city, dream, night, summer,
by Val Brooklyn Rogers Blk Panther |
The city in the summer nights,
Beats a steady drum rhythm. Slow
Living does RHYME with time.
Strange be a drastic decision
Proceeding without permission.
Bad luck? Nothing but superstition.
Lying leads to reprimanding in. The
Lime light to pretending.
Love letters lead to a romance rekindled
And some slow dance of remembrance
As a symphony orchestra played late
Into the AFTER THOUGHTS of midnight' s
Worthy of a perfect dream to much to
Conceive, which gives birth to unbelief
And the RETURN TO REALITY.
The city in the summer nights.
Beats a steady drum rhythm. Slow.
by Brian Pierre-Alexander |
love, passion, visionary,
Trust me i believe you are real
So real that you can steal
the fragmentation of my imagination
because superstition can cause manipulation
but love my empress
can conquer all manifestation
of a true vibration
yes.... once again I feel
and believe you're real
©Copyright May 17, 2008 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved
by Tamiviolet Manchas |
He forgot the strength held in the soft bosom of superstition, and Saturdays
That became cloudy with no promise of awakening to scrambled eggs
He became movement in the trees, his entire body trembling as if she walked
Over his grave again and again…
She was different, and everyone knew magic was her air
Waiting with swollen lips and traces of love that could have been…
Never grounded, thoughts always somewhere between
Now and never….
It was always him
Her one and only love letter not yet opened...
A glistening silver heritage making love to a silhouette of tears…
by Shannon Snyder |
lost love, love, philosophy, sleep,
Love is nothing more than a medical condition.
and I'm tired of taking these pills.
Like the tears on my pillow, I didn't sleep a wink last night.
and I'm tired as hell.
Love is nothing more than a heart condition.
Like a broken looking glass or a silly superstition.
I didn't sleep a wink last night
and I'm tired as hell. Like the tears on my pillow,
and the stories they tell.
by Norman Littleford |
Life is full of illusions
and we live our lives on these,
but because there are so many
we choose the ones that please.
Like love, time and the future
imagination, superstition and dreams,
even scientists are telling us
the world is not as it seems.
There is one consistent reality
that we at least can see,
It’s dear old mother nature
Without her where would we be.
by James Horn |
Could Become New Craze
Should my poems have much superstition
Of what does seem to be a deep suspicion
After deciding and making one more decision
What if I were faced with an inquisition?
My desire was lack a cross which was burning
And deep inside my stomach started churning
And a thought and question kept on returning
Would all of my love she want to be spurning.
No matter where love and each chip lays
Wrote several more poems last few days
On my mind and conscience each one plays
Poetry recitals could become a new craze.