She can be found here:
http://allpoetry.com/imahealer
Apathy (GOLD)
draw a thin line between here and there
______________________________________
bands of love engraved; exchanged
seven years later, betrayal
confronting my enemy
raging fires burned my fingers
melting the vow into molten lava
digits became talons
digging straight to your heart;
tearing it into sixteen chambers
of loathing
the dove flew away
I slammed the door, never looking back.
Check her out.
CHECKING OUT
I don’t want to live
Until life is a bore.
I’d rather drop dead
Screaming, “ More! Give me More!:”
You’ll not see me sit
In some ol’ rocking chair;
Warehoused and obscure
No one caring I’m there.
So unwire the wires
And pull out the plugs
Just let me expire
Give me no drugs.
Life’s a great celebration
But don’t let me linger.
I’ll know when it’s over
And give Old Age the finger.
Yes, the world is an opera
So, please understand,
I’ll sing lead soprano
As long as life’s grand.
Karen R. Springer
&
.POEM OF PASSAGE FOR AUNT JUNE.
A small parade
Of sweetly potent decades:
Seven, eight, nine little dramas
Of triumphs and tears.
Our history holographed
hieroglyphed
upon the infinite mind
of the god within us.
Years
Once raucus rivulets of youth
Now gently flowing
Into an endless ocean of truth
Our memories
Mere flotsam
Overcome by breaking waves
Then resurfacing to shape
What we have become.
So it is
We live the lives
That mold our souls
Touched
By those who love us
And touching them in return;
If only in the sanguine sojourn
Of retrospect.
Karen R. Springer
He can be found here:
http://allpoetry.com/Ogreatbaldone
False Profit
His opulence dripped
like mortuary flowers,
heavy scented, masking death
in a lonesome funeral chapel.
His rampageous riches dangled
from wrists and neck. rapturous
was the gaze he threw upon the world-
this simpleton in sheep's clothing.
Gathered together beneath the tent
his religious tirade reaches them-
they are estranged from God. he screams
and dances around with great hilarity.
Maintenance of the church falls to the faithful
though jaded and jagged be their lives,
though they are never far from the grindstone
they pay tithes to a pompous god man.
His pretentious prayer brings loose change jingles
into the musty spring night air.
A pre-selected hymn plays and I feel
the urge to Asphyxiate the asocial fraud.
Check him out.
Sue can be found here:
http://allpoetry.com/Sue%20Cardwell
And now to her poem:
A Tepid Existence
No little girl's room, the furnishings stark,
she’s left on her own, a child of the dark;
a tepid existence, love’s left no mark,
no feelings given, not even a spark.
No pretty check curtains, windows are bare
just a hard bed, an old wooden chair,
no toys to play with, nothing to share,
alone in her room, no one to care.
With tear stained cheeks, she tries to be brave
cowering from parents who just rant and rave,
though only a child, she’s more of a slave;
there is no way for this girl to behave.
In old tattered clothes she won't find a friend;
even her teachers have no hope to lend;
with feeding herself, she's left to contend.
There's no-one to love her, not even pretend.
Where is the warmth of one goodnight kiss,
just to be held, an undreamt of bliss;
these are the things that she’ll always miss;
how can a child be brought up like this?
Check her out.
http://allpoetry.com/ariosto
He lives in Georgia, USA, but is originally from New England.
Garden of Souls
I may be the Tinman searching for a heart
except I haven't had much time to look these days
The road to Oz still keeps me going
sights I see seem more important than the steps I take
Once though, in a maze of crazy streets and alleys
I came to a gentle wall that blocked my way
A garden lay beyond its mossy crenellations
I could smell the blue, sweet scent of lilacs
ivory petals drifted down a sighing wind
I envied small birds that danced above it
envied the flowers blossoming within
I sat in shadows waiting
wondered what it must be like inside
but a doorway never opened
and I've grown too old to climb
Everyone's garden is a private place
mine must be the yellow bricks I stride
Check him out.
She can be found here:
http://allpoetry.com/Anemone
What is beauty?
With arms moving to an infrequent rhythm
Perfectly in sync with the temperamental
Flutist; what is beauty in this gray world: a
Dancing willow tree?
Check her out.
http://allpoetry.com/JustBe
Umbra to Orange
Unbroken day
cracked umbra to orange,
but in the realm between moments,
I did not wake alone.
You coalesced about me,
lit the languid void of speech,
and there was nothing,
blessed nothing,
but only
fragrant seas of linen,
familiar flavors on the wind,
waning tides, cleansing moon—
our own piece of god.
You welled up with the sun,
blurred in my eye, and fell away.
All forty hapless miles,
sleep well,
and Love,
between my dreams, good night.
Your absence sleeps in my arms,
its breath silent as the truth.
Still I cannot curse the lie;
I lived you this morning.
Check him out.
