#23

i’m #23 on the list
sitting in a room filled with a curious vibe…
an eclectic group consisting of the types of men that normal women run away from
it’s a creepy crowd of various hues
awaiting the stage
among this malevolent bunch
some of them smell real bad
but everyone has something to say
their words are fire
their songs are heaven
and i’m #23 on the list
at this open mic…
where only the hour hand on the clock
moves

Day #8

Ocean Queen
finding her place in the sun
sitting on her throne in the sand…
relaxing on the shore
unafraid of the high tide
she casts her prayers on the waters...
and returns to her place of reign
awaiting God’s answers.

the night the dance died

the night the dance died

bruised feet stepping lightly over paved floors

cold tiles sending spine tingling waves of electricity through the body

keeping the beat to the rhythm of the melody

high praise with extended limbs and fallen arches on releve

toes tagged on the slab of betrayal...

the night the dance died

mingling words of half-truth and untruth

roots of bitterness weaving their way between the threads of the soul

unknown entities telling stories entitled with sorrow...

the night the dance died

whispering in the dark

falling in line in broken patterns

one by one

two by two

stifled in its breath and unable to rise..

the night the dance died

no more songs of joy

only a colorful façade lights the way

before the last stanza repeats

dreaming of itself and imagining

the journey beyond...

the night the dance died

© 2012 PoetryofMotion!

All Rights Reserved

Day #7

Awakening
on the eve of something better…
an old thing always passes away
as we cry and grieve what was
bury the dead
and scatter the ashes
we come to realize that what we really miss
was what we only thought we had
and bask in the memories of an illusion
filled with created imagery
and crafted lunacy
finally reality sheds light
and we see the truth about ourselves and others
and learn that we deserve more.
selah…

(c) 2012 PoetryofMotion!
All Rights Reserved

my last...

my last…
never knowing when or why
surrounded by an adoring public who can’t see past my outer core
covering inner wounds with bottles stacked high
kept in dark places...

hidden in cabinets
unknown to one another just to keep the high going
or to make the pain go away
whichever comes first as needed
i sing because i’m happy
and because i’m not…
for those who love me for my gift and not for who I am...
i exhale

whitney r.i.p.

love poem # 3

i left a poem on your doorstep

wrapped in newspaper and tied with rough string

hoping you would read between the thoughts and see into my soul before throwing it away

or perhaps recycling the thoughts

mixed with compost and old coffee grounds to make the flowers grow.

i left a poem on your doorstep

filled with honesty about the joys of love that could never be

only imaginary fantasies between you and me

from my heart into your hands

created by my ink on colored paper

rainbow wishes floating above the clouds

freely giving and receiving

until forever

i left a poem on your doorstep

and waited

silently wondering what you would do

if you knew it was from me

just for you…

just a poem...

on your doorstep

hypocrites

rubbing salt in the wounds of  bleeding hearts

laws enforced at our convenience

we are the self-righteous ones who moralize and demonize

acts of desperation

never to once offer a ray of hope

a word of guidance

or an investment in a weaker one’s future

our prideful arrogance fuels the fires of indifference

as iniquity locks the doors to freedom

living in the twilight zone of a terrorist mindset

neo-nazi syndrome

what will happen when the pendulum swings back

the light is turned on

our sins are written in the sand

and we walk away

with rocks still poised to throw the first stone

our poison tongues ready to paralyze the latest prey

we salivate like rabid dogs

waiting for the opportunity to strike at our next meal

when will we learn

to choose mercy over judgment

life over madness

dreams over despair

hearts are bleeding

but who will see

who will stop the issue

the hemorrhage

the death

from within...