To this sorrow.     Alan Gilbert.

Sun is setting shadows crawling

Eyes are heavy dreams are calling.

Into slumber slipping, falling

Cradled safe in mothers arms.

Mother watching child sleeping

Heart is broken softly weeping.

From herself no way of keeping

That this young life can’t sustain.

Of her grief there is no telling

Mothers love all loves excelling.

In her heart forever dwelling

In her arms to sleep no more.

Child is waking moving, stirring

Eyes are open smile alluring.

Mother holds him ever closer

Begs to heaven for reprieve.

No pretending happy ending

Nature giving, sometimes lending.

Mother sleeping, dreaming tending

Child resting in her heart.

To kill another day.

To kill another day.       Alan Gilbert.  2010.

I grew up in the city

When I was seventeen.

They told me I must go to war

For country and for King.

Forget the sixth commandment

As many others will.

Take this gun and bayonet

See how many you can kill.

I was fighting early morning

With the moon still in the sky.

Bayoneting the enemy

Praying not to die.

I was seeing comrades falling

Parts of bodies shot away.

I wandered if I want to live

To kill another day.

We made our camp that evening

Said prayers for those who died.

The preacher reassured us

That God was on our side.

I told him of the carnage

Asked what the Lord would say.

He said, “You just be thankful

You can kill another day.”

Three years I’ve been killing

Lost count of all who’ve died.

I’ve lost belief that there’s a God,

At least not on our side.

If he’s with the enemy

Then all that I can say,

He will also have to answer

For his sins on judgment day.

Lost And Gone

I was lost in the waves.

Waves were striking me hard.

Paining me.

But I care not.

I floated with the waves.

Thought waves were part of me.

Lost–I forgot its meaning.

And I floated.

Unaware of anything.

None was there to rescue me.

But what of rescue?

There is no escape.

If not the waves,then…..
.
.
.
.
At last I found the dictionary.

It just floated towards me.

Kudos to whom it was dropped by.

I found the meaning of lost.

Now–

I began to drown.

I don’t know how to swim.

Then how did I survive so long?

Or do I know how to?

Is panic trying to kill me?

Will my return to conscience
be the reason for my demise?

I tried to force my mind.

Said I know how to swim.

Knowing it was just a cover up.

“Mind over matter”
“Mind over matter”

Well the truth is that

My time is up.

This me,it dies.

And I cant help it.

Hoping that I will be reborn.

As a new one.

A wish that I wont be repeated.

And I am dying.

Not knowing when it will be dark.

Time Machine

Let me ask you, what if you had a time machine?
Which time and place would you most like to see?
Change the past or see how life will be.
Think for you, now here’s what’s right for me.

I’d……
Include offers, to get Jackson a new doctor.
Make sure Columbine kids aren’t pushed into school lockers.
Persuade Kennedy, not to attend the Dallas motorcade,
And stop Lincoln from thinking he has to go to plays.
Get a new fan club president for Selena Perez
Keep Patsy Cline’s flight plans, but change up Aaliyah’s instead.
Tell Billy Mays and Chris Farley not to snort cocaine,
And remove all the shells from the guns of Kurt Cobain.
Un-brainwash those who think Jim Jones might be heaven sent,
And make the government take serious the nine-eleven threats.
Forget the heightened evidence, that time is evident,
I’d go back and change Al Gore to the likely president.
Offer clean versions to boost up Heath’s courage,
And remove the barb from the sea serpent below Steve Irwin.
Hire a new man to plan the scene for Brandon Lee,
And remove every cancer gene, Farah Fawcett had to keep.
Set free Joan of Arc, and stand up for Rosa Parks,
Then make sure that Owen Hart’s rope is taught.
Make sure Natalie Wood doesn’t go swimming on that day,
Prevent the DC Sniper, Fort Hood, and Timothy McVeigh.
Make Buddy Holly, Valens and Bopper schedule their flight wrong,
To leave no reason for Don McLean’s American Pie song.

Now I ask, what would you do with a time machine?
What time and place would you now like to see?
Change the past for those who still have life to breathe.
Choose for you, that’s what’s right for me.

Ryan Martin

MY EPIC JOURNEY

MY EPIC JOURNEYMy fatigued , abused boots ,

tap along the tarmac decline,

I check my watch a final time .

Influxes of robust wind attack my being ,

gellid air anaethatises my face ,

and my hands they sting .

The perpetual bouts of wind ostresise me ,

out of the grounds and up the hill ,

I face the mountainess trek, bag in hand,

just like jack and jill .

I think of all the people who are going to their jobs ,

as I ellude wreckless taxi cabs .

I climb past human trees and over rotten fences ,

I throw my eyes over misted fields ,

and rub together two ten pences .

