Old Men Walk Barefoot!
they would cut the wings from sparrows,
and deny the face of the wind.
take the laughter from the small child,
and bury the old man's shoes.
fill the cup with oil,
and burn the pages....
erase the names and the memory
of having been...
but the sparrow flies beyond their reach,
and they cant touch the wind.
the child gives his laughter freely,
and the cup has been turned over.
the pages feed the fire with desire,
and names and memory are written on god...
we who have lived have something
they cant take away...
that we give without looking back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Written In Blood And Love
In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.
Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.
In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.
All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.
Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Child's Laughter
One of a kind this cheerful sound
A child's laughter wherever it's found
From the giggling of a baby in a playpen
To the laughter of a toddler again and again
A child's laughter can bring a smile
To one who hasn't done so in such a long while
I know because that one was me
Until my daughter's laugh set mine free
A child's laughter so gleeful and pure
An innocence adults miss for sure
Laughter that can bring back the past
And memories of a youth that flew by so fast
A child's laughter can bring out the best
Of most any man when he's depressed
Cause his spirit that's fall to soar
Until at last he laughs once more
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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Dear Friend
Dear friend,
Today I turn the pages of our memories
Those laughter and tears
That we have shared for more many years
Those secrets that we hide
Underneath the cherry tree
These photographs I held, and
I used to smile every time I looked at them
Dear friend,
I've been to the place were we first met
It’s the same old, and new, nothing has changed
Like an old book with precious stories
Every page has a wonderful thing to say
Like a laughter that remains on air
They’re sounds music in my ear
A symphony of our yesterday
Dear friend,
I plow our memories that blanket by autumn leaves
On this mango tree
And its branches look so droopy
But there’s a last leaf-standing firm on a trunk
That forgotten, as the time goes by
Like this friendship buried from the shadow of past
Thou I know it will never last
Dear friend,
Remember the summer skies
Those butterflies that landed in our hands
The kites that we ever flew
In these green fields of our childhood memory
We were children once before
When the trees were tall and we were small
And now we are tall and the trees fall
Dear friend,
Autumn was come
And the leaves started to fall
I can’t count the hours, how long I've stood here
Waiting for your presence
That you have promised you will come
The wind whistle like your soft voice
I feel the heavenly touch on my face
Dear friend,
You never told me that you are leaving
Together with the clouds that passed by
Together with the angels that flew into the sky
Like the waters that flow freely back to the sea
Like a wind that danced on its own
But your soul still live inside of me
You will always be my special memory
Dear friend,
I wrote you a letter sealed with my tears
Saying take care, I miss our funny deeds
Id rather be sad
And my heart is in grief
But somehow I’ll be happy then
That once in my life I had you as my friend
Dear friend, you will always be my best friend
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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All Of Their Laughter
A child’s smile is a gift from God
A child’s touch like that of Angel’s wings
A wriggle of their nose like the spread of fairy dust
A child’s dimples softer than cream puffs
A look from their eyes like catching a shooting star
A child’s hug is like falling through a cloud
When each child falls asleep in their home
All of their laughter dances back to his throne
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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Wind Child Love Embracing
wind child still
I see your joy laughing eyes
wind child still
I see your warm eyes laughing
wind child still
I see your eyes green healing
wind child still
I see an emerald sea your eyes
wind child still
I see your soft dove brown eyes
wind child still
I see your fawn eyes new life running
wind child still
I see your dark black eyes blessing
wind child still
I see your soul dark passion eyes
wind child still
I see your love welcoming eyes
wind child still
I see your smile universe embracing
wind child still
I see your love of God’s creativity spreading
wind child still
I see stars in heaven smile in your soul eyes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mother Sparrow Leaves Not Carrying Anything
the mother sparrow does not
know about a funeral
how can it hold a white flower
entertain meaning
using its black, short beak?
today, her young sparrow
lies dead
shattered wings, severed feathers
the worker-ants are sensing the scent of blood
the delicacy of sparrow meat
and now carry them all toward their
queen
underground
there is no memory for mother sparrows
there is no son
the fledgling is gone, gone
then she flies far away
to another season
not carrying anything, not a seed even inside her gut
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Phenomenology Of The Sparrow
you have seen a sparrow
on a twig
pulling with its beak
a ripe guava
you have seen how it flies away
after a very short fill
do you feel the freedom of its wings?
do you hear the wind beneath its feathers?
do you wish to capture it on a trap
using a latex sap?
do you wish to catch it with your hands
and feel its softness with your fingers?
when you put it in a cage
is it beautiful
to see it sad and
be not able to fly and to sing
on a beautiful morning?
or is it more beautiful flying with the wind
singing freely its own songs of freedom
rather than be silent
and sad in your very own hands?
have you ever felt
once in your life
that you are a sparrow
too tiny
too soft
too innocent
for another
creature's
cruelty and cunning?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Pyro Maniac
A pyro with a flame.
