abortion poem by h. e. hasben

by

You win.
I concede.
You say it’s murder.
You win.
I concede.
Make it illegal.
I’ll carry a sign.
It’s first degree murder
for the young lady
and
the doctor.
They conspired to kill this
person.
They planned a violent death
for this person,
together.
It’s first degree murder.
No less.
It’s the gas chamber,
no less.
We said it was a full human being.
We didn’t say it was a partial human being.
I would hope that, if
a young lady and a doctor
conspired to murder me,
you would deliver the proper justice
for first degree murder.
We do like justice so much.
Justice has been outsourced to profit
makers who need to show growth.
So first degree murder for the
young lady, her sister,
and her boyfriend who
drove her there.
Anything less than the gas chamber
devalues the
fetus to
something less than a full human
being and we
lose our initial argument that it’s a person.
It is often the wrong choice,
but it’s either choice
or first degree
murder.

***

All the Summer Nights poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Just a quest,
wasn’t it?
We were caught,
it seems,
in that painting which
captured the moment,
in that touch of the hand,
that kiss, yes surely in that
kiss.
The moonlight has become passe’
it seems.
Vanity.
All the summer nights were
there in the touch of
a tiny hand.
Oh the folly of destiny

***

Hummingbirds and Butterflies, poem by Joe Testa

by

I am poison.

Alcohol, turbulence, anxiety
and self doubt, burning my soul
for decades.

Taking life hard
and making it harder.

She is love.

Natural in beauty and peace,
her essence effortlessly defines
her life.

She is hummingbirds and
butterflies.

And she is a savior, thirty
years in the making.

My shell has been cracked and
her love has seeped in, allowing
for hope, happiness and inspiration.

Precious gifts so long overlooked.

The power of gentle beauty,
underestimated, is delicately expressed.

Hummingbirds and butterflies.

***

Cremation….poem from Joe Testa

by

Cremation is all that is left,
now, while I’m alive.

Enlightened flame stripping away flesh
and pretense, fear and doubt,
leaving only the essence, pure spirit.

A seed from which a true life can begin;
an existence pure in intent, raw,
reverently approaching
peace of mind.

Self help, mysticism, religion, reflection;
well intentioned and disappointing.
Decades passing through a maze of
false starts and beliefs questioned.

Rich irony in discovering that each
wrong turn adds another layer;
the seeking smothers the soul
in an attempt to reveal it.

My intentions are shattered and
the clock moves too fast.
Ignite the flame, an inferno
to rival confusion’s intensity.

Melt away all misconception;
introduce me to my soul

Hope Invades Poem by Joe Testa

by

Hope Invades by Joe Testa

Hope crept into my head

like an assassin,

slipping past walls a

lifetime in the making.

Taking root in barren ground

it began to work its magic;

delicately, subtlety, like pebble ripples

in a pond, nudging stubborn despair.

I understood the implication intuitively,

although the language was foreign to me.

Suddenly a clock was time bomb ticking,

challenging me towards fulfillment; better

than measuring wasted existence as it once had.

Uncertainty wrapped itself around the feeling

as new directions are always blind,

but there was no fear,

and I reveled in its absence.

Hope comforted me like a lover

and I gave in, offering naked trust in

return for the promise of a life

lived passionately.

***