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10K Poets
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		Poetry - The Art - Written & Spoken Word World Citizen, North Carolina United States Profile Views: 1340561 Last Login: 11/8/2009
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10K Poets: General Info

Member Since	2/15/2008
Band Website	10KPoets.com
Band Members	Poets That LIVE To Write & Write To LIVE!
Influences	Bukowski, Hemingway, Curt Cobain, Hunter S. Thompson, Allen Ginsberg, Stephen Berg, Robert Mezey, Steve Lendman, Jim Morrison, Neil Young, Tupac, Rich Ferguson, Scroobius Pip, Alexander Shaumyan, A.J. Kaufmann, Ele, & Many Others...
Sounds Like	Something You've Never Heard!
Record Label	10K Music
Type of Label	Indie

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10K Poets Is: Featured Poets, Spoken Word Production, Poetry Publication, Poetry Zines, Internet Radio on www.BlogTalkRadio.com/10KPoets: "Poets Dream In Color" - "Oracle Lounge - "Late Nights With Cisco" & "The English Pub"

*****HOW TO SUBMIT A POEM TO 10K POETS*****
If you have a poem that you'd like to submit, please SUBMIT it in the COMMENT SECTION (on the front page -HERE!) Single Spaced Format, TITLE & AUTHOR (please submit your original work only).
****Please SINGLE SPACE your poem.*****
***If your poem is too long to fit into the comment section - SEND IT AS A MESSAGE with TITLE & AUTHOR.
***Once your poem has been submitted: GET INVOLVED - STAY INVOLVED! COMMENT ON OTHER POETS Featured Poems & REPLY to the READER COMMENTS on your FEATURED POEMS - IT WILL PAY OFF! Plus - That's what it takes to be FEATURED!
*10K Poets reserves the right to reject any content for any reason. Otherwise your right to FREE SPEECH will not be infringed upon.

***** *****
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Displaying 25 of 4225 comments ( View All | Add Comment )

Brenda Elthon	Nov 8 2009 11:00 PM Haiku For My Brother Hot sands roil the sky. Blinded, we cower, heads down. Where is my brother?
In just us for all Online Now!	Nov 8 2009 8:01 PM Autonomous Long ago yes time is cruel, We held! Inside we felt burning truth. Our passion strong, too strong to hold on. Pains me to free, Belief. Once you find slipping, You no longer find anything to hold onto. We all fall, each succumbs the depths of sorrow. We never know how well we hurt. Mirror is a terrible place to be. Still look. Looks still, quiet alone sweet death surrounds. Parading elegantly with air. Smoke dances sweetly, Death is beautiful! Not many understand this. I like candles, they burn. I’ve been touched by the sun, Fire hurts worse. Souls should never play dangerous games. Sometimes no one wins.
Ant Online Now!	Nov 8 2009 8:17 AM For Confusion Should Set Us Free By Anthony Eusanio 2009 For confusion should set us free all the things we do or see should not reflect continually a rapid crow a silent haze for confusion should set us free all in all humankitty kindly can deny a seem a salt for confusion should set us free we don't always have to be just "be" .............imperfectly!
Christopher Stravener	Nov 7 2009 10:09 PM It’s All Relative... these words are spoken from a place of profound emptiness spoken to antagonise those who mythologise words these words are spoken to the ladies of the west who seek to arrest spiritual entropy with miraculous obscurity in words and are congratulated by the guilt-ridden ghosts of gentlemen folk who smoke dope in the hope of salvation in words
JoDyZvv0rLd	Nov 7 2009 8:32 PM Check out my profile And Let me know Do you like me YES or NO http://www.doulike.us/photos/4552453.html?b=4&w=46
JOHN	Nov 7 2009 3:41 AM Check out my profile And Let me know Do you like me YES or NO http://www.wholikesu.net/photos/4221747.html?b=4&w=46
allison	Nov 6 2009 9:41 PM For Laika She lived in the Heavens in a small metal house, trusting each moment with a smile on her face. Laika, Oh Laika, you can't go outside. You're home is behind you. You're home is behind you. "It's hot in here" She said, but no one listened, no one cared. "I'm scared" She said. Blackness all around her suspending her with stars. So easy to hurt you, a life that's not owned. So easy to take you and train you and starve you and give you a purpose. "I'm tired" She said. "I'll close my eyes and wait for a friend to find me." Go to sleep sweet Laika, Go to sleep.
