Friday, February 1, 2013

Poetry Picnic Week 41: what could happen before, when, or after a natural disaster!

Happy 45th Birthday, Justin Penter Wood,
Happy (Belated) Birthdays, Poets who read and support this blog...
You Rock!
Best Regards!

Hello, our community blog has been running for about more than one year, we are so very excited about your participation and support, at the same time, we wish to maintain the quality of our submissions, the level of understanding among officials and poets in it, so the community head decides to show gratitude to your talent and participation, also wish to give this place a pause, we will let the submission open until January 2, 2013...come back once we are ready, you are welcome to share and read, any time...simply browse our collections and enjoy! 

praying for victims

The Sing-Song Nursery Rhyme Humor and Riddles 

by Washington Wisdom Teeth Care at Evanston, Illinois

A department has a head, but has no hair,
A chair has legs, but goes nowhere,
A corn has ears, but could not hear,
A landscape has a heart, but carries no fear;
A comb has teeth, but cannot eat,
Communities run, but carry no feet,
A sofa has arms, but does not move,
A knife has a mouth, but cannot speak or improve,
a mountain has a foot, but no legs,
A rooster is a chicken but lays no eggs;
A watch has a face but no neck to connect,
Needles have eyes, but fail to see and feels imperfect.

I’m your Poet Puppet 

I am your poet puppet
Writing along to the strings you pull.
The pen dances boisterously with my desirous heart
I have a bed waiting for me at the end of this dusty road
A pillow stuffed with dreams and promises 
that lies in the mist of smoke and foggy nights
Hope conquers as the realization washes over this truism….
Time tells my story and I will leave no words unsaid 
and no string unstrung before the dirt is thrown on top of me

hope to return to work

December Words in 55 

Decent, technology, ember,
Gem, bee, October, November,
Home Depot, Best Buy, Becky,
Winter, Christmas, Holidays,
Bible, church, Sundays, Santa,
Gifts, Presents, Family, Love,
Virgin, New Year's Eve, Merry,
Christmas Trees, Ornaments, Greetings,
Cards, Fire Crackers, Changes,
Birthdays, Decorations, Chimney,
Reindeer, Sled, Snow, Red, Snowman,
Money, Cash, Skiing, Santa Fe, Shopping Mall
Checks, Dreams, and Regrets...

By Timonthy Jacobshen Wood

There's an ocean of fire.
The water is boiling,
tearful rebirth,
A take of the transforming pills.
The awareness from past failures,
Boom road home,
like mist above the ocean sailors.
The bruises are deepened by salty water,
Imperfect cruises,
Illustrated buoyancy of hope along the shore.
Different docks,
The same suffering,
Wait until 7am,
to share the same boat,
how surprising.

accept the bad luck

Beyond The Shadows  

We grope in the shadow to see dawn,
To know what's happening ahead,
We struggle, fall, and explore, old and young,
To find out what can be altered instead.
Sad because evil force misleads,
Integrity virtue, and honesty vanishes,
Hurt since many a folk still cheats,
and the efforts to correct wrongs are considered as trashes.
Darkness and gloom sweep our souls,
Giving us steaming feel as if we're in showers,
But if we calm down, and rethink our goals,
We can rise in the strength of God, his powers.

Fridays keep me cool,
Phone calls, lessons, paper view,
Students, references,
The day to conclude my works,
What way to reflect each due...


Soon by

The coffee was black,
Darker than the night sky
And as bitter as 
A broken heart.

My heart was broken,
Shards still embedded 
In my chest and
I refused to remove them.

Somehow, the pain
Had become a knowing
Companion, a necessary
Friend who would listen
As I told my tale over
And over again.

When others grew tired
Of my ranting and raving
The pain would listen,
But soon even that
Started to fade into 
A dull ache.

So with a cup of
Black, bitter coffee
And a broken heart
On the mend, I sat
At my typewriter 
And started to 
Release the last of 
My pain.

With each strike
Of the key, 
The pain became one
With the words,
With the paper,
With everything
That was outside of me.

With each strike
Of the key,
I let the pain go,
Saying fairwell
To a friend who
Knew me well.

Soon the cup
Will be empty,
Soon my heart
Will be healed,
Soon the pain
Will be a distant memory,
And soon life
Will return to the
Thing we call normal.

To Madeline Meiltongji Jackson   

I weave the time,
I go through the weft
among stars,
I walk across the dark
tunnel of your spines,
I plaint the love
you've shown
into my hair...

rebuilding the future

 Taylor Kong Boomer wishing You Happy Holidays!