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Shadows of her past

She wronged humanity,
Taking away its form,
Holding its own seed,
And placing it in history,
One history never known.

stealing the life,
With the doctor's knife,
And ceasing the breath,
Of a new life on earth,
A life never felt.

The shadows of her past,
Haunts her at last,
Leaving not a single sanity,
But misery and tragedy,
What a life poorly spent.

All she wanted went quick,
Quick and swift,
From that day,
The day she sold her soul,
The day she Murdered...

poem by Venessa Ambrose
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We Affect Forever

We Affect Forever

We are making history, through every day we spend.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark that will not end.
Others before have left behind this world we now obtain.
Though it’s changed since way back when, the old shall always remain.
History is how we got here, history is who we are.
History is what led to this, yes history is not far.
It remains within our families, its tradition and unchanging ways.
It’s Christmas day, Thanksgiving, its countless nights and days.
History is what you’re becoming; it’s what you are soon to be.
And history never dies; it’s a part of everybody.
We fight to maintain who we are, to maintain who we’ve always been.
And while we fight we know this fight is not easy to win.
Many forget the past, and many never even know,
Many people never hear of how times were long ago.
Those thousands of years before us, are more than just time spent.
They are filled with real people, real feelings, and real places that they went.
The People had different life styles very different from our ways,
But it is true that there is nothing knew under the sun’s golden rays.
Stand proud to be alive, know you affect forever.
Every act that we commit we all commit together.
We are entrusted with this earth; we must love and cherish this life.
We must remember to love our existence lest love becomes our strife.
Yes we are becoming history, through every move we make.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark ……or perhaps a mistake.

poem by Mary Murphy
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A Quick Life

A quick embrace is all you need more than the scheme,
A little life slides down the arm, more to blaspheme.
The roads in arms and legs stain the road with life
That ended one day ago, when I had a wife.

A quick smile wrenched the face, smiling is just
What the doctor deserved, when it was lust
For the cure, for the desire for life was great,
And the doctor laid the plan for all us to accommodate.

poem by Naveed Akram
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History Stones People.

History stones people.

They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see

Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.

Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.

History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.

History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.

All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.

All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.

You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.

They are there captive
in history's stones,
never to be again what they were;
wilting flesh and
breakable bones.

People look up at them
they are victims too.
History's stones fall far,
even on to you.

Those stoned to live
are like the ones stoned to die.
enslaved to the search
of the frozen smile.

Life is a burning bush
that doesn't get consumed.
not a dead rock
or a statue of history.
It's a fusing wind
of happinnes and misery.
An exploding volcano
of courage and fear.
It is the stem of the flower
struggling through the seasons
to stand and bloom
above the drying soil.

Life is the fighting wave
you see at sea
forgotten and denied
by the stones of history.

poem by Samuel Katz
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Ending of My Life

After what you said
I felt my heart break
As tears run down my face
You wrap your arms around me
You ask if im ok
I tell its ill be fine
When i got home that night
my life ended before my eyes
All my thoughts were filled with you
My life was death until you came
The only good thing in my life is you
To take that away will tear me apart
Its not ok, my heart is bleeding
My soul is breaking, my tears burning,
Im watching my life end, while i think about you
And the love you bring into my life
If your not here to shead some light
Ill meet death in the shadows
And the life i live will end
As quick as it began

poem by Kerrie Maurer
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Isn't It Better That Way?

How many years have I been given?
Nobody knows. I keep on livin'.
Life's my adventure day by day.
I don't know how long I will stay.
and isn't it better that way?

How many days have I been given?
How can I tell? I just keep livin'.
Life's inhalation, so I breathe
uncertain of what I will bequeath.
Life is uncertain, no guarantees.
It's one of life's intriuging mysteries.
and isn't better that way?

How many seconds have I been given?
Are there some left to keep on livin'?
Life goes so quick that when you look back
to your first little breath from that quick little smack.
so to me it's better that way.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Never Really Liking History

Never really liking history
When I was young, it is a mystery
How now my life is tied so fast
To the deep and distant past.
Take my love-life for example
Done and dusted (hardly ample) ,
And my best friends it must be said
Are so old they've been long dead,
Painters and poets, none in blood,
Conversing in ink and coloured mud.
To cap it all, (though I wear a hat,
An anachronism now at that) ,
As history is both taking and giving,
I fly dinosaurs for a living.

(CBB Sept 2011)

poem by Colin Breck Boardman
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The Winners Write The History

That the winners write the war histories should not be the case
For war is a tragedy a human disgrace
And the losers in war see their Country destoyed
And the war history never written by the losing side.

