Poems Not Written By Me...

Here is a post devoted to work by other poets.. These are some poems that I like..

Party Crasher
- weaver

Knees knock.
I walk across a cobblestone square and
enter the side gate. There is false confidence
in the tilt of my chin. My fingers play
with the latch a fraction too long.
Only the fringe below the knee
shivers to betray.

A distance, an eternity, a second?
Another square of stone and ivy –
voices, laughter, mimicking fountains
a violinist at the table next, proffering a rose.
And here I am – uninvited – in your mind’s eye
the dapple of sunlight through a canopy of trees,
or the soft moss between a cobble,
a marigold nestled on your side plate.

Unsteady, I walk like a newborn colt that has
just found its legs, the world tilts you toward me.
I have arrived like the girl in a Bogart movie,
my fingers twist cloth at the table edge
and I wish to God I could take your order, but I’m
no waitress - my tongue tied into a knot of
cherry stems.

Your eyes full of quiet surprise,
the motion of your wrist mimics a maestro
taken aback by a sudden change in tempo,
motions me to sit. Symphonic composition
dissolves into the chaos of jazz,
chill of wrought iron against thigh,
dry reed against moist lips.
And even though I don’t, I do. I know every
language for a single word although
neither one will say it. Our knees touch.
Only a shiver at the table hem betrays.



Wait
- Cyn

Beads slowly roll, fall
from the tumbler, the cracked cubes
prismatic in the afternoon sun.

And I am motionless,
the glass to my lips,
mid-poise.

Minnows waltz about my feet
in careful choreography
and I wait.

Waiting's what I’m good at.

I imagine myself the mink,
or that I am Great and Blue
and patient and true and you
will come to me.

Come to me.

Let me show you all I know:
how the skin shines with a touch,
spittle glistens on a lip,

how fingers form a perfect fit
in the hollow of a back,
when night eclipses noon.

Come to me.

Make me believe
the loon has cried
for me, forlorn,

dark form in the night.
I am undone by the sun.
I wait.

Come.



Apple
- Priscilla Barton

I watched
you eat
an apple.

You rinsed it
under water,

and dried it
with a paper
towel.

You took a knife
and peeled it,

then cut it
into quarters.

You ate
the pieces
slowly,

then tidied up
your mess.

In those
moments
while
you ate,

I stopped
loving you.



Lazarus

- pseudonym

This respirator hums unselfish
vacuum of God, a plastic gill.

----I am no lung no longer,
----I am collapsed zip-lock bag
----once full of hallucinations,
----I am body flat bed sheets laying,

my graves clothes hang:
nothing to feed the fireplace,
a violent turn on the ceiling fan
the door blows open,
new nakedness blackness.

There are children in my head,
thousands, millions, rattling
the light switch, my eyes, the blinds
eyelids alternating:

----I am dead [alive] dead -

----I now breathe as Adam first,
----I am Lazarus second –
----I am pumped new blood air life,
----I am not what I breathed in,
----not what I coughed up,
----not what I lift up,
----not what I remember,

as I am pulled out breath, to come out
and take off these grave clothes.



Would You Notice
- MadameXcfo

Would you notice

If she fell off the edge
of this flat earth

(thomas crying in the corner)

falling forever in the eternal

tumbling like clothes in a dryer
over and over in the black
darkness.

S
_I
_fD
__fE
ways:

Bloody and sticky and covered in
a mask across the face and arms, and the mouth
moving in a silent

(no sound in space)

scream that she never meant it and does need
saving, but

not
_ffby
___fyou.



In Addition to Sugar and Spice
- Kraydel

Baby's breath hair
And razorblade lips
Bottomless eyes
And hourglass hips
Needlepoint fingers
And sandpaper skin
Heroin heart
And candycane sin
Megaphone whispers
And LSD ears
Beautiful lies
And all of my fears

Smiles and Secrets

Lock it away
footsteps are coming
close the door, don't
let them see.

That is my secret room
where I do secret things.
I keep secrets from you.

When I hear your footsteps down the hall,
I close my dirty windows and shut the dirty door
and stuff my secret room in my pocket,
pretending you can't see the bulge in my coat.

I smile sweetly,
and you smile back.
I think I've gotten away,
but you know.

You know my secrets,
what I do in my secret room,
all tucked away in my coat,
dirty and mean.

