The Poetry of Arthur Vaso

Guest poets 2016 & 2017

Sense and Nonsense
 
by
 
Frederick H. Spinney
First Published New York, 1947
Paebar Publishing Inc.
 
Untitled Poem
 
Some authors write of mystic things----
Of dryads, nymphs, and angels' wings,
Of aspen, eaves, and babbling brooks,
Of lovers' lanes and shady nooks
Some write of Carthage, Greece and Rome
And other regions far from home,
Of other times, when knights and kings
Performed so many magic things,
Of Gods who lived on mounts so high
They stepped directly on the sky.
The wisest scribes professed to know
Conditions of the realms below,
Where devils laughed in wicked glee
At blunders of humanity
 
Those ancient topics we shall shun;
They have been sadly overdone.
We'll write of matters near at hand,
Of matters readers understand,...
The pleasure of the woods and fields
Where nature all her grandeur yields;
We'll write of pleasures, friendships rare,
With which no other can compare;
Of fertile gardens gay with flowers,
Where folks may spend entrancing hours;
Of other gardens clean and neat,
Wherein delicious things to eat
Repay us richly from the toil
That we expand upon the soil,
And prove the rarest from of pay
Attends the fruit we give away.
 
The highest aim should be to find
The means to benefit all mankind,
The way to banish selfishness
And find the road to happiness.
To live aright each passing day;
Forget the ills of long ago,
The wars, the hardships and the woe.
 
Today life may begin anew,
With many pleasant things to do,
With cheerful words to sing and say
To folks we meet along the way.
Our life may be a garden here
For cultivation of good cheer.
It lies within the human power
To brighten every passing hour,
To drive the clouds of gloom away
And bask in sunshine all the day.
 
 


Bouquet for the Critics
 
Some critic may turn up his nose
And claim my work is rhyming prose;
According to the critics creed.
That is iniquity, indeed.
 
But that's the role he has to play,
The role for which he draws his pay.
One need not very so very wise
To undertake Maria's enterprise;
But higher talent must be shown
In some construction of his own.
 
The world is full of critics now;
They should be working with the plow,
Or, what would be more useful still,
Producing lumber that will fill
The loud, insatiable demand
For happy homes throughout the land.
 
If that loud call they should obey,
Their fame may live for many a day;
But while destruction is their aim,
The never will achieve real fame.
 
In many hearts they cultivate
Deep feelings of despair and hate;
But since my writing is for fun,
I may defy the critics gun,
His verbose platitudes ignore ---
The brand so often used before.
I do not care ones profane hoot
What ammunition he may shoot.



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Poet          Robert Lindley

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Came To Me In A Dream
 
Through the golden gates of hope and reprieve
race shadows of storm and restless agonies
Mere fleeting wisps that catch roving eyes
on platters of papers meant to deceive
 
Stories told of monsters, fools and all the like
melting into a cauldron of darkest spittle
Gouging the eyes with a pointy spike
and sending reprieve but only just a little
 
Where rests,dreams of gold and wanton lusts
among fallen pines and burnt ash trees
Deceptions taught and broken, shattered trusts
sailing chaotic and blind upon falsely stirred seas
 
All through such nightmares are stark realities of life
vapors of foul and poisonous clouds belching forth
Frozen beams that weigh the misery in agony and strife
against the harshest chills of blasts from the frozen North
 
Yet among the dead letters and long anguished cries
rest hearts and seeking minds staying on high alert
For true love and deeply moaned contented sighs
to counter the relentless pain of all the world's hurt.
 
Robert J. Lindley, 6-19-2016

Give Them A Songbird's Sweetest Glee
 
When They Tire, Give Them A Songbird's Sweetest Glee
 
Cried critics to a sad poet- " Write us happy poems now!
This day while the western sky sails in blue give us gold
Sad poet pondered the forceful request wondering how
Now that his ink had dried and his muse was so damn old.
 
The poet thought in sadness for many long, long hours
Then this new thought raced into his aching head
Give colors, rainbows glistening upon pretty flowers
Silken canopy over earth's most beautiful princess's bed.
 