Just writing your name in the sand.
Time tics by and fire after fire does not end the desire.
It's passion.
It's love.
It's a child's laughter.
Nothing left untouched.
As he makes his mark.
Personal and distant.
He's lived it.
Through the the fires eyes.
He can't help it.
He just want to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
He speak to the eternal flame.
And she rise from the ashes.
Back again just the same.
Glowing so bright, so hot.
So appealing he can not ever turn away.
A obsession everyday.
No he doesn't care.
His mind is most certainly else where.
He can't help it
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
As holy body it rises from the grave.
As a scientific miracle it saves.
Staving off the cold.
Turning something into nothing.
It's just so amazing.
Captivating.
A star studded glaze.
An everlasting stare into nowhere.
Exhilarating is the feeling he gets.
Ever single time.
He can't help it.
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
He's a maniac.
No doubt it.
Completely reckless to t.
But its his divinity.
His saving grace.
His ace.
And he has a constant need to play it.
Even if someone dies.
He's not worried about it.
It off to the next.
He can't help it.
He just wants to watch everything burn.
Burn, Burn, Burn.
Yeah just burn, burn, burn, oh burn.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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My Heart is Broken
Does anyone know that my heart is broken?
Perhaps no one really knows because of the laughter I show when I'm with them,
Nobody knows that my heart is hurting because of that person.
Those days in love it was the laughter that made me happy,
Waking up in the morning next to the person that I loved,
It was everything that I could wished for,
But the laughter faded when the person said it was over.
Years have passed by but the memories are still here,
And I don't think I could ever erase the person from my mind,
Those wonderful memories from my heart.
My heart is bleeding from the sad memories that were once happy,
I can laugh and laugh,
I can lie to myself and my friends,
But the tears from the laughter are the tears from the heartbreak.
Sometimes in the nights I hear myself laughing,
The laughter that echoes through the nights,
Through the lonely dark room,
I sometimes realize that not all of the echoing sounds are laughter,
But they are the tears and sadness coming from my heart.
How can I erase anything when the person's love was so beautiful?
How can I erase that person from my memory,
When I still love that person so much
poem by Heather Noble
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Listen to the Wind
If you listen to the wind
It’s like listening to your twin
As it echoes rippled reflections
On the glass lake that you swim
It shows up
Blows up in your face
Leaving breathless whispers in its place
The wind paints with many brushes
Not particular whose innocence it touches
The wind will be your courseless guide
Take you on an endless roll coaster ride
Overturning stones like lies that cannot hide
Exposing misguided fortunes of ill-gotten pride
And so the wind screams as it races
Etchings of laughter that no one embraces
And yes there are beliefs
Of old wise Indian chiefs
That our story in written in the wind
Weather beaten, eroded, but not able to rescind
The pages of the Master Journal as they fade
With Eden endings so well laid
Will get you to listen to the wind
You’ll hear confessions of those who sinned
And when the wind stops blowing
A silence for you will be all knowing
It will confirm all that’s been said
Put vaulted thoughts securely in your head
That which is known as peace
A peace you don’t want to release
Bought to you courtesy of the wind
poem by Alfred Ramos
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The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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A Sparrow In My Mind Is Enough For Me
i do not need two or more sparrows to know what a song
of that sparrow is all about
more sparrows become a crowd and i cannot figure out the intent
of the song
the notes blur like a mist that i erase from the side of the glass window
i do not need a living sparrow
for i do not wish to capture one and choke it inside the cage of my hands
i only need the most freeing sparrow inside my mind
the one that i can erase if i do not need it anymore
without inflicting any pain without holding any feather any longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sweet Memory To Me
You are such a sweet memory to me...
How you showed me how beautiful life can be...
You serve as my sunset in my life...
You made me believe that there will be a brighter tomorrow...
You are like a leaf that is blown away by the wind..
You make feel so free....
You teach me to just let life blow me away whatever i do...
You are like the star that shines in the sky...
You are always there to help me reach my dreams...
You showed me what life can bring...
Now that you are gone
You are just a sweet memory to me..
A memory that can never be replace
A memory that can never be erase...
poem by Karima Puzon
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Handprints On The Knob!
bound and cuffed,
i break through
the paper veil
surrounding your body,
and lap at your heart
with my tongue.
you broke the sparrow's wings,
yet he flies with the memory
of flight and pure desire!
you speak softly,
and the waves are stilled.
even the moon
loses it's grip!
small children draw your image
in the dirt with holy fingers,
and whisper, 'mother'!
the rats in the alley
stop in silent prayer.
broken windows mourn
for the wind!
your lips on the horn
of my being blow,
the demons dance like monkeys,
for nickels and dimes.
rain begins to fall...
even god is weeping.
and the handprints on the knob
burn history into
the moments of choice.
perhaps that is all we are,
or can be...
moments of choice,
handprints on the knob!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Blind Child's Plea
What is the colour of the wind, Daddy?
