“Worthy” By Minnie Moons

I know you think you’re too far gone
you’re not enough to carry-on
I’m here to tell you
you are wrong

You are not bad
You’re just badly broken
It was not your fault
Your innocence stolen

I need you to know I’m here to stay
And I’ll never stop fighting to show you the way
So come child lay your burdens down
Believe in your heart with all that you’ve got
I always have been and always will be ‘round

I will not forsake you and I’ll never be far
Every day of your life I’ve been here all along
When you felt so worthless
like your life had no purpose
I was building you up
I was making you strong

Now comes the day
when all eyes are on you
They will whisper and watch
What’s she going to do

She will rise full of dignity and grace
She will shine with the warmth of a mothers embrace
So wait all your tears throw away all that pain
Don’t you know that there’s peace and one powerful name
I am Abba I am father and you
you precious one
You and I our fathers children
And I his only son

Categorized as poems

poems by Ben Walpole

The Saboteur

I was walking down the winding street
Pollen swirled in the weirdly warm wind
Histamines began replicating in my blood stream
I thought of words I wish I could rescind
The words I wish you would forget
My hopes were blended with those verbal regrets

Let me redress those trifles
Allow me to rifle through the dusty files
I want to explore the neglected recesses
That gnawed, ragged place you disguise
I wanna stitch it, I wanna heal it
I want to hold you til you cry

A Supposedly Fun Thing I Manage to Ruin 🙂

A bit less than expected
A bit more than bisected

Take a sip
Smoke a zip
Wreck a whip

How fucking fantastic!
More than a little sarcastic
Used to be brittle as plastic

I am a rubberband
A little piece of elastic
I escaped peace everlasting,
Outlasting projections of the past

How quickly the years have passed?!
How bright the light’s first gleam seemed!?
How it glittered like a guillotine!
How long did it last?
How bad did it burn?

To escape death through pain
One adapts, becoming insane
I’m not well
I’m well trained
Well practiced
Well versed
I’ve learned to profit from my curse

I’m a bit blessed,
Despite the dipso-defects
I’m still stressed,
A bit less than expected

Categorized as poems

“Genuine” by Summer Miller

All I’ve wanted my whole life
Is to receive the love I give
A love so strong
That there’s nothing we can’t forgive

A love that doesn’t die out
Just because of a fire that started
A love that excites me
And that leaves no adventure uncharted

A love that consumes all of me
My mind, body, and soul
A love that gives me peace
And always makes me feel whole

A love that saves me from myself
Even when I want to drown
A love that helps me escape
And get the hell out of this town

A love that’s so crazy
Only the two of us can understand
A love so out of the blue
It’s something neither of us could’ve

A love that nobody else understands
And maybe even question
A love stronger than any force
And to us it feels like heaven

All I’ve wanted my whole life
Turned out to be every piece of you
You’ve given me a love so strong
That I know there’s nothing we can’t get

Categorized as poems

Magnolia by Jim Malecky

Proud palmetto, rude totem rotted upright
In boggy mists set ablaze
By malevolent southland ghosts
Remembering the days of their testosterone
Heart ice, in fire unchanged, raging
Hot knife; old pride like cancer spread
Down flaming bones
Through darkest night
Pierced with unquenched wailing
Loss beyond beyond telling
Frigid Magnolia

Southland trickery; history books
Magnolia’s stone-eyed children read
Bugle drum dream boy’s fantasy
Memories badly impede
African lightening clap! Kidnapped
Altered young life. all legal. Chained down sick
Stowed in shrieks and vomit Rolling dark despair
By stone-eyed Magnolia
And documented there by clerks

Categorized as poems

“This poem was written through tears” by Alyrah

And they write and talk when they don’t know what we go through.
And they write and talk like they have a right to talk
When they don’t know what we go through.
And they write and talk like they’re right to talk
When they don’t know what we go through.

And they wash their hands in our blood.
And they wash their hands in our blood as they publically mourn our deaths.
And they wash their hands in our blood when they go home at night.
And they wash their hands in our blood while they ignore our chants outside their homes.
And they wash their hands in our blood.
And they think they are clean.

Categorized as poems

“J.E.M. 04/20/1984-02/16/2020” by Summer Miller

I miss your embrace,
Your hugs always healed me.
I miss the bond we had,
And how you always knew who I could be.

I miss the drunk moments,
And how we’d always raise hell.
I miss all the crazy moments,
And all the music we’d always yell.

I miss the unconditional love,
And how you always helped me be better.
I miss always playing with Sugar,
Still can’t believe you’re up there with her.

I miss all the belief you had in me,
And when we thought you’d always be here.
I miss the words you gave,
And how you always made sure I had nothing to fear.

I miss getting an extra sauce
Because you’d always demand your own.
I miss always making everything a race,
Now I play these games alone.

I miss all the comfort you provided,
And how you always gave it to me straight.
I miss wondering what bottle we were gonna drink
And always stumbling in too late.

I miss having you by my side,
And how you always made me feel loved.
I miss our childhood on Trudy Street,
And all the pain you numbed.

