Who Are You By Jet

*** Who are you to tell me what to do

you don't even know who I am I can't count the number of lies that you

told me how I wish you could believe you

when you tell me that you love me when you say that to me its just hallow

words who are you to tell me that my dreams

are foolish you know nothing about my dreams

after all you were never around you tell me that you care but how can you when

you are never there when I need you who are you to say who I can or can't

date you don't get a say in my love life

with how you never showed me any love you make hallow gestures

you tell me nothing but lies you say I can count on you

when I try to get help from you all that happens is you look at me like

I'm a freak you tell me to take care of it myself who are you to try to get in my life

you were never there for me growing up so you have no right to be in my life

now if you wanted to be in my life

you should have been part of my life since day one

a cow of colorful hues ~

for kevin ~

there was that sat in a tree a cow of colorful hues

who, perched in a birch, issued not moos but mews

~ a dog came to investigate & cautiously approached, but on reaching the birch the cow he reproached:

~

me thought a cat dwelt in this tree, but 'tis only a bovine i do see! & with this there came a great

CRASH! as the cow she did fall from the

tree ~

the brightly colored cow did fall & 'pon the dog she did;

the cow got up & uttered, strange, a canine the shape of a lid

~ & so the bright cow did wander & in her pink head did ponder: such things as this are rarely

viewed then danced away gingerly &

quietly mewed ~

kung pao yak

in the dim light i see the reflected glint of something shying in turns and shades still to little to see

undefined slowing in a blue glow an echo raps along a hall

pooling at the high ends of its sound resonant

through these muffled corridor attenuating inaudible

as it refracts and fades into green vibration

something tactile floats aloft dips away as in red reflex

nothing there but still the hairs arisen

drifts across the skin a second yellow feel

an electric scent in the air something burnt or blooming

it hangs as it wisps away across and grey it lingers still adrift

the smell of what’s on the wind on the outskirts of scent a pale taste in the mouth

of soot and scent catches at the edge of the taste of food

follows the tongue back to the bitter taste and disappears the floundering of the peripherals

the subtle change encountered imaginary

only what we perceive and fail to perhaps then a placebo

a creative whim ebbing upon our input

an artificial white

Glass poetry-Autumn harsh an omen carriedLively growth claws out through green grassearth grows armor we have buriedfor winter's screech and snowy brass-There above you see the meaningand feel the vacancy of freezewords suggest but go careeningWhat better use have we for these?-The higher truths the artists seekare bound in metaphors' dark sheetfor reasons known when poets speakthe rift of mind to hand to beat-With all the meaning sensoryMere words become illusory--PNKRK244/ RW

frailty _____________ I know my frailty inside my skin constructed icicles reveal my framework and have for years created the façades that the world recognizes as me . as long as I remain cold I am strong but I am melting inside it scares me to be delicate listening to the crinkly ice crack as the warmth of a voice penetrates the ice . I am afraid of the consequences of being loved I struggle with choices that I am not allowed to pick I began with pure glacial ice ends with the salt of tears dropping slowly but steady into the vastness of life’s next journey . Feign

By: OYamIandUOa place to leave my stay….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~a shining star which gleams for you

a shining star aboveits light a glowing guiding torch

a shining star aboveof glowing guiding lovely pastwhich gleams to light our way

a shining star that guides our patha light that leads away

*a shining star which gleams for you

a shining star afraidits sparkle cold which draws us in

a hold we venture therea shining star above our hearts

and peace beneath our feetwhich brightens now the fallen snow

which melts our weary flesha shining star above our hearts

a light that gleams in waita secret pace to end of days

a slowing place of fate*

a secret place at end of daysa secret place that shines

a quiet place for us to waitthe shinning star aligns

a final place to rest our feara pace to reach our home

a shinning shimmer in the nightfor faithful feats atone

*

a secret pace which knows our hearta shine that guides our way

a shimmer frosting midnight skiesa torch that guides our way

a shinning star that knows our thoughtsa secret place we yearn

a shining star, a sleepy pacea final place to turn

*and finally we rest at last

and finally we bravea pace which slows away the days

and shades away to fadeit led us here in sleeping lace

a place we can’t betraythe weave of foot prints in snow

a tired eye we've saveda shining star still glimmering

the snow, a shiver, warmsa shinning star above our heads

a frozen desert thorn

I Am ...

