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More Obvious and Demean

Who decided how we 'should' live,
Is deserved?
And the way we live...
In the pursuit of less conflict,
Is insignificant?

What few with 'pull' and 'balls'
With injurious intentions for all...
Collected to connect,
To upset
With disturbing peacelessness?

More obvious and demean.
More of this rise in hatred seen.
And...
More of a correctness comes to intervene.
It is yet seen,
But comes.
And for those who see it coming closer,
It shows.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lenexa Baptist Church = MY FAVORITE POET IS GOD

MY FAVORITE POET IS GOD

My favorite poet is God above
Who gives Earth its rhythm and rhyme.
Not pied pipers of misguided souls
Who promote distrust, hatred and crime.

Poetry is nature serenading in song
The peaceful roar of the oceans waves.
The wind through the trees and over the hills
And the flowers in the fields by the graves.

The sound of rain as it waters the thirsty
The songs of children at play in the park.
The far off rumble of trains or thunder
As they pass through the night in the dark.

The joy of our babies first words and steps
The passion of life with its heroes and clowns.
The on going struggle to survive our sins

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poem by Tom Zart
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As an artist

As an artist, I have developed some liking
Think about natural objects and surroundings
It is gift from nature with divine feelings
Anybody would exclaim and start praising

Right from the early breeze to down of the day
It is Almighty’s world seen exclusively from different way
There is so much mystery around all the objects
It is quite natural to arouse interest with subjects

The sweet melody is heard in the morning
It has become almost casual with warning
One has to rise early in order to witness nature
This is right occasion to observe in proper manner

The wind blow slowly with cool breeze
One may feel fresh but will not freeze
The feet may experience dews presence
No noise or pollution and complete peace hence

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Ally Online, All Lie Online, Ali Lion Line Dream Theme

Every verse acts as shell for fair moral, a skel
eton which we expand when councilling,
wanton worries dispel, [we can scan well and spell],
as transcendent end line links reel illing.

Far from grey citadel against which most rebel,
care for nor tinker's curse nor verse shilling,
Lyonnesse dreams on well, Camelot's chains repel
beneath tropical sun oh so grilling!

Lady lion's large jaws are well used, like her paws,
with gazelle and striped zebra sent spilling,
then she rampantly roars, rips raw prey with sharp claws,
primal urge surges merge, show flesh willing.

In the main, lacking mane, her earthshaking refrain
gives the lie despite spry timbre so thrilling.
Hale, with pride by her side, she sets male pride aside,
with her siblings invests in best killing.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Victim of his own Success

Man, victim of his own success, must fast grasp opportunity
to offer all equality of chances and advances stress
as the ability to press for rights for disability
the strong ignore, or fail to bless.

Man, victim of his own success, does not deserve impunity
when biosphere supportive he still stifles in the name of, - guess, -
‘Democracy’, free-choice oppress through ways of ta[l]king liberty
as only freedom to repress.

Man, victim of his own success, - tale’s pun, - few marks of modesty
retains, yet with anxiety observes galactic game of chess
while most Earth’s problems won’t address. This manifest dichotomy
highlights concerns we should assess.

Man, victim of his own success, needs to transcend his history
predative, channel energy towards solutions which suppress
his immaturity, redress the balance of society,
extend awareness free from stress.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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In It For the Sake of Image...And, Perhaps Contrast!

Free to be who I 'is' ain't cool.
For those who wish to depict me as a fool.
Or entertain their whims...
To fantasize my depressed beginnings.

I refuse to be ignorant.
I refuse to pretend,
My mind I don't use.
Or welcome an abused ending,
Of my life experience.
To be documented in an expedience.
With an erased historic contribution I make!

No time do I spend dreaming of wings in an afterlife...
With others in white robes!
As harps play.
While visions increase...
As I pray on my knees,
For a pair of golden slippers.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Missive For Darkness As Vocation, William Hawkins In Mind

[after viewing a film clip of the American
self-taught artist, William Hawkins]

How would he depict it, your
great sorrow now,
even a corner of it?

Perhaps
forge on, find a
photo, a horse
to paint, as in the film,

then busy himself with the making
of it, then see how the belly is too much,
needs to be thinned, a back haunch
trimmed to size,
a concise seizure of eye and paint
dependent upon hands,
a monumental concern which arights,

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poem by Warren Falcon
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Water is precious

If there was water on the surface of dry leaves; they would look
superbly
mesmerizing; glistening profoundly under the sun,
If there was water on mud coated wall; there would be a ravishing
scent that
permeated the adulterated air,
If there was water on vegetables lying sprawled in a forlorn heap; they
would
bounce back to boisterous life; retrieving the plethora of minerals
they had
lost in the blistering heat,
If there was water on fossils languidly scattered in obsolete
territories of
the dormant volcano; they would perspicuously depict the mysteries of
the
past; besides shimmering magnificently under the moon,
If there was water on wild buds of jungle mushroom; the unruly shoots
would
sparkle tenaciously; drawing millions of mouths towards them to satiate
their

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Tom Zart Poet For The Lord = 2012

I'm a poet for the Lord
Who created all I love.
A blind man riding a fast horse
Fulfilled by my Father above.

God has blessed me 480 times
With stories I could never compose on my own.
Love, war, faith and the answers of life
Are the seeds of His poems I've sown.

I'm the most over blessed man I've met
I should have been dead a thousand times.
But God sees to it I stay alive
To disciple His goodness to hearts and minds.

Some get up and preach a good sermon
Others stand up and sing a divine song.
I step forth with heart and soul
And deliver God's words of right and wrong.

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poem by Tom Zart
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I am fully dressed

Hey Important Here Read This: warning, this poem is sexually explicit! I'm fairly sure it doesn't actually break any particular rules, but its edgy enough so if your under age or offended by the implications below, or have any kind of qualm about this, please don't say I didn't give a fore word of warning. If someone can point out to me that this piece in some way DOES break some kind of rule, please let me know so that I can remove it without trouble (might take some time.)

Alright than... This poem is pretty much just a written account with some, but surprisingly little, poetic licence taken to depict a good memory of mine. I think it also conveys a bit about who I can be at times, but the poem itself is rather raw and unedited, which is the way I've always preferred them to be. I'd rather this to be read as a narrative poem that Happens to be sexual, and not a sex story that happens to be a poem. (Note that sex doesn't actually occur) ...I'm rambling again... Read, consider, comment please.

I am fully dressed
as we brush each others legs
any painter would conclude
scene of the artful passion nude

My hand rolls across her skin
Like glaciers caress the earth
Just as slowly, I torment her
Patient, I observe.

She mentions her protectives, and their purpose.
I decline, no cherry popped.

The moon keeps its eye open
jealously it listens to her sigh

[...] Read more

poem by Ian McArthur
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