|
Sweet Bridget
by A.R.Tiller
Sweet
Bridget, masking her pain,
The rain
doesn’t fall only on you
Sweet Bridget, Hiding near the
graves
Salvation
isn’t just for the chosen few…
Dancing
amongst the head stones,
White robes
fluttering in the breeze
Singing the
Lords praises
Too none
but herself
In the
eerie quiet
Her voice,
soft and sweet
Like the
warm winds that signal spring is about too begin
Her
presence is felt, heart warming
Amid the
mourners
She casts
no shadow
She awaits
the dead,
Beckoning
them too follow
Towards the
light she leads
And never a
living soul doeth see her,
But to the
dead, as an Angel appears.
A
comforting vision, in a time of need.
Sweet
Bridget, shedding tears for young lives lost,
Her pain
can be comforted by none
Sweet
Bridget, protector of innocent children
Her cheeks,
tears stream constantly down
Sweet,
sweet Bridget
You’re
doing Gods work now…
Blackened Earth
Touch me once and
break my soul
Watch out in the
distance
The mountain
peaks reach towards the sky
They reach to the
darkening clouds
In hopes to force
them into submission
As it rains, it
turns to blood
The land becomes
a plain of darkness
Nothing can save
us
Now engulfed in
darkness we stare
The spirits of
the ages have come back
They roam the
land we took from them
Their gleaming
eyes search the woods
They now have
reclaimed their rightful place
Now the greed of
man has taken over
The most
beautiful creature has now turned
One last glance
towards the mountains
In the distance
the eyes catch the light
They shine like
the brightest silver
He howls towards
the rising moon
His fur as black
as the sky |
|
I Know my Daddy Loves Me
by Sgt. Jered C. Herndon, US Army (now serving in the
Middle East)
Author's Note:
This is for my son, and any other child who has a parent
deployed overseas.
I Know My Daddy Loves Me
I know my Daddy loves me,
Each and every day;
I know my Daddy loves me,
Even though he's far away.
He calls me on the telephone,
I tell him that I'm sad
He can't be here to play with me
Like other children's dads.
I want him to be here with me
In laughter and in tears,
I want him here to give me hugs
And chase away my fears.
He tells me that he misses me,
But he has a job to do.
He knows how much I need him,
But other children need him too.
The kids there cannot go to school
And don't have much to eat,
No warm beds to snuggle in,
Or shoes upon their feet.
My Daddy is there to help them,
So they won't be so sad.
He's going to make it better,
And knowing makes me glad.
He tells me that he thinks of me
Each moment of every day,
He always keeps my picture with him,
And in his prayers I stay.
And soon before I know it
He'll be home with Mom and Me;
We'll be united once again,
A stronger family.
But 'till that day has come at last,
I'll do all I can do
To help my Mommy in every way;
She misses Daddy too.
And when I lie in bed at night,
I'll say a little prayer;
I know my Daddy loves me,
No matter when, No matter where.
Write Jered
Coopers Light
By Allen Tiller (Australia) - see
Bio
I
Need your guidance tonight
Light my path through the dark
Ease my mind in these troubled times
Help decide wrong from right
I know what my heart says,
I know what my mind says,
I feel what my gut says...
Indecisive and unsure - I walk alone
My friends push and pull.
My Family wishes me no ill will,
But none of this helps me think.
None of this allows me to know,
Just what I want from life
Where'd I'd like to be
What I'd like to do,
Who I want to be.
Please help me
For I cannot decide
PLease help me
Be my guiding light
Be my saviour
In Troubled Times.
A.R.Tiller.
How Could I Know
By Victoria Smee (UK)-
comment
How could I know I’d wasted it all
My life my hope
I could have been fine
I hurt, I bled, I died inside
I needed I wanted
I suffered alone
Hope was there for me
Screaming to save me
But I hid
Terrified of life
Then I reached out my hand
And saw what could be
Glimpses of life
Flashed past my eyes
And I mourn all I lost in the past
I see a future stretched out before me
I see a world that I am part of
I see my life lying in wait
And I know that’s all I could want.
Windsor Castle
By Arthur Wielgus-
comment
Through nine hundred
years of history
stands in ornamented stones,
royal castle - armored glory,
where sovereigns had the throne.
