Writing Raw Poetry

The Key was in the door,

Once again my stomach hits the floor,

All I can think is what mood is he in?

And God forbid I have committed a sin,

The air in the house just turned to lead,

And I wonder what is going through his head?

I creep to my room,

And forever expect impending doom….

BANG!

The nightmare has begun,

His fist hits the door,

I don't wanna be here anymore…

I wonder where did this begin?

And how did it become all about him!!

Render

Before you look back and reflect,

You will always feel a level of neglect,

Everyone has that hole they wish to fill,

But swallow that jagged little pill.

Some wounds are not meant to heal,

Those are the ones we wish to conceal,

All those individual marks,

Help us to remember,

All them we have rendered,

Then those negative marks,

become bright sparks!!!

Near and Unseen!!

The empty gapping hollow belly

Im not hungry!!

Thats not it

It's the space between

Near and unseen....

Where it happens,

Where it looks and finds me

Like a monster seeking prey

That feeling finds me.

Glass Mask

Blank, Empty, Translucent.

The fall of descent,

The clear barrier.

Invisible, Hollow, Plain.

Why does the world feel insane.

The separation of the self.

Nothing, Quiet, Still.

A big hole left to fill,

That thing that I wear.

Blank Expression

I don't wish to give you the wrong impression,

Its the modern worlds invention,

To hide yourself away,

Hide the way you play,

Show the world what they want to see,

Instead of who you want to be!

Memories

Remembering things, Never easy,

Of days gone by,

They seem to be the world,

And why?

Because people they turn away,

Ignore the signs,

And let them play.

Between the laughter and the tears....

A constant reminder of all those years.

Avin a canta

Avin a canta,

Arr, er wuz gasssin,

But no one eva sez why that is,

She should be mindin there own business.

After all, it ay as if her az anything good to say,

Mindya no-body listens anyway.

Every estate as one, standin on the doorstep,

Whatchin us all, every move ya mek.

No one eva mentions that they dow wanna no,

They just listen, it guz in one ear n out the other.

Monsters of My Id

by Heather Rose

Scarred and scared, a child pleads with "God" for a miracle.

No longer the abuse nor the fear of discovery shivers her.

A feral beast in skirts taunts, with plagues of self doubt.

When perchance one may cast an unapproving glance,

The "Demon Queen" leaps, tearing her hair, amid howls of glee.

"Who do you kid? Your hands, those feet, that face?

You might do best to grow a beard."

Though assuredly she is easy to behold

And sounds as the birds, when she sings.

"Politely to you they do speak, at your back, they laugh.

All think you a fool!"

More insidious is another, which she has never seen.

The malefactor lurks out of periphery.

With breath foul, it leans and whispers,

"What if..."

Oh Lord, it's voice is enough to steal the breath!

"What if, on this path, past the point from which non return,

The heart being deceitful above all,

All that is lost and the ridicule suffered,

You discover your mistake.

Fear not, though all will forsake you,

I shall remain to remind,

only yourself is to blame."

Of the monsters in the Id, this one is despised mostly.

Hers is the visage, of the essence of youth.

Tresses of flame hue, countenance fair and freckled.

At first encounter, words escaped me, expect to ask,

"Please child, you must tell me your name."

Her answer pierced my spirit to it's very quick,

"I am the vision of that which might have been

But now, for certain, shall never be,

My name is Heather Rose."

Ice and Snow

by Michelle S. Lowrie

Is it really worth the trouble

of driving in the snow

just so Bentonville

can rake in some more dough?

Slippery, slushy, snowy roads

are a danger, don't you know?

You could lose traction, or spin out,

and then your car won't go.

And, no one NEEDS a toaster,

some Coke, or a crossbow

in the middle of the night

when the roads are ice and snow.

War Wounds

by Michelle S. Lowrie

No, that lazy old dog by the sycamore tree

wasn't the greatest father for you or for me.

But, he had a good reason for turning his back,

and it wasn't our mothers or the love that they lacked.

Our daddy was sent to fight in a war where

he saw much more violence than he could endure.

Then, he drank, shot, and snorted every drug he could get

in the hopes that in time he'd forget he's a vet.

