Waiting For Ogre
little dragon
sits and waits
summer approaches
spring has passed
in all but name
she sighs, cries,
awaiting the return
of her hero, the ogre
poem by Bonnie Cote
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The Other
Under my bowels, yellow with smoke,
it waits.
Under my eyes, those milk bunnies,
it waits.
It is waiting.
It is waiting.
Mr. Doppelganger. My brother. My spouse.
Mr. Doppelganger. My enemy. My lover.
When truth comes spilling out like peas
it hangs up the phone.
When the child is soothed and resting on the breast
it is my other who swallows Lysol.
When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet
it is my other who sits in a ball and cries.
My other beats a tin drum in my heart.
My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep.
My other cries and cries and cries
when I put on a cocktail dress.
It cries when I prick a potato.
It cries when I kiss someone hello.
It cries and cries and cries
until I put on a painted mask
and leer at Jesus in His passion.
Then it giggles.
It is a thumbscrew.
Its hatred makes it clairvoyant.
I can only sign over everything,
the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels,
the soul, the family tree, the mailbox.
Then I can sleep.
Maybe.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The Ogre
The ogre has round beady eyes
Children beware do not stare
Or he'll gobble you up
quick as a flash
You must make haste and dash
The ogre is twenty feet high
When he walks with his head in the sky
He swallows all the aeroplanes that go by
The ogre is a menace
He eats up little children with names like Cyril or Dennis
CHILDREN BEWARE THE OGRE.
poem by Margaret Beil
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A Hero?
Her hero is pretty and thin
Her hero is a hero to many
A hero of fame and a hero of fortune
A role model, a hero of glamour
Her hero is a hero to many
His hero is fit and fast
His hero is a hero to many
A hero of sport, a hero of games
A role model, a hero of victory
His hero is a hero to many
Her hero is clever yet plane
Her hero is a hero to few
A hero of science, a hero of logic
A role model, a hero of knowledge
Her hero is a hero to few
His hero is a hero of art but he is poor
His hero is a hero to few
A hero of word a hero of writings
A role model, a hero of language
His hero is a hero to few
But that’s the thing with your heros....
Hero worship is only skin deep.
poem by Timothy Venard
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Love So Pure it Lastes all Season
Love oh love will thou wait for me
will thou wait in the spring's flowers
Love oh love will thou wait for me
will thou wait in the summer's sun
Love oh love will thou wait for me
will thou wait in the fall's breeze
Love oh love will thou wait for me
will thou wait for me in the winter's chill
Love oh love if thy waits for me in the spring, we shall run among the spring flowers and smell its morning dew
Love oh love if thy waits for me in the summer, we shall vask in its beautiful sunrays and splash in its cooling waters
Love oh love if thy waits for me in the fall, we shall play in its fallen leaves and sit beside the naked trees
Love oh love if thy waits for me in the winter, we shall play in its chilling snow and I shall build for you a wonderful snowman
Love oh love your waiting willth not been in vain for together we shall be someday
To you oh love I say may our love last as long as the seasons
poem by Darius Fields
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I want to feel the touch of spring
The mountain waits for the snow thru the hot summer,
hurt and burnt by the sun, yet believes the touch of snow
It snows and covers the mountain like a blanket of love
I want to be the mountain to feel the touch of snow.
The sand of a dried river waits for the rain to shower,
dried and chared by heat, yet believes the touch of rain.
It rains and fills the river, to bring the life again
I want to be the dried river to feel the touch of rain.
The flower waits for the spring thru the harsh winter
Frozen and frosted by cold, yet belives the touch of spring
It warms up and the spring arrives, to flower and spread happiness around
I want to be the flower to feel the touch of spring.
This is the law of nature we have to wait thru summer and winter
hurt, burnt, bleeded, and freezed, yet should believe the touch of spring
God will show Love for those who can enjoy his summer and winter
I want to believe in Love and feel the touch of spring.
poem by Arayath Jathin
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When The Princess Becomes The Dragon
Everything reminds me of you
Every song, every book, every hero to every story.
You could be the hero
You always try to be the hero
You could be my hero
The white knight at the end of my fairytale.
Could have: would be IF the princess wasn't the dragon.
Some people shouldn't be saved
Some people should only save.
Everything needs to be earned
So pardon me if I don't hand myself over to you.
Not that I'm worth all the work,
But it's become clear that I'm worth more than you're willing to pay.
