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Concrete Hive

I heard a voice from years ago:
Solidarity has come of age.
Echoed songs heard throughout the streets
of lessons learned from Gandhi and King.
 
For what had been promised
was a brand new way,
yet the poor received nothing
at the end of the day.
 
So quiet were the thieves
that stole the people’s dreams.
Silently packaged and bundled
then secretly sold overseas.
 
Unknowing, the concrete hive
hand-crafted a perfect plan,
sold our kids as collateral
to live monetary selfish lives.
 
Sworn to serve, embedded with pride,
a young warrior’s blood ran thick –
staining sand of foreign land.
All for black oil in a can
 
or was the repression, depression, taxation
that broke the silent majority’s back?
 
I never thought I would live
long enough to see
a new generation’s uprising,
claiming their voice, now free.
 
“Raging against the machine.”
 
I watched for years, 
the youth blindly squeezed
into the fitted mold 
of a stolen society.
 
Cookies cut by MTV
distracting minds of our youth.
Disregarding the discontent;
ignoring the rumblings underground.
 
Oh! to my surprise when I saw
the young, arm in arm with the aged
at last take a stand. A loud stand!
To finally break free
from the cage.

Peace be with all of you.

☮TheMsLvh © 2011
Image from #OccupyBerkley Riots Nov.9, 2011
Riot Police wanted students off the grass.
For the dVerse Poetics Prompt on idioms: http://dversepoets.com/2011/11/12/poetics-what-did-you-call-me/.
Click on Award for details

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

Dreams of Peace

 

 

“Too much of everything

 

is just enough”

 

A stitch of words that frame

 

my license plate.

 

 

 

A sister’s gift

 

so many years ago.

 

How did she know

 

that I would frame my life

 

around those eight

 

Grateful Dead words?

 

 

 

 too much love is just enough

 

 too much peace is just enough

 

 

 

Were the little girls with flowers

 

in their hair wrong

 

so long ago?

 

 

 

To dream the dreams

 

the world

 

now hungers for.

 

 

 

TheMsLvh

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

I Must Surrender- rondeau redoublé

  
 
I must surrender the mind’s hold,
let go the blaze trapped in my head.
Times have changed. Leaving misty old
perceptions of what is, now dead.
 
Raised independent – so inbred,
to never swallow what was told.
To always question – not be led,
I must surrender the mind’s hold.
 
Events have changed my journey’s road;
the day I flew but fell instead.
All my dreams dying – turning cold –
let go the blaze trapped in my head.
 
I never feared what lay ahead,
those days of youth brought suns of gold;
so quick to alter by moon’s end,
Times have changed. Leaving misty old
 
faint memories pulled from the void.
Of better days where I transcend –
to grasp a breath and long behold
perceptions of what is, now dead.
 
Succumb to pain, I hide in bed;
heal mind and body, feel controlled.
New dreams will come a doctor said  –
relax and breath and let unfold.
I must surrender.
 
 
 
☮TheMsLvh © 2011
Image Courtesy of DiegoUnspire
 
 

*Technically speaking a rondeau redoublé is made of six quatrains ended by a hemistich (of exactly the same type as the one in the rondeau form, and built on the first verse as well). The 24 verses, 4 of which are found twice (in the first stanza and as endings of stanzas 2-5) all belong to only two rhyme groups, the tricky scheme of this form is:

ABAB BAB1 ABA2 BAB3 ABA4 BABAh

Politician’s Sonnet

 
A northern breeze ignites a raging storm;
exposing cloaked deceptions in my head –
dark ebullition of emotions churn.
 
Malaise surrounds my vessel to conform;
those fervent pleas -the trunk of your words said.
The residue: your shallow truth will stain
 
and sweep away my heart – ablaze to burn.
Black clouds of spoken dust rehearsed to swarm;
enrage my thoughts –integrity is dead.
 
Words matter – sober truth is what I yearn;
regardless if lies bring unyielding pain.
Protect me not; your tales pulsate my skin.
 
Evading truth – your spin will never gain
my fervid heart – not credulous within.
 
 
☮TheMsLvh © 2011
 
Google Image – The Faceless Politian
 

ebullition – a seething or overflowing, as a passion or feeling
credulous – gullible
fervid – intensely passionate; ardent

submitted – dVerse and Sunday Whirl #19

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

Paranoia – Sestina

 

 
Reflections show a shattered withered life,
while peering through suspicious sleepless tears.
Dark hopes of white lines chase false fears –
relieving pains the mornings always give.
Nonchalant lies brings forth abandoned trust –
confusing love, so run fast as you can.
 