High above the River Thames
on the edge of a Saxon hunting ground,
William the Conqueror built the fame
and the treasure with the finest works of art.
Then St. George's Chapel founded
by Edward the IV in century XV splendor,
dedicated to the Order of the Garter,
to chivalry and the martyrs.
Castle's windows beams the light,
Lantern Lobby gothic arches are entwined.
Queen and Duke of Edinburgh just fine,
in the castle celebrated, future bright.
© Artur Wielgus 2003
Insomnia
By Louise Lewis-
comment
Going to sleep
expecting to have sweet dreams
Yet toss and turn
every night it seems
Think of the
blankness of bare, white walls
Yet thoughts pound
into my mind and call
Out to me in the
dark, lonely night
With all of their
effervescent lights
While I try my best
to shut them down
Those cogitations in
which I drown
Oh how continually
but futilely I’ve fought
All of the things
that those beasts have wrought
To pray for oblivion
for just a short time
Until it is time to
rise and shine
To the fiery color
of that glorious sunrise
To the chirp of the
birds and to their cries
Yet even with that
beauty, the ritual begins
The ritual of the
daily committing of sins
That occurs for each
and every one of us
Which we judge to be
so very tempestuous
And once again when
the darkness falls
Think of the
blankness of bare, white walls
Genevieve
By Allen Tiller (Australia) - see
Bio
Genevieve my darling daughter
Eyes so bright
Hair so wild
Where are ye tonight?
Out on the moors hunting for fairies?
Or under the bridge, searching for troll?
chasing dreams
When you have chores
My darling Genevieve,
Where be ye gone?
One day you'll take a husband
Who’ll not look kindly upon your whims
(But my darling daughter, what he doesn't know,
doesn't hurt him!)
He'll say it strange my love
That ye frolic in the dale
Searching for Dragon eggs
And Elvin lore
But heed him not childe
Stay to your heart true
Love flutters
But your heart is always yours
Be not who you are not
Just be you
Genevieve my darling daughter
Your golden locks
Reflecting in the water
Is it mermaid or nymph you seek yonder?
Or is it the allure vanity and youth
That makes you squander
The precious time you have?
One day Faery's might pass you
When Father Time has moved you on
But in my heart i hope not
And your Girlish whims
Will live on
Don’t ever change my darling daughter
One day you may find what 'tis you seek
But until then childe - daughter
'Tis dishes need doing
And floors to sweep....
A Seed of Love
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia) -
see bio
Violent wind does shake the dear buds of day,
And summer's morn has fallen astray
Sometime heaven’s eye will blaze,
Along the stream of his fleeting gaze
Seldom is his golden cast dimmed,
And still the emerald-tree, that bears life’s lessons
left untrimmed;
This eternal season shall not wither,
Nor will death’s seeking arms drag you in his shade,
And continues the growth of the green-emerald bark;
So long as my soul soars to the crest of the elder
canopy
And scents the divine boughs that life extends
My heart will raise a pure stem,
Able to blossom into opulent love
Naw-Lins
By
Deborah Jones
The fragrance of magnolia trees
Beignets from the local bakery
And gumbo from Moliere's
Intoxicate the evening breeze
The steet car channels up and down
Saint Charles
As the clang clang of the bell
seduces it's passengers Challenging
them to a secret rendezvous
Peddlers and artist display their wares
While the sounds of Bourbon Street
can be herd
The sweet melodies from the
saxophone the clarinet And the
trombone play
their own rendition
Of a lover's song
All that jazz with so much pizzazz
Naw-Lins
New Orleans
The ambiance the grace the charm
Holds you captive and cradles you
in it's arms
You are drawn like a moth to a
flame
The cobblestone streets made of
clay and mortar
They beckon and call you by name
Tourist all dressed up as if going
to a ball
Will also heed the call of the
French quarter
With it's mirrored reflection of a
resurrected time of ole
Full of mystery and folklore
Naw-Lins
That's New Orleans
Yeah
When you my love, have gone away
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
I reside with my family in Australia's finest
city, Melbourne. Poetry is my emotional release
and extremely rewarding, especially after seeing
it in a publication. After discovering the gift of
