Powers and Secrets
By Cara Vitadamo - Contributing Poet

You with your curvaceous curves
And Bleach, Blond hair
Sitting there with all your goodies on display
You may have all the jocks
And tanned surfers at your feet
With all their eyes stuck on you

But then all ears hear me coming
With my soft steps
One by one they turn to see my approach
Mystified by my mysteries
Fascinated by my fantasies
Wondering what secrets my mind holds

You act as if you're shocked
Wondering what I have on display
But you see it's in the secrets I have
The intelligence behind my eyes
For you know, I am a different kind of girl
And I've got power too

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Hummer, Hummer, Burning Bright!
By Bob Murken - Contributing Poet

Squat and ugly blood-red Hummer
bearing down on me,
that rack of lights above your cab,
can they be for spotting me?

Brother to the helicopter
gunship and the tank,
you're hogging your lane, hogging mine.
Could it be you're pulling rank?

And perched up there, controlling all,
is tiny woman on a phone;
except for bag of groceries,
she's riding all alone.

Her passing blots horizons,
buffets with a wall of air,
and treats me to a view of
Humvee's homely derriere.

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Exhale
By Dawnell Harrison - Contributing Poet

We are all
Waiting for

That next
Great moment

In time where
The sparrows

Stop momentarily,
Leaving their mark

On your life.
You exhale

Knowing that
The moment is

Embedded forever
On your soul

Like an embossed
Stamp that you

Place
On the back

Of an envelope
For decoration.

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Starry-eyed Child
By Brian Looney - Contributing Poet

Starry-eyed child,
Gazing dreamily,
A bridge of time beneath your feet.

Little future,
Gushing full,
Spreading onto land.

Dazed grower,
Admiring openly,
Fields grown flush and full.

Starry-eyed child,
Visions dancing,
Candied diamonds in your hands.

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Grinding Mountains into Sand
By Kenton Field - Contributing Poet

You came across a lost mountain
While tramping across the land.
Now you want it in your pocket?
Well grind it into sand!

Afraid, you say,
"It can't be done!"
I reply,
"Wisdom says it can."

I tell you it won't be easy.
You say you understand.
But when you clench your fists and swing away,
Your surprised to break your hands!

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Raskolnikov
By Kenton Field - Contributing Poet

The city provides the ideal setting
For anonymous, moral assaults
Perpetrated in the name of "Self Discovery"
Every hour of
Everyday
You can just sink back into the bog
Where beauty is more subjective
And memories are short lived
You come to find that everyone shits where they lie
Some try to stay clean
Others
Prefer not being recognized

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Better
By Marc Carver - Contributing Poet

Write something
Something.
Write anything
Anything.
Write something to make yourself better
Better.
Write because it is your only escape
Escape.
Write because you keep going back
Back.
Write because it is all you can do
Do
Write to feel better
Better
Better
Better.

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Shore of Plentitude
By Michael T Lanius - Contributing Poet

A one-time being, now forgotten, and lovingly so, watches in the distance a meager crowd dancing upon an unknown earthen entity, the shape of which he could not see, pondering in serene, bleak solitude those old thoughts, once ruling a vast land are now obsolete, the hatred in his heart no longer exists, the impassioned soul which fueled his days is no longer fleeting, but vanished as a mist on a summer’s morn.

As the masses gather, what could be the interest, he asks, as he, debauched and forlorn by the pure quest to ease the soul, begins to stroll amidst frozen Winter’s unceasing winds.

Oh to be in her arms once more, thoughts run courses of their own doing, to play as a child in the fields of decadence once more! To experience a laughter, innocence and joy once pure, amidst the Winter winds he smiles to see that sun, mocking, taunting, reminding that knowledge that these joys were of days of yore, that these loving moments shall ne’er exist once more, that dreams and hope have but vanished as mist on a summer’s morn.

The crowd it grows, he takes notice, as insects to a lighted machine through a night, grunting, panting, drunken laughing, but what could be this sight unseen which gives such glee? And faces which glow now, he would reveal, if not for such distaste he held for their despicable pace, for that traditional haste for what most call the grave, if not for this he would reveal that these days exist, that this joy and certitude exists, and these sanative jests shall rid themselves once more, as a mist on a summer’s morn.

But Curiosity can be that cruel temptress, and it is such today! What shall it be which can give such pleasure, these racing thoughts, and thus he stood among the painful creaks and whimpers of old bones and worn muscles, and so his walk began over aged grasses fading ‘neath the Winter wind’s heavy hands, suddenly a weight too heavy to comprehend sank down and placed itself tightly ‘round his already tired shoulders, he took a step, and a second, and thus this walk began, for an answer, or for an end, or for one more simple attempt to see the old fading of the light, as a mist on a summer’s morn.

He stepped, and stepped again, unhindered by the frigidity carried in Winter’s open hand, and as he did near the sight did clear, Oh! He should have known such a tempting fate would end as thus! He stood above not a god nor goddess, but reason to bellow a hearty but heartbroken laugh, this cachinnating man stood atop a tepid pool of serum, reflecting back no great image but that of all those fiends, and he, and not able to walk but a short way he lay to die, and as he sees the sky is grey, it was for that morning mist he did mourn.

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Miracle Diet
By Depechmaniac - Contributing Poet

With the same woman
so much time
has passed
I can’t depart
she’s become
my miracle diet
at last

All
those fattening amounts
of infidelity
of absorbed
calories
Slimming down
necessary
helps to avoid
the inevitable
agonies

Its hard however
to maintain
a constant weight
a yo-yo effect
takes place
You
can’t prevent
all the sweetness
exposed around
with haste

There comes time
of afterthought
to once again
take care
of strained health
Naive I am
to think
she won’t notice
the gourmand
around her

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Stupid
By Mark Baloun - Contributing Poet

When I talk to people today
i wonder if they’ve always been so stupid
or if its just the times were living in
then I think your a judgmental ass that’s what it is
so I have another conversation
no it ain't me I maybe a judgmental ass
but people are stupid - real stupid
now I'm no genius either
but people are really stupid
I think I’ll avoid talking to other human beings
for a while cause
I don’t speak stupid

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