POETRY ONE

 

Most People Are Not Like Us

by Angela Snyder

 

i hate you
i love you
i hate you
i love you
you're fantastic
you're terrible
you're a man
you're a boy
you're a complete asshole
you're my dream come true
you rip me up
you complete me
i HATE you
god i love you SO much
leave me alone!
don't ever leave
I'm begging you to stay
I'm throwing you out
I hope you rot in hell
I want to be with you forever
I hope you get what you want
I hope it makes you miserable
I hope you succeed
I hope you fall flat on your face
I can't wait until you're out of my life
I can't bear the thought of you going away
you're perfect for me
you're destroying me
you suck
you suck me sooo good
I want you to fuck off
I want you to fuck me
I want to shit on you
I want to sit on you
I love you!
I hate you!
Your existence torments me
Your existence gives me hope
how can i ever love another?
how can i ever love you again?
I can't stop thinking about you
I know you can't stop thinking about me
I hope it drives you crazy.
I hope I don't go insane.
How could I hate you?
How could I love you?
How could you betray me?
How could I get back at you?
How can I stop this??!!
How can I find peace?
I trusted you and you weren't worthy of it
I trusted you and you were worth it
most people are not like us
this happens every day
we belong together
i hope i never see you again
don't contact me
keep my email address
shove your money up your ass
don't forget the check each week
don't leave me hanging
dont leave me
FUCK YOU
FUCK ME
Fuck!
Damn, you'll probably never even read this.
have a nice life

 

POETRY TWO

 

The Wolves Within

Author Unknown

 

An old Grandfather, whose grandson came to him with

anger at a schoolmate who had done him an injustice,

said, "Let me tell you a story. I too, at times, have

felt a great hate for those that have taken so much,

with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you

down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking

poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have

struggled with these feelings many times."

 

He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside

me; one is good and does no harm. He lives in

harmony with all around him and does not take offense

when no offense was intended. He will only fight when

it is right to do so, and in the right way."

 

"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The

littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He

fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He

cannot think because his anger and hate are so

great. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside

me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit."

 

The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes

and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?"

The Grandfather solemnly said, "The one I feed."

 

 

POETRY THREE

 

Way More Than Adequate

by Jacques B. Nichols © 2000

 

There is a place where the soul travels
It is where a marriage has taken place
Vows were spoken there that cannot be broken.

No amount of external pressure can break the vows
A vow made not to another, but to thy self
The vow is to know thy own truth, not maybe another’s.

On the outside all manner of effort and compromises
Can take over the stage and the play goes on, though badly
It is shameful, despicable when this is allowed to happen.

Safety remains so long as the internal vows are not broken.
And what are those ‘to thy self be true’ vows?
They are to hold oneself free so that you can give up freedom.

When the ONLY ONE finally enters your life
And the freedom that you are giving up is the soul’s choice
When will my soul be willing to give up its freedom?

When will your soul be willing to give up its freedom?
Do you know what ‘giving up’ means?
It means that expecting perfection in another is out.

All the tenderness, the wets exchanged, all the closeness
While wonderful and sweet, cannot be mistaken
For the choice to give up one’s freedom.

 

How will we know whether we are at that place in our hearts?
Are we now ready to give up our personal freedoms?
In exchange for each other’s promise to only speak the truth.

 

And what is that sacred ritual that matters so much
That is tests our very souls?
It is ‘TRUTH’ spelled ‘TRUST.’

Give me one kind of trust, the one that is not blind
Nor is it prying, spying and imagining
It is trust wrapped in love, where imperfection is OK.

Ok it is, because as a poem my parents loved said:
“We may love a bit, and scrap a bit, and chum a bit,
we two, but in all the world, there is no one else but you.”

(Name)___________________, love me, trust me be true to me.

I, (Name)________________ will love you, trust you and be true to you.

Give to each of us our freedom to be imperfect.

Allow the passage of time to be the final measure

Of whether my soul has made new vows just for you

And the Heavens will one day welcome us hand in hand.

 

 

POETRY FOUR

by Lalla

 

Playfully, you hid from me.

All day I looked.

Then I discovered,

I was you,

and the celebration

of that began.

 

 

POETRY FIVE

 

The Last Word

by Glenn Murray

 

Two brothers

Two others

Live three blocks apart

In two different (ha!) worlds

One who thinks he's different from his brother

And one who thinks he's different from his brother

 

Two peas at odds

Something happened fifteen years ago

And they haven't talked since

Haven't spoken

Agreed

Argued

Endured

Or shared the same sidewalk

Who remembers why?

Who knows or cares?

It's the principle of the thing!

 

One day the argument ends

There is no meeting

No resolution

No settlement or forgiving

No peace of mind

There is cancer

And there is death

There is one brother who won't go to the funeral

And one who isn't there by choice

 

But now there really is one brother who is

Different from the other --

Dead

And one who has to live with

Never being able to say I told you so

POETRY SIX

On the Nature of Human Compassion

by Alden Nowlan (1933-1983)

 

I said to a herring gull with a broken wing:

Bird, I am sad for you.

If I could make you trust me

I’d take you up in my hands,

carry you back to the city

and hire a veterinarian to heal you.

Or if my stomach were stronger

I’d use a stone or a club of driftwood

to shorten your death.

And the herring gull answered:

Man, you are not sad for me,

but for yourself, so great an egotist

you can put on the body of a bird

or play Mephistopheles to a housefly,

what you call your compassion

the conceit that all living things are

Alden Nowlan in disguise.

 

(From: The Mysterious Naked Man, Clarke-Irwin, Toronto, 1969.) submitted by Glenn Murray

POETRY SEVEN

Author anonymous

Emotional pain scars your heart

Pluto wounds the deepest 

Tattoo that scar like an antidote

Transform into that Phoenix

The scars won't go

They are there for life

Transformed, they are your gift

Tattoo that scar, remind yourself

Of when you cast that pain adrift

POETRY EIGHT
A New Light on the Road

by Merlin Hampton

 

I believe that love is everything

said about it in I Corinthians 13.

And, I also believe that love

is the following:

 

Love does not sanction inferiority,

and it does not acquiesce to errancy.

However, it is full of enthusiasm for others,

and it sees beauty in everyone.

 

Love does not always obey the rules,

nor does it demand perfection.

Love rejoices in pleasure,

but does not run away from pain.

 

Love seeks its fulfillment

but it also seeks to do no harm.

Love is not only radiance,

it is also the pull of gravity.

 

And it is the tension between

these two opposing forces—

which also complement each other,

that perpetuates all of existence.

 

POETRY NINE
Your Shadow

by Brendon Downes


Your Shadow is close, in your flesh, in your bones.

Under bed, in words said, in warped thoughts, in your head.
In your friends, in your job, in your strangest of moods.

Look around, deep inside, everywhere hes imbued.
Dont look in the dark, the twisted and black,

search in the light, nay, hes closer than that.
When you think he is gone, thats when hes nearest infact,

he’s pulling your strings and laughing at that.
If you can feel a dark presence, an impending doom,

what you have witnessed, is your Shadow in the room'.

POETRY TEN
You are a Dancer

by Terri Vernon

Face your worst monster,
it won't go away until you do.

Confront your demons,
they demand a good fight.

Turn toward your shadow,
and reclaim your discarded parts.

You are a warrior,
like it or not.

Your monster, demons and shadow
are your secret, sacred allies.

The battlefield, a dance floor
You are a dancer,
like it or not.





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