When they tire, give them a songbird's sweetest glee
golden soft feathers that sing as they quickly beat
With honey splashed in deep in their cool green tea,
give them red-hot and fantastic meals to eat.
 
His mission accomplished the poet asked to leave
the critics cried , "Hell no slave, you must stay!
Then he knew, tis dangerous to such beauty weave
for his crime, his freedom he must forever pay!
 
Robert Lindley
Sept 23, 1987

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The Birds, They Were So Silent
 
 
I raced away early one bright morn,
running in clouds so very fleet
The birds, they were so silent
deathly stiff on a frozen icy sheet
 
Crossing bridge to glimmering lake
no worries, time was on my side
My charms would do me right
in this was my everlasting pride
 
 
I will find my lover's heart
bruised and battered it may be
As sure as life is a sweet fountain
my words shall bring her again unto me
 
I'll kiss her hands and her pretty feet
she will sway into my loving arms
A vision of pure heavenly delight
again falling for my arrogant charms
 
Our lives now by guile reunited
time will flow like a raging flood
The Love of My Lusts,
shall live and eat in my blood
 
Summers shall be our playtime
winters for hot steaming nights
Time will yield to my magic
as my love sees wonderous sights
 
In the depths of this dream
she shall obey my hot desires
As I step from the dark shadows
to set ablaze her deepest fires
 
No heartaches , no terrible worries
life and love sets its steady pace
No tears shall ever fall across
the beauty of her loving face
 
Dancing into my long aching arms
into this sweet dream she shall dwell
No harm will I allow to visit her
as I seal shut the dark Gates of Hell
 
She will love me all the more
as we step into another golden realm
Sea shall envy her growing beauty
as I sail this ship steady at the helm
 
The ages crack into this deep mirror
joys are now so viciously denied
She now doubts my deep, slavish love
as my jealousy exposes my darkest pride
 
When time brings in its destroyer
love may stop cold in its track
I am but a love lost dreamer
thrown down upon my broken back
 
Yet again look into my heart's mirror
the dream I made come alive for you
There is such goodness in this fantasy
you my life, your love governs all I do
 
I stand at this scary precipice
your hand is my greatest want
Love sends its everlasting glory
except when it mercilessly don't
 
You my darling hold the lasting key
late in this dream time stands still
My desires are as shallow nothings
measured against your true loving will
 
I raced away early one bright morn,
running in clouds so very fleet
The birds, they were so silent
deathly stiff on a frozen icy sheet
 
Robert J. Lindley, 11-23-2014
AVC poem  Ryhme

Deeds Of History's Warlords

Cut Down By Deeds Of History's Warlords

 
Saddened with their agony and deep pain,
the black of nights slowly passed on away:
Purple hearts can never ever explain,
war's dark, needless battle deaths anyway!
 
Dear sweet memories soothe a wounded mind
thus bringing much needed relief to bear.
Twilight's brings on another sad hurt kind,
stripping shattered souls so completely bare.
 
Darkness and misery grinds the brave stone,
where hope hides in such strange shadowy fjords.
Lives wasted, brave people forever gone,
cut down by deeds of history's warlords!
 
Heaven will judge right those souls forced to die!
Hell will burn warlords, we need not ask why?
 
Robert J. Lindley, 2-21-2015
 Sonnet: Perfect tens
perfect 100 words..

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Poet                   Tim Smith

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Jessica

Another birthday year is here
So let's rise up and cheer
 

You've grown up so much before my eyes
That little girl who needed cheese for her fries
 

I remember the nights rocking you in my arms
Making sure the world did you no harm
 

Now you're getting older, time has gone to fast
My love for you Jess will forever last


The Last Beat Of A Homeless Heart

A cool breeze whips and the Fahrenheit dips
 
a night lost on a lonesome road
 
reaching out to those in need
 
attempting to spark
 
the last beat of a homeless heart
 
Preachers preached some souls were reached
 
love was everywhere to be found
 
to give.. to keep
 
to sow.. to reap
 
but in private you couldn't hear a sound
 
hearts live to love but how long can they live
 
in a world full of take and no give
 
loyal eyes they no longer cry
 
and a heartbeat slows as time slips by
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Stay A Little Longer