But, those drugs can do nothing to mask all the pain.

So, he relives the violence again and again.

And, now he has come here to see you and me

in hopes of us helping him set himself free from

the drugs and the memories that have kept his mind wracked

since the day he was injured in that air attack.

So, please swallow your pride and try to ignore

that he'd left you behind when you were just four.

Our daddy is old now and has come to regret

the night that he drove off in that old Corvette.

The Trip

by Michelle S. Lowrie

While snowbirds prance about the yard

beneath the sycamore trees,

a child steps out of his daddy's car

into snow up to his knees

then nearly takes a face-plant

when suddenly he sees

the warm and loving outstretched arms

of his great-grandma Louise.

She takes him in to warm him up

And gives him some string cheese

then asks him what he thinks of Maine,

and he says, "Oh, Grandma, Please!

I love you with all my heart and soul

But I prefer the Florida Keys."

Ugly

When I speak of a model, most men

think of a beautiful woman.

But my model is a hag from the streets.

We talked as I sketched. I said that

she must have had an interesting life.

She smiled a contorted grin, missing

two front teeth. She corrected me saying

that life wasn't interesting, it was more

like hell.

I asked about the deep scar on her cheek.

"It came from a jealous boyfriend," she

answered. Opening her mouth and

pointed to the hole where teeth should be

"Same guy, still I love him," she said.

It all started when she was fifteen. She

was gang raped behind the high school

bleachers. She was too embarrassed and

afraid to tell anyone.

Each line on her face marked a drunken stupor

where she tried to drown her pain. Her left

shoulder was droopy, arthritic from sleeping on

the ground

Her face was gray; she had matted brown hair

that clung to her dirty face. She was more than

happy with the 20 bucks I paid her for posing.

She said that for $20 she would dance on the

table or most anything else.

When we were finished, she wanted to see my

work. She stared deeply into the canvas. Tears

welled up in her eyes and splashed down her

cheeks. She choked out, "Do I look like that?"

Melinda

As a child Melinda was bright eyed,

happy, and always up beat.

At 17 she fell in love with a

pot smoking loser who treated her

like dirt.

He told her she was fat and ugly

saying that he needed to put a sack

over her head when they made love.

He manipulated her for sex.

How thoughts get distorted, no one

knows, but Melinda began to diet.

She felt if she lost 25 pounds, that would

magically flip a switch on her lover and

he would lighten up.

She became obsessed. She starved herself

every day, refusing to eat or drink. She weighed

herself 20 times a day and became bereft

if she gained an ounce. She began to look

gaunt and gray.

When she dropped below 100 pounds, they put

her in the hospital. Her organs failed and she

passed away. Her death certificate read that

the cause of death was anorexia. That may be

true in a technical sense, but she was killed

by her worthless lover.

A Fairy Tale

(updated)

Prince charming with the fairy princess

rode off on his white steed. As the ending

goes, they lived happily ever after.

NOT!

Two weeks after the wedding reality set in.

Prince Charming was a Peter Pan, a

perpetual little boy. He primped in front of

the mirror for hours.

He pouted am whined when he didn't get his

way. Once when the princess burned his

supper he threw a flailing tantrum. Worst

of all, his Xbox became the perfect form of

birth control.

Desperate for love she turned to the ogre

from the neighboring kingdom. He was

ugly as hell, but what's a girl to do?

Run Away

My father was a harsh man.

He wanted to run my life.

At sixteen I ran away to fly

like a wild bird. I hit the streets

and soon discovered it was

an ugly mean place. There

were no flitting and pleasant

melodies. The only birds were

vultures waiting to pounce

I fell into an ugly world. It was

called "A bed for a bang."

Occasionally one of the vultures

would share a dobby and for

several hours my tears would be

gone. I hated being mauled

drooled upon and screwed just

for a place to sleep.

I stayed with Brad for three weeks;

things were looking up. Then came

the time I couldn't perform and he

threw me out. I don't know what I'll do

when winter comes. I don't have a coat.

I guess I'll have to find a pimp. At least I'll

get paid for what I'm doing.