Quite honestly I just miss you,
And now more than ever man.
We’ll be together again someday,
It’s always been part of our plan.

Bio: I wrote this poem about my cousin Jeremy Edward Miller. On February 16, 2020 just four days before my birthday I found out I had lost the cousin who was more like a brother to me. My world shattered. He would’ve been 38 this year on April 20. I wrote this on his birthday for him. I miss him dearly, I wrote this to remember him. Thank you so much for reading.

Categorized as poems

“The frail flower you made beautiful” by Carrie Ackerman

The flowers in my garden lay frail,
struggling to bloom,
and there you were, the sun that forced me to consume.

The ever so needing,
water and Earth in the form of love,
that made my flowers grow far above

The fence line I’d only seen as broken,
he walked through the gates with the reassurance,
That never again would I know another disappearance.

Instead, he showed me flowers,
In a forest I never knew I could walk through, where the most beautiful flowers grew.

These flowers, evergreen and overflowing,
that made the flowers in my garden bloom,
so much I began to run out of room.

I knew something had to be done soon,
and he showed up ready to harvest.
The thorns, the weeds, everything that was hardest.

He plucked with such ease,
with gentle hands that should of felt pain, showed me instead that my garden will never die again.

The broken fence line, now a white picket fence,
Painted with names and stamped with memories we’d always adore.
My flowers would die no more.

And the look in his golden eyes,
showed me a future so bright,
That together him and I would always see the light.

Even in the darkest of the night, when no growth could come of my flowers,
he stood next to me with unforeseen powers.

Powers that would not only help my garden grow,
but to help a flower already founded,
never again will see a sky that was clouded.

You were crowned the harvester,
and now because of you my garden glows.
Thank you for being the reason my flowers will forever grow.

Categorized as poems

“Clearly Love” by Linda Joy Walder

Sometimes I get so frustrated,
I swear,
one day
I will disappear
like the puff of smoke
my breath becomes
in cold morning air.

This morning though,
marveling at how thick and luscious
your hair looks in direct sunlight,
I am distracted.

As a practical matter there is dirty laundry to face,
and who is responsible for turning the lights off?
But right at this moment,
standing still,
watching you enter the shower,
steam mystifying the sumptuous layers you’ve acquired,
I take off my tee-shirt to join you.

I know how you want this to go,
sinuously slowly,
at your pace,
and that’s alright with me.

After you depart,
leaving me alone to navigate
through the lusty vapor,
I am surprisingly okay with that too.

Truly, you amaze me,
how you move in and out of my life,
evaporating into mist,
then suddenly,
like coastal fog over the ocean,
returning just before the moon rises.

Categorized as poems

“The Crabs” by Ann Bailey

The tempest came to butcher Cain,
Its coast she would encroach.
The raindrops tapped the window pane
To signal her approach.

The crabs felt her calamity
And climbed out of the dregs—
A rasping, raucous family,
Each member on ten legs.

The interloping arthropods
Were quick to seize the bay,
And on the beach, a lightning rod
Threw light upon their prey.

A seaside shack of Spanish stone
Stood sturdy in the squall.
The door swung when the wind was blown
And beckoned to them all.

They swarmed the beachside bungalow
And made their home inside.
They found the shelter apropos
For keeping out the tide.

And each began to wonder why
They’d lingered for so long
In dusky, frigid waters by
A seaside warm and strong.

The squatters in their swindling
Found rations foul and fresh,
For in the bedroom, dwindling,
Was gray, mephitic flesh.

Pincers picking at the bones,
The creatures took the beast.
A sailor snared by Davy Jones
Became their fetid feast.

But digging through his every part,
An extra piece they stole.
For when they ate the fisher’s heart,
The crabs consumed his soul.

Day by day they mimicked Man
Within the savage shrine.
A beastly and unnatural clan,
Departing from the brine.

They spoke just as the fisher had
In hollow, husky sounds.
An intonation low and mad
Of voices through the grounds.

They drank his drinks and played his games
And read his magazines.
Sentient, they took on names
As rain came through the screens.

The tempest finally touched the plain,
Each villain warm inside,
But wind and rain devoured Cain,
Not one allowed to hide.

The sinners in a tick of shock
Dispersed throughout the room,
And God above expelled the flock
Back toward the ocean’s womb.

It washed away their human ways,
Absorbed their every fault.
They slipped back into early days
Of blood and mud and salt.

Categorized as poems

“The Stranger at 3 AM” by Steve Pelcman

The Stranger at 3 AM
(A father with Alzheimer’s)

I know that it is you
because I can smell your age
behind the closed door
and hear your shuffling feet

go back and forth
between our bedrooms,
a distance you cannot measure
in the dark.

And so you stand there
gasping for the slender
light that reaches you
from under my door,

and we both knew
you came to tell me
you were dying again,
that you were living out

someone else’s life
that you were greedy
for every last drop of light,
that you were too afraid

to feel safe
and that in not knowing
what to do
you knew to stand there

softly breathing against the wood
practicing being noticed.

Steven Pelcman
like water to STONE Adelaide Books 2017

Categorized as poems