Water trickles and steam lingers
 
my heart's pounding
 
beating rhythmically
 
across my chest
 
I drag my fingers slowly
 
dreaming
 
day-dreaming
 
of you
 
and our nights together
 
so wet   so steamy
 
Come here and greet me
 
enter my night
 
enter my heart and stay
 
The nights are long but our time is short
 
Stay a little longer this time
 
linger in my warmth
 
and let me bask in your being
 
water trickles
 
steam rises
 
my heart beats
 
our hearts beat
 
  long into the night
Sash Of Trust

Through thick of night where nature naps
'mongst oaken trees and haunted paths
sits past the brush, a sash of trust
where honest word's a spoken must
 
In times of doubt here's where I'll go
to breathe and let my feelings flow
where thoughts run wild and freedoms ring
I'll sit and cry or stand and sing
 
Until light breaks my pen shall hold
those visions past and futures told
my soul, her smile, two beating hearts
her touch, our kiss, til passions part
 
Time stands still as the words fall free
Truths come out from inside of me
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Poet                  Emile Pinet



Angels and Devils, Love and Death

Angels Are Real

My pulse pounds, and my heart races,
when you snuggle close as you can.
For I love your tender embraces,
you make me glade that I'm your man.
 
It's not enough to say I care,
I’m in heaven when I’m with you.
And I need you, like I need air,
words can’t thank you for all you do.
 
You're the epitome of love,
giving me all there is to give.
And I thank the Lord up above,
for you are my reason to live.
 
When we met you seduced my heart,
arousing the man in the boy.
And soon my doubts drifted apart,
filling my existence with joy.
 
I'd give you heaven if I could,
there are no words for how I feel.
For you’re the best of all that’s good,
and living proof, angels are real.
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I am The Devil

I'm the Devil yet I'm also God,
for deep inside there’s only me there.
And hiding behind belief’s facade,
I'm all alone and it seems unfair.
 
Evil dwells within my darkest parts,
for my ego always puts me first.
Yet goodness thrives in my heart of hearts,
for I'm the best and I am the worst.
 
To balance good I revel in bad,
for I’m free and a religious slave.
Yet happy thoughts can morph into sad,
believing nothing’s beyond the grave.
 
A reality fantasy blend,
I am hope and I am derision.
And I’m the beginning and the end,
a mix of sinner and contrition.
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I will Die Without Love

There’s no room in my head,
it's filled with thoughts of you.
I’m alive, and yet dead,
both are equally true.
 
You are my blood, my breath,
my hope, my dream, my love.
And your leaving's like death,
without heaven above.
 
I’m as pale as a ghost,
my heart's drained of its blood.
For missing you the most,
it has slowed to a thud.
 
How much more can I take,
without breath, I'll smother?
And I endure an ache,
unlike any other.
 
My future’s disappeared,
there’s no way I can cope.
For like I always feared,
I can't live without hope.
 
I'm far beyond afraid,
on the verge of a scream.
And I feel so betrayed,
that I no longer dream.
 
No one can replace you,
that's one thing I'm sure of.
And yet, it's also true,
I will die without love.
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Poet            Andrea Dietrich

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My Poems are Children to Me
 
Form:Free verse
 My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.
 
They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.
 
Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.
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Children of the Year

Form: Quatrain
 
By leading us with strength and truth,
he earns great prominence,
and February's Cupid too,
who celebrates romance!
 
Though Irish charmed
and mild at times, it's also obvious
that when she either comes or goes,
March is tempestuous!
 
Lovely April brings her poems
with romance, sun and rain,
and year to year, she surely sings
Earth's happiest refrain.
 
Fair merry May loves motherhood,
so. . . sparing no expense,
she spreads her arms and gifts us with
creation's opulence.
 
Coming after May is June,
who, sweet and fairly young,
pledges love to summer's sun
as wedding bells are rung.
 
July, great fun, shows up to play.
A patriotic one,
he lights up skies with fires that fade
into oblivion. . .
 
The king of lazy afternoons,
although he has his pride,
August hasn't much to add
to what July has tried!
 
September goes from hot to cool
in very little time,
sees children off to school
and gives the bards new cause to rhyme.
 
