
Deafening sounds of silence,
A harbinger of muted violence.
Glory's last desperate grasp,
Pristine and serene in the aftermath.
Off on the horizon,
The Phoenix is rising.
With liquid thought
Hold the tip
To my temple
Click
A hypodermic to the head
My brain fills with
Lucid fluids
I am stabilized
Balance is restored
I can form thoughts
From whole cloth
And walk with both feet on the ground