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Leaves are to creep

Leaves do creep
And they must weep
When On them
The army of grief
Is passing in fleets
Fleets of tussle
Mind and heart’s scuffle
From all around
The heart is bound
The woods become Eden
For me the forbidden
To roam and mourn
In the eves and the morn
The moments of romance
Spent in the dance
The dry leaves resound
The same agonies sound
When under feet
Of heartless beat
The dry leaves weep

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poem by Akram Saqib
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From Theory To Pulse

Church of St Etienne du Mont, Paris
Because that force through green fuse drives all flowers
(which we would call the greater force, or God, or minor gods)
and gathers in a place like this — things gather, here and there —
then it’s a good place to come to sit a while, though
the first postulate of relativity, and I believe it, says to me
there’s no such thing as place. But here I am. It’s nice to sit a while.
Protect me, then, in the gathering up, in the going away.
The gargoyles do the warding off, the message gets projected
through the spires. That’s the theory. Sounds beautiful
to me. Okay. So you know nothing about anything
except what you recognise as instance, as kindred appearance.
Suffering, then. And then compassion. There are older agonies
than churches. You go home exhausted in the middle of the day.
Sunlight floods the apartment. The turtle dozes by the window,
more solemn than a thousand cats. You lie down,
place her on your chest. For two hours she stares at you
and feels your heart move her shell. Older agonies.
You are as little as you could be. Protect me — why?
No need. The turtle, mute, knows nothing too. That force

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poem by Luke Davies
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I Am Tired Of The Usual Agony

tell me another story
the one which you cannot tell inside a motel
where you hold a cigarette
on one hand and a bottle of gin on the other
do not attempt on another
one that begins with

once upon a time
for sure i don't like it and i won't like you beginning
such a kind of trash
to tickle my dead senses

ooops, tell me not a story about pity
and sympathy, the one that you always tell to your
bed partner when the storms come
and in the middle of its harshness
you have nowhere to go nothing to do except
spend your time wisely in another hotel
with a partner
whose name you never bother to ask

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Resignation Pt 2

But what in either sex, beyond
All parts, our glory crowns?
'In ruffling seasons to be calm,
And smile, when fortune frowns.'

Heaven's choice is safer than our own;
Of ages past inquire,
What the most formidable fate?
'To have our own desire.'

If, in your wrath, the worst of foes
You wish extremely ill;
Expose him to the thunder's stroke,
Or that of his own will.

What numbers, rushing down the steep
Of inclination strong,
Have perish'd in their ardent wish!
Wish ardent, ever wrong!

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poem by Edward Young
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Reach for Wishes

If I did not do this,
I'd be doing that and unhappy!
Although befriended I would be.
To share my daily agonies.
To fit within accepted limitations.
With social invitations,
To discuss our frustrations.
And hesitating to reach for wishes!

If I did not do this,
I'd be doing that and unhappy!
Although befriended I would be.
To share my daily agonies.
To fit within accepted limitations.
With social invitations,
To discuss our frustrations.
And hesitating to reach for wishes!

And for time to make them happen,
As those wishes that can happen pass!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Taking Is Of Their Interest

Many lifetimes it seems,
Some have personalized their agonies...
To then witness more inflicted,
By those claiming to do humanitarian deeds.

Too few know what it is like,
To be disturbed from their peaceful nights.
To stare hatred in the face...
As if this sickness to inflict,
Has a rightful place.

Many lifetimes it seems,
Some have personalized their agonies...
To be belittled and disrespected,
By an unconsciousness infested.

And manifested from an ignorance...
Still insisting on someone's shores,
The taking is of their interest.
And that is their purpose...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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So Afraid To Be Revealed

There are those so afraid to be revealed by the truth.
And so afraid they are to come out of hiding.
They have felt comforted by the lies they have spoken.
To keep their pains and resentments concealed.

Their misdeeds directed have come to affect their minds.
And the years of deceit now have come to surface.
In illnesses they try to numb.
With prescribed drugs to keep them hidden.
But eventually...
Truth shows what they have done!

There are those so afraid to be revealed by the truth.
And so afraid they are to come out of hiding.
They have felt comforted by the lies they have spoken.
To keep their pains and resentments concealed.

But their agonies...
Keep them from peacefully sleeping.
Their agonies keep them constantly weeping.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Me-Me

I am the Me-Me Princess
surrounded as I am by all of me
I hold fast to the idea
that nothing around me is very interesting, except me.

Absorbed as I am with my own thoughts
I contend that the charm of this self-obsession
is nonetheless
more fascinating
than the mere complacency I see everywhere else.

If I cannot espy my Hero Man
then I will have to suffice with me
and perhaps
marry myself
and spare myself
the agonies of love
the agonies of childbirth
perhaps skip it all
and go straight to my imaginary divorce

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Feeding On Evil

The creating of rivalries that eventually leave,
People improverished...
Builds up feelings of being superior,
And strengthens mental securities...
Of those with low self esteem,
Who practice with weapons to destroy human beings.

Those with thoughts like this,
Are no different than a cancer allow to grow.
Even though the cures to relieve these agonies,
Have long been made available.
But fear has it advantages,
To benefit the ones unconscious.

It's in the advertising of good hype,
That keeps people supporting...
The creation of fears and misdeeds,
With beliefs those of deceit and greed...
Actually have sensibilities to heal wounds.
They wont since it's not to their best interest.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Delivered To A Place That Dispenses Wings

Let's not carry on our backs,
Accepted agonies anticipated.
Let's take steps to rid ourselves,
Of those deficiencies...
We were led to believe,
Were birth marks to confirm...
As inspected.

And told they'd be there with us,
For the rest of our lives.
With a tolerance of them...
While others kept us suppressed.
As we continue to solicit,
A disrespecting done of our identities.

There is a need to awaken,
From this mental disease.

Let's not carry on our backs,
Accepted agonies anticipated.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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