October waltzes in, and with
her magic, paints the trees,
then dons a witch's hat before
she leaves with frightful ease.
 
November, though he's gloomy,
has great harvests he must tend
and brings a time for thankfulness
before he nears his end.
 
Although December is a man
grown cold and very old,
he brings the joy of the greatest
story ever told.
 
With trials and our past behind us,
hope can reappear
within the form of January,
first born of the year!
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Summer's Child

Form Sonnet
 
I lived my best in season of the sun,
those yellow, mellow days when cares are flung
to June’s warm breeze, and childhood is begun,
a field to wander in, and all is young!
 
I lived my zenith in the summer heat.
Ah, zephyr of sublime and untried heights!
Blue sky, July, and taste of kisses sweet
still haunt my mind in cool midsummer nights.
 
In August came dry winds, and I was torn
from my adobe of early gleeful days.
My children both at summer’s end were born,
and now a grandchild in new sunlight plays.
 
When dusk, unhurried, comes, I live my best.
In Virgo’s sun may I be laid to rest.
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Emily's Birthday Tea Party

Form Sonnet
 
 
The old folks at the home, and none at all
of them too fleet of foot in their last years,
came shuffling, some with walkers, down the hall,
including those with aids pressed in their ears.
 
Then one (whose punctured lung had not healed well)
was wheeled in; she had just turned ninety-three!
They'd all come (when the nurse had rung the bell),
for what was now to be revealed: a "Tea!"
 
The English lady wheeled in never knew
what they were planning as she lay in bed.
They'd stamped the name of "Emily" onto
The sparkling crown which now lay on her head.
 
With cake crumbs on her chin, in pure delight,
She sipped the tea they'd sweetened up just right!
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An Angel

Form Ghazal

Lonesome in the black of night, I think of you, an angel,
there in a river of moonlight. Oh, to view an angel!
 
A cameo against the dark, face seen just in profile,
its texture gossamer; I'd gasp, then pursue an angel.
 
Would you come If I hung in the balance of life and death?
Come to me like those of whom there are so few, an angel!
 
I dream of you; a shelter you would be, to take me in.
You alone could lift me, dispel my gloom, you, an angel.
 
Here I am, mere Earth Girl, rooted by rationality,
longing for one glimpse of what I never knew - an angel.
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Poet             Eileen Manassian

Sing to Me

When I am weary, tired and worn
When the day on wings has flown
When dusk comes with hushed repose
When I lie, a wilted rose
Sing to me
 
When my heart is bruised and sore
When my voice cannot implore
When my tears streak down my face
When my fears need saving grace
Sing to me
 
Sing to me on lover's bed
Sing to me, my worries shed
Sing to me, sweet lullaby
Sing to me, don't ask me why
Sing to me
 
With lips close to shoulder bare
With hand deep in raven hair
With voice trembling in my soul
With melody to make me whole
Sing to ME
 
Sing to me for in your tone
Sleepiness to stars has flow
In tune whispered in my ear
Angel song of love I hear
 
Yes, Sing
Sing to me

I found your Knight! :)

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The Essence of LoveLove’s seed will surely sprout
When freed from any doubt
 
Eileen Manassian


The Queen of Romance, rides proud and strong

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Murder on My Mind


Could I take love and push it out the door
Make it to die and breathe of life no more
Could I take love and with a spear impale
To make it breathe it’s last, I would not fail
 
Could passion be a personified I’d try
To beat and torment, then I’d make it die
Desire would be next my wrathe to taste
I'd murder it for what it’s laid to waste
 
I would inflict the cruelest agony
For what imposters these have done to me
I’d close my ears to cries of mercy made
Until I bury them and turn the spade
 
For they have only gifted grief and pain
And clothed my heart in shrouds of the insane
The Vow of Silence


Your vow of silence one day you will break
You’ll come to know you’ve made a grave mistake
The love I gave you, why did you forsake?
There’s nothing left in me for you to take


For this is true and this you must confess
Not one gave more to you in tenderness
No other one on earth could love as I
I’m left here all alone to wonder why

 
I’m silent now, as silent as the grave
What’s left of wounded heart, you cannot save
So mourn for me and love you never gave
With mortal wound I stand, silent and brave.
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Make Me Your Mistress