I hate my secret room,
my secret doings.
And I hate hiding from you,
though you see me all the time.

And I hate how my secret room holds me,
taunts me,
hurts me.

It tempts me to come back in,
and then mocks me for succumbing.
It tells me I will never deserve your sweet smile

and I believe it.

So I cower in my secret room,
crying,
secretly continuing my doings,
secretly wanting to be rescued.

Pray for Me

Day I

I feel like Isaac
led, unknowing, to the slaughter
happily content to carry the wood
until realization ties my hands and feet
and sets me upon the altar.

"Only for a while"
is what she said.
I am stunned.
I am calm, emotionless
(on the outside)
beneath my unmoving facade,
I tremble
and cry
and scream
and hide.

Soon, I don't know how,
I am walking,
the cool grass brushing my feet,
dew still cold
(or are those my tears?)

I am Sorrow

but I am proud.
I am bitter,
but I am supportive.
I am confused,
but all is clear.





And I am alone.





Nowhere, no one,
to run to.
Not even her,
not anymore.

But it is the right thing.
My heart says no.

The warriors of legend:
Mind and Heart,
gladiators in the tumultuous arena
underneath my soundproof exterior.

Suck it up
__Just let it go
Hold on. Stand up.
__Cower, run, scream.
She needs your support, don't give up now.
__"...for a while."?!
You can handle this
__but you never thought this would happen

(Please God, give me strength)

And so I sit in silence.



Day II

Nowhere, no one,
to run to.
Not even her,
not anymore.

Run to me.
He calls,
but I'd rather sulk alone.

Run to me.
My tears ignore His voice.

Hands wipe away the salty moistness.
Her hands? No.
Softer, smoother.

Warmer.

Run to me.



Day III

Run to me.
And so I did.
You said Follow.
And so I listened.
I listened and was lead,
to where I'm not sure.

I'm still not sure,
but yet I still follow.
Follow and pray.
Follow and pray.

Listen.
I strain my ears
but barely hear a whisper.

Listen.
I'm trying!
I really am...





...but still nothing.





Listen.
And I understand,
if only a little.
Submission is dangerous for my ego.
It may yet be a long process.
Follow and pray.
Follow and pray.

And I Will Hold Your Hand

Love. Live. Grow.
The plants' calls are silently vociferous.
Loud expressions of life
shouting with color and scent
and quietly purring from rich earth--

but the sky is less conspicuous:
The pink haze bleaches the black above,
and the brightest stars are the loneliest,
pining for their lost loved ones.
Lost in the lights from the nearby roads.

I wish we could sit content
like the pair of oranges on that tree,
safe with the knowledge they are together--

But I am a bright star,
one of the brightest through that desaturated space.
Looking for my lost
and wondering if you can see me
through the other end of the haze.

Together, we are the brightest stars
but are in different skies.
To be seen and charted
by different philosophers
and named in separate tongues.

Perhaps one day soon,
our very own Babel will be built,
and we will speak together
in the same tongue.
And I will hold your hand.

Sitting in the Last Row on Sunday Morning

ah, the last row
where distraction is frequent
and wandering thoughts are dearest friends
while preachingpointingspitting
goes red with effort
but all i see is that man
with the toupee and smile
at the thought of fishing it away

Observations on the I-10

State Prison
Next Right

Do Not
Pick Up
Hitchhikers

Playing with a Ball of Yarn

We sat in the kitchen
waiting for the next move.
You ate your french vanilla with a spoon
musing over me.
One thought played over in my mind--
You knew.
I nervously bit my lip,
you just smirked and continued spooning
toying with the idea in your head.

We moved like kittens
playful/aggressive, passive/bored.
You were the latter.

You knew what I wanted.
You faltered only once,
leading me to the couch
but promptly corrected the mistake--
the television began to drone.

Our game wouldn't stop itself
and you didn't feel like toying anymore.
I still wanted you,
you wanted time--
letting it happen wasn't the same as wanting it
so lips brushed forehead
shoes found their owners
a car sought the interstate.

How to Write Bad Poetry

First, include weird
line br
eaks.

Add in strange!.gramm?ar
and pun(tuatio)N~

Go off on an unrelated tangent.
Unrelated, like the beaver
is to the daffodil,
and yet they still seem to whisper
secrets---

---and then jump back.