I am master of my destiny We can share the reward I can solve the mystery

We as one move forward I have faith in my dream

We are never uncouth I see things to redeem We are joined by truth

. I am true to my soul They say it will end I have paid my toll

They want me to bend I feel pain in my mind

They hint I'm a fool I search for all time

They just sit and drool .

I could make up excuses For better or worse

I feel it would be useless For I stay on my course

I will never give in For I'm true to myself

A time to begin I am who I am

... EyeOfTheTiger2u7

AKA Ken October 14 2013 ©

( All Rights Reserved )

bouquet of heather & thistle~

I gave to her a bouquet, a bouquet of heather & thistle,& I said to her my love, this song is my epistle

(as for my guilt, I can barter no acquittal)~

& I sang to her a song that mimicked the babbling brook,& I gave to her myself,& her innocence I took

~& I gave to her body lying long

a long low wolf whistle;I played upon her milky skin

a song of quivering flesh,so that our souls were enmeshed,

~then I wrote for her a poem

that cracked her brittle heart stone& I served to her a meal

of succulent meats & gristle.~

my love, she cried a tearout of her beautiful eye

& heaved her breast to utterone devastating sigh:

~many a song goes unfinished

as many a heart grows diminished;~

when I ate the succulent meatsI was choked by the gristle,

~when I bent to sniff the heather

I was pricked by the thistle,~

when I read your poemit cracked my brittle heart stone,

~when I listened to your song,

I knew that I was home~

Jeff Trudell(kungpaoyak@aol.com)

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self portrait`

i woke to weeping willows

passing under a bridgewater lilies

everywhere in bloomshades

of cerulean; cadmium, cobalt and indigo

`i dipped my fingertips

into the blue and watchedthe colors swirl

`i saw Monet weeping

with his easel on the shoreand watched his tears

droponto the canvas

in color

c.s. fox

ALBERTA AUTUMN DAWNS & IN HER DAWNING SUN TICKLED CLOUDS BLUSHCERULEAN AZURE & ROSE BLOOM AMID

SILVER LIMNED & BLUSHINGCLOUDS MAJESTIC FLOATING, GOLD &

GREEN THE GRASSES SEEMBURNISHED, BRIEFLY THEIR TIPS AFIRE,

YOUNG TREES NAKED VULNERABLESTARKLY ARE SILHOUETTED, SENTINALS IN WAITING ALONG THE SHALLOW HILLS

WHILE STATELY CONIFERS CONFER APART, WHO WHISPER NOW

THE MORNING CAN START; GOLD & CRIMSON SOME REMNANT LEAVES,& HOW A REVENANT THEIR BEAUTY TEASE WHILE A CHESTNUT MARE,

THROAT MUSCLES RIPPLE, AT THE AGED OAKEN TROUGH TIPPLES

~JEFF TRUDELL (KUNGPAOYAK@AOL.COM)

It's not my fault i am orangemy parents are that way tooonly they live in the jungle and i am stuck in the zoooh no, here come the noise makersand their parents tagging along behindi hope they don't stay too longi will pretend i don't mindmaybe if i act mundanethey wont go insanei hate when they stareyou would think i don't have hairits not my fault i am orangethey look at me as if i am strangeas if they have never seen another like me beforebut if they saw things from my perspectivethey wouldn't come here any more`c.s. fox

Death Garden~

The old woman stood in her garden

Of cabbage and Welsh onions... The soil covered daily with

a frosted layer of ash;Ash that would fall from the sky

Around the clock...Much like the disturbing gun

thunder In the far off distance.

