The Pelican Brief
a black page in journal of dire seas
fresh crude sludge landmine landmark
flowing oil seals fate of myriad lives
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The fate of a life
Everybody
Lives In hope
Have l
Two of faith in fate
Keeps on working
Trying to fulfill
The dreams
One saw
If one succeeds
Its hard work for
Him
Fate for others
If he fails
It’s fate for him
Lack of hard work
For others
Life
Goes on and on
End of the day
When one dies
It’s the fate
Which seals
The fate of a life
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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The Gulf Of Mexico
The fetid black fluid of crude
Aroused from its watery grave
From geologic slumbering
Awakens with unabated
Vengeance. Its black soul emerges
From the underworld to punish
For an irreparable wrong;
To drown Man in a sea of sludge
And stench and render him helpless;
To ravage his pristine landscape,
His livelihood, all held so dear
To his soon blackened, broken heart;
The aggregate of Man suffers
For the greediness of a few.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Cant Slow Down
My heart is a drum thats pounding.
My mind is a note thats sounding.
Let the choir sing your praises.
Ill state my case in four-note phrases.
Can I get a witness to my rate?
Will anyone quantify my fate?
While Ive been waiting for you,
Lives Ive been creating for you.
I cant slow down.
Like a river Im flowing on and on.
Some way, somehow.
I will find out where I am going.
Someday.
The meaning of life is to attack.
Theres a special joy in coffee black.
When I see the red, the black, the green,
Im seeing the color of my dreams.
My song is a tree thats hollow.
My mantra is I must follow
Where those hooded eyes are leading.
I cannot be stopped for speeding.
I cant slow down.
Like a river, Im flowing on and on.
Some way, some how.
I will find out where I am going.
I cant slow down.
Like a river, Im flowing on and on.
Some way, some how.
I will find where I am going.
Someday.
song performed by by Information Society
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spent the rest of the day putting the pieces together.
quote by Ray Bradbury
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Landmine
Well there ain't much entertainment
In a town this size at all
So I've got myself up, dressed for this arraignment
Cause I don't think I'm ready for the fall
Now I find my thoughts deep in this room all by myself
Thinking the moon might just explode if I don't leave
And the more I wait
It seems the more I hate
This town for what it's doing to me
This is when I need you most of all
Then I stepped upon a landmine
And I saw my future rise
I'm getting to know you
Between the lines
I dropped down to about one foot two
Hoping to get more looks for you
But it never made much difference in your eyes
And I suppose that I couldn't help things much
To set this day in a whirlwind rush
After finding out the backseat changed our lives
Then I stepped upon a landmine
And I saw my future rise
I'm getting to know you
Between the lines
Between the lines
It's 5am and if I run
I am sure to pay for what I've done
And if I say I'm sure I wish I ran
And though I knew this day would come
I never thought that I would run
For someone who was blind to me
You're as blind to me as you could be
Na na nana na
Na na nana na
Na na nana na
Yeah
Then I stepped upon a landmine
And I saw my future rise
I'm getting to know myself
Between the lines
Between the lines
song performed by by Train
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the crew of a shot-out Ratel of 61 Mechanised Bn Grp (rondine)
What escape remains when you are trapped
by enemy landmine after landmine,
from the incoming shell’s wailing whine;
when boys, some just children are snapped,
in the flash when a armoured car is scrapped,
even if your bravery does holy shine;
what escape remains?
What little remains when thunder-clapped
of what someone could as a life define
when by law military service did confine
young men, whose lives death had overlapped;
what escape remains?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Blood Beach
first blood to BP in dire predator damage
a shark attack leaves beach bloodied a day
crude black blood closes beaches period
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Seventh Street
Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,
Bootleggers in silken shirts,
Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs,
Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks.