poeticweaver	Nov 6 2009 2:33 PM Have a wonderful weekend my poetic friends! Peace, Timothy aka poeticweaver~
...................Benn♪ Online Now!	Nov 6 2009 8:24 AM Twisted Love by B.Murray Secret lives of precious loves No longer pulls Just shoves Unnaturally unwanted Upon the distane Together I am not No longer fearing the pain No words to be spoken No touch to be fealt This silence is deafening This lonliness is spent
~Schmetterling ™ 10K Poet~	Nov 6 2009 12:08 AM I carry your weight, By Tihana Novosel. Visions of execrable memories the morning after when in bed of wounds fastened with gauze, feeling exodus impending, when noon rang with gargantuan bells... Was it freedom? Or captivity with a mask? I clap my hands to chase away the vultures that kept feeding upon your eminence, when you look the very top of my shoulders, you see I carry your weights. I allege you my Cupid along with your blunt arrows....I will cleanse your oxidized wings, afresh they will shine with fulgent silver as fabrics in the lap of Pharaohs , as belts around the waist of Black Magic women, as feathers on blithe sparrows... You can attach your hopes on my immaculate trust as we are leaving fingerprints on misty windows that Fluster in her ballet shoes never glissaded upon... 　　　　　copyright, 2009.
zed mizar	Nov 5 2009 6:46 PM exotic nocturnal twits by zed mizar hum dingers abound in an atmosphere of lightbulb roses. they skitter across hot lavender mylar ramp systems & tumble over hopscotch escalators as they impersonate napkins. we observed them competing with wahdiddies for an octagon slice of radish sandpaper crystal beneath the south twig of a clothespin tree. the flapping tractor navy rudely arrived, shoving pillowy bags of lard down sucking flytrap toilet jaws.
Elizabeth Anne	Nov 5 2009 6:02 PM I Will Remember By Elizabeth Anne Jones ~ I do not require An album of photographs To remind we of How you were That is permanently Etched in the fondest Recesses of my mind Oh, your innocence! The wonder and joy You displayed while Reveling in the most Simple pleasures Bathtime games Frolicking with clean linens Daddy's stuff, Mommy's stuff Your stuff! Oh, how We laughed! It was better Than wonderful. I was a loving Mother. I sang to you Songs most original. I Caressed you most Tenderly. I affirmed Your wonderfulness Consistently. In that, I Truly believed. My one And only child, bequeathed By a miracle of nature But I had wondered ... Could I properly parent a son? I always perceived Myself as the Mother of a daughter Clothes, parties, dolls French braids, finger curls All so very familiar. In her place I welcomed a hero baby A 'manly' child with whom I play-wrestled and laughed With a bursting heart I could not have been Happier, nor could you Until you changed ... That long, greasy hair Heavy metal rock blaring Dank, messy room Filthy laundry everywhere Weed, booze, secretive friends A dark and spiteful demeanor Constant ingratitudes, the Time you wrecked my car, and Oh yes! The incessant Nasty blame game Now, that really hurt. So guess what, my love? Your mother is not perfect! Surprise, surprise! The revelation is Neither are you, my Former 'baby blue' But I adore you regardless My whole heart is Still in it for the long haul Most unconditionally With every shiny or dull penny I find, I pray for you 'To the health and well-being Of my son' .. That I chant To the Powers That Be So remember Darling, I love you most Keenly. Now and Beyond forevermore. So shape up, or I swear I will punch you out! 2009liz ~
MrDaMan	Nov 5 2009 1:52 PM At Peace With Myself by MrDaMan Virgil R. Hall II (Randy) I unpacked a little devil and launched it across the bow of an angel warring on peace. It was like a question that went dud, a fizzle instead of a bang. The angel ignored it, but the little devil was amused. I unpacked another little devil and insisted that it conform to the rules of chaos… It laughed with tears of sadness and lured the angel to come play a game of hate and dissension. As angels go this one had a few devils of his own and played brilliantly. We unpacked more devils and scattered them about the world. Before long they multiplied. They were in the details of everything, scurrying to and fro, too busy to notice, our deft moves and clashing of wills. I had won already, he just didn’t know it. I asked him his name and he said, "Lucifer". "Well Lucy" I said, "You’re obviously enjoying yourself." He replied with a non-committal "Ummm". He was so engrossed, I left him to it. He’s still playing… I … well I snuk off. At peace with myself.
