Writing Raw Poetry

Oh, my faithful friend

Always supportive and open

Never to judge or hinder

Waiting as long as it takes

How I have missed you

Oh, my deep comrade

You catch my tears

And encourage them to fall

You laugh with me

For our inside jokes

Oh, my loving companion

Holding that which is most dear

Feeling the rawest passion

Appreciative of beauty

In all its many forms

Oh, my dearest ally and enemy

You help me face myself

There for my darkest moments

Ready to lift me at my own pace

Until I find my heart again

Oh, my soul mate

The blank page

Reach

I can feel upon my hands the toil, the scars, the ache

I look down at them to see broken nails and blackened fingers

I can remember a lifetime of crawling and laboring yielding those hands

They once were clean, the nails trim and orderly, fingers smooth

At times they have held tightly in fear and anguish

At others they were comforting, supportive and gentle

They have healed and loved and woven the very fabric of life

But I look down at these battered palms and pity them

For they have, above all else, taken the brunt force of this age

The gateway to all others, this touch, my lovely weathered hands

Wordsmiths

With every new sentence I see the bridge

Read to me again, recite your tales

Teach me what it is like to live in your world

Your fables bring me lessons

Your fantasies remind me of my own

Your songs inspire empathy within

Tell me a human story, call out to me

Share with me a word I didn't know

Write with me, oh, write with me

Tantric

Running inside these veins

Dark and murky and thick

Not blood but ink

What else would be there

But paint and charcoal and

Conte and lead

And when I bleed I leave

Such pretty color behind

Because the art is my life

And it is that which fuels

The archaic mind and heart

Just As Easy

I sucked my teeth as you left

When you called I was so nervous

I wanted to keep holding on

And no one said a thing

Not even you

I said you'd always be here

Both a blessing and a curse

Always at the worst of times

Never on my cue

How I've wanted to hit you

And I've never swung in malice

How I've wanted to kiss you

And I'm ever so appropriate

How you hold me back

And you aren't even around

A thing of beauty

A feeling which brought happy tears

Not even manifested

So it comes out a pale shadow

This is killing me

And I can't even understand it

What have I done so wrong

To make you walk away

Because I tried to love you

Or because I tried too soon

I know you're just as lost as I am

And I know it's likely gone

If it was ever there to start

That I am likely kidding myself

Yet they seem to know

That they can't truly hate you

But you've been awful to me

And they truly want to

All else seems to lack in passion

And I hate you for that a little

It takes so much to tremble

I wouldn't even call this hope

For that is a brightened thing

I gave my light to you

And I wonder if you tend the flame

I'd take it back if I could

But I wonder if it was ever mine

Or if you held it all along

No, this is sheer defiance

What happens when all else fails

That stubborn streak you hate

And I know you love it too

Because it's familiar, easy

I do not seek to claim

But perhaps that is hard to understand

I thought you knew me

That I could meet halfway

That I didn't need it all

I thought you were my friend

And then you said farewell

We cannot start again

Simian Lines

Logically, I know better

Polar extremes

My palms don't match up

Found my heart for what, exactly?

To lose my head

And you, my dear friend

Have you lost yours as well?

Temporary insanity

Looking for something to fill the void

And you're not finding it are you?

I know I want to

Logically, it's right in front of me

But my heart doesn't want to keep it

It doesn't belong to me

And you do?

Ridiculous this

But you didn't ignore me

Guess that's the best it can be

One day my lines will join

Return to where they should have been

And if you're lucky

Maybe you'll get to see

If you've learned to join yours as well

And you're good enough

To be honest and open with me

The Way Forward

There is no going back, you know

Not now, not ever

Not for Josh, not for Mama

Not for lost imagination

You cannot return to the moment he kissed you

You can't become oblivious when you know

You can't be weak when you've proven strong

You have already puffed that smoke

It's too late to become another

It's too late to change your roots

It's too late to go to bed

By now it is tomorrow

By now you're a lot like she was

By now they're seeing that light

By now you've figured out too much

And these were the choices you made

And this was who you wanted to be

And that's more than most people can say

So there's no going back, girl

Life is ever moving forward, never back

Man in the Moon

Tangible, your head in my hands

Warm and real and alive

I feel light scratches on the mound of Venus

Certain sweet moments

I can even catch a whiff of your scent

And I stare at you

Through space and through memory

Did you see the halo around my mother

As I stared up at her last night?