Seventh Street is a bastrad of Prohibition and the War. A crude-boned, soft-skinned wedge of nigger life breathing its loafer air, jazz songs and love, thrusting unconscious rhythms, black reddish blood into the white and whitewashed wood of Washington. Stale soggy wood of Washington. Wedges rust in soggy wood. . . Split it! In two! Again! Shred it! . . the sun. Wedges are brilliant in the sun; ribbons of wet wood dry and blow away. Black reddish blood. Pouring for crude-boned soft-skinned life, who set you flowing? Blood suckers of the War would spin in a frenzy of dizziness if they drank your blood. Prohibition would put a stop to it. Who set you flowing? White and whitewash disappear in blood. Who set you flowing? Flowing down the smooth asphalt of Seventh Street, in shanties, brick office buildings, theaters, drug stores, restaurants, and cabarets? Eddying on the corners? Swirling like a blood-red smoke up where the buzzards fly in heaven? God would not dare to suck black red blood. A Nigger God! He would duck his head in shame and call for the Judgement Day. Who set you flowing?
Money burns the pocket, pocket hurts,
Bootleggers in silken shirts,
Ballooned, zooming Cadillacs,
Whizzing, whizzing down the street-car tracks.
poem by Jean Toomer
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The Secret Leaves of My Notebook
Page after page, I wrote your name in my journal,
With flowers and bees drawn in rhythm of blue;
“I love you” I said in calligraphy of black and red,
But no page was ever torn to hand them to you.
Then I sketched your hair down to your shoulder,
And I adore your eyes staring at me so life like;
The curl of your lips that I couldn’t wait to kiss
Got your gentle smile that made me like a thief;
A thief full of wonder when he will ever get caught
By glints of those eyes just for once to lay upon his,
As he pretends to sip his coke just to steal them out
From the silence of your selfishness, he cries! Cries!
So, he jeweled your ears with rather less expensive,
Enough that he drew something as simple as gold,
For he was just a poor boy who cannot afford to give,
Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, pearl s were too bold.
He said, “I love you, ” hangs his heart on your neck,
With same name, same page, same sky, same trick,
And nothing changed and no leaf was ever ripped
In his notebook, you’re his love, his forever secret.
******************
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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The White Seal
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
You mustn't swim till you're six weeks old,
Or your head will be sunk by your heels;
And summer gales and Killer Whales
Are bad for baby seals.
Are bad for baby seals, dear rat,
As bad as bad can be.
But splash and grow strong,
And you can't be wrong,
Child of the Open Sea!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Stepping on Landmine
Sad day to a sad face
I waited for this day to come
Not for me to be sad
The opposite is what I wished for
I thought I would rejoice upon the shining light of this day
Only to find myself in tears and sad thoughts
These sad thoughts felt like stepping on landmine
I have been talking to this girl for a long time
I befriended her thinking my wishes would come into reality one day
She was all I wanted in a girl
Her everything made me happy
I gathered some courage thinking it would work out
Unfortunately, she said 'NO' reasoning that I was like a brother to her
These words were as bad as stepping on landmine
I am not his brother anyway
The fact that I am 'like' his brother
Means I am not a brother to her
I tried to convince her but it yielded nothing
May be it was my fault letting her think I act like a brother to her
What else could I do?
I stepped on landmine
It hurts me so much
May be one day she will realize that I act like her brother
Because I care so much
poem by Josephine Chifundo Likoya
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Examined From A Distance
When people fixed with allowed stubbornness,
Have gone overboard...
Inflicted with too much attention given,
While feeding their minds on poisonous adulation...
There will be those assisting without resisting this.
And as accessories refuse an active involvement,
Labelled to be seen but not apologetic.
There is a supporting of needs being fed to feed,
A mindlessness bent beyond control.
And remaining as ignorant as possible...
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
And determined...
To supply whatever it is that is wished as a need,
In an atmosphere condoning betrayal and treason.
Deliveries done to quiet the dictates...
Of those spoiled with a getting sought,
With a vicious disregard for dignity and composure.
The soothing of a monster,
Becomes the number one priority!
When people fixed with allowed stubbornness,
Have gone overboard...
Inflicted with too much attention given.
Fantasizing on an achieving of fantastic outcomes...
Seems not to be in the arena,
Where truth and honesty frequently perform....
With every bat of an eyelash examined from a distance.
To that one who is...
Examined from a distance,
This can't be fun.
To be done and this witnessed,
Where can one run...
When it's done.
When it's done.
To be one that's afflicted,
Where can one run...
When it's done.
When it's done.
Examined from a distance,
This can't be fun.
To be done and this witnessed,
Where can one run...
To be one that's afflicted,
Where can one go...
