Tag Archives: poem

The Fray

The world is full of pain

The world is so unfair

To those who are different

The world doesn’t care

 

Women, minorities

The poor

The downtrodden, the weak

What’s the score

 

Screaming silently it seems

No one seems to hear

Or at least to respond

To the pain and fear

 

Trying in vain to fix it

But others deny it’s broken

How can you fix it

If it’s not broken

 

Frustration, anger

That’s how it Plays out

Then it’s their fault

Not allowed to shout

 

Silently scream

in pain and frustration

Deny the reality

of your station

 

That is what

The world wants

But screw the world

Ignore the taunts

 

Be a warrior, speak out

It’s the only way

to make the world better

wade into the fray

 

 

 

 

 

Epiphany

Stillness. Quiet. Nothing stirs.

This is a memory, sublime;

struggle to see it clearly,

through the swirling mists of time.

 

Standing over a boiling pot

of water, in a trance, caught,

steam rising, water roiling,

with what danger is the past fraught?

 

Gazing back in time and space

In the water you can scry.

Into many other worlds

You now can happily spy.

 

Stuck, standing still, falling in,

crossing the veil, with the sight.

Struggling to understand,

Remember with all your might.

 

What we really are, and why

In a flash, through a rip in time,

you finally catch it, see it

the epiphany you find.

 

Creation makes perfect sense

Your soul begins to rise up,

but in an instant, instead,

you fall, the loss is abrupt.

 

For a split second you saw,

you understood everything.

Then in a flash it was gone,

A memory of nothing.

 

You can’t forget it, ever

But you’ll never have it back.

You know that you once knew it,

You will always feel its lack.

 

 

 

 

Dirty

I have a friend that I trade writing prompts with and I really enjoyed this take on a poem about getting dirty. With permission, I am sharing it with all of you:

 

Jack walked along the country road

Humming along the way

He tripped and fell

And said, “oh hell.”

As he landed

To his dismay

 

In a pile of mud

Filthy mud

Oozing, wet, and sticky

All over his hands

All over his clothes

Now soggy, mired and drippy

 

Jack sighed

Wanted to cry

But got back up instead

And continued down the country road

Squishing the mud as he tread

 

by JN Quigley

Picking at the Past

I have decided that have at least two books of poetry already written. I have been writing for over 30 years after all. I have so much poetry, it just needs to be edited, organized and published. But that means going through it all, and with it, the memories. Which led to the following poem as I basically picked at scabs and poked at scars. Here it is:

Going back to the past

The pains still there

Right where I left it

Gotta unpack it, examine it

Look at it square in the eye

Measure it, claim it

Dig it out, write about it,

Make it my bitch

Everything there’s still the same

That’s why I don’t live there anymore

I’ve moved on,

Healed from it, left it, learned from it

Moved on past it

But still it wants acknowledgement

Hey, it happened, time to own it

My pain helped make me

What I am today

So it’s time to stop hiding,

Feeling ashamed,

Pushing my pain into the dark,

Deep, secret places of my heart

Like a vampire, the light will kill it

Drag it out and let it burn

Show the world what I’ve survived

No more shame, no more pain

Make it work for me

The final step, the final piece

Taking back what it took from me

So it no longer has the power

to make me bleed