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The photograph stills...

Submitted by Roscoe Lane on Tue, 2012-07-17 18:51

The photograph stills,

A face now fractured has
nowhere to look as the
photograph stills, while
coloured pain and paint
still run
There shall be no more
blushing of skin, when
a tiny word removes what
someone else has done.

Complexion, just a myth
perpetuated by a wall street
bulletin board.
When an ugly fish is captured
by the hook, it will hang silent
until it’s time comes to
be ignored.

I Thought I'd Think Your Thought

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Tue, 2012-07-17 07:00

Excuse me
for interrupting
I'm just passing through
through the membrane
of your brain
just a thought, thinking of
passing through
like a memory
galloping into view

take me now

rein me in
and I'm yours or
leave me alone
as if I never was
a war child without a home

Nourish me with distance.
Blind me with your light.
Dance me from your insight
or take from me a brilliant bite.

Dandy Lion

Submitted by docmaverick on Mon, 2012-07-16 20:33

The mountain lion looked around

in search of some kind of treat,

he knew not, from where it’d come

he just had to have some meat.

It seemed he’d searched for quite some time

hunger starting up a trauma,

when finally his eyes did find

a healthy piece of brahma.

He caught his meat-and he did eat

‘twas even better than a deli,

he ate up almost all his prize

and severely gorged his belly.

Proud of himself, and of his catch

he laid down on the canyon floor,

proposal

Submitted by loved on Mon, 2012-07-16 14:22

I was visiting
a Central library once
a young gal was going around the library
in circles....
I volunteered to help her
in case she was struggling
for something special
and this is what she said to me.

'''Sir my mom told me
to go around
to a library to see,
how many guys come looking for me,
as they would think,
I'm as knowledgeable
as the librarian
and would propose to marry me ...''

Sir will you now help me?
What to marry thee!

About Resurrections

Submitted by Geremia on Mon, 2012-07-16 13:39

ABOUT RESURRECTIONS

We all suffer and endure
a crucifixion
of one kind or another
a hundred or more
in a lifetime.
We bleed through the heart
and the mind turns
on itself
in brutal insanity
Into dark places
we must fall
for there can be
no resurrection
without the soul’s near dying.

forgive me

Submitted by judyanne on Mon, 2012-07-16 11:34

when he was called back Home I hated You
for stealing such a treasure from my world
I screamed at You and begged it be untrue
anathema I, to the heavens, hurled

ashamed, I ask now that You will forgive
my petty, childish, human ignorance
in questioning the reason, Your own motive
in making me abide within his absence

for since assured acceptance has begun
I fully understand I should not whine
because deep down I know he was Your son
long before he ever came as mine
.

Lost in Summer

Submitted by Lepadah on Mon, 2012-07-16 10:54

The smell after removing soak sweat panties
cock before the room of only two eyes
her full summery incense
beads along the small platform breast
dewdrops freeing the hole

legs apart slow shaking
vintage Bebop
flip flop two cheeks
fanning summers heated tushy

stay . . . manifest
upon request
descriptive thorough blue note
on back of signature jacket of Bud Powell

her summery scent now pronounce
by tangle whips of humid air
from an open window low puffing voile
cast an usual aphrodisiac

Black President

Submitted by Dr_Jeebs on Mon, 2012-07-16 07:19

This tale is woven around legends

It will be peddled around for decades

Historians will use it as a point of reference

It will be told to kids as folk tales

This is the story of the man

who raised a band to fight an army

Am afraid that is not the plan

If you find that alarming

It was he, they said carried death in his pouch

and his birth the mark the beginning of an epoch

Strange one, Abami!

Oh! … You should know the woman he calls Maami

The lioness of Lisabi

She was the great Amazon

C h a r n e l . . . H a u s

Submitted by Esker on Sun, 2012-07-15 23:20

A sturm of flights
Geist dressage
seeping tear stained
beneath the shroud

Here is lightning
laced as silk
through jagged
runs
the pivotal hoops

and thunder
stark like a Gods
cough

to open minds
to seek horizons
beneath the comfort

Dead Zones of acclimation

where even elephants forget
in mists where shadows
depart

the breath of the great sleep
the perfume of
it

slipping like a drug
beneath the occupant
heart

WHERE FENCES ARE BUT MEMORIES

Submitted by scribbler on Sun, 2012-07-15 20:15

These tall and somber gray pine trees,
I won't begin to guess how old,
whose tops, only, are moved by breeze
mask tales of memories untold.

The pines end where the slopes turn steep
change marked by ancient oaks and beech.
where squirrels play and tree frogs peep
on land unmarred by iron plow's reach.

Now and then a locust post
stands wrapped in an old root's embrace.
I've seen them once or twice at most,
it brings a wry smile to my face.

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