The Beauty | Mónika Tóth
the beauty
soon dawn will come
love, look at me
the beauty fills my heart
free poetry sites
When Shall It Be | Ubosic Chuks
When shall all wars end
I ask myself.
When shall harmony be the trend
Like a stack of books on a shelf.
When shall you write me a song
In the rhythm of peaceful co-existence
To show me that I also belong
To this brotherhood, in all essence.
I bear the semblance of an enemy
You take to thought,
You consider me not worth a penny
And thus treat me as naught.
I’m a son of mother earth
We all came together
So why constantly wish me death
Like I’m not your brother.
When shall all wars end
I ask myself
When shall harmony be the trend
Like a stack of books on a shelf.
We are one family
Let love be our watchword,
Let’s co-exist peacefully
All in one accord.
More at http://ubosicchuks.blogspot.com.
Language of the Xylophone | Donal Mahoney
If a man lives
with a woman
long enough
it doesn’t matter
what she says.
She can say anything
and she may,
barring chronic
laryngitis.
What matters is
the xylophone she plays
when she says it.
Tones can range
from dulcet to
cacophonous
depending on her goal.
Tones can tell him
if the sun
shines on him at
the moment or if
Hurricane Jane is
swirling toward him
from across the table
so every man
must learn
the language of
the xylophone.
But above all
every man
must never marry
any woman who
plays the tuba.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.
My Horrible Neighbor | Sarina Grant
My horrible neighbor
Does everything in his power
To make everyone’s
Life miserable
It’s like he wakes up every day
With the sole intention of
Doing something annoying
It shows in his face
There’s no joy there
Just a sad broken person
Being rude because
He doesn’t know
What else to do
A Different Era | Donal Mahoney
In the fourth grade
too many moons ago
a reassuring teacher
looked over my shoulder
and said not to worry about
some mistake on my paper.
She said that’s why
we have erasers.
Now a teacher assures
my grandson
in the same grade
not to worry
about his mistake.
She tells him that’s
why we have
a delete key.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com.
Emptiness | Ajise Vincent
I.
How could you?
who was suppose
to forefend me during climes perilous,
be the author of my woes
How could you…?
II.
You, my father,
stripped me bare
and ravaged my glory with hell’s claw
to satisfy your inane letch.
Wicked?
III.
Wirra! Like a corpse baptized
with swaying- dust,
I am drowning in depression,
for the demise of my virginity
is now a dirge to mourners.
Let me grieve….
Penny Pincher | Mary Bone
Sometimes the pennies that I pinch
Seem to groan and moan.
I guess I’m a tight old wench,
I cry when the money is all gone.