Christopher Stravener	Nov 5 2009 7:48 AM Torso/discontinuity beyond the consequential horizon lost and living lost thirst dazed by the rites of Thursday exceptional only in that this day follows the day which leads it sentinel weeks overseeing the gravity of years recognised in faces orbiting notional bodies divorced from feeling, torso alone perceives truth against discontinuity; helpers once and forever silenced in raging and absolute fidelity hysterical and sensing the universal, a shared and common autism rises like mist against ancient starlight the red shift of our unknown and infinitely tasted grief
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 11:53 PM thank you for your poem, it inspired me to answer in poetry; your mate, john
Dye	Nov 4 2009 10:49 PM about a broken world by James Dye Imperfect broken glass and gems, imperfect sharp streets, juxtaposed under a crooked skygodlin, that hides covered with covert blades surrounded by stalks of sawgrass, and a lonely angel and I in October, after chemicals deceived, to the nth degree, the sky, were swept about this broken world, this flawed & cracked road of time, as we danced on noiseless feet and bled upon the loadstones hold, our defeat echoed the beat, crushed and discreated our beauty, or dreams, or gems, or glass piece by jagged piece; we fell apart into imperfect cutting streets, under a crooked skygodlin and were swept about a broken world.
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 7:59 PM Light in Many Forms. for Glen Reflections of reflections, the world a shadow play where our mental constructions become the real, a shadow play, we are shadows that run from the sun; and what if all our hard won certainties are but flickering reflections, the world a mirrored pond in which we see only our ugly selves. We hang between dark and dark, in this run from the day, the sun; Its light too bright, to dark for our eyes to see, it blinds us so. We are flickering shadows that run from the sun, fading shadows cast by the light, the one. The Shkhinah, the candle flame that burns inside us all, a flicker of the flame, the sun, wanted so much to be one with the yet to manifest, the point beyond conception, her love became a lust, and she felt into the dark world of matter, tramped into this shadow play she longs for her lover, the sun. the light feeds on the darkness, life feeds on life cast into this night, we are but fragments and must learn to love to hold the world sacred; the Hag eats her own children she comes with might in the night; the Hag that takes us all Our mother, our other, our lover, we are shadows running from her might. She takes what only is hers; we are nothing all we can do is love the light that takes us into night; we are nothing unless we love all life, though we are hunted by this night. john najjar
...................Benn♪ Online Now!	Nov 4 2009 10:01 AM Stop To Think by B.Murray I feel I'm getting stuck There's only me that gives a fuck But then I stop to think... Some help to get away Before you leave to stay But then I stop to think.. The melodies, Of a broken heart, Seem simple, When torn apart But then I stop to think... Pushing away together Always bitter But not twisted We'll be forever But then I stop to think... Don't leave and don't come back To contradict the words I want to say You will not... ...Return another day The night alone gets darker and darker To let you go is getting harder and harder I'm Standing On The Brink
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 8:10 AM In this thin skin they sing their dreams, cuddled against the cold freezing night, they sing of glory, past years. The days of old. Genghis Khan; a man made that the world shiver, in bringing many tribes into one he made the knees of Europe tremble, the many became strong, the stars were not distant then. The old men sit and sing their song in this thin skin How the Golden eagle returns to the man. they sing of life of death. In this thin skin the struggle goes on; children, future hunters, all sit huddled against the cold. Outside the darkness is broken by freezing stars, the vastness of space, in this bleak place full of the trickle of distant suns struggling against the night. john najjar 4..11..09 Sorry this is the last stanza, and not the one below. regards, john
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 8:04 AM he huddle against the coldness of the night, this thin skin of animal skin of tent and dreams, is all that separates them from the freezing stars. In a circle these round houses sit alone in this vastness. In this thin skin they sing their dreams, cuddled against the cold freezing night, they sing of glory, past years. The days of old. Genghis Khan; a man made that the world shiver, in bringing many tribes into one he made the knees of Europe tremble, the many became strong, the stars were not distant then. The old men sit and sing their song in this thin skin How the Golden eagle returns to the man. they sing of life of death. In this thin skin the struggle goes on; children, future hunters, all sit huddled against the cold. John Najjar the 4 poems above are really one. I am submitting to 10k poets; All the best your brother in words, john
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 8:02 AM In this vastness of contrasting color, rock, grassland, merging mountains, a simmering oasis sparkles with sunlight; bordered by the Altai mountains, the grasslands, the prairies of Mongolia, the Tibetan plateau, and the north China plains, this rainbow desert sits at the top of the world. A dry place of rock and sand, where the snow leopard hunts, the golden eagle stretches it wings to touch the stars, the Gobi bear lives walks its peaks, along with the gray wolf, this place of predator, silence, rock and sand, its vastness. This place of eons, and towns those seeking silk had to pass through, cold and icy this place of contrasting color changes with the night, in star light, the silence, here man feels his smallness compared to this sand, the rocks and mountains.
