A powerful poem which causes me to stop and reflect the words of my Ancestors “Walk gently upon the Earth, leaving no footprints” oh how we have strayed Great Spirit!
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The morning sky is so beautiful but pollution lingers,

We are free to wander the land with trash at our feet.

The hills and mountains are alive, fire destroys, things die,

Rivers and lakes are there, they disappear without rain.

Giant trees have stood for so long, one by one, they are falling,

There is a struggle between nature and man, not a winner is there.

This is the truth as our world spins and turns, we are all here,

A mysterious gathering of life, the Earth grows smaller everyday.

Keith Garrett

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Powerful punch in the gut… a poem about human trafficking and slavery.
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A much deserved fat Havana

for the wintered-well one

who rules the stinking roost

sat puffed-up as he tots up

the spoils of war in a bar

in a sultry faraway place

his fresh meat pieces of tail

shipment delivered up

safe and almost sound

south of Old Father Thames

a ramshackle Edwardian pit

maybe, yet a pit will be

their home from home

besides so long as the girls

scrub up half decent

refrain from whinging

then hard currency galore

money for old rope really

‘Coercion’ some soppy

bleeding-heart on a crusade

knocked out in the local rag

perish the thought, maybe

stretched the truth when

the girls parted with the cash

maybe promised caring jobs

just never said caring

for cash up front sicko’s

a little white lie of no consequence

besides if they play up it’s nothing

a good slap, a razor cut won’t cure

push the…

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Wow, I am blown away by the nuances of this poem. A Powerful message about how each sex views a relationship!
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Shawn L. Bird

An invitation is made when the bosom

appears bulging into the neckline,

his gaze is grabbed and as she walks away

she pulls him to his feet to trail after her,

eager for the game.


Her instigation is subtle.

He appears at the stair,

tips his head toward the bedroom and waits.

If he’s ignored, he offers another tip.

And if she decides to follow him,

she will do so with a sense of irritation

that he doesn’t offer invitations

so much as commands,

and she’s pretty sure she didn’t actually

promise to obey.

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A Moment Too Late

Powerful poem about lost opportunities – amazing vivid images in this piece.
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I loved you
out of possibility,
out of chance
and uncoordination.

We crashed
a moment too late,
so “what ifs?”
became “should haves”
before we felt the stop,
the heart-pounding end
of the accident of us.

It’s the “too late”
that gets us,
that breathes doubts
and desires
into our lungs,
and it’s the possibility
that knocks
ten thousand cracks
into our skin,
into the facades
we so carefully crafted.

We were only
“could have been”
and that’s what kills us
every time.



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