A World of Verse

A WORLD OF VERSE

  A COLLECTION OF

  POETRY

  by

  ASMSG Authors

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  Cover Art by Regina Pucket

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  This anthology is a collection of poetry. All works herein are included by the express permission of each author. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by: ASMSG Collections Publishing

  Written by: ASMSG Authors

  Produced by: Christopher Shields, Co-Administrator, ASMSG

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Contact ASMSG at www.asmsg.weebly.com

  Cover Art © 2013 by ASMSG

  Cover Art by Regina Puckett

  Editors: ASMSG Authors

  List of Poets:

  Alan Hardy

  Andy Szpuk

  B.L. Ronan

  Bryan Paul

  Debra Parmley

  Ian Bradley Marshall

  James Amoateng

  Karena Marie

  Laurie Kazmierczak

  Lucy Pireel

  Murielle Cyr

  Ollie Lambert

  Oscar Wager II

  Peter Watson Jenkins

  Regina Puckett

  Shannon McRoberts

  Steven Harz

  Teresa Amehana Garcia

  Teresa Joseph Franklin

  Yelle Hughes

  ALAN HARDY

  WALK ON

  Often fallen boughs, at a glance,

  assume creepy shapes, of bodiless limbs of crouching humans,

  half-limbed reptiles hugging the earth,

  shock you for an instant with their slimy proneness.

  Something lying in undergrowth, lying still.

  That split-second brings you face-to-face with a chance encounter.

  Meeting of eyes. Living things waiting. Camouflaged.

  You step out of your comfort-zone,

  open the door at night and walk into darkness,

  imagine shadows and terrors, and hidden monsters.

  It's the time it takes to fumble a lock or chain

  and scamper back inside.

  Sometimes, though, you look up and see a face transformed,

  a blaze of hatred, a burst of madness.

  Then it lasts longer. And your body quakes.

  You feel pain. It's a shock which doesn't blink.

  You have to face it. And you do. You survive.

  The days pass. You return to what you were.

  Someone who, in wandering along the path,

  meets the gaze of a bewitched piece of wood,

  a slap from the primeval past,

  its imaginings.

  Then you walk on. And on. Until, one day, the real terror comes.

  DESERT ISLE

  He sat on the beach of his private island,

  wrote messages on scraps of paper

  once were staring blankly at him,

  pushed them through bottles’ narrow necks

  into bottles’ ample bodies,

  where they, shaken, shifted.

  He flung them as far as he could into the ocean's waves,

  like a parent gazed after them,

  until they were lost in the spray

  or the tangle of waves like a twisting-turning cotton-thread,

  waited long enough for them not to return.

  He would scour the undulating sand shaped by the receding sea,

  each day tread its soft moistness for something untoward,

  an object or colour which would catch his eye.

  Slowly, he gave up,

  scuffed the cloying sand at his feet,

  saw enough beauty in that, and the foam surging by his side,

  licking at him, and then seeping away.

  Eventually, he scribbled on his scraps

  how he sent out messages on the endless seas,

  and, stranded on his isle, received nothing back.

  Drawing in draughts of fresh sea-air,

  sitting on the sand, the sea's wide sweep before him,

  he glanced around for bottles he could stuff with the paper

  he made his dreams of.

  OLD LADY

  Old lady, what has happened to you?

  Bullied into aping the giggles you excite,

  in that gap-toothed smile the child you were

  mischievously reappears,

  looks around for a pat on its bent back.

  Old lady, where did your wisdom, such as it was, go?

  You mix up memories, identities and syntax,

  make comments which start and lead nowhere,

  stare at us with ablaze scary eyes.

  Old lady, how did your body get bent so out of shape?

  You shuffle about the floor, grinning

  a jogging mix of shame under others' gaze

  and child's pride in putting one leg in front of another,

  constantly stop, in legs' and brain's loss of manoeuvrability.

  Old lady, when and where did your expression go?

