Aloof
When the gathered families smelled
The aroma of sausages,
Hotdogs and spent firecrackers
On this day of Independence
I was sniffing the subtle scents
Of odoriferous flowers
That grew beyond the festiveness.
When members heard, ” come and get it! ”
From the self designated chef
I heard only sounds of nature.
When the people sat and said grace
For the food that was on their plates
I stood among the wildflowers
Too intoxicated to feast.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Sausage Sam
Our Sam is quite fussy when it comes down to food,
Unless it's just right she'll just sit there and brood;
But if truth it be told, when she's in the right mood,
She sure does love her sausages.
Now a sausage is only a long tube of meat,
That you cook on a grill in a great deal of heat;
But for these our Sammy would fly down the street,
'Cause she sure does love her sausages.
'The bigger the better' I once heard her say,
'I could eat two big jumbos then go out to play;
And for supper I'll eat two again, If I may,
'Cause I sure do love them sausages.'
A nice piece of lamb isn't her cup of tea,
And what she DOES eat wouldn't fill up a flea;
But at fighting I think she would kill forty-three
If they stood in the way of her sausages.
Now you wouldn't believe if you look at her figure,
How such fatty food just does not make her bigger;
If 'they' grew in the earth she would be a great digger,
I tell you she LOVES her sausages.
Well each to his own, I suppose that it's true,
And our Sam's got the right to like what she wants to;
When she gets up to heaven 'they'll' be on the menu,
Then FOREVER she'll be eating sausages.
(Written Sept 1994)
poem by John Carter Brown
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A Quiet Fourth
I composed this poem on the morning of Independence Day 2008.
July fourth and firecrackers aren't heard.
Perhaps because it’s raining as I type.
I thank the gods for booming sounds deferred.
My guess, I’m getting old. I hate the hype
That everyone is caught up with today.
In youth we did exactly all that's done
Perhaps a smidgen more so, by the way.
The noise we made, heck! It was all in fun.
We celebrated Independence Day.
I’m no longer young, oops! Slip of the tongue.
A senior citizen I’m called today
It’s political correctness among
The hearing impaired. I beg you don’t scoff
Guess what? I had my hearing aid turned off!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Happy Independence Day
Blow up them firecrackers.
Light up the sky.
Because it's Happy Independence Day.
I've been meaning to say..
Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happ..
Happy Independence Day, Happy Independence Day.
Happy Independence Day.Happy Independence Day.
Sparklers glowing.Stars and stripes showing.
Nothing but happy people.Celebrating the Fourth Of July.
The birth of our country.The birth of our flag.
Because our founding fathers.Always wanted it this way.
Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happ..
Happy Independence Day.Happy Independence Day.
Happy Independence Day.Happy Independence Day.
Fifty stars and thirteen stripes.
The flag still flies.The American way.
Old Glory's the name.Old Glory's the same.
Join with the crowd, for the American dream.
So blow up them firecrackers.
Light up the sky.
Because it's Happy Independence Day.
I've been meaning to say.
Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy, Happ..
Happy Independence Day.Happy Independence Day.
Happy Independence Day.Happy Independence Day.
Independence Day-Song Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2006,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
Note; This wonderful Song-Poem was written on the Fourth Of July,
in the year 2006..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Nibbles Abandoned On Picked Over Plates
Do people honestly care who initiated their ability,
To continue eating at a feast?
Since some who have come to munch,
Have desires to have their selections chosen...
By placing them out in front,
To 'try' to duplicate what others obviously appreciate.
The only time people express concern,
Is when it is believed...
Fewer people are eating up all the selected treats.
And it is assumed one chef has been favored...
Because it seems as if this one chef,
Has secret recipes that teases a choice for many to eat.
And it is suspected there is a cheating...
To make those unbeatable delicious treats,
The ones preferred by those who eat them.
No matter what the grade of taste the others are given.
Or the nibbles abandoned on picked over plates,
Given undeserved ratings for being great although mediocre.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Isn't Easy to Think Independently
Perhaps if you stop your plagiarisms,
Your mindset will adopt one of creativity.
Sparking an innovativeness,
Your insecurities have yet let you allow.
It isn't easy to think independently.
But original concepts,
Are difficult to recreate...