Use bigger words than is necessary,
but don't you dare use them vociferously!
Only a fool and a hypocrite
would be naive enough to use
the word "ubiquitous"
in conjunction with a beaver!

And last, but not least,
use cliches.

Art Gallery

Shout it from the midst of crowds.
I would.
But a cupped hand to an ear
may be more conspicuous.
Whatever your choice,
----------------choose your poison

The familiar blood rush
with a new touch of adrenaline.
Was it the way her hair curled?
An explosion of amber,
peaking with a sparkle in her eye.

My dead give-aways,
canvassed over with lids,
blank and ready for the masterwork of my memories,
unfolding and running over each other.
Bubbling brooks of smiles and laughs,
whispering like trees with their secrets.

Critical Poetry

Which to listen to
and who to leave,
that
is the joy of poetry.

whatislove?

at first sight
chemical imbalance
thought
desire
lust
sex
fate
emotion
heart
necessary
poetry

==========
*a different version


at first sight,
just a chemical imbalance.
mind thoughts, stop thinking.

desire
lust
sex.

fate can't be stopped.

emotion,
hearthurts.

necessary
for
poetry.

The Kingdom Under the Bush

Five years have passed
and still our children are dying.
My own children spend all night
counting the three hundred billion
Caesar threw with the hopes of appeasing the mighty Mars--

a retaliation that reaches
to a small village in the Philippines
where a straw hut smolders
and a woman cries (over her limp child)
to Allah,
"Why?"

--the sand and sun beat
on those men and women,
worker ants, fulfilling statistical analyses,
remembered only when they are gone,
------------and only by their mothers--

a young man with dreams of reaching captain,
Nathan Perry, caught it a crossfire,
the only one of his group to walk away.
No purple heart for him today

--but Caesar snorts
and signs away more billions,
more for my children to count
with their papercut and raw fingers,
while our old receive less and less every month
and the ants march on
to the tune of a silent scream
from an unborn child.

The 'most prosperous of nations'
writhes in pain
from a thousand overlooked issues,
instead looking over its borders
in the hopes of fixing others' problems.
With millions on the streets
and too many going hungry,

Caesar ignores his kingdom,
leaving his smile on a blue screen and his mind in a desert
while rats and disease rampage the streets,
and the ants march on.

Everybody is a Critic

"I don't like that part,
you should scrap it and start over."
But perhaps it is you,
oh wonderfully wise,
that is the scrap.

However should I,
self-proclaimed-poetwriterauthorartisthumanbeing-extraordinaire,
ever decide what to listen to and who to leave?

"But that use of the conjugated verb is incorrect."
But that, my ever-so-intelligent friend,
is the joy of poetry.

One-Way Conversation

"You sound so sad
and empty.
Is that how you feel?"
not always,
not when I'm with you.
"Are you suicidal or something?
It hurts me to hear you like this."
then why don't you show it?

A Couple Leaped From the South Tower

…and they held hands.
Some flame through the sky
while little Jake asks his teacher
why the birds are on fire.
Lucifer sneers
and folds into the smoke.
More somersault to meet the ground.
One man counts fourteen
and then stops.
Pink mist hangs over Liberty Street.

Out of instinct, they reached for each other...

Blacking out
in the fall,
the simple warm touch,
and the two running jumps
out the jagged window,
arms outstretched to embrace the world.


================================
*in memory of those who lost their lives on 9/11

The Flu

Fantastical plasmic junk
flowing from my face.
Freaky fecal fluid
flaming away inside me.
Four hundred and two fever,
frightful fits of chill.
Forever faking sick,
until this fateful day.
Faking would be nice,
but in bed I'll stay.

Notes on My Other Self

I am the Thor of waves,
pounding at your shore,
stealing you away,
grain and loam.

I am the raven of misery
-- no, a flock of ravens --
pecking the straw
from your brainless body.

I am the monster
behind your headboard,
the ubiquitous shroud
of guilt and alone.

I am the one that screams
"You're ugly!"
from the mirror,
throwing shame
as you sob your way home.

As I Scream

A rework of an older poem..


As I Scream
- Andrew Williams

Dumb and wet,
my anguish pours
and drops onto the ground.
No one notices,
thank God.

