07-12-2011, 07:28 AM | #1096 |
The Dank Side of the Moon
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Crazy Casey Anthony
Where’s the little girl? Where’s the little girl? Where’s little Caylee? Where can she be? No one’s seen the two year old stories are made and changed. Searches look both high and low but not a sign is found. Where’s the little girl? Where’s the little girl? Where’s little Caylee? Where can she be? Cadaver dogs get a hit decomposition in the trunk they learn that Casey’s been away in the dancebar getting drunk. Arrested, incarcerated, losing precisely the thing she thought she’d gained. Where’s the little girl? Where’s the little girl? Where’s little Caylee? Where can she be? Water recedes six months later a meter reader finds her then beside the road just a half-mile away from grandma’s house. Where’s the little girl? Where’s the little girl? Where’s little Caylee? Where can she be? A crown of peace formed of seedlings grows in skull-matted hair. Duct tape threads remember a nose and mouth now gone. Small bones scattered by predators and their needs confirm that it is her. Where’s the little girl? Where’s the little girl? Where’s little Caylee? Where can she be? Kenny A. Chaffin – 6/12/11 (I'm still fighting with this one....) Last edited by kennyc; 07-12-2011 at 07:32 AM. |
07-12-2011, 08:01 AM | #1097 |
The Dank Side of the Moon
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Toxic
Toxic needs threads of evil posted not for good but for some selfish inner need to stir and blacken the pot Like snipers killing fuel pump patrons they threaten a community of love Kenny A. Chaffin – 7/12/11 |
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07-12-2011, 07:38 PM | #1098 |
Bah, humbug!
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07-12-2011, 07:40 PM | #1099 | |
Bah, humbug!
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07-12-2011, 08:10 PM | #1100 |
The Dank Side of the Moon
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Thanks tom
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07-19-2011, 08:00 AM | #1101 |
The Dank Side of the Moon
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Fate
The bones of the critics shall suffer the fate of the bones of the common poet. The words of the poet will live through time not suffering the critics fate. Kenny A. Chaffin – 7/19/11 |
08-05-2011, 05:46 AM | #1102 |
Chocolate Grasshopper ...
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Poppies
the power of red evokes memories of the dead in the poppies we see blazing in our fields, along roadside and hedgerows open wounds peeled a nations’ woes emblematic of war drenched mightily in gore. visions of battle brought viscerally home. blessed are those whose bones nourish the fields and that of the unknown, lives lost, revealed….. |
08-05-2011, 09:04 AM | #1103 |
Stephen_Melling
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08-08-2011, 12:59 AM | #1104 |
Pirosopher
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I can't resist...
Ode to a summer breeze Oh fair zephyr the summer sending muted tumble of a mountain freshet suffusing skin flush with sun. Western breath achill with promise of the gentle eve and diamond pearls as the tears of dawn to wet my feet. Unexpected breeze I lift my face arms aloft to drink thee down a respite from the angry sun. Rustling leaves hosana's praise seraphims' song amongst the trees hope for earthbound souls aflame. Whence come thee oh errant wind cross verdant plain and flowery meadow crystal lake and salt flecked sea. To bear thy precious cargo hence and thence away to leave a momentary comfort sigh, my ode to thee. |
08-08-2011, 04:02 AM | #1105 |
Stephen_Melling
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More a rhyme than a poem...
This Severed Isle
i Blackout the window and bar the front door Hide all the keys and stay on the floor Shut off the wireless and switch off the light Cover your ears with all of your might ii Cancel the milkman and sleep through the day Lie there in silence or do what they say Don’t drink the water and stick to the wine Whisper your name again time after time iii Through holes in the curtain seeps dawn’s torrid light Shrinking the shadow you grew in the night Gather in ranks and eat soup from one dish Repent that your heart bleeds another man’s wish |
09-04-2011, 11:31 AM | #1106 |
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Well I still have not finalized this one, but still am not happy with it either but since today is the anniversary (9/4/1957) I thought I'd mention it and re-post it in it's current form.