Especially if one is too busy,
Sniffing up the chef's ass
For scents of ingredients used.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Whisper My Name
I heard a freight train out across the way
I heard a woman sing amazing grace
I heard a night bird call to its mate
When I heard you whisper my name
I heard freedom break its chain
A
I heard a heart beat where once on sound remained
I heard angels rise and praise
When I heard you whisper my name
Chorus:
I heard music bring a heart of stone to tears
I heard peace ring like an anthem through the years
And I heard hatred fall from grace
When I heard you whisper my name
Beating softly against the waves
Fell a sound of an early morning rain
And though the lighting and thunder came
I still heard you whisper my name
And I heard angels rise and praise
When I heard you whisper my name
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hotdogs and Beans
Those heard loudly complaining today,
Are the same people heard yesterday.
Debating how a can opener is used,
As instructed by directions.
They insist should be followed,
To remove the contents properly.
And neither is it a coincidence,
They are the ones still trying to impress,
With etiquette and attire at the dinner table.
For a meal of hotdogs and beans.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Best Deception
I heard about your trip.
I heard about your souvenirs.
I heard about the cool breeze, in the cool nights,
and the cool guys that you spent them with.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
Don't you see, don't you see,
that the charade is over?
And all the "Best Deceptions" and "Clever Cover Story" awards go to you.
So kiss me hard
'cause this will be the last time that I let you.
You will be back someday
and this awkward kiss that tells of other people's lips will be of service
to keeping you away.
I heard about your regrets.
I heard that you were feeling sorry.
I heard from someone that you wish you could set things right between us.
Well I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I guess I should have heard of them from you.
I'm waiting for blood to flow to my fingers,
I'll be all right when my hands get warm.
Ignoring the phone, I'd rather say nothing.
I'd rather you'd never heard my voice.
too late to be gracious
and you do not warrant long good-byes.
You're calling too late.
song performed by by Dashboard Confessional
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surprise in Japan - Our Rattling Plates
earthquake
teutonic plates rattle
our plates
earthquake
rattling our nerves
the plates on the shelf
softly rattling
to an earthquake
our plates on the shelf
ratting plates
our seismic
detector
rattling plates
oh it is the earthquake
bothering us again
Ring of Fire
every now and then
our plates rattle
rattling plates
a belief in fate keeps
my heart calm
rattling plates
i put my life in
the hands of god
Japan is on one of the most siesmic proned region of the world called ring of fire. In our apartment, every now and then, the plates we stack one over the other on the shelf would rattle. When the earthquake was
strong enough, they would jump off the shelf. It was a surprise to me at first when I heard our plates rattled every now and then especially at night.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Like A Fresh Brook Flows
Winter is gone.
And again Spring is here...
On the scene.
Dawn leaves its chill to a warming.
As birds are heard chirping.
And all of nature seems to sing.
Smiling faces seen to grace,
In places where we go.
Letting known their feelings shown.
As blooming flowers are exposed.
And laughter shared among the children,
Bring instant memories.
And romance filled remembered dances,
Slowly...
Like a fresh brook in a forest flows.
Winter is gone.
And again Spring is here...
On the scene.
Dawn arrives with Sunrise warmings,
As nature scents with a lingered tingling.
Ah-ee-ah-oh,
As blooming flowers are exposed.
Ah-ee-ah-oh,
And romance again like a fresh brook flows.
Ah-ee-ah-oh,
As blooming flowers are exposed.
Ah-ee-ah-oh,
And romance again like a fresh brook flows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He flew with angels
At school, the look-up homework
one day was ‘mercy’…
and that proved itself
to be indeed itself
what the dictionary said
haunted; seemed inadequate;
haunted again
he smelled his life, as one
smells Spring in the air
of a freezing January day
every one of his thoughts
began and finished
with the word unsounded
then his actions too grew
out of it, returned to it
his friends, his wife, his family:
some heard it, some did not
years passed; in the darkness
of the quiet evening street,
the great and famous called on him
what he had to say was
too great for the public,
too young yet for the public
but the word, nourished,
slipped into the courtroom,
whispered in the palaces,
stood behind the priests
who did not say it yet
heard it murmuring in their ear
while for him, the word grew and grew,
flew with him higher ever higher
so they talked of how to martyr him
because the word was too big for them
he died before they decided on his fate
and was that too what it meant
leaving the word in the air like
a limitless embrace, like
the warm wish of a departing guest
said over the shoulder with a smile,
a wave, a memory
and a sowing and a growing,
a reaping, a vastness, a light,
a boundless love
poem by Michael Shepherd
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My Recipe
For love I design the name of wondrous nature,
I love its wondrous age, the animal inside;
Offering a man his peeling of fruit and vegetables,
A cook is designing new food for heavy consumption.