When it's done.
When it's done.
There is a supporting of needs being fed to feed,
A mindlessness bent beyond control.
And remaining as ignorant as possible...
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
Examined from a distance...
With senses numbed!
And flowing into engulfing seas.
Where can one run...
To be one this afflicted?
Where can one go...
When it's done.
When it's done.
Examined from a distance!
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
Examined from a distance!
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
Examined from a distance!
With senses numbed and flowing into engulfing seas.
To be one this afflicted?
Where can one go...
When it's done.
When it's done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not Beer
at the end of the year
i open a page
of my journal where
i wrote my one
and only dream
a goal,
a wish,
something
that i have longed
for and
may even die for,
i must tell you
i never realized it.
i close back the page
and begin to move on
with my life
it is another year of
broken dream
under the moon
i drink alone
this cold, cold glass
of water.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fool’s mate
(1. f3...e5 2.g4...h4 mate!)
Unwise for White to push the pawn to three;
Exposing royalty to Black’s attack.
With pawn at Bishop three, one must agree
f3 was not the move to play on Black.
The Black opponent counters with e5
A sure maneuver yielding enterprise.
His queen has open space and hopes to strive
To leave her home and head for White’s demise.
The fool's deficient understanding, moves
His pawn obliviously (seals his fate)
To square g4. A move I disapprove
Of. Black has won the game, h4! The mate!
The lesson learned from this experience
Don’t play a fool with inexperience.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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A page of my journal is like a cake of portable soup. A little may be diffused into a considerable portion.
quote by James Boswell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You may think me crude, and probably I am crude, but I am not so crude as I was, for I am clever enough to see that the girl of nineteen who thought herself a genius was only an unusual girl writing her heart out.
quote by Mary MacLane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Though It Were My Only Son....
there is no such thing as an official poem.
there maybe familiar ones,
most acceptable ones with the pulitzers and nobels and whatevers
but there is only this personal poem that you compose
for no one, or for no other and sometimes not even for yourself
it is a journal, a landmark of your stay,
a feeling that you cannot forget, you record it,
it is only you who knows it well and fully
recognizes it when after a time, when you have forgotten,
it comes to you as a reminder
about someone, about something, about an event
that when you pass away and come back
in whatever form
it becomes a scent of someone, or something and then
you remember exactly
what it was, and then you say, this is the poem that i have once
composed
and i love it, and i remember,
it is my poem,
i have composed it for that reason
and i am proud of it
as though
it were my only son.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flowing Red River
I dive head first into the flowing red river.
It's acrid taste fills my mouth.
I drown in it's putrid depths.
My heart pounds and excitement grips.
As the flowing red river drips.
I cannot contain my growing glee.
I cannot wait to feed on it's bounty.
From down below I stand up straight.
I rise to greet this wonderful fate.
The flowing red river fills me up.
I bend right down from it to suck.
In and out I feel such love.
It cleans my soul flowing red river runs.
I feel it right now it's almost gone.
The pinnacle of joy hits like a bomb.
Yet I'm sad when the flowing red rivers gone.
Fear not though we'll always meet.
When the flowing red river comes to greet.
poem by Michael McParland
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Unprotected species
The morning mist lifts and reveals.
A scattered colony of seals
Their breeding place beside the sea
protected by the enemy.
The fishermen who used to kill
and if allowed would do so still.
They do not dare to harm a seal
the penalties are all too real
The fisher men bitterly complain
the seals are free to fish again.
Unhampered by the silly rules
complied by bureaucratic fools.
The fisherman can’t understand
why they are bound by this command.
But not the seals apparently
They just ignore bureaucracy.
Seals are creatures of the sea
and as intended they are free
But the fishermen are not
That’s why they all bewail their lot.
22-Jun-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fate or Destiny
Fate or Destiny
Is it fate or destiny that brings your smile for me to see?
Is it fate or destiny that brings us together as we hold hands?
Is it fate or destiny that brings our hearts as a union as one?
Is it fate or destiny that brings our stormy seas to rest upon the shore?
Is it fate or destiny that builds a lasting relationship, never to fall?
Is it fate or destiny that brings us close beyond the horizon of a sunny day?
poem by Sharon Kubeck
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