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They Are Waiting For Him To Fail

They are waiting for him to fail!

'Who?
Waiting for 'who' to fail? '

President Obama?

'Have you seen the signs of decadence?
How long have people stood by?
Many sitting on the fence.
As generations fed greed...
And slimed the skyline,
With crooks and thieves!
To leave your pockets now empty.

Who has already failed who here?
Your local leeching politicians...
Proving their incompetence to fill leading positions?

This stench has been left to nurture,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Music Beat

A constant beat forever scratches the back of my head
1,2,3,4
1,2,3,4
1,2,3,4
A constant rhythm to live by
To walk by
To talk by
Even to think by
Music has crawled into my brain
Nay my Body
Something that takes form
As I feed it
I feel it!
I am always hearing it!
It tickles my toes
It tingles my fingers
I feel it throughout my body
It permeates my very soul!
Music is more than a hobby
Music is almost more than a passion

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poem by Aaron Burr
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Having The Experience

Knowledge of realms beyond this reality is non-
verifiable, used in creating mental universes, not
useful for constructing inter-subjective consensus,
diversity is great for its own sake, the eccentric and
unique are assets only when they are original, never
made into a norm to be enforced

Unique experiences are individual possessions, we
are free to refuse anything disseminated in a quest
for sameness - I sometimes succumb to the desire
for acceptance by joining a group, it ends in disaster,
innate distrust of forcing one will on others prevents
me from playing charades for happiness’ sake

Unique experience seems too precious to be made
subservient to another, the personal mental world
is to be treasured, not elevated and disseminated
as gospel rules, proselytizing militates against all
I passionately defend and so I remain alone,
neither leader nor follower, enjoying the

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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My kind of love

Sometimes I want a man
To hold me tight
And kiss me goodnight
Then be gone in the morning
Nowhere in sight
So I can feel loving
Just for a moment

Then I realise I'm better
I won't succumb to desire
Give myself to a liar

I want more than a one night stand
I want someone to hold my hand
Never let go 'til the end
Not just as a girlfriend

To wake me up in the morning
And tell me how beautiful I'm looking
To come back in the evening

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poem by Mariam de Haan
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The French Maid

She is cleaning again
feather duster in hand
Uniform tuxedo
fanning flourish feminine

She wears fishnets black
lacing satin spic 'n span
Skirting sleek stilettos
with delicate depurate diadem

She dusts lust for fuchsian
florid fine and flourishin’
Disinfecting drains unclogging
impeccable spotless sanitary she

We clean the floors doors walls
with window crevices uncovering
Reach revealing mirror ceiling
pristine sheen for floor board squeaking

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poem by Randy Resh
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The lord of Catchers-Can

In the isles of a gutter
in the dim-lit graveyard of a church
a man must walk forever
with a beggars bowl in hand
and succumb to all the weather
a man can understand.

(The lord of Catchers-Can
Is both a shepherd and a man
from a palm of dust he fathers the waters of the land.
And hails the wheat and barley to fall or stand…)

Into these storm drains of heaven
a dream was washed away
like the rains of yesterday.
A holy man sojourning for a little while came
and then was gone!
Where no earthly vanities belong…
And blessed us in one name!
In the light of the eternal flame!

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poem by Mark Heathcote
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An Atoms Tale Is Epic

An Atoms Tale Is Epic

If I die before tomorrow
Though the sun won't shine for me
Take pleasure in it's warming glow
There's a future there to see

No life will last forever
The sun will one day fail
But not before we've all passed on
So who will hear the tale

A tree falls in a forest
A whale dies in the sea
What happens to the birds nest
Do the krill sigh with relief

For all things have their moments
And moments are just that
Fleeting blinks of birds eyes

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poem by Dave Dunn
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Fool Animal

We are surely fool animal
If can't sense the downfall's arrival
Even insects and birds sense the danger
Why should we commit something in anger?

We can't resort to follow dangerous way
Addiction, if you consider, is all the way driving you away
From real life to that of artificial thinking
In fact taking you at the bottom and sinking

Consumption of alcohol can be legal
Some of its consequences may be illegal
Anything taken in excess is bad
That increases frustration and makes you sad

Inner consciousness is real reflection
That shall never allow you to for bad action
But since you are made slave of desires
Nothing good can be accepted by you to admire

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I Like That Bite of Edgar's

I like that bite of Edgar's.
That one that takes flight in the night.
To rest on chimneys...
Leaving a darkened shadow
Cast by a glowing full moon night!
I like that bite of Edgar's.
A troubled brilliance seeking escape.
From a mind that has suffered
From his own and others' heartbreaks.
And to sit alone with thoughts to write.
Allowing a forbidden bitterness,
The head will not forgive!
And to deliver a quick liquor shot.
To ease a pain felt.
But no one will believe!
Not from the words left behind,
One reads.
I like that bite of Edgar's.
After he is read.
And the gloom in Edgar's head remains...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hope: A Long Forgotten Tune

She is an ancient music box
Delicately placed in an abandoned study
She had patiently waited, eyes wide, innocent
Naively hoping to be commanded to sing,
To inspire bubbly emotions in liquid symphonies

She is worn at the edges, revealing an unfinished layer
Of lack of confidence beneath a once glossy finish, now dulled by lack of concern
The key to her heart had been lost long ago, having
Disappeared a few decades distant to this day and age

If her savior was ever recovered, she would have
Blossomed into a battery powered ballad
Thirsty for lazy smiles that play across dreadful faces
When they seek refuge in the comfort of a melody

But this is an outdated affection
The industrial age powers forth a more commanding tune
Rhythmically blinding, discombobulating our youth
Our tunes frantic, direct, simplistic in desire

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poem by Zara Jamshed
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