Let me be your mistress
the one who warms your bed
who knows of each desire
that to seduction's wed
 
Let me be your mistress
hidden from prying eyes
Kept locked in heart's harem
each night in different guise
 
Let me be your mistress
indulgent of your dream
I'll feed you honeyed breasts
desserts of richest cream
 
Let me be your mistress
Lie back on cushions plush
let me undress your cares
Be free to feel this rush
 
Let me be your mistress
in scented room, I'll dance
I'll write and undulate
Put you in craven trance
 
Let me be your mistress
I'll tease until I please
the secrets that you hide
I'll satiate with ease
 
Let me be your mistress
I live to make you feel
your wildest urges rage
in me becoming real
 
Let me be your mistress
my lips and hands obey
Give them your sweet command
watch colors burst from grey
 
Let me be your mistress
Your mistress, nothing more
I want to feast on you
Come taste all that's in store
 
Make me....your Mistress

Poet           Charmaine Chircop



Those Eyes Like Moonlit Snow


I watched him in a dusky street walking all alone ,
 
As he reached closer to me the mystery has been gone .
 
I knew those eyes that once shone bright , like colours of a Latin marigold ...
 
Those eyes became part of the night without a glint of glow .
 
Those choco  eyes have lost their luster ,they've turned vacant and cold ,
 
Those eyes of molten  memories that  gazed into my own .
 
I watched him in a dusky  street walking all alone ,
 
As he reached closer to me , the mystery has been gone .
 
I knew those eyes that once shone bright ,Now glassy like the moonlit snow ...
 
Those eyes became part of the night , so far away from home.
 
So far away from open arms that kept waiting for him
 
Far from a lonesome feeling residing deep within .
 
I watched him in a dusky street walking all alone ,
 
As he reached closer to me , the mystery has been gone .
 
I knew those eyes that once shone bright , like colours of a Latin marigold...
 
Those eyes became part of the night without a tint of glow .









It Is Not With These Eyes That I Have Loved You


My beloved

It may be

that I would never

get the chance

to look you in the eyes

within this life

But remember..

It is not with these eyes

that I have loved you

Nor with my kiss or with this skin

I have loved you

With my way of being without you

With keep on being who we  used to be

and of who we would never become

My beloved

It is not with these eyes

that I have loved you

Nor with my kiss or with this skin

I loved you in ways

only you would understand

Cause only you have loved me

in the same way that I did

Or maybe even more.




Missing you!
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Inspired by Jan's and Cas' 'Miss you poems'
and musing thoughts.
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Poet            Lucilla Carrillo

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Proverbs Of Life
 
If you don't have a purpose in life, then
You shall walk in circles of confusion
 
It is not what the world can offer you.
It is the voice of your heart, that you may offer it to the world.
 
If you think nobody loves you, think twice.
Someone loves you very much.
 
It is not how people can help you that counts.
It’s the seeds of joy you spread in your life.
 
If you have lost your best friend today, mourn today
Tomorrow find a new friend, to share dreams
 
If your life is not going good for you and you
don't know why. Stare up at the milkyway
An angel will give a guiding hand
 
Don't count the bad times you've had in your
life. Count the blessings you had instead...
 
I have counted my blessings
I go in peaceful tranquility
Where I shall smile down upon all of you

By Lucilla Carrillo and Arthur Vaso

The Fire

Let The Fire Not die.
The fire that lighted
your heart and mine.
 
let it stay lighted tonight
and forever. Let our hearts
forever bind...
 
09/02/2012
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Ode To A Veteran

What is a Veteran?
A veteran is a man ,or woman that has been to war
and fought for our Country and our freedom.
A Veteran is sometimes an unsung hero. One that
we never hear about and sometimes He, or she
is just forgotten.
Today I want to say to our Veterans - you are our
heroes. you put your life on the line for us. The ones
that lost their lives are now in God's hands, but you
are still here. You might have lost an arm, or a leg,
maybe both legs - you did it in the line of duty.
Maybe you still have both arms and both legs, that
don't mean that you didn't lose anything in the war.
You could have lost your best friend, or many friends.
Now you only have memories.
Today my Veteran I want you to know - that if it
wasn't for you, we would not be able to enjoy the
freedom that we enjoy today. It is not free - you
have paid a high price for it. Thank for being the
special hero you are. This is what I think a
Veteran is...