Has the wind brought you

All the way to my doorstep?

Will you remember

The tune of your song?

Will you forget

How you worried for me?

I have to move on, have to let go

You've already taken too much time

And you're hogging all the space

It's time to move over now

Or choose to settle in

And yet I know already

You're not going anywhere

Because I am weak to you

After January

by Rib

How did you know the love was gone?

a little voice whispered it was so?

How did you know the coldness set in?

the wind whistled and started to blow?

My heart still heavy with love

will wait an eternity

my body and soul give in

and let you go

How did your mind trick you into taking the blame?

the years of crazy convinced you?

How did the lust turn into a problem?

sometimes we over think when we do what we do

My love still heavy in my heart

here until certain death

the rest of me gives in to your requests

bye bye baby

here's to your happiness...

Death of a Delinquent

by Mike Berger

Surly!

Hate and rage festered below

his calm exterior. No bad mouth,

just dark eyes that dripped venom.

His absolute obedience at home was

coerced. He hated his dad's belt and

he hated his dad.

He was nine before he learned not to cry.

School was an ugly prison. He lashed

out at those who taunted him. By twelve

he was in the behavioral unit, where he

began his apprenticeship. He learned the

trade of being a thief. At fifteen he found

his niche. None of that petty purse snatching

or mugging. He became a burglar of

first report.

His job paid well; he got his own apartment

and the money kept him in meth. By

seventeen he was a journeyman with all

the tools of his trade. He never wanted for

money. He cruised the streets looking for

runaway girls who would trade a bang for

a bed. Life was good.

For several weeks he staked out a local

pawn shop. He waited for the long weekend

to brake in. The noise of breaking glass

awoke the owner sleeping in the back.

He leveled down with his thirty-eight special

and a single shot rang out

My Own Path

by Bob Cooper

Make not my path all to straight

If I walk too slowly, please wait

If snow should come to block my way

A melting sun will come some day

Fret not the dark beyond the bends

For along the way I will find new friends

Who will see me through toils I may face

Not to steal me away or your love replace

Paths are made for adventure and lore

Please let me go where I never been before

Your path too, once also lie ahead

Alone you went where no other had tried

Permit me too, to explore the unknown

Time will pass to soon I will be grown

Inside my being lives a whole, now small

Soon I will walk but now only crawl

Merely a reflection of what I can soon be

My road has peaks which will allow me to see

Learning from the valleys to climb each hill

Set backs creating determination and will

Gifted from parents my direction is clear

Those gifts will guide me so you need not fear

My fire will burn although now just a flame

You gave me the spark along with your name

Following this new road you will soon see

Fully grown image of what you want me to be

Concern not about how far I may roam

For that same path will bring me back home.

January 2008: Comments to parents to allow

their children to be what they were intended.

Abandoned

by Mike Berger

The baby was left at the hospital door-

abandoned.

The child was perfect in every way except

for a cleft palette.

She became a ward of the state and was

placed in a foster home.

She was just a cipher, a commodity in the

adoption market.

There were people who wanted to adopt, but

who wants a deformed child?

Failing to bond the pretty little girl bounced

from foster home to home.

School was brutal. She often would cry her

self to sleep.

The state said they had spent enough money-

no cosmetic surgery.

At thirteen she took comfort in the arms of an

older man- a father she never had.

A year later she was pregnant and too ashamed

to go to counseling.

She would birth her baby and leave it to others

at the hospital door.

Pan Fried Red Mullet

with Olives and Tomatoes

by Rob McConnell

What's on the menu for tonight?

