Matthew Hammond comes to us today from England, U.K.

known as HellRaiser21 on Allpoetry.com, he

can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/HellRaiser21

Watching Oblivion's Inferno Night Sky

I stand on the sands of oblivion

writing with my blue exotic snake

while looking at the inferno night sky,

watching the retreating light

run away from me and my world

I ponder on such thoughts as

truth and its essence,

"reality is just a perception"

therefore right and wrong

cannot possibly exist

and any way of living is

as acceptable as any other,

or perhaps

"reality is true to the individual"

creating resolve from within

from the only real truth known,

I exist.

The purple sun rises from behind

creating chaotic figures 

overlapping each other

and holding each other hand in hand

on a purple hazed background,

the shadows question each other

as how can they truly know

the other's true face.

Enraged flies harass my head

following me as I run across

endless desert while fiery 

night skies set out of reach.  

Check him out.

Kate Sylvia" comes to us from Perth, Western Australia, Australia.

Her pen name on Allpoetry.com is Evil Kate, and she can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/EvilKate

Someday Maybe Then

 

 

 

 

 

this quiet clock may settle
hands-
rest palms in sunlit patches
of hovered "I-know" smiles.
 
of circles sketched, eyes

might sigh, filtered

by finger-light,

 

content to touch her other

face and the silence unspoken.
 
and arms could embrace

all mystery-

 

of sun and moon,

of pearls drawn from warmth

and blended shadow- from a bed

of bruises, softly held

against those gathered
years,

as small and round

as we might be,

rusted timid

like the breath that trembles

broken under breast,
 
for now, within each pause

a stone

sits idle in my eye, shifts in tide

of narrow skin.

 

 

 

this calligraphy of moments
falls between.
 
 
  

Check her out.

Sharon Anderson is known as NeonRose on Allpoetry.com ...

and can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/NeonRose

Beyond Tomorrow

The bugler blows his mournful taps
The drummer bows his head.
At dawn the enemy invades,
by dusk he may be dead.

The flag will fly forevermore,
Old Glory will not fall.
But the blood that's shed to save her
stains victory for us all.

Beyond tomorrow's battle
lies a freedom long denied,
and the drummer prays for courage,
while he shivers deep inside.

The troops bed down among the trees,
the campfires shimmer bright;
a beacon for approaching fate,
a balefire in the night.

Amid the oak and fir and pine,
there stalks the phantom dread.
At dawn the enemy invades...
by dusk, all may be dead.

Check her out.

Chandni Hingorani is from the Caribbean, and is known as ...

Never Fall in Love.  She can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/Never%20Fall%20in%20Love

Pitch Black

Affection stumbled in shadows,
as bloodstains bordered cell walls,
stuffing apathy into emotion.

The stars ignited

as flames were rekindled,

pretending to be casualties

when chaos was cloaked.

Gray asphalt provokes nostalgia,
paralyzing masked expressions
where simple sentences

exposed insecurity

and breakdowns were not songs

sung on musical chords
or choked voices,
but recessions into recollections -
vague memories you chose to forget.

[or forgot to remember]

But while you look in empty holes

for acceptance and conformity

of yourself,

the sun will fade,

again.

Check  her out.

Lowell Poe says he is an Old Irishman from the United States.

He can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/Lowell%20Poe

The Latter Day Sinners Circus

In the altered states of latter day sinners,
Kaleidoscopes of evil swirl in and out of circus skies.
It hums above them and fills their eyes with rings of fire,
that hit the big top, 
and illuminates the midways.


Children guide the elders 
to the candle lit caravans that surround the carnival.

Fortune tellers rise from the red striped wind blown tents,
as lions with full bellies
who feasted on believers,
fill the bleachers with weeping butterflies and laughing soldiers. 

With horrid screams 
from their lacerated throats,
the sword swallower's fire the human cannon ball up
towards the bleeding Jesus.
Who walks the tight rope using his cross,
to save his life,
and balance his way to the other side 
where his Father awaits.

Check him out.

Ted Kennedy was diagnosed with a brain tumor today ...

and in light of the fact that the Senate virtually came to a full stop today, I decided to post a poem by Walt Whitman:

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up -- for you the flag is flung -- for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths -- for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

But I with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Josiah Patterson is a citizen of Montana, USA.

He is known as Scion on Allpoetry.com and can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/poem/3690050

Canopy

Silver birds, silhouettes on blackened sky,

conceal their flocks in ancient oaks

and dwell in nests of bone.

The fear, dwelling within every soul,

creates a dark canopy over the heavens,

brooding and ominous in a starless sky.

From morning until dark victory,

this fear is building an army

in the hearts of every man.

Only until the earth opens up and

scatters the silver birds from their broken trees

to fly aimlessly until the end of time

will the day come when the ravens

make their homes in sheltered hollows

and cease their vigilant sleep,

the dark canopy will lift from human hearts,

and the earth, again, will be free.

Check him out.