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He Kills A Dream
by Latorial Faison
he speaks cynically
to a seventeen year old
split-hearted daughter
just setting her up
for the world to slaughter
when he says
"you'll never make it"
her soft as clay heart takes it
her meandering mind fakes it
. . . as he kills a dream
his lips painfully remind her
of the time she "blew it"
the shame inside her
did her more harm than good
. . . and he knew it
man's got a motive, not a heart
plays his baby girl
like a game of chess or poker cards
no shame in this daddy's game . . .
. . . as he kills a dream
Copyright 2001 by Latorial Faison. (latorial@poeticallyspeaking.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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older bolder colder
by Yosh
I see wrinkles
picked up on the facial
expression superhighway
of the mind, emotions
turned into communcation
to the heart
tell the age of page
after page, of his story,
and the tracks of what
was experienced
creates a grand
canyon of skin
enveloping the
past into a way
to say what is now
I am curt to my look
fixating on each line
this afternoon, wondering
how many more I am
to build tomorrow
I looked older
and felt five
chills, there
fingers through my hair
and rubbing my head
trying to make me
forget that so many
were there,
I loved that they
were there, and wished
for more to find their place.
and when I told her
she didn't stop for a second
Copyright 2001 by Yosh (PoemoftheWeek@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Shallowed Souls
by Brice Metzger
When they yell
all that is heard are hollowed echoes
within the empty halls of their hearts.
When they curse
only but silent shadows wander past;
be unhearing, ignore their vapid shouts.
Should they finally weep
to wail-waft their vacant pain
pinching Time down to seem as endless;
until at last they fail - may fall.
Yet some are found
to kneel before their self-lost God.
From forgotten wastes of hope
still held as harbored
in some small creased crevice
wimpled-held;
forlornly groping
gasp for some voice to emanate
self-felt and heard within
their parched souls.
Perhaps then to become - creature-humbled.
Copyright 2001 by Brice Metzger. (bricepoems@ecr.net).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
Visit Brice's poetry page at bricepoems
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).