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Welcome to Cafe Del Soul!
This is the place writers and artists can display their work for all the world to see.
Interested in submitting your work? Check out our submission guidelines.
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No Longer Strangers
By Gerald Bosacker - Contributing Poet
How calloused we pass with silent conceit
the stranger whose home is there on the street.
Do you wonder if some care we'd extend,
If somehow that bum resembled a friend.
Would we then pass absolved from his need
with logic that springs from self-centered greed.
We should pawn the face from loved one now dead
and place it by will on that pauper's head.
Loaned from one gone, their life we restore
by helping the wretch most choose to ignore.
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Cosmic Gag
By William Pleasant III - Contributing Poet
oh blank page
you tell me it goes on
could I fill you with letters for the words
to close the eye
to calm the shake
to answer why?
no? you don't feel like talking
what grim silence secures cogent remedy
I knew it was to be
dubiousness isn't this souls malady
call it hidden agenda
if only they could read the font
oh blank page
only you
could set the stage
this freedom is unafraid.
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Your Culture Is Bacteria
By Chris Stafford - Contributing Poet
stay busy, little bumble bee; pollinate
corrugated cardboard carnations
and coronate the emperor/pimp
with a plasma screen face,
heavenly cellular antenna
on his formica cranium,
and a candy-wrapper cape.
pay tithe to his styrofoam coffers;
he's the bland king of dreamland
with the things you need.
('though they crumble in your hands;
melt through your fingers like sand.)
welcome to the insipid and disposable
dust legacy of serial-numbered
stick figure pez dispenser people.
flotsam and jetsam in
contrived cookie-cutter life spans.
android heifer udder suck.
innard quivers. bowel shudders.
download porn while eating
unicorn steaks and cockatrice eggs
from a aluminum foil trough;
freeze dried, re-hydrated, and digitized
from your 'big box' chapel
with it's own area code.
enjoy the schizoid reality/fantasy box's
high-pitched cicada whine
with a big smile when channel 9
finally televises some one dying.
use the newest vanity cleaning fluid
on your stained toilet-bowl soul's
painful lack of humanity.
quality. cheap. bargain. value.
more. now. bigger. faster.
loathe. love. binge. purge.
the comfort/complacence switcheroo.
you are a vapid sit-com;
false and depthless
as the half-truths and slogans
of your corrupted value system.
... sing those jingle/hymns
while we all digest in some
horrible automated stomach.
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Suggestive Stimulus
By Ashutosh Ghildiyal - Contributing Poet
My lovable pal
Pesters me often
To write a poem on paper
The adorable gal
Persuades me often
To sing without a reason
Write I can, sing I can
Music and poetry
Bring together I can
Rhyme or no rhyme
Reason or no reason
Whichever be the season
I find myself ready
To oblige her already
With my mind active and my hand steady
To mount the poetic horse
Without changing the course
Ejecting yet another seed of creative force
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Art Feels Pain
By Joseph DeMarco - Contributing Poet
Art feels pain
Statues Cry
Tears of stone
Even in the rain
Granite hearts beat Heavy
Limestone egos can easily break
Beneath layers of Sandstone
Dolomite made a fatal mistake
He asked to be a sculpture
Not like his cousin Shale
And now he aches with hurt
From the lifting of the veil
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Within These Walls
By Ryan R Klubeck - Contributing Poet
Words burst forth from the pages of yore
To inundate the mind with their ancient lore
Open wide, gates of thought, to the impending flood
Of beauty and truth that we all adore
The pen moves wildly across the page,
Weaving its ideas through endless rage
Fearing loss, it scribbles every last thought
Moving about like a dancer onstage
But when met with powers of human perception
Those words do journey in infinite directions
And it can be plainly seen, through these tours,
That the destination is always ours
For we always tend towards that flashing beacon
That glows most prominently in our own minds
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Hommes Blancos
By Marc Carver - Contributing Poet
Years ago, I could not wait to leave women.
Slide out of a warm bed
and crawl, to a door, to freedom.
Run into a cold night.
I could not do it quick enough.
Even if I did not know where I was and had no money
I just had to get out..
Now I do anything to be close to them.
I grab and treasure smiles from young girls
as often as I can.
Holding them in my mind, until the memory fades,
And then I am looking for another.
Tonight,
I think that I will wear my white suit
and go and look for more,
more of those beautiful smiles.
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Gestalts in Contrast
By Neurosine - Contributing Poet
A more utter victim,
stabbed a million times,
in the heart and the head by your little slings and arrows,
stating plainly you would love me more,
standing still and shutting up.
I am examining these inscrutable thought crimes,
daring to question your integrity,
your rational and relative sanity,
yet expressing them honestly is nothing more than an insult to you.
You won't think about it anymore...
You cannot control the conversation.
The conversation is over.
Even though you asked me.
Here I am with a million things to say,
but walking away I simply state,
"Fuck you too."
You probably think I'm stupid.
Sometimes I am.
I do not have the facilities to face you and address your thousands of issues.
my own minions of demons to deal with.
I present them to you one at a time,
while you give me the whole regiment,
and use every one of them and all of their aspects of their plague to argue,
something I wasn't really talking about at all.
That's okay.
I love you and your frenetic mind.
That seemingly eclectic diatribe of thoughts,
backed up with so many emotions,
bought me to you.
I am here now.
But I only have a few of the answers.
And you ask me everything.
Am I insignificant?
So far it seems so.
Why do you adulate me?
Why do I adulate you?
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Tears
By Joseph Masanga - Contributing Poet
Tears in my eyes
Seeing time pass by
Thinking about the hard times
I just wish to find peace of mind
Because this life is worth living
If I only had the power to start believing
Then I could make my life better
And put all the pieces together
Tears in my eyes,
Because I have just realized,
How meaningless life can be,
When the soul is not free,
Tears in my eyes
Wishing to let them dry
I feel so lonely inside
Such an emotional feeling that I can't hide
My pain is too real to be concealed
The only way out is to let pain be revealed
I definitely need to stand up in order to feel strong
I just hope that the time for change won't be that long
Tears in my eyes,
Because I have just realized,
How meaningless life can be,
When the soul is not free,
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Brooks and Streams
By Michael David - Contributing Poet
On flowing brooks and running streams of crystal water, and boughs of trees that climb, where wandering rabbits hop to there, and burrow in their time.
Where cows do graze and sheep do roam, in yonder fields nearby, the farmers dog obeys the call, and listens to his cry.
Where horses trot and gallop too, and crows inquisitively fly, to land and peck among the fields, as other birds fly by.
Another day to browse at things, and ponder at the scene, and touch those boughs of trees and brooks, and farmers dogs so keen.
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