writing at a young age and developing my technique
through practice and experience I know understand
writing is the most wonderful form of art. Through
encouragement and inspiration my poetry has
sprung; and several pieces have been included in
anthologies
"Observation is the paintbrush to poetry's
paintings" Timothy Tsiamis 2003
When you my love, have gone away,
How wearily goes the fleeting day
Time hauls after light, and dark
Through the space of heavens arc
Timid Sun and lingering Moon
Will heavens stars be left flickering strewn
Moon, slip past the blanket of cloud
In a single shift, while your streaming curls
Catch the leading lights and heave them down
To shine upon your gleaming crown
Heavens eye and thoughtful moon
Shed your radiance across the noon
But when without you the long awaited day
Drapes ripe in Gods delightful garden
And sun paint dusk with crimson-gold for my love to see
And moon, let you and your beaming light
Watch over my love for an eternal night
A seed of love
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
Violent wind does shake the dear buds of day,
And summer's morn has fallen astray
Sometime heaven’s eye will blaze,
Along the stream of his fleeting gaze
Seldom is his golden cast dimmed,
And still the emerald-tree, that bears life’s lessons
left untrimmed;
This eternal season shall not wither,
Nor will death’s seeking arms drag you in his shade,
And continues the growth of the green-emerald bark;
So long as my soul soars to the crest of the elder
canopy
And scents the divine boughs that life extends
My heart will raise a pure stem,
Able to blossom into opulent love
One final rainbow
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
The sun has died upon the horizon of my mind
And the rain does fade in the corner of my eyes
My heart no longer fed with sun ray
Nor crystal water that once flowed aplenty
Begins my heart to wither and wane
Amongst the copious meadow of my soul
Passions crimson rose was first to go
Love’s golden vines lost in odium’s shadow
A failing meadow, one you choose to tread upon
I feel your searing feet burning the last of my soul
And now your spiteful embers linger, scorching my
remains
But ashes are mere ruins, not enough for my soul to
bloom
The heavy clouds have fallen
And I am drawn
Inside the curtains of my world
And one final rainbow haunts me,
The eternal frown upon my face
A Kiss of Death
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
The misfortune beyond
heaven’s towers
Is hid in the heart of odium
The nimbus clouds cloak the blanket of shimmering
diamonds
The arctic damp winds ever blowing
And the shadowy crimson orchard
Where silvery waters are flowing
Unravel the roots of hatred
For to travel the boundless stream
That slicks over golden pebbles strewn
Is to defy the moonlight gleam
Summer blossoms scent the air
Unworthy of this fools delight
The enchantress sends out a dove to seek
A dove that falls to the ground as a rose
Foreshadowed, he arches down to retrieve the gift
And is granted a kiss of death on the lips.
Strolling along the old lonely shore
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
The gray sea and the long
dark shores;
And the golden full-moon suspended on heavens wings;
Gentle little waves that leap unseen
Awakened from their slumber,
Imprinting lonely footsteps in the yielding slushy sand
Spectator to the retreating tide and cooling golden
grains
A trek along the stirring sea-scented beach;
Shifting sands unhinging his frozen gate
Welcoming cupid through the rusted entrance
Its sweeping wings rousing tainted mist
A mist which drifts out through the cracks in his heart
And ignites new passions for love
Creations oracle
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
A disturbance of the
heavens,
An obscurity of the light
Encircled me in rotating fashion
Sudden curve of its course that glacial night.
I stood in the disenchanted meadow
Amid the strewn shimmering pebbles
Fascinated, by the owls dance with the wind,
To the song of distant echoes
Winters iron door quaked on its loosened hinge,
Clanging with spring’s rare assortments
Torrents of liquid spheres poured from heavens tower
Shadowed mystically under the revolving winter sky
Stumbling across creations enthralling oracle;
A cluster of nimbus clouds waft above
Eclipsing heavens gazing gleam
And a chilling wind blows.