The cooking is simple, and plates are filled with heaven-
On that is regard for taste, on this is peace and bliss.
Joke on him, the big chef, who dearly paid for mistakes,
Oiling the pan with more food and spreading special
Ingredients, like there was an illegal clue
Of beauty.
I love that recipe, that wondrous name that smelt of heaven.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hotel California
On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
The warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
This could be heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wildflowers
The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow
So I ran fearing not where Id go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
They were common and close, I had no room for growth
I wanted so much to branch out
I uprooted myself from home ground and left
Took my dreams and I took to the road
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free
Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where wed go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Romance In The Market Place
YOU stood beside the flowers,
Yourself a flower;
And on your face
The twilight stayed another hour,
It shone so pale;
And all around men talked as in a market-place.
I heard them talk, and felt
No interest stir
In what they said.
Lilies were nigh you, and around you were
The lights of love,
And all about the world moved on with nervous tread.
I heard it not; for down
And round about
My soul you drew
The veils that shut the loud earth out,
And I and you
Were there alone — no one beside but I and you!
What words were those we said?
Old ones, perchance,
Pale with the pain
Of all who've kissed, and talked romance,
And said farewell,
And mixed their tears and kissed, and sighed — and sighed in vain.
We stood a sainted while,
And then your hand
Sought to be free,
And you were gone; and all the land
Was under gloom,
And lamps were lit for other men, but none for me.
I stood and watched you go,
And suddenly
The loud world grew
Like some great-voiced, insetting sea;
And men went by,
Talking of trade and war and all but love and you.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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America
Last night I heard America cry and it was the sound
Of women birthing chi ldren into a soci ety that is
Filled with despai r and their tears fell from
Heaven like rain and flooded everywhere
Last night I heard America cry and I felt it down
In my soul because millions of people are dying
while AIDS is out of control
Last night I heard America cry and it was on the
Nightl y news they talked about missing children
Some murder ed and some abused
Last night I heard America cry because her sol diers are
Dying each day and families are losing love ones
To a war that doesn 't pay
These are the reason s why we must come together
And help wipe the tears from America's eyes
Because if we don't take the time to help her she will
Drown in her own demise
Last night I heard America cry
poem by Mike Santiago
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Dragon's flight like a Kitsune’s fur
Flying endless,
It loves the peaceful air,
The nature countless like the spring,
The flowers bloom,
Like a summer's day,
Soon to become twilight's might,
As the moon is full,
And the wolves howl,
We fly like owls in the night,
Looking for food,
We long for more food,
Awaiting the ultimate feast.
poem by Nicholas Spandrel
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Ceausescu's Children 1996
Out of the manholes they crawl
to face another hopeless day.
Not rats or cockroaches,
but Romania's children.
Selling their miserable bodies
for food, or glue.
Food barely sustains, but sniffing
glue anaesthetises their misery.
Children of Romania, raped,
abused, diseased and forgotten.
Alina, just sixteen was heard to say.
'I wan't to die'
Why not?
She's only just alive.
poem by Jerry Hughes
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Holy Spirit Divine Descend
Holy Spirit Divine descend
Come and take pre-eminence
Move in an unusual fashion
Like on the day of Pentecost
Descend Holy spirit Divine descend
We are gathered in your name
Together to sing your praises
To express our thankfulness
At your throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Together to make our supplication
And bring our burdens
To the throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Humbly requesting your blessing
Showers of divine blessings
From the throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Anxiously seeking your face
Believing to access favours
From your throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Honestly faithful in you
Trusting we shall be set freed
At your throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Keenly waiting on you
Hoping to renew our strength
At the throne of Grace
We are gathered in your name
Candidly unwavering in our trust
Convinced to be spiritually re-fueled
At the throne of Grace
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
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In The Comfort Of Our Homes
If noses weren't attached,
To the face.
Few people would know,
Where the back of their heads were.
Or knew the full sensation,
Of picking their toes.
One of those favorite pastimes,
Spent in the comfort of our homes...
Alone sniffing the toe jam,
Most of the time!
'THAT is disgusting! '
And...
Your point is what?
Sniffing and tasting it,
Are not to be associated!
Unless...
You have discovered another method,
That upgrades this satisfaction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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