Cookie Lady

Traffic was fierce. I was running late;

the Bell hop gave me a wink as I

took the elevator. I had the usual

room, paid by the company.

The john was a squatty aerospace

engineer. The service had checked

him out. He was a negotiator on

a multimillion dollar contract.

He was shy even embarrassed. He

was unconscious of his wedding ring.

He twisted it a dozen times. I must

admit he wasn't much of a lover. Out

of the room I put on my wedding band.

This was my Thursday ritual; leaving

the kids with my husband and heading

out to my "art class". For an hour's work

the pay was great.

I stopped in the bar for a drink. I needed

to unwind. Then I was hit on by a good

looking guy. What is this world coming to;

he could easily see I was wearing a

wedding ring.

Sonnet no. 5

by David J Delaney

Why

New morning sun brings forth her warming rays

while dying leaves drift gently to the ground.

Approaching winter soon will dampen days,

when ice will hang from barren trees abound.

Korea's changing beauty I have seen,

penned every scene for all the world to read.

I miss so much your sparkling eyes of green,

while for your love, my heart again will bleed.

The freezing snow will cover all that lives

I hope I will survive this daily fight.

A priest once said that Jesus Christ forgives,

though what I do, he could not see as right.

My helmet sits upon my weary head ?

My rifle, now replaces pencil lead.

David J Delaney

For my Uncle who served in the Korean war for the Australian army.

In the Shadow of Ghosts

by David J Delaney

To all and sundry I hereby attest

when writing stories, I will pen my best

to literary heights I will aspire

and write like poets, those that I admire.

To stroll with Lawson under silver moon

and sit with Dennis in the early noon

ride with Morant along the Condamine

inspired by Parkes, my rhyme I will refine.

Then walk with Kendall, hear the bell birds song

stand with Ogilvie, view the rushing throng

watch Evans write his women of the west

read Boake, great poet and one of our best.

There's Esson's tribute to the shearer's wife.

the convicts who sang their rum song of life

then Song of Australia was Carleton's view

I hear Paterson, and that Geebung crew.

Verse caught the time, the man rode Snowys side

viewed Sydney town when ships moved with the tide

rode Cobb and Co. along a dusty track

travelled the bush, where some never came back.

All master poets, experts in this craft

read so many, I smiled, I cried, I laughed

published in many a books well read pages

their words are still resounding through the ages.

I'll keep on writing well into the night

knowing one day, I'll pen the metre right

the flow of my rhythm will be like a song

the beat will sound its perfect soft and strong.

With help from writers, present or the past

my writings' true perfection, I will grasp

when all's left are my poems and my rhyme

I would love them remembered for all time.

David J Delaney

10/09/2008 ©

Sharing Some Tea

by David J Delaney

She sits alone in the shade of a tree

pretending to sip her own cup of tea

her tutu's so fine and lined with braid

with butterfly wings that nanna made.

A China tea set coloured with flowers

at grandad's table she will play for hours

on chairs for her that were made with love

curious robins watch from above.

Not really alone, her friends are all there

there's Simba the lion and Benny the bear

Molly the dolly dressed refine

Penny the penguin's nursed all the time.

Her milky white skin is so soft and smooth

a ferocious wild beast her voice could soothe

sparkling brown eyes that always shine bright

now having you here is pure delight.

Happily playing, full of innocence

moving about with total eloquence

turning to blow your grandad a kiss

makes me proud my cheeky little Miss.

You ask me to join and share a "hot" drink

approaching the table I give a wink

under this tree our laughter echoes

tickling your feet right under your toes.

Now on my lap and you give a big hug

then plant a kiss on my old bearded mug

I will remember these days with glee

sharing tea in the shade of a tree.

David J Delaney

10/03/2009 ©

Moving Graveyard

By Jorge Salavert

Who knows their story?

Tightly packed and secured on this moving graveyard

they are traveling to their ultimate destination

where they will be pulled apart,

only to be sold in pieces, melted or left to rust.

They bear the scars of what did them in,

the fatal impact, the swerving away from life and hope,

and perhaps, like the bravest bull, they may have died killing.

