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The Genesis Of My Tears

Time doth pass, yet, in this place, my heart stays-
I shall knoweth true, your grace, one of these days!
You may not hear my mournful call to you, each and every night,
Know still my precious Angel, I shall again have you within my sight!

No matter of impediment, no means of quasi-official bias,
Shall keepeth thee from thine own thoughts, alas, they do try us!
Many a sorrowful, solitary nox, I have wept, for thee
To be within my humbled sight, and near to me-
Sikerly, still I shall, for all nights yet to come,
Until such time as this 'scourge' shall succumb
To mine own heart's dogged persistence
And mine own faith's steadfast resistance
To what is now, and has been for years-
The cause of my heartache and genesis of my tears!
Not doth there exist, a reason, nor any rhyme
To have taken from us, all this precious time-
Many loathsome ones have been causal, this heartache,
Many still, shall stand witness-my will shan't ever break!

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poem by Maurice Harris
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Resplendent Realms

The time has come
The Green Man said
A day of reckoning
To count the flowers
By the sea
And trace the foot steps
Of the Queen

The Prince has caused a horrid rift
The Queen she fled in fear
And Natures gifts were set a drift
Those gifts the Queen held dear

The Joker caught a bird in flight
And kept her captive for the night
He gave her such a fitful fright
Shattered by her earth bound plight
She flew away beyond his sight

Then midst the garden, fairies danced

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poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Thank You For The Drink

As you percolated through the sieves
With an impassive watchfulness -
A sentry intoxicated by distress
For a comrade's fluttering sense
I waved my wrist noncommittally
And dragged my panacea wistfully
Dispensing your endeavors futilely
For you, and the rest of my everybody
Is my artillery, my only affinity left
And I will not tarnish you with my disease
I shall keep you unstained and purged
From my awry and foible soliloquy

So fret not for my erratic smiles
For I will soon succumb to your lulls
And wrought not your fist to rubble
Staring daggers at my tormenters
Because my demons are selfishly mine
And my lugubrious suppurations
Will soon decay like everything

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poem by Norman Santos
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Late summer evening

Late summer evening, the sun went down in gore and stream
At orange dusk hue, the hot and feverish night succeeded
There was a windless calm, a dismal pause the succumb world greeted
The moon showed, the splendor of clearance, and deadlier gleam

Sitting on a porch under the night dark stark pall
Life weaken like the flame in a waning torch, a gripping stall
The moon climbed in sloth through the dilated orbit
Her ridged face scared, her surface uneven and morbid

My spirit grew fragile, weak and withdrawn; the ever mortality
Of all creatures of this amazing world, and adversity
Weighed heavily on me like unwilling, unwelcome sleep
Hovering like an ominous shadow; breathless feeling engraved inside me so deep

And each imagined spiritual pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship and religion tell me I must perish and die
Like a sick wounded sinking eagle plunging from the sky.
Yet this is a gentle luxury in me to sadden and to weep,

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poem by Isaac Ziv
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13: 00

Doors swung open with feigned eloquence
And eyes left ajar from daunted pretense
As time flew back towards the pleasant
Odyssey of your gentle goodnight
And the dark and piercing star-screams
Were heard guffawing and echoing
When the interpolating bliss ceased
With the last painted malady

The penumbra of the waxing moon
Incessantly stropped the brusque fringes
Of her stalemate blight, insinuatingly,
A pall of her emollient jet-black locks
Fell unto the fluorescence of her face
In the stillness of the windless sand
It whispered a riddance, droning,
That the ebbing water palmed
Into a turbid naivety: Good bye.

Your swimming eyes found a moor

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poem by Norman Santos
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In My Reflection, You Are Not A Stranger

I saw your face
caught in my reflection
bending backwards and
contorting past the
gaping hands of the sun
because another month
was caught suspended
in the silver latticing
of our eternal ties

I saw your hands
pull the bell rope
and rang the alarm
that disturbs the shadows
of the unforgiving unloved
that dislimns the pageantry
of our terse lacings
still gnarled on the blue veins
of my fingers and wrists
snapping without a sound

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poem by Norman Santos
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The Fire And Shadows Born

In the dark of the vesper perched
upon your slumbering eyes
together with the undulating songs of the wind
revered by the famished clocks
awaiting for a chance to slowly fade
from its constant sways of a surmised waltz;
I found the sibilant embers,
the erratic ignition of flames seethes,
and sputters like a fork of lightning
blazing from the lamentations while feigning
calm behind the obdurate clouds
and with every elusive instigation of
the fulminating light upon your immortal night
I descried what lies behind the persiennes -
Your childhood still and silent but
waiting for peace in agog quivering
running and shoving and marauding haplessly
through the turbulence of a fire and the angst of its smoke
to stand in the stare of the eye of it,
the very epicenter of the hailing tragedy.

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poem by Norman Santos
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Attack On The Ad-Man

This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.

This mind for hire, this mental prostitute
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.

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poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Ousted

In this madhouse world
Where the beacons are blind
And the canopies succumb
My eager sprouting vines
I tend to escape away
Engage in a subtle espionage
For the quintessence of life
Does not crawl in the skin
Of this moiré perfection that
Idealism vied to wrought
Under our noses and
Beneath our roof beams.

A tatterdemalion meanderer
Of agog sole and yearning,
A goaded and fragile arsenal
Of words and contours
Slurring in surreal slopes
To defy and to define
My voraciousness for hope

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poem by Norman Santos
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Critical Life

We live in a transparent world with covered eyes and visions veiled
Our self-respect and dignity sold for a job, our lives are sealed
Go to school for years so you can work the dayshift until your lunchtime meal
And when Mr. President comes around your already on the ground in a kneel

Drive from the big city, bustling with life to identical suburban homes
Gotta do this day in day out because your materialism put you on a loan
Say Hi to your neighbour, and hoping he feels jealous of what you own
Nothing ever changes for you, your much too afraid of what's unknown

Wife and kids and you think your living the good life, the American Dream
Running thoughts that make you confident against your shrinking self-esteem
Turn on the evening news and catch the six o'clock's depressing themes
Thinking everyone's got it bad cause their not in God's graceful gleam

Take a vacation, see the poverty run rampant, but enjoy the sunshine
Vote liberal gotta help everything, vote conservatives lifes always unkind

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poem by Piscine Kipling
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