Missing | A Poem on Husband Passing by Joan Pond

Missin poem on Husband Passing

Missing

……….by Joan Pond

I wanted to write a poem
with such music and guitars, strumming.
I tried at the teeth of the sound
to draw up legions of noise.
I tried at the breakwater
to catch the star off each ship,
and at the closing of my hands
I looked for their homes;
I looked for their silences.
I found just one.

I look for uncomplicated hymns, now,
but love has none.

Knocked Out The Park!!! | Poem

Knocked Waaay Out The Park!!!

By: Author Renee’ Drummond-Brown

 

Don’t take her out to the ball game.

She wants not your peanuts nor crackerjacks. Surprise!

She remembers the very first strike! Then strike 2,

came. Her family and friends knew not just what to do! Strike 3. GRAND SLAM;

was hard as can be and she lost all sense of time and memory! God said

twas’ a home run! Cause when she awoke

she was standing in judgement of His Only Begotten Son.

 

Don’t take me out to no ball games!

And I surely don’t want no peanuts

nor crackerjacks, cause I care waaay too much, about getting back!

 

 

Dedicated to: Domestic Violence Awareness

 

 

A RocDeeRay Poem

 

Other books by Renee’ Drummond-Brown:

~T.T.T. Book #6 launching soon. WATCH FOR IT.
~A B.A.D. Poem
~The Power of the Pen
~SOLD: TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER
~Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs
And
~e-Book: Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight

 

No part of this poem may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author. All Rights Reserved@ October 26, 2017.

Follow ‘Da’ Yellow Brick Road (Oh My) | Poem

Follow ‘Da’ Yellow Brick Road (Oh My)

By: Author: Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown

 

Off to SEE a Wizard in Oz???
Hmm
Dorothy ‘wit’ friend’s like us
Who needs ‘luv’?

 

Friends
A state of mutual trust
Shared tween only us
What ‘kinda’ friends
Show
‘Dis’ love?
‘Wit’ friend’s like ‘deeze’
Again Dorothy
Who needs ‘luv’?

 

A lil’ bump on Ms. Dorothy’s head
‘An’ her
Storm clouds rise 
Her
strong winds they blow
She can’t withstand
Being thrown to and fro
So… 
She bails ship
From home
Yeah…
This kind of friend will leave you ‘fend’ in Kansas
ALL ALONE!!!

 

 

‘Da’ Scarecrow bums along
‘Freeloadin’ Freddie
Can’t stand on his own
You guessed right
Pick a straw
Short man out
Get him fired up 
Yep
Yep
Yep
Up, up, up 
‘An’ away…
He’s out!

 

 

Mr. Tin Man
Old man down
Rusty round ‘da’ edge
In ‘da’ club
Ol’ G’s
Known to thee
Corrupting minors
Game so weak 
But…
You ‘da’ man
You ‘da’ man
Scraping oil from cans
Go sit down
‘An’ leave ‘da’ ‘youngins’ stand
Young men SEE visions
Old men
Dream dreams
Come out ‘dem’ clubs
‘Wit’ kids
‘An’
ACT..
Like your eighty-three

 

 

King of the jungle
Hmm
‘Hidin’ behind a lil’ girl
Instigator
Yeah ‘dat’ be you
‘Talkin’ trash
WRITING checks your hind can’t cash
All ‘da’ while expecting
‘Evr’ybody’ to jump in
Your mess
While you snake
Slither
‘Outta’ it
Leaving your friends to bite ‘da’ dust
‘An’ another one down
But to you
No big deal; what’s the fuss?

*FOLLOWING*
‘Da’ Yellow Brick Road
‘Wit’ friends like ‘dis’
‘Da’ blind shall lead ‘da’ blind
‘An’
Ev’rybody falls in ‘dat’ ditch
‘An’ you know THIS
If it weren’t true
I wouldn’t’ve told you it

Friends
A state of mutual trust
Shared tween only us!!!
What kind of friends
Show
‘Dis’ love?
‘Wit’ friend’s like ‘deeze’
Who needs ‘luv’?

 

 

Dedicated to: 
Make new friends but keep ‘da’ ol’ ‘SUM’ are for keeps; the others NEED TO GO!

 

As an emerging artist, trying to establish a solid reputation as an author amongst my critics, I am asking for your support by *SHARING THIS POST* and *ORDERING* my hardback, soft back, and e-Book(s) online and/or on my Face Book Page.

(Authored: “Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs” and “SOLD: TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER”)

WATCH OUT!!!
FOR MY NEXT UP-COMING BOOK SOON!!!

 

No part of this poem may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author.
All Rights Reserved@ July 4, 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Great Minds INK Alike

 

Or so…

We’ve been told

We’ze beat to a comparable tune

More’s different than you’ll ever imagine

And/or

Can even know

DRUM-

MOMD

O’

Her peculiar ink rules

Poetic thoughts

Ev’r so

 

Oftentimes

We’re voices

For the unheard

Societal issues are our passion

Poetic injustices

Cries for children

Justice! Justice!

