W r i t e r s & P o e t s.
David Moore
aka
Professor P-Soop
Writer & Musician
from Fontana, California
Bad Actors Chapter One
by David Moore
Continue Reading “Bad Actors” Here.
Jodi DiLiberto
Poetry by
Unusual for the light in which we shine
to sound in chords of music
that leap from night air
in the hands
of soft summer.
A memory breaking the waves of mourning
stillness for lost warmth
and sleeping trees
for we miss our friends’ laughing song;
but the echo of their patient branches
tell us that it’s been before.
Winter winds whip our hair into our faces
and blind us as we slip on ice
till we can see, through frozen tears,
the evergreens dance.
Hope
TO THE WINGED GODDESS
Enfold me, Lady, softly in your wings,
Till stellar flights carry me away
from this Earthbound pain of a mortal’s womb
Where my babies slept and the reaper
wields his blade.
Let me fly as crystals of Light
to a blessed lonely place
Whose peace swells in a hush
under the flutes of planets,
Where the water is a clear reflection
of ageless wishes in a time
When past lives’ Karma comes home
to a woman’s burning soul
Dreaming, at last, of a wish unspent,
Till the motion of Earth and the passing of years
Brings Love home in Karma’s wake,
When yearning wells in a frantic hum
of consummate white of flesh upon flesh,
And runs me through – Love’s savage wound –
There lies a heart that harbors an exquisite sorrow,
As beneath the fiery passion of a flaming sky
Lies the cold, old power of rocks.
Enfold me, Lady, softly in your wings,
Lost in a spell of mugwort and blue
I am the dreamer.
Entice me, now, to stay forever;
And the dead really sleep
As we share the stars.
Listen to “Know Me Not | Willow Tree Part 2” here.
Anthony Albanese
Artist and Musician
from Salem, Ohio
KNOW ME NOT | Willow Tree Part 2
You don't know who I am.
For I have been hidden
within this wounded earth.
You have seen my hands;
bloody and broken,
glazed with dirt and mud.
You have heard my voice;
faint and desperate,
shaken with doubt and fear.
You have touched my skin;
weathered and torn,
aged with time and tears.
Still, you don't know me.
You never will.
You will never know my pain,
my love, my joy or dreams.
Nor will you ever see my hope,
my fullness, my flaws or failings.
I am hidden.
Have you seen me?
I am hidden beneath this tree
who's roots grow deep,
thick and long.
I have screamed.
Have you heard me?
I am trapped within this cell
who's walls grew firm,
thick and strong.
I am here.
I have been here since birth.
I have been held within this web
of hardened wood and solid stone.
I have been silenced by this mud.
These roots have been nourished and fed
by hands I can't see.
They are alive, tangled and growing.
Yet still, this tree that once was to be
has withered and died;
having left no seed, fruit or leaves.
The fullness of this tree that once was to be:
it's strength and calming shade
and all that should have been.
Will be not.
Those tender hands which fed the soil
and broke the ground in which I rest.
Those footsteps that still whisper today;
Will be not.
For these hands,
these bruised and bloody hands;
they have toiled in vain.
(A.A.)
Raised in Religion