A culinary dish a gourmets delight?

I promise you something really tasty

But please be patient we can't be hasty.

A perfect supper of Mediterranean cooking

But close your eyes and don't be looking.

Black olive puree, tomatoes dried in the sun

Virgin oil and tarragon add to the fun.

Ground black pepper and chopped Basil too

I promise you won't have to visit the loo.

To crown it all fresh Red Mullet fillets

Ready to be cooked on the electric skillet.

Heat the oil and cook the fish

Three minutes each side is best for this dish.

Stir all the herbs in olive oil

While the fish rests in cooking foil.

Combine the ingredients with lime juice to taste

Make sure nothing goes to waste.

So there it is pan fried Red Mullet

Soon to be titillating your waiting gullet.

The Conscience

by Mike Berger

The 7.0 quake devastated the island

nation. Bodies littered the streets. Mangled

corpses were pulled from the rubble. Women

wailed over dead children.

Fire blistered the darkened sky, piercing

the shroud of death. People wandered

aimlessly, crazed and dazed. Cries of

agony leaped from the lips of the maimed.

The only hospital in the town had collapsed.

Tremors were no respect or a persons; the

presidential palace was a heap of rubble.

The voodoo shaman lay dead in the street.

As I ate my prime rib, I dabbled with my

asparagus tips. I think I will donate 10

bucks to those poor unfortunate souls.

by T. G. Friel

The Garden

by C. Angelo Caci

The gate to garden is now open.

caterpillars make their pilgrimage from a jaundiced land

across the border divide to the sanctity of

lush green promises set within and

from sea to shining sea they sing

songs that ring of prosperities

riding amber waves of grain the attendant wasps on guard wait patiently hidden inside amongst those fruited plains and like bombs they will begin to descend and lay their eggs upon the sweat wet flesh of all those migrant dreamers and

when the eggs they hatch-

one by one by one by one-

this new life will then begin to devour them

one by one by one it happens this way every year

after all it is the time of harvest inside these garden

walls where they'll remain where

silent songs

of free-

doms

lie

After The Girl Walks By

by David Manglass

It's the form that stays with you

the shape that's etched in your brain

the graceful easy movements

the air that's displaced in your direction

World Peace

by Shaleen Kumar Singh

A Far Cry

Or much cry little wool

Is world peace

That lies shattered

From the WTC of USA to the

Camps of Afghanistan

From the Rockets of Israel to the

White smoke rising from the Gaza Patti

From the debris of school buildings of

Iraq to the shrieks of terror of Kashmir

Proclamations, declarations,

Treaties, manifestos, promises, long tedious speeches of Presidents of nations and equally heart rending cries of orphaned sons and daughters

Sobbing mothers and fathers and

Pastors and people

Praying in panic

A child building and

Demolishing his own Sand-dune…

Peace

by Shaleen Kumar Singh

Peace

The eternity

Peace

Before life

Peace

After life

Peace

Hidden here also

Till it burst

From noise

Have peace

And perceive

You will receive

The eternity of

Peace.

Untitled I Walk

(Psychiatric Assessment)

Untitled I walk

through life

with a shrink

from Yugoslavia,

whose as large as big foot.

With a novel in one hand,

and shaking his fingers at me

with the other,

he wants to control me with a shovel,

tie me in knot balls, emotional twisters,

and squeeze the emotional pages

out of my life like a twisted sponge.

I retaliate, control him back,

wage war in a vicarious cycle

squeeze his testicles like electrical wires

inside my mind's eye,

cut his tongue with razors,

dull his clinical words.

Play his game, only better.

He picks up the play phone,

threatens to call the police,

leashing me in my corner

like a trapped dog

forces me to bark

into submission

like a beagle basset bitch.

He treats me with word babble.

I tell him he is a damn Ukrainian idiot.

Peeved off I race

to the parking lot, head to the bushes,

like a blue racer snake threatened,

hop bunny rabbit into my S-10

Chevy pick-up truck,

memo pad in hand,

scribbling ruminating notes

I surrender naked till my next prescription,

untitled I walk.