Cries out

Naw ‘dems’ just kids!

 

we carry

one’s load

worldviews

Cannon our pen’s

Pen pals decide

our fate

While

One’s INK

Re-loads

‘N’

thinks

My, my , my

THE POWER OF THE PEN

 

More similarities shared ‘tween’ us

Than had not

been foretold

if it weren’t true

THE POWER OF THE PEN

Wouldn’t INK ever so

 

 

 

Author: Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown

 

Dedicated to: Idenity…

Please support my write(s) by sharing this post and ordering my e-Book, Hardback and soft back books on Amazon, Barns and Noble and/or on my Face Book Page.

 

(Authored: “Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs” and “SOLD: TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER”. Note* each book ranked 5 stars!!!)

 

 

No part of this poem may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author.

All Rights Reserved@ August 24, 2016.

 

 

Destroyer Poem

Facebook
destroyer of creativity
maker of average
it is a grade school friend
saying
you can’t sing
a weeks work flows by in two seconds
into oblivion
life is dark enough
out here in
give up land
out here in try again city
we are all children coloring in our
books
enjoying the mud
it is not important if the dirt
on our hands is pure
it is only important that our hands are dirty
from work
fuck the likes
fuck the shares
good art can come from
not being
liked
It’s best to throw the rock
from outside the window
It’s better to scream alone in the forest
God cannot hear you in the
crowd.

Fukushima. 5 Poems by Mitch Grabois Featured at Artvilla.com

 
(i)
 
Fukushima
 
Radiation
browns the waters
like spilled cocoa
and creeps across the sea
 
Laying naked on Santa Monica Beach at 2 a.m.
I awake with a start
my tongue burning
the taste of marshmallows
twisting my stomach
 
I’ve taken so many mind-expanding drugs
I can sense what no one else can
 
Homeless, I have only my own life to save
I’ve got to run before my ears turn blue
before my dick falls off
and my descendants turn into
Elephant Men
 
I pull on my jeans and sweatshirt
and take off running
for Nova Scotia
 
(ii)
 
Worse
 
We’re getting worse, worse than the Goths
and Vandals who sacked Rome
and ate all the green and yellow parakeets in Egypt
worse than the Soviets
who ate the peach-faced love birds
 
There are benevolent Nazi women
on the dark side of the moon
with huge boobs
and faces frozen with Botox
preparing our annihilation
 
(iii)
 
Rooftop
 
She’s on a chaise lounge on her rooftop
in Brooklyn
in this Facebook post
 
She’s stretched out
her legs extended straight in front of her
Her body is very white
She’s wearing an awkward looking bathing suit top
or maybe it’s a kind of halter
It’s hard to tell from this angle
 
She’s taken a selfie of her body
There must have been some neck strain involved
Her body is like milk
I can’t see any tattoos
 
She’s lost all her mystery
I can no longer pretend that she’s satanic
I’ve heard she works for a woman’s magazine
something like Better Homes and Gardens
Do they still publish shit like that?
She’s on the roof with the Hispanic neighborhood
spread out below
She smells the good odor of the rotisserie chicken place
the glass all greasy
and all the Mexican beer and sodas
the Mexicans enjoying their swarthy selves
She thinks she’s getting tanned up there
on the roof
but she’s just getting burned
 
Her thighs are thick
I see that now
I don’t mind thick thighs
but I mind women who talk about
how thick theirs are
as if it would ameliorate some of the shame
if they talk about it
in a jocular way
But who the fuck cares if her thighs are a little chubby
after everything we’ve been through in this world?
Anyway, as Michael Ventura said, fat feels good in bed
 
(iv)
 
Cruel Mayan
 
The woman with the cruel face and large breasts
rests on the couch under the jaguar
her legs folded under her
 
and talks on a cell phone
the universal currency
of disengagement and contempt
 
The doors are ten feet tall
but she is only five
the same height as her ancestors
 
who died before they were forty
and whose foreheads were flat
and their eyes crossed
in beauty
 
This woman’s face is rich in cruelty
as if cruelty came in batches of
a million pixels
 
Her cell phone and blouse are lurid pink
her toenails are orange
She is a minor character in a detective novel
who hides a shiv in her ratted hair
 
She studies the screen of her cell phone
like a Sephardic rabbi studying the Torah
 
She studies it like a weatherman
studying swirls of radar
for deadly storms
 
like a mother staring
into her baby’s crib
for signs of polio
or sudden death syndrome
 
like the father of a juvenile delinquent
peering into his son’s face for proof of worth
or worthlessness
 
