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| The Mean Mr. Mark Mobley | -by Mark MobleyA Poem For You | -by Mark MobleyThe Fall of The Champion | -by Mark MobleyThe Weed | -by MLAPast, Listen to Me! | -by DeesseMy Demon | -by HeidiTogether, Apart | -by Kay WengerOnce More | -by Thaddeus 0Ascension | -by Christopher E. Wood.pain | -by Jeff NelsonBefore Eight | -by Jeff NelsonBlack Rose | -by Sarah Webster1945--A COLD MEMORY | -by Ingrid Maria TothHAPPY BIRTHDAY, MRS. KIYO KONO | -by Ingrid Maria Toth
I'm mean, I'm nasty, I'm rotten, I drink milk straight out of the carton. I take candy from babies, I bite dogs and give them rabies. I'll steal an old ladies purse and bust her lip, I'll kick an old man's cane and make him trip. Because I'm mean, I'm evil, nice I'm not, I'll park my car in a handicap spot. I'll open the bread and let it grow mold, I'll take off the coffee and let it get cold. I'll take potato chips and smash the bag, I wipe porcelain with a greasy rag. Because I'm plum, mad dog mean, The meanest you've ever seen. If you're dumb ass is looking at me wrong, I'll ram a bucket on your head and beat it like a gong. I'll kick you in the lip, and punch you in the ear, I'll open up your refrigerator and drink all your beer. Because I'm bad, I'm crazy, I'm wild, I've been mean ever since I was a child. I'm a big, bad, street thug, I'll go to your house and pee on the rug. I'll cut the strings on your guitar, I'll climb on your hood and sh** on your car. Because I'm mad, you'd better tell Jimmy Dean, Because everybody knows ham makes me mean. I'll beat up your mom, then buy a six pack, I'll sneak up behind you and unzip your backpack. I'll beat you with a bottle or a flashlight, I'll hump your mom all damn night. Because I'm mean, I'm mean as #%$!, Quit looking at me or I'll have a fit. I uproot flowers before they bloom, I'll fart a lot and stink up the room. I'll pay my dues with nothing but pennies, I'll kick all of you in your jimmies. Because I'm horrible, mean as a snake, Better watch out or I'll beat you with a rake. So don't look at me, Don't talk to me, Don't bother me, I know you all just want to be like me.
© 1997 Mark Mobley
Are you sick, feeling blue? Well, I wrote this poem just for you, You were a baby, and then you grew, That's why I wrote this poem about you, I saw you sleeping and then I knew, I had to write this poem, just about you, I noticed that whenever you eat, you chew, So I decided to write this poem about you, I think I need to find something new, Because I am tired of writing about you, You're starting to make me sick, I just might spew, I just can't write anything else about you, I'm sick and tired, I think I hate you, Never again, will I write about you, From now on all my poems will be about me, That's all that they should be.
He thought he was great, that he was the best, Talking trash, walking around in his vest, They called him a champion, and made him a legend, But I just scoffed, and said "Every dream must end," The shuttlecock was served, and the game began, I couldn't return his shots, no matter how fast I ran, Their champion was good, but overconfident, I scored a point, and in his ego formed a dent, Then I was all over the court like a monkey on crack, But he was determined to stop my comeback, With my mad skills, I got the score tied, He couldn't believe it, and between points he cried, He became enraged like a lonely gorilla in heat, But, despite my fatigue I was able to stay on my feet, With a mighty swing he spiked it hard, With a dive I missed, and I crashed hard, My racquet snapped in half and my arm was broken, But I wasn't done, and I ain't jokin', I got my racquet and switched to my left arm, With only half a racquet, I was still causing harm, The last shot I threw with the grace of a swan in a pond, He slammed after it like a bulldozer to the ground, He had missed, and I had won, It was a good game, I had fun, He laid and cried, and threw his racquet away, But I didn't want the fame, I just walked away.
The sunsets on a love
That could've been
The pain in my chest
Shall fade with time
But my beauty continues
From a weed to a rose
My personality still pure
As the day i was born
Why now? I cry
Over in my mind
Why not when I was young
And hatred abound
Why couldn't it shine then?
Why did it wait?
Till dreams were shattered
The answer unknown
Still teases my mind
Painfully aware
That love was needed
For the flower to bloom.
©April 4,1997 MLA
top home back
Past, let go of me!
Don't hide the way to the future!
Don't hold me back!
Lead me to my tomorrow!
Past, save my memories,
But don't remind me of the bitter ones!
Keep my experiences yesterday,
Especially those that will teach me.
Past, continue to visit me,
But don't bother my heart!
Guide me
But don't rule my mind!
©1997 Deesse
The light shines in my eyes again - -
Where am I and why am I here?
Thoughts that were never here before
Where did they come from, who put them there?
When I wake, I have done things that I have never done before.
Things that I have never thought of before.
I turn into a person with no heart and no feelings.
This is not I.
The slightest bit of rage or anger comes out at such extremes.
Who is this other person in my mind?
Where did she come from?
When did she get here?
Why me, what did I do to be cursed in such a way.
I keep this side of me a secret, and pray it does not show itself.
But when I show my demon, I have no reason, no explanation.
I hurt myself and that holds it in for a while.
But then the dreams start.
Dreams that defy my demon an image.
She punishes me for all the sins I have committed;
in her name and my own.
She takes my rage and she uses it against me.
She is my demon, my insanity.
Every day I give in a little bit more of my mind.
I try to love, the way I want to love.
Every minute it becomes harder and harder.
My rage and hurt grow deeper
and more outward every waking second I am alive.
