by Ray Dillard |
The game is his friend.
Always there for him.
Never turning him away.
Inviting him to visit
And giving him the
Best seat in the house.
In front of the screen.
It is his sport.
Replacing baseball, football,
Basketball and all others.
It lets him score
And makes him feel
Like a winner.
Like a champion!
The game is his sustenance,
Feeding his thoughts,
Shaping his soul,
Controlling his mind,
Closing the door to family.
To the world.
Anger grows behind
Raised brows and widened eyes.
Honing his skills and
Numbing his feelings.
Making him blind to life.
Making death easy.
by The Grahamburglar |
child, childhood, children, growing up, love, mom, mothers day,
I drew you a picture with crayons, bright red.
It’s there on the wall, and your nightstand and bed.
I scribbled some wax on your nicely cleaned floors,
all over the kitchen on the cabinet doors.
I drew you some hearts and a bouquet of roses.
In our family picture we now have red noses.
I thought you would smile, but you cried instead.
That look in your eye makes me think that I’m dead.
I know it’s not perfect, I’m honing my craft,
but please stop those tears, Mom…we don’t have a raft.
I thought you would smile, I swear that it’s true
my message in crayons…is mom, I LOVE YOU!
I need a new box of crayons, the red one is worn to a stub.
by Debjani Mitra |
Bewildered in crossroad of crisis midlife
steel wool clouds loom in porcelain sky
Confused and wearied in stubborn strife
autumn leaves chased in wild winds fly
Unmerciful corrosion honing voids deep
contort soft green tendrils into hard wood
Evaporated twilight tears no longer weep
in stream of subconscious, all understood.
blemish and freckles all wrinkled within
yet in seal of love cuddled relations attach
Weeds align rosy bush, both smile and grin
desire of fancy blings, grow in greeny patch
No surprise of a palette of nebula rainbow
In signature of autopilot, many years to go.
by Paula Larson |
Your own concern, my own respect
so voluntary with adept
contingency, some verve its met
does see the evermore's beget!
I see you everywhere, my soul has kept
its vestige in pure grace, without funds left.
As honing nothing as in its own love leapt
has greater vision from bestow, God's deft!
Because my hands are clasped in wit
like magnets to concession's fit
and Holy intercession knits
a prayerful course, progressed acquit!
by Michael Degenhardt |
art, inspirational, on writing and words, uplifting, me,
Paint me a picture using just words
With a brushstroke, soft and sweet
Use colorful paints for clear imagery
For your lovely words,
They serve to replete
A master painter, a poet indeed
Daily honing your talent and skill
Paint me a picture, using your words
Let your canvas be paper
Let your brush be your quill