I'm all closed up, no part of me is free.
And your empty promises aren't worth shit.
Those rushed excuses that always manage to put the blame on me for your stupid hurtful actions.
So, I'm sorry for all the shit I've dragged you through
So sorry for all the games.
Sorry that the princess became the dragon.
And I'm sorry that you couldn't be the hero this time.
But being the hero must be pretty hard when the knight becomes the dagger.
poem by Delaney Rose
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Swallows in the summertime
Swallows in the summertime
The swallows have returned again,
Reminding me of those halcyon days of my youth,
Many years have passed since those blissful days,
I would spend many happy evenings watch them dart around.
The swallows always return each summer,
Spreading their joyful wings over England's green and pleasant land,
Every summer I wonder how many more times will I see the return,
Although it's summer again, I ‘am approaching the winter of my life.
When the swallows return again next year again,
I wonder if I will still be here to see them again,
Flying on the wing under the clear blue skies of summer,
If I ‘am, I will sit by the babbling brook and watch their dance once more.
If I see the swallows return once more,
I will remember those summer days of long ago,
When I was a lad and the countryside seemed to go on forever,
And in my mind I will be young again.
By Christopher Tye
poem by Christopher Tye
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Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Hero?
Hail great hero!
Hero brave!
We praise you hero!
I your slave
Now duly fall
On giving knee
In hero worship
Unto thee!
Now did you hero save our globe
When draped in classic hero’s robe?
And did it flow as reddened blood
As battles raged in fields of mud?
Oh hero tell me of your fame:
Were writhing serpents fair your game?
Did you pierce the dragon’s heart
Intrepid hero; play the part
When Tyrant slain in hero’s fight
On quaking ground thro’ battle’s might?
And did you hero conquer evil -
Waste the minions of the devil?
Oh valiant hero, does your armour
Gleam from ventures steeped in valour?
Your sword oh hero, sparks a glint
From charging steel to give the hint
Of what great chapters Hero's Tome
Might tell to us when heroes roam
Through lands of yore when goblins vile
Sought a chance to kill for bile.
Oh hail thy hero,
Hero tall!
Bless you hero,
As I fall
In blushing shame,
I speak to me…
This mirror aids to fantasise
That I be hero worldly wise,
But meek and mild is all I am:
Hero naught; unbridled scam.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Hero hero hero hero
Hero hero hero hero
Hero hero hero hero
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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One Child's Hero
In her eyes he's a marvellous super man
And her daddy is the greatest to seven years old Ann
And she tells all who listen there is nothing Dad can't do
But others they think differently each to their point of view.
Her dad is not a hero in the bigger World out there
He cannot go to work for pay he sits in his wheel chair
And looks out on the backyard and a lone pittosporum tree
Where blackbird builds her nest in Spring and raise her family.
But to all who care to listen the young primary school girl say
My daddy is my hero and as my hero he will stay
He tells me marvellous stories and his stories I enjoy
Of the fun he and his mates had when he was a school going boy
In the big World out there her dad almost unknown
And any sort of hero worship to him is never shown
Yet only of his praises one little girl does sing
And to her he is far greater than any living king.
To one child he is a hero and her feelings for him are true
And even in the World out there true heroes are so very few
He sits and looks out on the backyard and little there for him to see
A male blackbird chirps and then flies off from branch of lone pittosporum tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To be Hero
A hero is some one looked upto
Who others may love to be
A hero never loss hope
To be hero means to be courageous
And willing to put their life aside for another person
A hero is anybody or somebody that was loved
To be hero, must be successful
To be hero, may not be superhuman but must saved
If they say i'm to be hero
Hero must lead by sample because everyman is hero
Every hero is man
poem by Olaniyan Kehinde Hero Hko
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I am My Hero
Of
course! !
I am a hero,
my hero,
your hero,
CNN hero,
Fox Taxis Oil toxic hero
my street mate hero,
my African roommate hero,
United nation hero,
unesco
unicef
moncef
duracef
charl
du champs hero,
picasso hero
mozart,
bethoven
chichina
lovesky
hero,
and everybody hero?
of! course! ! ! ! !
-not off course-
I LOVE
MYSELF...
DO YOU THINK
OR DREAM
I OR i
WILL SELL MY SELF? ? ?
? ? ?
OR ASK FOR
YOUR
APPROVAL,
SQUARED AND OVAL
AS YOU
LOVE IT TO BE..
