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The stream (all workshops)

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FOR WHAT ONE ASKS

Submitted by scribbler on Mon, 2012-03-05 13:49

She used to fuss at him about
muddy boots and sawdust on the couch
how he forgot to take the garbage out
and hugs so strong that she'd say ouch

His hunting stuff strewn all around
(except when it was time to fish)
too oft he'd chase a baying hound
when calm and quiet was her wish

All those evenings by the fire
he'd scribble out his silly lines
about nature, loss and hot desire
when, with her, he should be sipping wines

Nectarous Agony

Submitted by Lepadah on Mon, 2012-03-05 13:48

Sitting here finger snapping to a changeless bang
a sudden trip remembering how sweet it is to love you
straight down to the mole on your right ankle
the dilettante symbol on left forearm
the crazy silkiness of palms possessive feel
is the shit that keeps me running to you
i'm trying to forget the smell of kush
and how you manage a absolute diction
agile partnering for lexicant
producer of punctuated and accentuate a better use of verbs "action speaks louder than words"
breaking down feelings; our tit for tat

The Homeless Warrior

Submitted by Benjamin1987 on Mon, 2012-03-05 12:33

An old soldier
who has seen
the field of battle

Now fighting the war
to stay alive
on the streets

His rifle replaced
with a sign proclaiming
his service
in the First Gulf War
a cup by his feet

People walking by
probably pitying
the poor soul

Only a sweatshirt
and the pair of pants on his ass
to fend off the elements

A tattoo on his neck
marking him as
a piece of property
by his unit

CARRION LUGGAGE

Submitted by Esker on Mon, 2012-03-05 12:08

suitcase rich
and heavy
thick with tapestry bold
laced up with history
weighted with years
with passion
dripping stained in lust

my tears fall upon the handle
when I'm at the middle of the lake
the moon soft and calling
when happier days our
lives did make

much happier now
the burden sinks
and waves ripple
caressing our link

and the witness stars
wink

The Music of My Childhood

Submitted by Debra Bryant on Mon, 2012-03-05 11:18

Memories rise up within me like lively bubbles
Of champagne bursting forth from a just opened bottle.
Daddy’s rich baritone singing “This Little Girl of Mine”
Fingers thrumming along the familiar chords and frets.

Going to the drive in movie for triple feature night
All ready bathed and dressed in pajamas for bed.
Waking to the growl of the engine as we start home.
Sleepily watching the moon follow me
As if it were a giant balloon tethered to my hand.

Sepia Tinted/Key to Heavens

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Mon, 2012-03-05 10:36

"SEPIA TINTED"
Margaret Ann Waddicor
5th March 2012.

Memorabilia
illusion
like that of religion
enhanced visions of a past
no longer tangible
we glance at pictures
reminders of our birth
and life now gone
enhance their worth with thought
drag back into the light
the positive
the negative into sight
it colours our presence
with its troubles, joys
but what we have is now
is here

** ** ** **

"KEY TO HEAVENS"

Subjectivity

Submitted by William Saint George on Mon, 2012-03-05 08:18

‎"The beauty of subjectivity
Is everybody gains.
It makes the bars of captivity
Decorated window panes.

Going To Loo? No I C U

Submitted by loved on Mon, 2012-03-05 03:19

Going To Loo? No I C U

why do you wish?
To live longer than your time
when ICU's become your home
and
all your savings go down the drain
and
you don't even know
still loved ones hope
that pension will trickle in ,
that's why doctors so many tests begin
and
as their pockets get football fat
they grin
and
then ask why this din?
the time to wind up
does now begin
goodbye to ICU
shall never be ever in.

Rhythm Katana

Submitted by Search on Mon, 2012-03-05 01:50

Sons of a lost song,
Warriors of a strange cause,
Creating rhythm in the clear view of a facepalm,
And as others walk on,
We keep our soul strong,
Because only everyone else around me knows of the battles I’ve won,

And with a swift look back,
Loyalty,
Nobility,
Honor,
And responsibility,
No room for tomfoolery,

Swords drawn,
Head strong,

Battle cry heard from a far distance,
Certainly there will be enemy resistance,

My Savior

Submitted by AuroraBorealis on Sun, 2012-03-04 23:00

In the recesses of my memories of long ago
I see a man, a selfless man
leaning over a young me that is still full of energy, willing to learn
He leans over, places his finger on a word in the book
And repeats it until I understand and remember it
I remember him, my great grandfather, the hugs, the laughter, the love, and the cheese
He was My Savior

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