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poems of the week

Enjoy these poems and please email the poets (where applicable) and give them some feedback!


The pollen filled air flirts subconsciously with my senses. 
Trying to recognize a smell is always such a difficult task. 
With every gulp of fresh air, a combination of new thoughts 
pace rapidly from ear to ear hoping to be packaged and presented 
as a new idea on something once remembered.  It seems as though 
the breathing process leaves me with a wealth of information on nothing. 
Constantly locating unimportant useful tools used to predict past events. 
My memory searches the mind with a flashlight, looking for thoughts 
hidden in the corners and cracks of the brain triggered by a smell. 

The head detective opens old and closes new cases in a world of dyslexia.

The Art Spirit (c)


I am not you, nor do I want to be you.
You are not me, nor do I want you to be me.
Yet I love you for who you are,
and I feel as if we are one in gladness,
and in sadness.
I just want you to know . . . 
I will always be with you.  

Chuck Reimer (c)


If I hold my head still
vanish all thoughts
I can feel the vibrations
of your beating heart

I can feel the pulsating 
of your loving spirit
as it reaching out to me
across so many miles

I can hear the music 
of your life giving laughter
so easily acquired
yet still priceless and irreplaceable

If I hold my head still 
I can touch you with my mind
feeling the heat of your desire
warming the depths of my being

If I hold my head still 
I can’t help but wonder
Will I capture a moment
and extend it to a lifetime
of true happiness

Carmelita (c)


Life is playing games with my mind,
I can't seem to find my way.
I'm looking for something I can't seem to find,
I'm looking for a brighter day.

With each passing day, another dream drowns,
and I go on another whimsical journey.
My sun eclipses, and my smiles become frowns,
I start to dislike being me.

Life has me caught up in an unusual situation.
My life is so disturbed and complex.
It's filled with endless chaos and aggravation.
I don't know what's coming next.

My mind says stop though my body keeps going.
I'm getting tired of running this race.
The tension is rising, and confusion is growing.
I can't seem to find my place.

I fall to my knees and look to the skies,
"Lord anoint this lost child."
He embraces my soul, and wipes my eyes.
"My child, I was here all the while."

Angela M. Jones-Carr (c)


A pandemonium of homeless victims
surrounded by city, state and federal agencies
a park, no longer a park
buildings monitored by security officers
people requesting?  no demanding, "spare change"
officials earning astronomical incomes.

Feces strewn on streets and in alleyways
urine soaked sidewalks assault the nostrils
faces displaying despair, anger and hurt
bodies clad in tattered, soiled rags
foul language, wine and drug abuse
all manner of illicit and licentious acts.

Fear for those employed here
anger at the homeless, constant
reminder of man's inhumanity to man
hope? no.  Prayer to survive another day
to continue walking by, not hearing
not seeing, not feeling the pain,
hating the sights, the smell of desperation,
loathing, but always returning to the Civic Center.

Aqeela El-Amin (c)


Eight days in a dungeon, my demons and me,
They rage and rage, until I cannot see.
My Lord is with me as I write,
He was there through my darkest night.

Freedom, you will find is not a place,
It will come from a smile on a pretty face.
And deep within your soul you will find,
Freedom, has always been in your mind.

Eight days in a dungeon, my demons and me,
T’was torture and torture, to set them free.
This from a super lover so kind,
Which allows me to finally have,

Ronnie Clark (c)

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