(posted previously about a year ago .. https://www.mobileread.com/forums/sho...&postcount=826) Nine Little Rocks Ernest, Gloria, Carlotta, Jefferson, Elizabeth, Thelma, Terrance, Minnijean, and Melba were the nine. Their narrow shoulders carried the weight of their race and the burden of history 1957 as they climbed Central High School’s concrete steps that pregnant day in September. The angry and violent crowd and its threats caused the nine to be brought swiftly into and through the school without stopping to the rear doors where they were whisked away the first day. The second day, less protest but neither an end. They were cursed at, spit upon tormented and taunted by other-skinned classmates and by the public at large. They must have had stone-like courage to return day after day enduring the torment doing the homework, again and again to a place despised and unwanted. But they did persevere those brave young souls for their race and humanity and into history they went. Ernest was first graduating complete others followed and more came along a rising tide from the days of evil toward the days of hope. Kenny A. Chaffin - 9/5/2011 For background see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Rock_Nine Last edited by kennyc; 09-05-2011 at 02:57 PM. |
09-05-2011, 02:58 PM | #1107 |
The Dank Side of the Moon
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Ganesha
I sometimes wish I had a nose like an elephant grey and wrinkled and long Then I could be on the stage of stages in a colorful Bollywood show I’d just sit there and now and then turn my head followed by my elephant nose And even when the crowd was watching the diva all blue and with her six arms I’d know the star was still me Kenny A. Chaffin - 9/5/2011 |
10-08-2011, 06:30 AM | #1108 |
Magic mushroom tester
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The joy of reading
Pick up a book when heavy are life’s burdens;
Follow a tale when your eyes no longer shine; If you believe that Life has lost all meaning Read a story where threads of a new world entwine: Its novelty will speak to you of Wonder – You’ll also find Peace, which through your heart will flow; And if you’re seeking patient Understanding Where else may it dwell but in a story’s glow? I have nothing of worldly fame or fortune, And I don’t hanker for triumphs such as these – But give me an hour or two and I’ll find heaven Reading a story quietly under the trees. There’s Laughter, I hear it rippling as I follow Its twists and its turns, its metaphors and mirth. Pick up a book, if Hope within is waning, And feel th’ Elation to which the tale gives birth. If, for a while, I lose my zest for living, If there are moments of which I dare not tell, I’ll pick up a book and there I’ll find my Courage Though Life may seem to approach the brink of Hell. There’s so much to find where stories are unfurling, With plot, characters and scenes as sharp as a knife; To read through a book is almost like journeying Into another world filled with newness of Life. Graham Coulson 8th October 2011 |
10-08-2011, 09:48 PM | #1109 |
PHD in Horribleness
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American Dream
Across the land of plenty With its amber waves of grain There are masquerading children Who disguise lives of pain Oh, little waifs of solomn mein Or listless countenance Tiptoe around the edge of life In wide-eyed vigilance Insomniac children sit awake Sleepless in the night Though they have no fear of darkness Nor affinity for light But they hide in wakeful multitudes From the truth that haunts their dreams That their childhood sky has fallen In a rain of tiny screams They are wounded refugees from life They've paid horrendous tolls They have perforated spirits And lacerated souls Those charged with their protection Were AWOL from their post The ones that should have nurtured Drove the blades that cut the most The cavalry's not coming There's no hero for their cause The family home is a family hell And there is no Santa Clause The lives they lead are fraught with hurt They stumble through the dance With each misstep they lose more hope And gain more despondence For the people of the towns Avert their gaze when they walk by (Prob'ly nothing happened God! I wish they wouldn't cry) Thus the children stagger on through life Some grow up though scarred and torn Too many falter on the way Alone, they die unmourned Now for the happy ending For the pithy moral quote I looked but couldn't find one So this was all I wrote ~ Edwin ~ |
10-17-2011, 05:23 AM | #1110 |
Magic mushroom tester
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To my little dog, Henry (a black Labrador)
O Henry boy, I find such joy
In watching you at play! You ask no more than I am there Beside you every day. One single word is all it takes, However sad you be, To set your tail a-wig-wagging In eager, dog-like glee! Sometimes, I raise an angry voice That wounds your doggie heart; For, true it is, I am to you A human, quite apart. And when my mood is over, then You run to lick my hand; O little dog, your faithfulness So few can understand. Although you feel I’m everything A doggie could desire, O little friend, how often YOU Have raised MY spirits higher! How often, as I’ve plodded home, So weary of life’s grief, Your shining eyes have told me that You see, in me, your chief. My step upon our driveway Can make you bounce and fuss; O little dog, how glad I am That you belong to us. For, truly, I have found in you A living proof, my boy, That Love, indeed, is all it takes To give a person joy! |
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