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 8:02 AM Elsewhere a golden eagle soars through the cloud, the man waits patently astride his horse for the eagle, to take the prey down, in its majesty, this female bird of prey can not be cowed yet the man knows she will return to him, as a man always returns to a women. In this rocky desert survival hangs by a thin thread, two predators have formed a pact, based on trust but nothing as emotional or abstract as love, just the desire to live, to hunt, to survive. The reportorial bird has found its prey, it swoops the fox has no where to hide and is soon held tightly; the fox looks into her eyes and knows death has found him; the man approaches, the fox dies quickly His eyes search the vast expanse of sky, but today a glimpse of shadow on the horizon, the first sign that this bird of prey returns to him, after years, she returns from her mating, but soon must go back to the call, the wilderness, the rocks, the hunt, but tonight, they both together will dine.
John Najjar	Nov 4 2009 8:01 AM The Horsemen Staining the horizon, they come, dancing hunters marked by harsh desert night; the horsemen come galloping, defining the deep silence; with their stammer and canter; thunder. Iron hooves caress frozen rocks and sand; Predatory shadows armored by scale and leather, they ride upon nibble feet; a torrent tormenting the silence, they clatter, shatter, in a tangle of flesh and iron, chasing the cold wind across rocks and sand, the horsemen come, riding down through the centuries. In a fury of crushing iron they spread panic into the heart of Europe; Armed with bow and arrow, each one sits astride his galloping horse; they take aim, draw back the bow, and in a flash transform the day.
Roel Corpus	Nov 4 2009 6:05 AM 10K Poets One of my most recent blog / poem: Song of my Heart There is a peace more like a prayer as if Nature is calling me to become part of its world. That can only be understood by the soul. Something I have forgotten yet like a distant bell reminding me to come back home. To have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance, like so many. How can I forget but now more than ever wish to find you? How long will I wait in this place or must I follow the stars. Yet this is your story, it must and so as best as I can will listen and hear you speak. Maybe from a distant planet or the little creatures that awakens during the night and sings your song. You are everywhere. Under the stone, behind the clouds, in my chest and it is there I will find you. ~ Roel Corpus ~ I dedicate this writing to the men and women who have come before me or that are alive (Guy Finley) and their students. It is thru their Courage that is showing me to discover a new life. Inspired by the book, “Apprentice of The Heart,” written by Guy Finley and the CD he produced, “Door of My Heart”, in which I was involved in two numbers. Ps_ Thank you for your friendship and wishing you well from Southern Oregon. Take care my friend… will stay in touch.
allison	Nov 4 2009 2:06 AM My Castle The Castle lives in a changing field, but the trees that surround it are constant. The light is filtered by familiar leaves, These leaves that stay bright, as though Autumn has only begun to put it's companions to rest. I walk the perimeter. The windows, all in a line, beckoning my gaze to the topmost floor, suggesting that which I already know. I've already walked across the tips of it's jagged spires, and leapt from stone to stone in it's gaming pit's. I've opened it's heavy doors, and wandered through it's system of hallways; distractions at best. I've been here before. I've been here before. I know what's inside. So since my return, this castle has changed hands. Again and again it has been bought, sold, captured, captivated, aquiried, and left alone. Yet inside that top room, a trap door exists. It opens up to a hall, Full of lost things. My lost things. Intangible items, diaries, toys, dolls, clothes, memories, happiness, childhood, long since gone. But still they hold a magic that comforts my soul. This castle that guards that place in my mind. Where simple recollection is such sweet relief.

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