  Your blank shiny stare can exaggerate into bewilderment,

  stuck against a wall looking out at a world you don't recognize,

  or becomes child's easy option seeking applause.

  Old lady, where did your youth go?

  Your strength? Your looks? Your stride? Your firm shoulders?

  The only consolation is, with your cheeky smile,

  and your brain voiding itself of all matter, and sense,

  you couldn't care less.

  UNANSWERED DREAMS

  On her return they quizz her,

  a resumé of each error and good point

  brings pangs of pain or pride.

 

  She plummets from joy to despair,

  on a roller-coaster of emoting dips and rises

  they obsess over.

  Pausing, she stares with bright eyes

  at their slavish devotion.

 

  They live upon her, and would visit triumphs on her

  they could turn back on themselves.

  Years ago, they would wait by the window,

  yards apart, eyes watching only for her

  walking up the path.

 

  Their disappointment affects them deeply,

  in their love for her the betrayal she didn't intend hurts,

  that it can't turn out as they dreamt,

  causes her, occasionally, to cast them her odd looks.

 

  She knows they invest in her

  hopes which only break hearts,

  all three of them locked in fantasies,

  over percentages and marks out of ten,

  which sour their time together.

  The three observe in each other the origin of their sadness:

  their dreams were never answered.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  ANDY SZPUK

  Destiny Will Dance

  (From the author’s forthcoming historical novel ‘Fate and Circumstance’)

  In these peaks where people join their hearts

  We are closer to
Heaven than some

  It is where angels gather

  And where warriors beat their drums

  We are tied to the earth

  Rooted to the past

  We reach towards a new dawn

  Our destiny will dance

  Heaven Has A Flower

  (From the author’s forthcoming historical novel ‘Fate and Circumstance’)

  Like the hardiest flower known to man

  You soaked up life’s rainfall and always bloomed

  When the soil beneath you turned into sand

  You held onto your whole world in your womb

  A song was born and hearts came together

  The melody of life played around you

  A fiddle plays and lingers forever

  As your song sticks in time like strong glue

  A bullet burst through your skin and drew blood

  The music stopped before the chorus line

  Joy became sorrow and drowned in the mud

  A storm arrived to murder the sunshine

  Uprooted from the earth without reason

  Heaven has a flower to smile upon

  Lost Smile

  Sunshine soaks into soil, nature blooms

  Life fades upon blades of scrawny grass

  In all of this a boy’s smile is lost

  Denial of death by the do-as-I-please

  Inspectors nod solemnly as they scribble

  Never before, never again, never say never?

  Genocide arrives to take a million lives, and then more

  Oh, the music never plays anymore

  No one sings, not even in sorrow

  Then comes a hurricane of world war

  Heavyweights clash, the earth catches fire

  Eastern eyes turn westward and beyond

  Spinning away from everything he knows

  Naturally, he wishes to find a way home

  One day he loses everything, he’s alone

  When angels give him wings, he keeps on

  So, new lives are carved out, in a wide world

  Terrors of war are not so distant memories

  Over to the east a curtain is drawn, a sheet of iron

  Nebulous dreams never leave him

  Every day, he longs to walk a path, the one that leads home

  Dirty Martini

  The motel was like an ice-cube

  Floating in a Dirty Martini

  What she said didn’t really matter

  It didn’t matter what she didn’t see

  The moment was intoxicating

  She slid like wet cement

  Right into my arms

  Underneath the drone of the air vent

  All those dollars were mine

  To her I was the main attraction

  Loaded up with dirty money

  And ready for some easy action

  Her kiss was hotter than a bullet

  And she locked herself onto me

  I was like a loaded gun

  Waiting to bust free

  The smoke from our cigarettes


  Floated in a cloud above

  She purred like a Chevrolet

  My dirty money found her dirty love

  * * * * * * * * * *

  B.L. RONAN

  balance.

  the coarseness of the rope

  cuts

  into the softness

  of my feet.

  the painful abrasions

  center me

  as i maneuver

  across

  the empty expanse.

