steven cooke

steven cooke, 6 september 2013

A Fairy Story According To Jeremy Kyle

Her Life defined by the size
 of potatoes in a supermarket trolley.
She opens her battered purse
out of shape from the coppers of life,
viewed with despair from eyes
 embedded in the bags of time.
 
Self-esteem abandoned in discoloured trainers.
Her contaminated cheap cider mind
still clings to the fog of that special day,
when she gave herself to him.
 
The doll that came to life
In dreams that found a prince.
Sweet anticipation was the nectar of being
and forever had found immortality
in the quest for life.
 
But this flower was envied by the weeds
jealousy was rife amongst the onlookers.
 The detritus who once shared her life
now whisper their poison into her veins.
 
Jealousy is a lonely place for them
and hate cannot spell love.
For love is a need beyond the individual
and evil must walk alone.
 
She was s a bride of the damned
Immersed in a punk rock dream.
But dreams turned into nightmares
and she was spit on
by the culture which became her jail.
 
Anarchy came from the womb
obedience came from poverty
and know your place came from the hand she loved.
Silence was now her existence.
 
Daddy never told her
fairy tales have no god.
Her prince became a frog
a drone who hated is lot
and she became the witch that trapped him.
 
Made him the victim of Grimm's tales
Which cast him down the yellow brick road
of unbrushed teeth and brown.
 
Whose fists shattered the crystal ball
of happy ever after,
 to be baptized in the liquid sea of Stella
and pools of emerald vomit.
 
To bite this apple needs no witches poison.
Addiction is anonymous as a wave on the ocean
knowing that death will come when it reaches land,
knowing that this is the fate of all refugees
who abandons their lifejacket to oblivion.
 
We are all jumpers cleaning the windows of tomorrow
hoping to avoid the ledge of life.
 Though in our hearts there is a desire
 to step off into uncertainty
for we all crave that moment ,
when we are truly free.
 
Some will leave this life in anger
others will give their life to peace,
these are the survivors.
But the victims
The Jeremy Kyle’s entourage
will strip their soul one petal at a time
In the act of do not remember me.
 
We are all born into fairy tales
the dice of chaos decides the memory.
And for those who take the time,
take the time to see the artist at work,
will recognise the beings that walks past us every day.
 
The stranger who buys the small potatoes
With a purse full of coppers.
Spending what is left of their existence
In the supermarket that we call life.
 


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 6 september 2013

Wherein obscurely

On a road near a place called Hotazel
there were no trees,
just the flat openness of the great Karoo
and semi-acrid no stream
crossed that big open plain
and in this flat desolate piece of land
I saw a man on a bicycle pedalling on obscurely
right into the distance
engulfed by the shivering heat
looking like plates of water
and some crows with white breasts
flew past croaking
and it was just a white-hot sun
in a blue open sky.
 
[Reference: Karoo: “a semi-desert plateau region in southern South Africa.”]


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 6 september 2013

In the Highveld

Sometimes I visit in absence the Highveld
and in my thoughts
are jumping from rock to rock
where aloes flower orange,
where I smell the fragrances of the Proteas,
are walking in knee-high grass
and I am there in lingering moments.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 6 september 2013

Wind-swallows

Just before the rain they fly twittering
until the drops start to splatter
and they have got to flee to their nests
before bolts of thunder can obliterate them.


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Alicja Kuberska

Alicja Kuberska, 6 september 2013

Four stamps

Do notwake up 
the Horsemen of Apocalypse !

Four horsessnort,
hoovestap.
They are readyto gallop

War, death, hunger, plague
 are always together
 and rideside by side

Auschwitzwas not a dream
The demonsare born
in the dark sideof human nature

the lust for power
the glory of  wins
the greed
the fraudulentpropaganda
 
Do not break the steals


number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 september 2013

IN A TENT VILLAGE

you walk on wodden legs
a lump in breast, though benign
but kids are abducted from wombs;
a road map is spread on the dirty mat
for finding the missing link,
while a solid-fuel missile was ready
to be launched

scarlet lips for d'cor,
unwanted hairs on chin popping out,
archipelago of hawks in brain:
the vulnerable, tending their wounds, hiding
in tunnels of shame; I like black berries
in sleep, cannot listen my own voice,
have become blind for my own hands

dried stigmas of crocus will color my
obscene poverty orange-yellow, slum
rain, no place to sit, old memories are coming back
I am unstuck from a wheelchair


Satish Verma 


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peter haley

peter haley, 5 september 2013

my world

The world is dying from the inside out
Your hearing not listening at the whole world shout
The financial machine,marches on,no compassion
No affection for a planet ,money in any fashion
 
Destroying our hopes,bring forth our fears
Look to the real world,do you not see the tears
Show me a light ,a new understanding
Or is caring to costly or just to demanding
 
Your miles out of touch since your silverspoon birth
Your closer to mars than us here on earth
What,ve we gained from your life in high rank
When all your morals stop at the doors of the bank
 
The cries for help ,the plates getting leane
Destroying  green fields to feed the machine
Children starving in a nuke armed nation
They,le push the button out of frustration
 
Walls knocked down to join the divided
Solidarity in shipyards making freedom provided
Can you not learn from the blood and the fighting
It,s all on the wall,just look at the writing !!..............by me Haley


number of comments: 0 | rating: 5 | detail

Dulal Ali

Dulal Ali, 5 september 2013

Trust

The mocking laughter of the world.
'Go ahead,' they said, 'be a knave, play the fool,
Joke around and act oh so silly!'
'Do not then ask, oh jester,'
'Why do they never take me seriously?'


number of comments: 0 | rating: 6 | detail

Dulal Ali

Dulal Ali, 5 september 2013

Hope

Dreamgazer, stargazer,
Can man fly?
I run of the cliff
And try, oh try!
If birds can take flight,
Then why can't I?


number of comments: 0 | rating: 6 | detail

Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 5 september 2013

Poem: Untroubled Heart

Without faith, it’s impossible to please God.
And yet, He’s the rewarder of those who seek Him.
Know that Jehovah bequeathed His peace to us
and His perfect Love casts out unfounded fear.
Place your faith completely… in Christ Jesus.

We’re taught to give our burdens to Him,
which requires us to exercise genuine faith.
Despite our human imperfections, we’re covered…
with Christ’s righteousness and sacred armor.
Has your identity with Him, been discovered?

With purposed effort, develop divine virtue
and Godly character for true, spiritual growth.
Know that fear has an unholy component of torment,
which always remains in opposition to faith!
Stand in the gap, ready, steadfast and constant.

Be Holy Ghost filled, with your inner man renewed;
pray for strength and providential tenacity to endure.
Be in agreement with The Word; be humbly set apart.
Know that The Kingdom’s foundation is secure
and you will surely possess… an untroubled heart!


 
Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
John 6:29, 11:40, 14:27; 1 John 4:16-18;
Eze 22:30; Isa 6:8; Phil 1:28; Heb 11:1, 11:6;
Eph 3:16, 6:16; 2 Pet 1:5

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.


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