Lonely Crossing
By Timothy Tsiamis (Australia)
Hot night in midsummer’s
drought
Not even the scrub-covered ridges could be seen in the
smothering darkness,
On either side of the cascading waterfall the dreary
sway of sycamores choked the sound of the active
nocturnes,
The sky was clouded not of rain, but with drought haze
and smoke carried from the distant bushfires
A road ran along by the foot of a line of low ridges as
he passed the gullies and gaps,
He followed a railed fence leaning lazily until he came
to a white iron gate,
There was a house with white-washed slab walls and a
bark roof;
Quietly he followed the house around to the door of a
detached shed
He struck a match with anticipation but it failed to
light,
The thick moisture suspended on the air made it
difficult;
Persevering he managed to illuminate the room and
swivelled his eyes from wall to wall;
Patiently looking for a long piece of strong rope and
then plucking it from amongst the crowded objects;
He withdrew from the darkened room and clambered up the
challenging cliff side
Taking the rope he fastened it to an over hanging tree
limb, then secured the loop around his neck,
Closing his eyes he lurched forward leaving the ground,
The rope he selected failed and snapped,
He plunged like an unguided boulder;
http://www.geocities.com/timothytsiamis/
Black Hole
By Leslie Baker (Milwaukee, Wisconsin)
There's a black hole inside of me.
I don't know how it got there.
Probably when I was young and not watching
it just jumped into my mouth
and me being a gullible child
I ate it whole thinking it food.
Couldn't of tasted too bad though,
I didn't spit it out.
But then as a boy I carried my heart in the palm of my
hand
holding it out for all to see, touch, or bruise
according to their own traumas.
Now as a man, grown, supposedly mature,
that black hole rests in my chest
filling a void,
a void which stretches my palm
out to you...
Empty.
Scenes of the Soul
By Leslie Baker (Milwaukee, Wisconsin)
I am told to
expose my heart,
bear it like
sticky peanut butter
to be gobbled
up, devoured,
then spit out
and rejected, only
to be born
again?
So now I
stretch my hand, palm out,
towards your
essence. Towards those eyes
like laser
swords cutting my flesh
and burning
my soul.
And please,
scatter the ashes under my rug
so tomorrow's
children will have
at least one
monument
to mourn.
The Underground
By Deborah Moore
Awakened by the noises
from the graveyard,
The moon plays shallow music to the trance.
With captivating motions from the headstones,
The city sleeps while spirits tame the dance.
Together, when we lived among the walking,
Barricades were built of fantasies
To keep reality from shining brightly.
We never saw the city for the trees.
We hid inside our own imaginations,
Like rabbits in the spotlight, we would run
From people with a lack of understanding,
Who never saw the ocean or the sun.
Life was what we made and how we left it,
We joined as one and gave our final breath.
Tampered by a well of unplanned sorrow,
The love, we carried over to our death.
We’ll cling to creature comforts from the underground,
In soil marked by blood that we once shed.
Nestling together between the broken bones,
Our mortal souls will share the tombstone bed.
Deborah Moore©Copyright 2002
Homecoming
By Kenneth Mulholland
'They return to the hall, and all are waiting.
Fire sings a song along the wood in the grating.
Outside, glide nightbirds crying,
and sighing pines whine along the darkened roads.
Yet here inside the homely halls folk dance,
and meet them and greet them with smiling faces.
Perchance a cup of wine they offer,
and food they suffer them to eat.
But their heart's meat is not in food.
It is in them, the hearth friends, the heart's friends.
Let the flames roar.
Let the dogs gnaw on their bones.
The traveller's eyes widen with delight.
For the peace of their homecoming is upon them.
And may it be upon us all,
since halls are homes wherein are friends.'
ALLEN
TILLER
I was born and raised
in the historic South Australian town of Gawler, a large
country town north of the city of Adelaide. My parents
still reside in the town in the house my Dad built in
the 60’s.
I attended local
schools, and it was within those schools that my love of
poetry and writing was first established.
Currently I work at a
local Flooring business as a storeman/delivery
driver/water-proofer.
My interests include
Poetry, writing, playing guitar, Australian Rules
football (Adelaide Crows) and the internet.
My Favourite poet is
E.A. Poe, but I also enjoy the writings of Banjo
Patterson, Lord Byron, Walt Whitman and Henry Lawson,
amongst others.
|