Days Pass

(Psychiatric Assessment)

Days pass,

Cold is winter,

At night birds hide in trees.

Doves at bird feeder don't count days ?

No cares.

South Chicago Night

Night,

south Chicago is filled with drifters,

sugar rats, street walkers, pick-pockets and pimps,

a few whores on 95th street south

fill out the night agenda with silent whispers;

thousands of tiny fingers of greed snitch

dip into pockets other than their own.

The night air is full of insects and Lake Michigan perch smells.

Ladies diligent in the night,

High on the rise of condo balconies and drugs

Paint a picture, gesture to strangers on the streets

below, "do you want a date?"

The neon signs are blinking and half the bulbs

are burned out.

Mayor daily or is it Daley, is tucked in sleeping blankets tonight

in south Bridgeview; while most of the trouble lodges at the Salvation

Army where Christ lives with sinners.

Parents, despair. Surrender their children for

bucks and old silver coins traded earlier at the pawn shop;

some drink gut-rot sweet cherry wine and act as slave pushers?

but the children continue to roam the streets in designer clothing.

Before the warmth of morning sun, lips grin,

sidewalks fold turn up and open to foot traffic,

the city of Chicago trembles from the taste of delicious dew.

Just a map image and picture?frame shadow

of the city with the "big shoulders."

Mayor Daily or is it Daley is sleeping and ducked away sound tonight.

The big city drifts, and in the morning light, sailboats

lean against the side walls of Lake Michigan sand and shoreline.

Summer is Dying

Outside summer is dying into fall,

blue daddy petunias sprout ears?

hear the beginning of night chills.

In their yellow window box

they cuddle up and fear death together.

The balcony's sliding door

is poorly insulated, and a cold draft

creeps in all the spare rooms.

Cut Grass in Snow

All day long

night is my storm lantern.

I carry it into the farm land

cutting into my harvested emotions

covered by snow

edging them in half

in front of me

see me open and bleeding.

I'm seeded like a small orange

pit me out and devour me

spit the pulp and seed

I step on the jagged edges

of my feelings and sense my pain

cut stretched skin with glass shavings

torture under toes hurt badly with pain.

Pitch the stuff with damn black top

if it makes you feel relieved.

Don't laugh at me like a circus clown

I'm 61 and my dimples show smiles

and crinkles.

This day is a lawn mover

even in December

when machinery is to be shacked up

and covered.

I plow beneath the white surface

cut rotten leaves beneath settled snow.

The aggravation,

the cultivation

the nonsense of hell with a runny nose.

In spring the grass never pops up right.

All day, night is my storm lantern.

Saturday Snow Dec. 10-08

Snow, snow, more snow

on Saturday morning-

doves mount my birdfeeder

full of bright golden corn-

on the wooden balcony they

leave love notes tucked

down at the foot

of my sliding glass doors.

To read all 14 poems in the

Metaphysical Poetry Collection

By Annette Brigitte Agathine, CLICK HERE

Emptiness

Golden spark touch my soul,

outside screams mingle fro,

branches swift, in front my eyes,

I skip to swing this sarcastic rhyme.

I dance and swirl,

the sunlight tempt

my heart to pound,

to pause,

with a thud,

with a lurch,

and a strike,

with golden spark

in my empty mind.

Never Again

I shall never love again

Shakespeare's dead

yesterday, words came.

I read out the final settlement,

Begone husband.

I buried your song

with your husky voice,

now I'm free as a bird.

Come by,

come and go adulterer,

we are no longer phantoms.

I shall never love again.

Confession of a Poet

(Style 1)

On the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit....

A painter, paint a woman's heart,

the artist draw to show her mark,

a carver carve her husband's eyes

a writer writes, about her fear inside.

And she coloured her heart red

drew a perfect insolent

carved his eyes filled with innocence

wrote her fear down, with no conscience.