Said the child so small
What is the colour of the wind?
For i can't see it at all
It is the colour of freedom, my child
Said the man to his son
It is the colour of all
The specks of light in the rainbow
That is the colour of the wind
What else, Daddy? What else?
Begged the child
Explain to me more
For you can see what i can not
The sun
The sea
The Earth
And more
It is the colour of beauty
Of peace and light
It is the colour of love
And of day and of night
It feels so free
Said the child
With arms outstreached
I never would have guessed
The colour of the wind
It is the colour you want it to be
And it doesn't matter if you can't see
For the wind is your friend
And you alone
Know the colours of the wind.
poem by Lucy Westmacott
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The Rook And The Sparrows
A little boy with crumbs of bread
Many a hungry sparrow fed.
It was a child of little sense,
Who this kind bounty did dispense;
For suddenly it was withdrawn,
And all the birds were left forlorn,
In a hard time of frost and snow,
Not knowing where for food to go.
He would no longer give them bread,
Because he had observed (he said)
That sometimes to the window came
A great black bird, a rook by name,
And took away a small bird's share.
So foolish Henry did not care
What became of the great rook,
That from the little sparrows took,
Now and then, as 'twere by stealth,
A part of their abundant wealth;
Nor ever more would feed his sparrows.
Thus ignorance a kind heart narrows.
I wish I had been there, I would
Have told the child, rooks live by food
In the same way that sparrows do.
I also would have told him too,
Birds act by instinct, and ne'er can
Attain the rectitude of man.
Nay that even, when distress
Does on poor human nature press,
We need not be too strict in seeing
The failings of a fellow being.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 08
Many things perplex me and leave me troubled,
Many things are locked away in the white book of stars
Never to be opened by me.
The starr’d leaves are silently turned,
And the mooned leaves;
And as they are turned, fall the shadows of life and death.
Perplexed and troubled,
I light a small light in a small room,
The lighted walls come closer to me,
The familiar pictures are clear.
I sit in my favourite chair and turn in my mind
The tiny pages of my own life, whereon so little is written,
And hear at the eastern window the pressure of a long wind, coming
From I know not where.
How many times have I sat here,
How many times will I sit here again,
Thinking these same things over and over in solitude
As a child says over and over
The first word he has learned to say.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Smile Of My Son
A child’s love was sent to me
On an angel’s wings
His laughter like
A heavenly symphony
Sweet laughter delivered to my soul
One note worth more than any gold
Oh lord thank you for opening your heavenly gate
And delivering to me the smile on my child’s face
Thank you Lord
For a job well done
Oh God I know you exist
When I see the smile of my son
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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My Only One
I, I miss you, I just cant resist you
I need you like the sun needs the day, oh please, wont you come back again
Line by line, so many pages I write
I cant find the words to tell you how I feel tonight
Without you my heart would fade away, I need you like the sun needs the day
Chorus:
cos you are my only one, with all that weve been through
Each step that I take, it leads me back to you
I am the lucky one, right here in this place
The light in your face, is brighter than the sun
Oh baby you are my only one
(solo)
Come now, come closer my sweet child
Lay your, your weary head to rest a while
Your love is like the wind that fills my sail
Your touch gives me a faith that cannot fail
Chorus - my only one, my only one
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Parts the Water
The man parts the water with a simple stone,
turning when the laughter
of a child retraces the shattered waves.
The man remembers with a smile
the days when he walked the shore,
dancing with silver-eyed seagulls, and he
was always looking ahead as he
stands and tilts releasing stone,
watching it sail through the misty shore.
The child parts the water with shrieking laughter,
and dreams about the day he will knowingly smile
as his cocked man-hand reaches the stormy waves.
Watching the moon pull the scornful waves
that kick the sand onto the shore, now he’s
the ghost of a child that stands with a smile.
He parts the water with a simple stone,
listening to the moon’s blue shaken laughter
at a man awaiting his golden hour upon the murky shore.
The grains whisper into the wind. And the shore
is crowded with memories of waves,
filling a young boy’s face with laughter.
It permeates the darkness, yet he
still craves the stone
to bring the man’s euphoric smile.
Caught in a moment without laughter or smiles,
walking along the shore
he wishes upon a simple stone
for another chance to play and frolic in waves.
The child sees his reflection with an anxious smile, and he
becomes a man between the laughter.
And he will always remember the laughter,
and he will always long for an innocent smile
of waiting for the day that unknowingly he
could never return to the shore.
Churning as it breaks the waves,
the past is left in simple stone.
But for now there is laughter upon the shore,
riding along the whispering waves,
the child’s future still a simple stone.
(- for Nicolas Mathew)
poem by Matt Ullman
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