Being beyond repair,

they are now heading up and down the highway,

carrying their secret, sad, soaked-in-blood stories:

a P-plater's last laugh, the unfaithful wife's unfinished SMS,

an overtired lonesome driver or an estranged husband.

Afraid

by Jorge Salavert

They are afraid.

From the very first night

they landed on this untamed land-time:

they have been afraid

of its infinite red

of its mind-numbing sky, its never-ending blue pale,

of the stripping barks, afraid of all this and a whole lot more -

they have been wearing a shroud of fear on this unimagined land.

They heard once the kookaburra's laughter

and woke in fear, they could not dream after

for they disturbed the snake's nest

they retreated their souls to their island out west.

They are in fear now

as you and I speak,

of losing their homes, their cars, their LCDs.

They fear for their own, they fear their own:

they are all afraid they might lose their boats,

their snow holidays, their children's football teams

they might drop the ball, gamble their lives away,

or default on their home loan.

They breathe the fear in their fear,

whether in Cooma, in Joondalup, Coomunga or Oodnadatta

fear of those who were here

and even those who came not so long after.

At the Breakfast Table

by Jorge Salavert

Their semantics is erratic: silence

has sentenced their words to an early morning death.

Hazy thoughts have maimed their years

& night-skies mystified their bedtime worlds.

No noon has ever been the same since the day

when they proffered

their bodies to the demigod of marriage

& over the years, in unvoiced unison,

they have chosen to dispense with

so many missing meanings.

Syntax has today yet again ruined their early morning breakfast

Was there much too sugar?

Were there far too many adverbs in doubt?

Loss is a sure thing to save the least.

All they feel now is but a stern look across the table.

Childhood Memories

I still remember my childhood,

Love, affection and chide of my mother,

Weeping in a false manner,

Playing in the moonlight,

Struggles with cousins and companions,

Psuedo-chide of my father,

I still have everything with me,

But i miss,

Those childhood memories

Octopus

Man has become octopus,

entangled in his own clutches,

fallen from sky to earth,

new foundation was made,

of rituals, customs and manners,

tried to come out of the clutches,

but not

waiting for doom's day

Years

Years,

passed,

of this century,

in the hope,

era has changed,

to see something new,

perhaps,

everything will be changed,

but what happens with thinking,

do something positive

it will take years,

to build

Complain

I am tired,

of calling,

i am finding none,

to come with me,

none is hearing me,

hearts have been locked,

windows of ears have been closed,

its my fate,

pain is my destiny,

i have no complain,

towards anyone

Wounds

I want to forget everything,

dropping wounds, flowing tears,

hunger, despair and sting of poverty,

wall of discrimination,

i want to forget this,

but people wants,

not to heal this,

my efforts have become useless,

my wounds are still live

O! Rose

O! rose,

you,

left thorns,

in my orchard,

i am bleeding,

my orchard has no fragrance,

still now,

many plants grew,

but weather is not favourable,

greenery has lost,

trees are cut,

belief no more,

system crushed,

orchard has become desert

Hopes

The faces of hopes,

have become dim,

greenery has disappeared,

like ghosts,

the shades have become mirage,

skyscrapers are creating tensions,

green colour is our reliever,

we hope to save this greenery

Lord Ganesha

Destroyer of men's obstacles,

beginners of every auspicious work,

lover of modakas [sweets],

ardent obedient to his father,

having the trunk of an elephant,

a transplantation of the head of an elephant,

driver of mouse-van,

save us from all hurdles, all obstacles

Anger

Anger,

is like,

having a burning coal,

in his hands,

and burning himself,

it is a volcano,

destroys all the limbs,

it is an earthquake,

that shakes itself,

it is a bomb-blast,

that blasts its own body,

it is a bullet that kills himself,

drive away anger

Use Of

What is the use of,

hiding the miseries,

what is the use of,

smiling,

relations are very fragile,

what is the use of,

testing them,

the thirst of the earth can't be quenched,

what is the use of,

bloodshed.

Burning Dream

I am burning dream,

of your eyes,

i am cold scorching ,

of the moon,

you have forgotten,

which by burning to ashes,

i am that dream.

Progress