Of course i am
my own hero
but,
also
i am sure...
everyone is my hero.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Seasons
Spring, a symbol of rebirth
Starting another season on earth
New buds open to the sun
Now the spring has begun.
Summer once again is here
Sky is wonderful blue and clear
Growths of colour on display
That's a lovely summers day.
Autumn leaves go blowing by
Lifting high up to the sky
Soon they scatter without sound
Gently cascading to the ground.
Winter comes around with branches bare
A spiders web in the suns pale glare
Frost so cold that it burns
Awaiting 'till the spring returns.
Every season a different thing
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Cut the grass, shovel the snow
Or bake in the sun 'till you glow.
© Hazel 2010
poem by Hazel Connelly
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That Month July
That year...
Autumn months soon fade away
Spring rains skip town and leave no trace
But sun shone bright that summer day
When I first met you, face to face
It seemed as if no time had passed
'Til we were talking night and day
But summer never seems to last
And with time came our separate ways.
Years come and go, but moments stay
Hold with us through the stinging snow
Moments thought of night and day
Things I long to let you know.
Lifechanger, hero, mentor, friend
I could label you, but why?
The memories will never end
Thoughts linger, of that month July.
poem by Brittany Speetles
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A Day Of Rest
The day of Rest.
Sunday morning
Rain shiny asphalt
Stillness sits beside me
I switch on the radio
Stillness disappears
Runs home and
Waits for me to return
Early Sunday shopping
Supermarket empty
Fruit& vegetables
Untouched.
I take my time
Back home stillness
Waits.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Haunted Chamber. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!
And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.
A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.
It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.
Without before the window,
There stands a gloomy pine,
Whose boughs wave upward and downward
As wave these thoughts of mine.
And underneath its branches
Is the grave of a little child,
Who died upon life's threshold,
And never wept nor smiled.
What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
That haunt my troubled brain?
That vanish when day approaches,
And at night return again?
What are ye, O pallid phantoms!
But the statues without breath,
That stand on the bridge overarching
The silent river of death?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Heros
A Hero Fights For You
A Hero Stands By Your Side
A Hero Is Willing To Go An Inch Longer
A Hero Knows What It's Like To Lose Someone
A Hero Knows What To Do Right Then
A Hero Never Leaves Someone Behind
A Hero Has Someone To Make Them Who They Are
A Hero Will Never Risk Someone To Save Himself
A Hero Always Takes The Risk Just For The Last One
We All Have A Hero In Us
We All Need Are Hero
poem by Jamie Newcomb
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Stories of.....
Courageous and fearful
are two similar things
though one has the spirit
to see what “action” brings.
Both of them are scared
there’s no denying that,
its’s just that one is controlled
and one beats it right back
Now this one may be killed,
maimed, or disabled
Though who is the “hero”
when you’re reading the fable?
It’s the hero who’s brave,
while the coward stay back.
It’s our hero who prevails
and often attacks
these monsters of evil,
these beings of harm.
And it’s often the coward
who raises alarm,
to summon the heroes
to come in good speed
While the hero prevails,
courageous is he!
And he will return
to good women, good will,
ro glory and riches............
unless he gets killed.
The decision is yours,
not that of the writer.
Do you run from this witch
or turn around to fight her?
Do you return to “glory”
and the respect of many
or were you hiding from courage
and never received any?
The story is yours,
you can write your own book.
You can fashion your hero
by the chances he took.
Or you can hold back
and stay well and alive.
While they looked for trouble,
you looked to hide.
But in all fairness,
many stories are told
of cowards who hid,
and grew rich and grew old.
And those cowards died
a nice, peaceful death,
dying in their beds
far from dragon’s breath.
So after writing this,
to be a fearing or courageous guy
ultimately lies in
how you’re looking to die. .
poem by Chris Weersing
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The Writer's Pen
`
I am the kind that waits
the wait without reply.
Catch me each time I fall
for far off do I fly.
Allow me to go adrift
and embrace my return-
your pen, my oracle;
so that in your breath and
in your sighs capture all
life's little miracles.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Yesterdays Gone
I heard she loved you, I heard she cared,
I heard she miscarried and you were scared.
Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Did you run from the one
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays done theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Solo.
I believe that a woman can be a slave to a man.
I believe that love that you gave and we try it again.
Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays done theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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