But, she failed with - herself,

with lack of worth

lots of lure,

no remorse

no peace, love and joy,

they both left the negligence

that laid upon an electrical wire

and many deaths of any metal end.

With words unsaid,

she failed as a writer

and she failed herself as a woman,

and with God's approval

I confess to this violence,

Amen.

This is confession of a poet.

Angels Can Smile

Friends could be everywhere

within every corner

or any dump

evil is the world,

but in the shadows,

angels can smile.

Blue Fire

(Style 5)

Blazing heart

picks up momentum

when we are apart

it gives me seizure

when you come close

I'm under your spell

I dance on your tune

smelling frankincense.

Alas, alas,

I'm not walking

but alive,

it is not

moon, quest, honey and myrrh

that you paint with your lips

and on mine every dawn,

but with

lace, tobacco, sweets and lust

beacons me and carries me

aching the soles of my feet.

Sizzling,

reviving

dwelling

escaping,

electrifying

delicious,

a devious

betraying blue fire.

Confession of a Poet

(Style 3)

The Witness

Sealed mind

in loops of thread

tied with aversion

craving to comatose

from target.

To read all 22 poems

by Bhaskaranand Jha Bhaskar, CLICK HERE

Let Wednesday Come

Let Wednesday come

With a world of fantasy

Sweetened with love and romance-

Dipping my soul in the fragrance

Of sweet relation, love, affection,

Facilitated by hate and attraction.

Even though at a long distance

Her presence seems closer to me

With her innocent demeanor

Beautified by her sense of humor

Humming a tune of affinity

I am melted in the ocean of Eternity.

Mounds of thoughts and feelings

Writhe me to pour them out;

But there is no creative vision

To shape and vent them out.

Let Wednesday come

When I will chat out my feelings

For those nothing to do with them;

As they are out of their sense.

Mine is the feeling

Pure and sacrosanct

Transcending the world of flesh;

Beyond the reach of the physical heart.

Innermost intricacy of my self

Though seems strange to many

Can be realized only by those

Who have the divine sense

And deep sense of spirituality.

Eyes cannot fathom the depth

Of the ocean of feelings;

Tides of love and human bonds;

Heart alone with pure thoughts

Can understand the labyrinth of Love.

Gloom

Smile has taken a flight

Towards the sky of gloom

As the beauty of a flower

Withered, can never bloom.

The face of our happiness

Has turned pale with sorrow

That has darkened our soul

To see the Light tomorrow.

Life seems painful to live

In the world without the one

Who was expected to come

Sweetening our life like a bun.

Modern Life

In the hurly burly of modern life,

Which is a long and painful strife,

Fighting against all odds of time

Rampant here all sorts of crime.

Redden'd with greed eyes fall no tear

Of law or God's fury he has no fear

Heart writhes in the pool of blood

Emotions lost in the sway of flood.

No help, or rescue for the poor soul

Grabbing undue gain is one's goal

Feeling and sympathy are all gone

Eden of humanity and hatred has grown.

Everybody is mad with so much power

Divine interference is the need of hour

Vice deadening the goodness of heart

For fear of evils, values, virtues depart.

Burial Ground

Star-studded sky

With blossoming blue light

Beautifying the grace

Of the flowing water

Making an eternal sound

Makes me spell-bound !

Sun-smeared sky

With flooded light

Falling on beautiful flowers,

Dews in the morning

Refreshing nature all around

Makes me spell-bound !

Cloud-cast sky

With thundering lights

Hailing the howling wind

In the patter of rains

Damping all the ground

Makes me spell-bound!

Hurt heart-sky

With pleading tears

Praying for some balms

On the wounded mind

Of hapless humanity-

A growling hound

Makes me still

In the burial ground!

What I Am?

I am alone; all alone here

I have no friends to talk to

No kith and kin of mine

I have no body; hence no pain

I have no mind; hence no tension

I have no heart; hence not hurt.