Look at Oliver Cromwell victorious in war
The deeds of his glory from England known far
But those who write on Cromwell they never do tell
Of one who for poor people made life Earthly hell.

To the Catholics of Ireland Cromwell was a brute
The poor rural peasants he did persecute
Yet streets in his honour distant from England today
The winners only write the history so true what they say.

Efrain Rios Montt became President of Guatemala even though he
Was guilty of serious crimes against humanity
An old man now but for his crimes yet to pay
The winners write the history it's always been that way.

Augusto Pinochet in Chile has blood on his hands
And that he may die a free man seems hard to understand
And though loathed by many in Chile for his crimes of shame
The winners write the history and their's is the fame.

I've just mentioned a few for there are many more
Who have committed crimes against humanity but like it has been said before
that the winners write the history and that's how 'twill remain
And the mistakes of the past are repeated again.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Tales of my past

Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.

Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.

Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.

Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,

Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.

poem by Venessa Ambrose
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I once felt

Sometimes I wish I could rewind my life.
Put right all the things that went wrong.
I allways felt my life was a stife.
I once felt alive now I feel so very dead.
My head is filled with dread.

Many times I wish I could turn things around.
To some how change my life.
And end my strife.
All I ever wanted was to live my life freely.

But somewhere along the line,
There people would be putting me down.
And having something to say.
And deep In my heart and soul,
Lay the memories I hate.

In the end I knew the odds were against me.
So I tunt my back and left it all.
I thought taking my life was the only way.

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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The merchant

Who could play Portia, but you?
The quick-witted woman
who really loved
and came to the rescue.

The merchant - just me. And it
was that way, with our life together
and the way that life went
and how quickly
my meagre savings was spent.

Inhuman Shylock could probably be
each and every employer
that misused me
and only offered a contract
of which the time ran out
as quick as the job was done
and no sure permanent job
could appear.

My ships sailing against the storm
would probably be my stories and poems
and when the script overtook us
I had to find other lodgings
as quick as magician
pulls a rabbit from a hat.

And then I wondered sweet Portia,
who’s hand held the knife
to slice into the inmost core
of the heart,
was it Shylock’s or yours?

But now you love me still
and sometimes your sweet voice
thrills me intensely
and your touch makes my hairs rise
and still I am in love
and not really wise.

[Reference: The merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Insights Attainable

look not
postmortem
back upon

an indifferent
analysis
past life spent

when
words well
written

would speak
for still life
yet incarnate

between long
formative
silences intense

bursts
expressing
passion

artistic legacy
an incredible
writ mortality

leaving
mere
off cast

shadows
where
heartbeats

immortalized
haunt generations
aspiring what?

camera shots
in sharp focus
highlights

exhibiting
unexpect ed
edited angles

as raw history
storms past
in spot study

view
choose
create

select
appropriate
memory

while
a resonance
filters

tinges
disturbs
psychics

unborn as
indifferent moral
humanity

finally
learns lessons
past?

spaces
between
languages

cultures
tolerances
heaped

bodies
vanquished
love

blasted
asunder
forever

never the less
art triumphs
love triumphs

restoring society
with inspiration
boundless subtle

uncrushable
transformative
re surrection

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Role Tape Please

There was a time in my life,
I would dare not offend anyone.
Although there were those,
Who seemed to have been addicted to it.

Role tape please!
Thank you.

Today...
Scenes have changed.
A seriousness took place in my life.
And I felt I had to over emphasize...
An offending done at my expense,
Was downsized not to exist.
I don't like it one bit!

And yet my return of it...
Is swift with an purpose connected,
As directed.

There was a time in my life,
I would dare not offend anyone.
But these days...
An asking for it,
Gets a quick delivery!

And...
Cut.

I will do my own editing from now on.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Value The Blessing

Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.

And the speeding of it seems,
To emphasize the days one ages...
From one stage to another.

Leaving time one takes to procrastinate,
A waste.
As an awakening to aches and pains felt,
To ignore to value the blessing of life lived...
To accomplish something done,
Yet still enabling one to do.

Bewitched quick.
By a ticking of a clock,
Heard to grow louder.

