Critiques and Revision
(5/22/2013 4:51:00 AM)
A male vistor with the features of a man but different eyes
grabs my mind and consumes it with every word which posions my mind
a good person but hiding in the shadow is his disguise,
when cutting myself is the only thing he assigned
take the blade in your hand and slowly drag it down your arm
watch yourself bleed till your arm starts to burn like the fire
till suddenly you feel the connection and disarm
the pain in my arm and head shot up like a wire
no tears fell from my eyes no sorrow made me cry
the emotions i feel are nothing more than what they tell me
emptiness deadness and blank grey sky
cause the feeling is dead as they watch you bleed.
(5/21/2013 7:26:00 PM)
The voices in your head send me falling to the ground
the stares burn darkness into my soul and i cant be found
the moments the bring me down cause endless pain
the endless roller coaster i can never get off and will never gain
the waves crash on me the sun burns me down
but i still go out and touch the waves
the amount od trying keeps you going keeping you safe and sound
but ends up keeping me hurt lost in the darkest caves.
the person out there they all believe in where is he for me
why the moments i need it the most you are never there
the feelings of belief stops coming when prayers are never seen
sometimes i stop fighting just cause i feel scared.
(5/21/2013 6:23:00 PM)
I'm new here and would appreciate comments.
Steps to Losing Normal
“I don’t want to be here again.”
She gazes through the floor-to-ceiling window,
Her mind wandering the stone paths
Of the Meditation Garden—collecting
New spring blossoms—until the pager buzzes,
An urgent summons: Go through the double doors;
Submit to the humiliation of surgery preparation.
“I don’t know if I can fix this.”
The words follow her, chasing her
Down into the darkness—baying hounds
Threatening her destruction—as her
Lifeblood pours from her body,
An ulcer draining her away,
Plunging her into nothingness.
“You are not healed yet.”
One by one his words fall
Into her lap like rocks—
A landslide of hard gray balls
Crushing her beneath the weight
Of the inescapable name
(5/21/2013 1:25:00 PM)
Hi friends, please review my poems:
I loved you! ! !
Your valuable suggestions are most welcome.
(5/21/2013 1:16:00 AM)
Woderful poem, it moved me to tears.
(5/20/2013 11:09:00 PM)
A black-and-white moth, its golden wings bearing
hieroglyphs. I google Dipthera festiva. Did you mean
“Diphtheria Festival”? No, I didn’t but thanks anyway.
Now I can’t stop imagining diphtheria victims
enjoying themselves among the party lanterns
& tents beside a dirty river while my Facebook friends
hand out lemons & instructions for making lemonade,
admiring the blue skin of the dying, their festive barking,
their bull throats & bloody noses. Yes, they call me
Mr. Negative. The vocalist knows me. I should leave
but here comes the verse I like: when you pack your bags,
you gotta pack two, one for yourself & one for your bad attitude.
Know what’s cool about Dipthera festiva, the hieroglyphic moth?
Its evasive “system, ” an organ in its ear, activated by a
bat’s high-pitched note, an organ that signals its wings to spasm.
The moth survives, like all of nature’s darlings, involuntarily.
(5/17/2013 11:07:00 PM)
Wisdom is Her Name
by Roger Horsch
Does not wisdom call out her name
On our paths along the way?
That's why we should listen really hard
For she has things of worth to say.
And, at the point where our paths should meet
Is where she'll take her stand
She can lead us into the city of gold
If we would only take her hand.
Her voice speaks of understanding
And her mouth speaks of what is true
That if we listen to the knowledge she gives
We will know just what to do.
She was there when He set the heavens in place
And the foundations of the earth
For all the words of her mouth were just
From the day of mankind's birth.
So, if you seek you'll find her
And your life won't be the same
For you'll always find favor from the Lord
'Cause, Wisdom is her name.
(5/17/2013 12:29:00 AM)
I miss the way you would comfort me
When I was just a child
I miss the way you scolded me
When I was young and wild.
I miss the days you would tell me
That everything would be alright
I miss the way you worried for me
When I was no longer in your sight.
I miss the days we would share together
But those days I know I took
I miss the days when I did something wrong
And you gave me that special look.
I miss your love and compassion
God's gift He gave to you
For no matter what would happen in life
You would always pull right through.
You kept our family together
You were there through thick or thin
You would fight the toughest battles
And you would always seem to win.
I love you mom with all my heart
So please never close that door
For I hope there's days we can share together
‘cause I hope to miss no more.
(5/17/2013 12:21:00 AM)
Deer Hunters' Camp
It's another year of Deer Hunters' Camp
Where my friend Tom caught fire while igniting his lamp.
He screamed, 'Put me out! ' as he ran out of sight.
I yelled, 'Stop, drop and Roll... and you'll be alright! '
Then there was Greg, who loved to get drunk.
He passed out in his tent, while hugging a skunk.
Him stinking so bad, it must have been hell.
So, we kept him down wind because of the smell.
Now here comes Bill, who brought us a treat.
He fed us all jerky that smelled just like feet.
We about beat him to death with a bag full of rocks
‘Cause, it wasn't deer jerky, it was hard crusty socks.
We hunted all week without any luck
Then what came into camp was the world's largest buck.
We looked at each other, beaten and tired
Then pointed our guns, but nobody fired.
We seemed to go through this year after year
And I'm never amazed why we haven't got deer.
When we all get together, the deer is the champ
But, there's always next year at Deer Hunters' Camp.
(5/17/2013 12:19:00 AM)
By Roger Horsch
Flying raisins are in the air, there are flying raisins everywhere
I see them flying all around, I see them landing on the ground
I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
I see them flying in the sky, I see them getting in my pie
I see them walking on my cake, I see them in everything I make
I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
I find them in my cookie dough, I don’t know why they just won’t go
I do not like them can’t you see, flying raisins are all over me
I don’t know where they come from, I just want them to leave
There’s three or four more on my shirt, and two more on my sleeve
Then I saw the open box, sitting high upon the rack
I pulled it down then turned it around, it said “ CAUTION “ on the back
It said not for use in cooking, such as cookies, cakes or pies
For I thought I bought a box of raisins, but they were laboratory flies
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