~Amongst the Spindle and

EdelweissHummingbirds hovered in

hypnotic stasisDrawing from the nectar

Deep within the flowering ovaries.

~On the other side of a rail depot

Guard dogs barked above a deadened stillness

Inside the brick walls and barbed wire;

Saboteurs of silence.How can life and death

Be in such close proximity?A human freight train came

Every other dayEmptying out its unfashionable

cargo.Their remembrance of decency

Had ended long agoAs they were shoved and

proddedLike caged animals,

Their captives towards the compound.

A tower sentry looked down From his elevated platform Observing the proceedings.The psychology, of course,

Was that I'm up hereAnd you're down there;

You're not human.Unlike the strong wave of

propaganda His fellow soldiers had

adoptedHe was not fully at peace

with the Graphic images...and smells

Life now served up;His personal brainwashing

Not fully completed.~

The eyes of the sentry and old woman Now met

In an exchange of the truthAs if to say...

Even God seems to stay away.

From this unholy place.~

One day the gun thunder will die down;

The ash will enrich the soilAnd the trinity will appear

again.~

~ ....ian~ 4-24-12

~ dark poetry

if silence had a voice`what is it about the silencewe crave it during the dayon little excursions outsideor even to the restroom just for a second of silence`how strange that that same silencecan wake a slumbering childnot our conversationsor the movie on tvbut the silence`how is it silence can soothand scareat night it lurks and we lay waitingduring the day we seek it outhow can it be both`with infants we welcome itwith death we have no choice`perhaps if silence had a voicewe would know`c.s. fox

Manifest Destiny ~

my language is surfeited by the idioms of conquering tribes

~squaw with papoose sighted on a bead, funny,the way she trembles against snow is almost

human,the smell & sheen of oil on blue barrel

is enough to give a god fearing man a hard on. ~

the white devil may smile as he takes us, my son,& you will think me perverse that I struggle to find

joyeven now while your bright red face is open in

pain.your cries fall flat against the snow,

but it is best we go together to the sky.do you understand? two sharp reports echoa moment before the air behind him is split.

shaft drives deeply right of spine, cleanbetween ribs, pushes diamond shaped headout through soft belly. The cap'n said leave

tomorrow,home to the wife & kid he thinks while he pivots &

dies. ~

Jeff Trudell (kung pao yak@aol.com)

…As We Sit Here…. By: Dreadlox~

There are wars going on In far off desolate places

…as we sit here;Where unspeakable

Atrocities are taking place.There are card games being played

To ease the tension of Tomorrow’s missile strikesAnd disabling road side Landmine explosions.

~There are friends laughing

And smoking cigarettes and Talking of family back home;

Shaken and nervous… About what was lost today

And who is not going home…Tomorrow.

~There are fatigued medics that

Can’t get to the inflicted Fast enough.

And fallen casualties with Ghastly wounds and

Compelling stories of bravery;Patiently waiting for their turn

On the operating table.

There are maimed soldiersLying in their infirmaries

Waiting to be med-evictedTo a hospital to begin months

Of rehab to learn to walk again. and there are caskets being built

That young men will lie inAnd flown back “to the States”

Honored and draped in anAmerican flag.

~And somewhere

There are stories being written For newspapers about these places

And about these heroes.…And back home there are Americans leafing through

Their papers to get to the NASDAQTo see how their portfolios did today

Or checking the sports page;More concerned about who

Won last night’s Packers game.~

~ …….ian~ 11-16-10

Static`Nothing new to sayor seesame rainsame treessame day it seems.`The seasons keep revolving.Spring is way ahead of mewhile I am still stuck in winter,`and everythingseems defiant.The buds on the treesblink and are leavesthe clouds are consuming`and the rain is relentlesslysliding down my window pane.Nothing new will remain,yet everythingseems the same.``C.S. Fox