Written o 02/15/2011 by
Lucilla M. Carrillo

Poet      Jan Allison

THE LOWEST OF THE LOW
You may see me out on the streets
Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway
Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city …
I never stay more than a few nights in one place
can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe
 
You may see me out on the streets
I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand
Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly
Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact…
Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litterbins like a wild animal
But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat
 
The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy
I can never get warm even when the sun shines
This is no life, just a way of surviving another day
 
Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp
You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets
Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic
I guess most people seem to think that
They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard
 
Just five years ago I was like many of you
I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children
Spent many months away from home fighting for my country
 
But then I got sent to Afghanistan…
I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness
I was traumatised
Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people
The children, oh those  children – made me think of my two boys back at home
I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown
 
I was a broken man …
My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour
The Army did little to help –
discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me
Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity
 
Many of the people you see on the streets are like me …
We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day
Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible
Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me
Because you don’t know me
This poem won first prize in a contest on PoetrySoup.
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Poet      Casarah Nance

Tell It To The Rain

Like the cloud, I am collecting the moisture in memory,
Soaking up the solitude, I have been alone in misery.
Feeling full on failure, droplet wall builds on my skin,
Heavy with weight of the world, sadness is soaked in.
 
Like the cloud, I feel the lightening pulsing inside,
Anger and agony on a bolt of energy ride.
Thunder is my roar, ominous warnings shy
to the volcanic eruption that is my sky.
 
Like the cloud, I hear the air slice apart in broken fear,
And I collect all things wet and drip them in a tear.
Upon the world I release all my anxiety and pain,
Captured inside capsules, I tell it to the rain.
 
Like the cloud, I pour my soul from the height of hurt,
And you wear my teardrops there, saturated white t-shirt.
Parachute promises falling, raindrops from the cloud.
You hold no umbrella because crying is not allowed.




Notes: This poem won second place on a Poetrysoup contest, Dec 2015.
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Poet       Constance Lafrance



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Beautiful Scars 

     These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful,
Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes;
           The sorrow I keep within me is dreadful,
My short life has been full of death and whys.
 
      Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes,
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars;
            My short life has been full of death and whys,
At night all my beloved are the sparkling stars.
 
      I thought the passage of time would heal the scars,
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies;
            At night my beloved are the sparkling stars,
My forever grief is full of long past sweet reveries.
 
      I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies,
Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone;
           My forever grief is full of long past reveries,
Within my soul the forever sorrow still moans.
 
      Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone,
Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be;
            Within my soul the forever sorrows still moan,
And I write from a scarred soul my sad poetry.
 
      Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be,
The sorrow I keep within me is dreadful;
            And I write from a scarred soul my poetry,
These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful.
 











 Under The Moon 


Above a full moon dances with the billowing clouds,
             The ornate gate creaks as I push to enter;
A winding road, shines in the moonlight, and beckons me,
       I glide past sleeping gnarled tree branches.
 
Above a full moon dances with the billowing clouds,
            Angel statues do not comfort me from my sadness;
The maze of stone cold tombs weep in the moonlight,
      I drift there under the full moon beautifully ethereal.
 
                              And then I hear the first bird song . . .
Picture
Picture
These are two paintings, on the left by Adolphe-William Bouguereau, and ontop by John William Waterhouse

Below, you can download a audio version of her poem
Beautiful Scars
broken_wings.mp3
File Size: 1920 kb
File Type: mp3
Download File





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  • Home
  • Vaso's Blog
  • Current Poems
  • Introspection
  • Humanity-People
  • France
  • MIddle East
  • Dark
  • Gothic
  • History
    • Woman in History
  • Humor
    • Limericks
  • Love
  • Stories
    • ChildrensPoems
    • StoryTelling
  • Guest Poets
    • GuestBio's
    • Guests2016
    • In Memory
    • Collaborations
    • Dedicated To
    • Music of the Week
  • ARTGallery
  • Music
  • Support