This journey I have incurred ,

I must impel through ,

therefore I cannot be deterred ,

I must ensue .

Half way home I look at the glittering ,electrical horizon.

of yellow and white ,

In the opposite direction ,

my composite , destination ,

is in sight ,

just by the unstable traffic lights ,

a parked up roller skate ,

frozen roof slates ,

flying lit up snow that escalates .

Theres a haunted bus stand alone and still .

oh how I wish I was that cat ,

on that inside window sill .

~Freedom~

by Savanna Blue

Over the river and through the woods not to grandmothers house I go..
My journey began late one year ago from a place called home..
With only a dream tucked neatly in my canvas bag and dressed in my Sunday best..
I left the my childhood to test my hearts desire..
Destination was ~Freedom~

A year of travel to sights unknown..
A year of mystery to bring me home..
A year of wonder- lust and a half full bag..
A journey of breaking barriers and frequent jet lag..

A year closer to finding the path best suited for me..
A bridge full of opportunities will help me become free..

As I shed each piece of the materials worn..
I become the soul I was meant to be when I was born..

Freedom is our right to choose, and I chose walking alone..

peasant lives

Do we live within a land that doesnt ,

have we seen our dreams,

through eyes that couldnt,

have we thrown our beans ,

to a garden so rich that they could grow ,

but wouldnt,

could you hit your target with one bow ,

no arrow ,

across the continent,

do you see success on show ,

at its height so it glows ,

a life you might never know ,

but always covet,

the risks of life ,

a sharpened knife ,

the odds are rife ,

in every cupboard ,

bad luck in the betting book ,

you know not to push it ,

but someone else ,

maybe yourself,

will shove it .

The winning cat will lick his cream ,

elegant imperial ,

silk fur material ,

in the painted pictorial ,

free from politician bull,

harpsichord hills are full ,

sanity wonderful ,

you cant annul ,

the dream of life so powerful.

Thrones and gowns ,

are we the clowns ,

who scrounge around ,

regalities uptown ,

as they frown,

their laughing at your down ,

they hold all the pennies in all of the pounds ,

that you make ,

the hand of vat,

like the cream and cat ,

its sure to take ,

the classes in top hats that eat your cake,

then laugh on beaches as they bake,

old war veterans freeze and shake,

factory fingers get stripped ,

as the scales are tipped,

we always get ripped ,theres an obvious mistake,

for christs sake,

we know this lifes a political ,

cash for questions ,

expenses scam ,

double mortgage fake.

God Is Known, When Love Is Shown

If happens whatever is thought

Then there is no God on the sod

If only sad memories are sought

Getting peace will be very hard

Instead if you pray a lot

Your views will become broad

Simple life produces peace

Temple alone charges no fees

Ample love touches like breeze

To be in God’s good books

Comfort every struggling heart

Let kindness decorate your looks

To join hearts that are torn apart

None of your deed, God overlooks

So in living contest,  lovingly take part.

M V VENKATARAMAN

Handbag

I left my handbag
back in the house of memories

I had to walk on
without tripping
roses on their thorns

My only leather bag
of secretive loves
of stifled tears
and muffled laughter

I had unlocked its hook
for some time now
I had let the fairy tales float
into the golden skies

My 4th lane house
my house of memories
with yellowed tired walls
with squabbles of hand and feet

with forbidden moments buried
with skeletons crying mercy
with evil prowling unawares

I forgot my bag
my dear fearless friend
through the wear and tear of rains
of summers, springs and stains

I left it beneath the lampshade
under the light of virgin glare
a halo forming monstrous
and the shadows lurking fair

I will go
and wait to come
till the wait endures me

till then
the yellowed house
on the 4th lane
under blue lamp shade
lies a bag
of the fortunate few
who wish to forget
and diseased to remember.

Here I Am Again

Here I am again,
hoping that you speak to me.
Your love covers all my being,
your tenderness fills me with joy.
I want to shout to the four winds.
Your love is infinitely a calm balsam.
The divine light that leaves your safekeeping,
it penetrates my mind,
filling me with a divine tranquility.
Thanks Lord for saving me,
when you decided to die for me on the cross.
From my Mother’s womb,
before being born, death already it looks for me.
But your love is stronger than any other force,
you love us so much.
The secret is to know you.
To know myself every day.
I see you and I do not get tired to say,
you are my hero.
You are faith, thought and intellect.
The only thing that you expect from me,
is my heart to transform it in yours.
Jesus enter and take your place,
in this heart that is yours.
Clean my sadness, gather my tears,
that they may form rain that is silent on your feet.
It is hour of adoring you.
Blessed and adored you are by me always,
my good Jesus, I am here again.