What I am is very subtle

Beyond the realm of pleasure and pain

Perceiving myself getting dissolved

Into the vast and infinite cosmos,

Though caged in the gross desires

Of love and lust of the world.

What is Love?

Love is a fantasy

A pleasant feeling

Tickling the strings of heart

Caressing it with sweet soft touch

Resounding life

With the music of soothing happiness.

Love is a willing drug

To the soulful youths

Intoxicating minds and heart

Making them ever lost

In the world of imagination

Of their sweet future and ecstasy.

Love is an enigma

Beyond the understanding

Of the body and the mind

But within the realm of soulful heart

Tempting the youths of all ages

To understand and measure its profundity.

Love is a sweet invisible relation

Between two hearts

Either unified by society's hands

Or separated physically

At two different places

But mingled together at heart and soul.

Orphan

A pampered child as I was

Always loved, cuddled and respected

Due to the radiance and brilliance

Behooving my tender and soft face

Coming out of my parents' ego

Or may be of their baseless boasting.

A calm but isolated in the group

Ever lost in my own thoughts

Chalking out plans for sustaining

My own self and my family.

Once out of college I took to teaching

The small kids blind to the fire

Of hunger and starvation devouring

The poor families of the inactive.

The wedding garland round my neck

Lowered my head and self esteem

Only to see the affairs of my own

Neglecting the plight of my parents .

I am now orphaned by none other

Than my parents for reasons still unknown.

Prayer to God

O Great Father, your child is

Caught in the world of Evil.

Passion, woe and despair.

Long ruled by the Devil

Owing to ignorance

Deviated from the right path.

O! Mercy! Help! Redeem!

Show me your bright path.

No more !I pray thee

Keep me out of the dark night.

O God! harken my prayer

Guide through your bright Light.

Battleground

Forget warm, forget calm,

forget how pretty the lacy window curtains,

how stoic the neighbor's silhouette,

how trance-like the waltzing autumn leaves.

Stow away the fragrant vapors of your pipe

with the tranquil count of knitting,

the laughter of children waking,

the fleece, the fire, the Frigidaire,

the bathtub foam.

The contours, the imprints,

bemusement at the activity of dogs...

toss them overboard.

First kiss, last dance...

stuff them down the rifle barrel.

So you remember... big deal...

what kind of weapon is that?

And you know the names of a hundred

and fifty people at least.

But the times demand

a hundred and fifty thousand.

And that just for starters.

So you like what the horizon is telling you,

morning, midday, dusk...

it has a soporific for every occasion.

But light's no tank, sunsets are not fighter planes.

The clock ticks when the war begins.

Every second it starts.

To Susan, Down on the Farm

most of it you get used to:

the dead cattle on your doorstep,

the nerves that scatter

away from your bone

like sparrows,

centuries-old bloodsuckers

in your dreams,

holding your pale skin up to

their face like it's the mirror

they can't see themselves in anyway

some of it's always been there:

the shrieks at night,

the ghosts gathering at

the corner bedpost or in your brain

whichever is more eager

to have them

some stuff though you can't fathom:

that look in your lover's eye,

the twist of his lip,

the monsters that fester

in the swamps of your own boredom

what upsets you most is that

though you know you're in

danger you have no clue

what danger is:

bring on the reaper, you say

but then you lock up the bread knife

Samantha and Her Youthful Lover

First learn to despise what you love,

the slight, brown youth full length on your bed.

Put him on a trial, a short but bloody

court room scene underneath your breath.

As he rolls over on his side, his beautiful

rump uppermost, give no indication that

even now you're gathering the evidence,

slowly, slowly, with forefinger on choice skin.

His eyes are closed, his muscle, though rumpled,

pumps a pure and lusty blood. A sea-breeze strums

his callow nerve ends. You hear both sides. He's

ten years younger, a wizened old woman screeches.

Surely a jury could not get by the obvious crime...the time

he makes you spend these days to mask the flaws.

You sentence him to death but oh, this

precious flesh would have a hard time dying.

Mute Dave