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Measures of Sorrow

Fire surges across the uncovered plains of reflection:
water rolls along slowly
mirrowing measures of sorrow.
As my trembling body shakes of uttering sadnes
drawn onto my still plastered face...

Hopes as cold as the winter skies
brings out a smell of burning red coal;
oh cries measures of sorrow:
where has my path of happiness
led me?
Hopes flutter by with wings of desire.
Fire brings in warmth
and curls lone figures into -
balls of snow
hurling across the uncovered plains of reflection.

My kindered heart is broken
burned by the fire surge
across the uncovered plains of reflection -

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poem by Celine Berghmans
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I Have No Time, Can I Touch 'it' Just One Last Time..?

yes
so it is
It is so pink
how can i find my way in
it is only uncovered for its modesty
it beats within a hurried warmth inside you
inside i feel you try the boundaries
it is uncovered now today
it is so pink
it is so
hot
is it
you
pinker
winkers
richer....................................... ......................

poem by Is It Poetry
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The Theft

You've discovered my weakness; uncovered my flaw
Yet, you never bore witness to your breaking the law.
It must have been taken with your books one day.
My heart, now your possession, you took it away.
I tried to retrieve it; though I never begged.
So many games were played with my love-stricken  head.
I was never compensated, so I have come to ask-
May I please at least have what's left of it back?
You never gave yours- I say you broke the law
when you stole my heart and uncovered my flaws. 

poem by J.R. Tinoco
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Persuaded to Remember

Wouldn't it be a fantastic discovery,
If it was uncovered...
That the process of thought,
Was a natural occurrence.
And human beings could actually do this,
Independently.

To forget with a forgiveness!
And all bitterness,
Is dropped.
Without assistance to connect dots.
Or persuaded to remember,
Something in their minds to find...
With a need for recurring conflicts to stir,
Nonstop!

Wouldn't it be a fantastic discovery,
If it was uncovered...
That the process of thought,
Was a natural occurrence.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Daze

Bugs of all types,
Crawl on the wall.
They crawl onto my body,
And I just sit there.
I stare at the TV,
And ignore the bugs.
They crawl all over me,
Up on my face,
Down my legs,
On my arms,
Everywhere.
Someone comes in,
They see all the bugs,
Covering my body now.
They scream,
And try to get me uncovered.
I just sit there,
Doing nothing but watching,
The black screen.
Once they have me uncovered,

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poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Unveiled And Uncovered

Plow in hope and sow in tears,
For he who sows bountifully will reap bountifully;
This is like law, order, peace and calmness,
But my love is now unveiled and uncovered to you.

To the land of oil,
To the land of tomatoes,
To the land of oranges,
To the land of onions,
To the land of pepper,
To the land of coconuts,
But enslaved under the elements of the world!
And my love is now unveiled and uncovered to you.

Have i become your enemy by telling you the truth? !
Then think twice before you close that door;
For she who sows bountifully will reap bountifully.

To the land of beauty,
To the land of romance,

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover

That this old ground yields to plow stuns.

What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.

Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.

All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves
to unknotting surprise.

I am uncovered, thin, bared upon thinner sheets the man-
ripped to many images, torn into, landscaped to former curves.
No longer do I grieve enclosure, touching only myself,
delivered from layers.

Magpie dances.

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poem by Warren Falcon
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Mountain

Nothing's moving I don't see anybody
And I know that it's not a trick
There really is nothing moving there
And there aren't any people. It is the very utmost top
Where, as is not unusual,
There is snow, lying like the hair on a white-haired person's head
Combed sideways and backward and forward to cover as much of the top
As possible, for the snow is thinning, it's September
Although a few months from now there will be a new crop
Probably, though this no one KNOWS (so neither do we)
But every other year it has happened by November
Except for one year that's known about, nineteen twenty-three
When the top was more and more uncovered until December fifteenth
When finally it snowed and snowed
I love seeing this mountain like a mouse
Attached to the tail of another mouse, and to another and to another
In total mountain silence
There is no way to get up there, and no means to stay.
It is uninhabitable. No roads and no possibility
Of roads. You don't have a history

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poem by Kenneth Koch
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The Unwise Wise

Proudly, fiercely, they guarded wisdom;
wisdom that had outlasted fashion,
the cults, the sects, the mass conversions,
the messaiahs, and the promises;

They had gathered this knowledge
in the days of garnered wisdom
250 years before that guy from Galilee;
and then around twice his lifetime upon earth
as numbers dwindled, they stored this knowledge
in a cave not so far from Jericho,
near the sea that died into a lake.

Discipline, ritual, held them together;
and cleanliness; the communal latrine
was 1,000 cubits or a little more, say half a mile,
from the city where they lived; I guess
some walked, some ran
there from Qumran
– except on Saturdays, when

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Wizard of Clayton Close

He's steeped in the shadows of ivy and stone,
And time is the seed that the Wizard has sown,
Has sown for the magick of weaving the night
In a tapestry taken from burning delight.
Burning delight in the eyes of the mind he has
Stolen, to conjure insight for the blind, for the
Blind are the pebbles that litter his beach, while the
Tides of his mind set the blind out of reach.

The masonry wall is caught deep in the spell that he
Conjured forgotten, in some distant dell,
And if you should peer through the ivy and stone
There's a voice whispers... 'leave me, just leave me alone.
I've wandered with Ishtar, away from your eyes
From your spying and prying, away from your lies,
In the peril and terror that lonely men speak...
Seek not the undying, whatever you seek.'

But drawn to the shadows and drawn to the stone
I could leave him not ever, not leave him alone,

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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