Hands trembling, unable to pop a beer can;
aware this has become part of that life.
Internal voices shouting words to trust –
imagined visions haunt spent salty tears.
Neglecting life for thrills the sharp points give,
forgetting all those secret doubts and fears.
 
Another day presents recurring fears;
play trickery on you because they can.
Insanely living – nothing seems to give. 
Surreal surprise to your short precious life;
not hearing pleas from loved one’s painful tears,
’cause there is no one you would ever trust.
 
Saliva aliens hold you in trust –
to scare away unwanted mental fears;
which breaks you down and brings forth screaming tears.
Are you aware the only one who can
save you from paranoid unnerving life:
do you know any one whose love would give?
 
There comes a time that something has to give,
perhaps your inability to trust.
You see small men in trees critique your life,
awake the darkest nightmares of your fears.
Go ahead, do all the white lines you can –
burn mucus raw – enough to bring on tears.
 
Disjointed twisted thoughts allow dry tears  
to flow,  deflect the sympathy I give.-
Detox the brain – but ponder if you can;
which voice in your head do you truly trust?
Sweat dripping off your brow – all due to fears,
encroaching your space, a disrupted life.
 
Your paranoia tears can darken life.
Give time a chance to heal invented fears;
if you can, change your life, believe in trust.
 
 
☮TheMsLvh © 2011
 submitted to d’Verse – Poets United
painting by MariaBurd
 For A. & M.
 

Sestinas are a poetic tour-de-force which takes skill to create and a subtle ear for the sound of language to keep from seeming contrived or stilted.The sestina repeats the initial six end-words of the first stanza through the remaining five six-line stanzas, and then ends in a three-line envoi. The lines may be of any length, though traditionally a sestina is set in iambic pentameter.

1. ABCDEF
2. FAEBDC
3. CFDABE
4. ECBFAD
5. DEACFB
6. BDFECA
7. (envoi) ECA or ACE

The envoi, sometimes known as the tornada, must also include the remaining three end-words, BDF, in the course of the three lines so that all six recurring words appear in the final three lines. In place of a rhyme scheme, the sestina relies on end-word repetition to effect a sort of rhyme.

This information was found at Poets.org
 

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

Think Only This of Me

Prompt #17 for Carry On Tuesday, http://carryontuesdayprompt.blogspot.com/, was to use all or part of “If I should die, think only this of me” (the first line of Rupert Brooks poem, The Soldier). *Thanks Mike Patrick for inspiring me to write this after reading his poem*. I used iambic pentameter in Quatrain.
 
 
Remembering past days of childhood dreams,
explored the world through starry wild eyes,
Adventure was attractive;  I must say,
unbridled freedom was my crowning prize!
 
With money saved, I flew across the pond,
experiencing new lands with scenic views.
Impoverished days or wealthy party ways,
I traveled miles, wearing holes in shoes.
 
The love for people I hold dear to heart,
along with animals who roamed the land.
True nature’s gifts of rainbow pots of gold;
and warmth of sunlight with cool ocean sand.
 
I lived my life embracing truth of love,
to give much more of me than to receive.
Delightfully filled heart with love to give,
unselfish quest for those who are in need.
 
If I should die, think only this of me,
my soul belongs to Mother Nature’s thread.
Don’t shed a tear because my life’s been full,
just put that party hat upon my head!
 
TheMsLvh  © 2011

Image source: Go Green

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California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

The Poet Artist

 
Opining souls; a heart-felt plea,
from deep within, the writer chimes.
Selecting prime words is the key,
which draws the reader into rhymes.
 
All poets strive to paint their worlds,
with spilled black ink and feathered tip.
A writer feels the words unfurled,
creating pictures with each script.
 
At times, cold print will strike a chord,
a shock-filled verse brings forth dismay.
Requesting poems – sweetly poured,
inhibit words the poets say.
 
To cavil lines in verses read,
with captious thoughts of words repulse.
Sad broken lives or souls which bled,
disrupt the reader’s warm steel pulse.
 
Addiction plagues the writers quill,
the need to write fulfills the heart.
Imploding spirits scribe to fill
the void, and thus creating art.
 
-TheMsLvh  © 2011
Image source: Google

Creative Commons License
California Ink In Motion by TheMsLvh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License

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