How can I stop?
©1997 Heidi
Together,
we sit on the covered patio.
Together,
we watch the stars decorate the darkness.
Him,
smoking his pipe
as the smell of Black Cherry
freshens the crisp night air
while the halo of smoke
disapates over his head
and into the night.
Him,
trying to manipulate through life
after the passing of his wife.
Me,
nervously chipping the pearly polish
from my manicured nails
as my constantly moving feet
move constantly
while elevated in an empty chair.
Me,
trying to manuever my life along
after the passing of my Mom.
Together,
we talk and think aloud.
Together,
we remember.
Him,
remembering his wife
as a beautiful young girl
reminiscing about the early years
prattling on with his stories
reliving his life
choosing to forget the pain of the bad times
but clinging to the good times.
Me,
searching into his every word
cherishing his new stories
yawning through the reruns
as eager to learn more about my Mom
as he was to tell the stories of his wife
but in the process of listening
I learned more about my Dad.
Together,
we filter through the past.
Together,
we wade into the future.
Together,
we mourn.
Together,
but apart.
Please send any comments to :
Kay Wenger
© 1997
Here we are again my love,
holding each other once more,
and as I look at the stars above,
I grab a vision of an opening door,
a door to your heart is what I see,
unable to find, unable to hold,
unable to enter, unable to free,
the love that stays abode,
you are to me like the sun is to day,
you are to me like the moon is to nite,
you are my thoughts, you are my way,
throughout a peril of forgotten light,
I love you now as I loved you then,
don't leave me darling, not again.
© 1998 Thaddeus0
I have pulled the furniture
all into the attic space--
and let termites eat the paint,
cold crack the drive,
humid air swell the wood.
I sleep in the attic space
with one single candle lit.
People walk by,
saying this house has its haunts
because of me and my candle,
standing, watching out.
Several came to live here,
but I rattled doors and boards
to scare them--
to stay alone in the attic space.
© 1998 Christopher E. Wood
the pain of a thousand generations fills me with an anger i cannot Suppress, throughout my aching body, i feel the stabbing, over and over, i suffer why, must it come back to haunt me so and feeble me, i must suffer the slings, the arrows and in return i suffer still, through the night dark, blind to my predator, somehow he spots me and i am not safe from his icy grasp but, only the sunrise can protect me now, sun breaks the horizon, slivers of light pierce my virgin eyes as i awaken, dazed from the previous nights slumber and realize, i wasn't asleep, but it was only a figment of my imagination where i was, i guess only time will tell and as i pick away the scabs i didn't have the night before i never heal.
© 1998 Jeff Nelson
Before Eight
Before eight
I woke up in a culvert
Sunlight piercing my eyes
Grime covered
Dirty hands
Before eight
Notice my nakedness
My wounds, claws, eyes
Entrenched
In fear, delusion
Before eight
Crawl out to
Discover my whereabouts
Virgin fields
Barley filled
Before eight
I woke up in a culvert
Sunlight piercing my eyes
God help us all
As we kill ourselves
Before eight
I fade to the dirt road
Returning to the earth
Sunken to the field
From which I rose
© 1998 Jeff Nelson
A black rose
Swimming in a sea of daisies
So quiet no one hears her pleas for help
Soon the black rose drowns
And no one seems to care or even notice
© 1997Sarah Webster
Into my room an icy wind blows;
onto my bed and clothes it snows;
no glass in the windows to keep out the cold;
no cozy covers to snuggle and hold.
Paper was tacked onto the holes in the wall,
but snow and wind wet it and tore it all.
"Get out of bed; I have to take you to school.
You can't stay at home; you know the rule."
My brother urges me. "Go wash up."
"There is ice in the washbowl and in my cup."
He shivers and swings his arms in a frenzy.
"Hurry...I'm freezing to death if you're clumsy.
I could not wash either. Come on, little goose!"
And he pushes me gently. "Where are your shoes?"
"Broken," I cry. "And my feet are a sight."
"Here take one of my boots. We'll manage all right."
The bombing left ruins and debris in the street;
snow shrouds war's legacy with a white sheet.
Freezing and hungry, I sense no glory
in this first cold winter of my memory.
© 1997Ingrid Maria Toth
Dedicated with loving thoughts to a great American-Japanese lady, Mrs. Kiyo Kono, who through her strength and endurance and self-sacrifice, is leaving a lasting, significant mark on her family and friends.
What an honor to participate
when the time came to celebrate
Mrs Kiyo Kono's 100th birthday--
a most special occasion, I must say.
Loving and caring, her daughter Alice
has planned and designed this moment of bliss
and arranged fine, delectable dishes...
To send their greetings and special wishes,
important people went out of their way.
Senators Akaka and Inoue,
Represantative Abercombie,
Mayor Lingle of Maui, you see,
remarks on the achievement to be
one hundred years old and utterly blessed,
and to make complete this wonderful fest
President Clinton sent his message,
saluting this lady in her far-away niche.
Friends and family from Honolulu,
from Maui and Molokai too,
came to join in the festive occasion,
cheerful in a most loving fashion.
Some remember Moritaka Kono,
Mrs. Kono's late husband, quite "pono",
who in 1919 brought his young wife
to Hawaii to start a new life.
They raised four fine children on Lanai,
but left in 1934 to go to Molokai.
Mr. Kono passed; his wife stayed behind,
living in harmony--spirit and mind.
Eleven times becoming "obachan",
she surely found her place in the sun.
So, I wish her happy birthday again
to enjoy life and stay happy and sane.
© 1997Ingrid Maria Toth
© 1997 sorthious@aol.com
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