This woman’s face gets crueler
as I watch
until she forces me to orgasm
without touching me
 
then leaves me
to recover my sanity
and to clean myself
 
She goes back to the couch
back to uninterrupted staring
into her cell phone
 
like a Sicilian studying the face of a pizza
for signs of crime
or the dark, mottled face of his lover
for signs of betrayal
 
(v)
 
Ruler
 
The jaguar’s eyes burn red
His mouth is red and glows from within
I come and go
The world is full of phantasmas
and lost Americans
whose only salvation is death
 
but who pour agua purificado
from jug to jug
as if
their rituals of juggling clean water
will void damnation
 
The jaguar’s teeth are sharp as a shark’s
sharp as a moray eel’s
This peninsula was once a sea
 
The jaguar’s whiskers are bristly
as my uncle’s
who ran a clothing store in Queens
 
His face cut me
when he bent to kiss
I’d already learned that vampires
came from Rumania
and here he was
 
with his flat cap
and red eyes
 
Ruler of the ghetto
he cheated black men
who were afraid to buy their work clothes
from someone else
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad, including POETRY LIFE AND TIMES. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a Print Edition . To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Members Anthology Book 7


 
The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Members Anthology, book seven ©2018
 
Friends, poets,
 
Aquillrelle’s Anthology Wall7 is now released and published in both Ebook/PDF and Paper formats. It can be purchased on Lulu (and a couple of months from now also on Amazon, etc.).
 
Many thanks to the participants and to the supporters, it was hard yet gratifying work. Enjoy your (and your friends’) art!
 
The seventh wall. Some graffiti. Some works of art. Even some smudges included since they hold a message to be heard. Because this is the essence of every Aquillrelle wall – let everyone who values his/her word get a piece of the wall to themselves. You, the readers, are the beneficiaries. Read!
 
 

 
The poem included below is an excerpt from the above reviewed anthology
 
Elliptical Shift by Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
 
Meadows of wild flowers
sweet in an urban niche
framed by a hand of nostalgia
framed in an enclosure
 
for the price of pathos
riots of the human race
rampage across its space
in resistance, resentment
 
everywhere history obscures the view
 
an enigmatic phantom
it projects its rapacious plans onto tomorrow
McDonald’s signs, stewards of the planet, protein signifier
 
regularities merge into a wholeness
the news comes on, in a refrain of the same monotone
as if the world were made new again.
 
*
 
The darkest regions of the planet’s mind
the photon of a star in a formless moment
becomes an instance of a memory
as the desert invites the ripple
to a turbulence of refrain
a window frame constrains
its world view to all that follows on
 
as if it could choose between what’s real
what’s imaginary
 
such choices, shape our view
to the now, before an open future
 
*
 
sunset on the high street, traffic
vanishing into it like black dots
whizzing out of the blind, the zonk
plonk, disappearing into its shadow
 
dust of ages, its record
 
all the particles cascading
into the horizon’s viewpoint
all the bits, pieces in their parts
blowing on the horizon’s sunset
 
Time is not the shadow cast by the world
the world is the shadow cast by time

 
(excerpt from All the Babble of the Souk)
 
 
To order: http://www.lulu.com/shop/Aquillrelle/The Aquillrelle-Wall of Poetry Book Seven/paperback/
 
e-book: http://www.lulu.com/shop/Aquillrelle/The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Book Seven/ebook/
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

 

Janet Kuypers’ “Our Cultural Independence and Achieving Global Freedom” 7/1/17 poetry feature @ Austin’s the Baha’i Center

    Below are video links and poem text links from the July 1st 2017 (7/1/17, or 20170701) poetry performance “Our Cultural Independence and Achieving Global Freedom” (accompanied by Hotel Music “Amongst Hills” from the HA!Man of South Africa) of Janet Kuypers’ Austin poetry feature through ”Expressions Supports Cultural Independence!” at Austin’s the Bahá’í Center.

    In this show, Janet Kuypers decided to tackle different forms of freedom and independence, as highlighted in her first poem “fader, his mädchen and the Führer”), about giving rights to a Socialist (and rapidly becoming Fascist) government, read to her recorded music of playing an electric bass with a bow. The HA!Man of South Africa’s “amongst hills” then played foe the remainder of her show, when she then switched gears by talking about freedom from oppression and independence from sexism in “of independence or freedom”, before moving to new poems about independence from idolatry in “Xerostomia”. Her final longer poem then tackles searching for cultural and intellectual independence and respect in “Utopia never happened”.

    Before the show started she also released copies to people there of a Scars Publications cc&d bonus release chapbook of the writings she was performing in her show (in the order they were performed). All of the pieces from this evening’s reading were also released electronically in an online “Our Cultural Independence and Achieving Global Freedom” chapbook, which you can download as a PDF file for free any time.

Read the poems from the feature “Our Cultural Independence and Achieving Global Freedom”:
fader, his mädchen and the Führer”,
of independence or freedom”,
Xerostomia”,
and “Utopia never happened