  each purposeful

  step

  inhalation

  leaves me

  but a hairsbreadth away

  from

  falling.

  my direction

  is aimless.

  i am solely focused

  on maintaining

  this tenuous

  balance.

  buoyed

  by the surrounding air,

  i never forget

  that one misstep

  and what i am

  was

  could be

  will no longer matter.

  right here

  right now

  is my existence.

  one tentative

  trepidatious 

  step

  at

  a

  time,

  until my foundation

  my world

  is one again

  aligned

  on solid ground.

  a day 

  when tears

  no longer stream

  from my burning eyes.

  a day 

  when my soul

  no longer screams

  for redemption.

  a day

  when ever breath

  every beat of my heart

  warms me

  in completeness.

  but

  until that day,

  i will balance

  precariously

  on this tightrope

  and focus

  on the threadbare rope

  beneath my feet.

  who gives this woman…

  his visage

  in the mirror

  mires her 

  in thoughts

  of the past...

  a time 

  of simple pleasures

  that seemed 

  to flutter by

  much too fast.

  scraped knees

  barbecues

  fresh cut grass

  peach ice cream

  steadfast love

  fierce protection

  and the ability

  to dream.

  a tear falls

  as she takes him in -

  the first love

  of her life.

  now waiting

  to hand his little girl,

  into the role

  of beloved wife. 

  she turns

  and takes

  his outstretched hand,

  breathing in a moment 

  of bittersweetness.

  together

  they take 

  the final steps,

  trying hard

  to hold tight

  to the falling pieces.

  but

  what's forged in steel

  can never be

  broken

  nor lost

  when it's already

  been found.

  instead of losing

  he's gaining another

  who's promised

  to love

  honor

  cherish

  yesterday

  tomorrow

  now.

  seeing 

  the elation

  radiating from

  her beautiful face,

  he remembers

  all the stepping stones

  that led

  to this time

  this place.

  their eyes catch

  and all

  is written there -

  a love 

  rooted 

  deep and strong.

  and while the heart

  yearns to weep,

  he knows

  she is happy -

  his greatest wish

  for her

  all along.

  live.

  the smell of gardenias

  is carried on the delicate wind

  fragrantly caressing

  my sun kissed cheeks.

  peaceful warmth

  cascades

  enfolds

  comforts my weary

  and bruised heart.

  i have been tired

  drained

  empty

  for so very long

  and this

  new fullness feels

  uncomfortable.

  the goodness

  the possibility

  feel fragile

  a
nd fleeting.

  yet,

  i am unable

  of stifling the joy

  when i hear your voice

  see your smile

  feel your love.

  because of you

  hope

  is no longer

  a dying ember.

  i am leery

  terrified

  of what could be 

  but here

  under these illuminating rays

  and surrounded 

  by these fragrant blooms

  i believe.

  i once again

  have faith

  in the world

  in compassion

  in love.

  you

  are

  my miracle,

  my hope,

  my center.

  my skies

  are often filled

  with dark and heavy clouds,

  but a ray of light

  always permeates 

  the oppressive darkness.

  you are the one

  who shatters mine -

  a beacon 

  guiding me home.

  because of you

  i can once more

  feel

  hope

  dream....

  but most importantly

  ...

  live.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  BRYAN PAUL

  BLACK CLOUDS

  The grass against my back is cold,

  The forms in the sky curl and flow,

  Just me alone, no hand to hold,

  And the vapors turn gray and grow,

  To be black mist and cover all,

  I feel a pebble hit my cheek,

  Not the kiss of raindrops fall,

  A rockslide, come to stone the weak.

  Buried alive, buried alone,

  I feel the rubble pummel hard,

  See firelights, hear wind gusts blown,

  I’m laid to sleep in the long yard,

  No love will wake me from my bed,

  my body now burnt, spirit’s torn

  Tonight the lightening struck me dead,

  And no lady dearest will mourn.

  INFANT SEED