One can sit to listen and reminisce.
Or decide to experience,
More life in the pursuit of it.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life Is A Dance For You To Dance To

Life is every where
Life
Life is a challenge
Life is a gift
Life is a chance
Life is a tragedy
Life is lonely
Life is pain
Life is full of frustration
Life is a mystery
Life is love
Life is made of hurt
Life is not a bed of roses
Life is a dance for you to dance
Life is every state of mind
What is life?
Life is a puzzle, solve it
Life is full of unexpected
Life is unexplainable
Life.

poem by Emily Wimetal
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Life Will Go On

When we were young our lives were new
Our shared romance and dreams they grew
Till that fateful day did come and finally the song was sung
But, Life Went On

It hurt and tore deep down inside, The tempest of that terrible ride
Yet slowly diligently I rose above, For life must rise as does my love
And, Life Went On

I'd lived and loved and hoped and cried, To fill my soul but no reply
To quench a fire and dream I'd held, that love and life did not unfold
Yet Still, Life Went On

Life's numbing monotony did well, Pain and feelings they were quelled
Through it all I was not forsaken, He simply had another one help me
And Too, Life Went On

I saw a life a form of rebirth, We brought 5 souls unto this Earth
They are my pride and their mothers, But now I find there is another
Oh Yes, Life Went On

It's not over this life I lead, There's so much left it's only a seed
My life could grow and yours can too
Say yes to me and let oneness come from two
And As Always, Life Will Go On.

poem by Daniel Lloyd Kennedy
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Child Is Born In Freedom And Matured In Democracy

Think in whatever way you love to think
Say whatever you feel on whatever mater
Without any hesitation and without any fear
Held your head as you wish, whatever comes the blow
Keep your backbone straight whatever comes, never bent or bow
Choose and trod the path as you wish, either quick or slow
In whatever way you choose to lead your life, it is yours.
Never straight even a straw under any pressure
Without pain do all the deeds which give you pleasure
Life has got absolute individual liberty in its basic instinct
Through out the history with heart and soul fought for it
It may be ditched deep but you can never extinguish it
A child is born in freedom and matured in democracy
None has the power to snatch the life from its beauty.

poem by Abdul Wahab
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The History Of You And Me

Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Yaahh! The history of you and me....

Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Running the Race Of Life

As we run this finite race of life
To the finish line in swiftness of soul,

We undress ourselves of the baggage of strife
Take love in our steps to reach our goal.

Forgetting whatever lies behind
We set our hearts on the eternal price

Fixing our eyes on Jesus we find
His strength and power in us will arise.

As we number our days like fleeting mist
And our frailty of body declaring

The end line maybe right here in our midst
Our life may be in for a proper accounting.

For Death like a Thief always comes uninvited
And will cut through the race with his sickle

The call may come quick and be quite unexpected
Taking us suddenly out of the hurdle.

So let go of all sin and feelings of hate,
Be free of desires for material things,

Release and forgive before it's too late
The hourglass of life goes on emptying.

For the brevity of life is but a single breath
And we all will take flight as a bird

A destiny set for men to meet Death
Running only on the promise of God's Word.

'Show me, O Lord, my life's end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my life.

You have made my days a mere handbreath;
the span of my years mean nothing to You.

Each man's life is but a breath.'

Psalm 39: 4-5
----------------
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Tralac City Philippines 2008

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Take me to History,

Take me to History,
Take me to History and never see the mistakes,
Take me to that Killings,
Moving on silent,
Like I never knew all that I was doing,
It was mine,
That you saw the your’s coming in the World,
It was Written,
That your’s was never taken,

Take me to History,
That you never meant to Kill Christ,
Humanity is going to foolishness in losing one sheep,
Death is gonna be easy cause life is Hard,
Take me to History,
That the Cowards of Truth will never see the son,
Whatsoever Conquers,
Is the son that is never determined to lose?
It ain’t hard to tell,
That the lacing was all black,
The lace was more than never enough,
You are not the dude that is all losing like foolishness.

poem by Maxim Muyu
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Quick Fix

Don't need no doctor, don't need no pills
Nothing it gives me's gonna cure my ills
I've got it bad baby and that ain't no lie
There ain't no vaccine for what I've got
Your kind of poison it don't come in a shot
It's just a cravin' baby that I can't deny
I've been tearin' up the town slammin' whiskey down
Ain't nothing but the real thing gonna do...no
There ain't no quick fix for you.
Babe...Lawd...There ain't no quick fix
You drive me crazy baby with those eyes
When you walked in the room you hit me broadside
Its a little past midnight
How blue can you get?
No matter how I try to drink this county dry
There really ain't no substitute....no
I need a quick fix for you
There ain't no easy answer
There ain't no miracle cure
I told the doctor what I needed
He said you better just run to her
Don't need no doctor, don't need no pills
Nothing it gives me gonna cure my ills
Well, no matter how I try to drink this county dry
There really ain't no substitute...no.
There ain't no quick fix for you
There ain't no quick fix.

song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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