Deep breaths echo
like the roar
of a leveled forest.

Flash of a smile,
fading now--
like the moistness on my cheeks.

I don't want to believe.
I am alone
in a hazy black/blue.
Fall forever, freeze,
as I scream.

===================
*original


Silent tears pour
and drop onto the ground.
Almost unnoticed,
but seen by me.

Deep breaths echo

Memory of a smile,
fading now--
like the wetness on my cheeks.

My heart doesn't believe.
Reality sets in.
Time stops, freeze,
as I scream.

Leave No Evidence (Except Me)

Tear the East
from West,
rip them apart,
no way - not even
a tesseract - back.

Hide your right
from your left
not to mention your wrong.
Spill the ink
to cover the blood.

Fill your mouth
with smiles
and your pockets
with love
in case of emergency.

Decent thoughts
bullied by deceit,
kicked in the pants,
- you always did
play dirty - hard.

Think you're safe,
stay secure.
North and South
won't tell on you,
but I just might.

Talons

It's bad enough
to place the bird in the cage,
but the cage gets smaller
every day.

The man with ten talents
receives ten more (plus one),
but what happens
when the talents are too much,
and he returns,
wishing he'd buried them?

His wings are clipped
and he is left
wondering why the cage bars
keep getting closer.

Her Father Beats(Hurts.Loves)Her

yet the bruises
go deeper than skin.

tears

and then I cry(gasp.pain),
big heartsobs.

insecurity

it never ends,
she listens to him too much.

yells

but then all is quiet.
is it safe to come out?(quick.check)

screams

or are those in my head?
no one will know.
no one ever knows.(ever)



==================
*original


Her father beats her;
no bruises show,
only tears.

Insecurity never ends.

Yelling,
Screaming,
Crying,
Laughs.

He shows love in odd ways.

Noone knows of this pain
except me,
because I hear what he calls her.

Don't Treat Me, I'm to Blame

Hold head in hands,
world falling down.
Invert the skyscrapers,
all my fault.
Sprout white wings
to escape it all.
Stay away from water
for fear of hungry trout.

Palette of Emotion

This is a new series I have come up with.. I want it to show different emotions linked with certain colors..

Envy
- Andrew Williams

Paint the town green with me,
with envy --

but when the paint on your hand
gives you away, your screams
won't get any saving.

No, shave your head bare
and sew your mouth shut,
leave only your eyes blinking

madly.

Thrown in your cell,
stay away from the walls --

"Wet paint"
spelled in green.

All Fair in War

It wasn't fair,
you chose to leave.
You chose
"I'll miss you"
while I cried.
You chose so far away from me.
The postcard's happiness
only a lie.

The Infinite Possibilities of the Space Between Good and Bye

It is just a faint breath,
an almost imperceptible pause,
but it is, without a doubt, there.
You can't ignore it's existence,
nor can you pretend
you didn't hear it.

It has so much potential,
don't condemn it to the fate
that so many do.
Give me a chance.
Maybe, throw in an
"I love you."

Daydreaming at Night

Perspectives change from when you are young.
Grandpa is big; I am small.

White hair means old,
Brown hair means family.

Bicycles are frightening,
Basketball is fun.

Mommy gets kisses,
Gramma gets hugs.

I awake from my thoughts as a little girl's voice
calls "Daddy?" from upstairs.

On Growing Old

I don't want to grow old.
I'm too young now to die.
Old and gray and wrinkled and slow.
Some say it's all a lie.

You are wise they say.
Ripened and whole.
You can fill an entire day
With one single stroll.

But nay, I say.
I'd rather live.
Live to see my children play,
and run, and give.

I don't want to grow old.
I'm too young now to die.
Wise and kind and laughing and whole,
Waiting for the Good Lord to close my eyes.

Blind Man's World

Breathe in.
Freshly cut grass
and coffee.
Must be morning.

Reach out.
Carved ivory handle
and birch.
Crooked floor.

Listen well.
Singing floats in
with sizzling bacon.
Now to tackle the stairs.

Nightmarish

Nightmarish
- Andrew Williams

Tumbling
D
_O
__W
__f_N
into nothing(dark)ness.

Reaching out,
hands torn
by rocky paths.

Falling,
could be flying--

(perhaps floating)

Hit your pillow,
sit straight,
"Go back to sleep."