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Category Archives: Poetry

Illegal Aliens

Illegal aliens occupation,

terrorists slaughtering nations.

Invasion not by swimming rivers,

walking across desert sand,

or climbing walls and fences.

They arrived in ships,

in the name of religious freedom.

Aggregate disregard for all others,

seeking personal gain, freedom, power.

Stealing from the outnumbered,

Stripping liberty and life

from a proud people.

An Eden gone forever.

Your gangs, your “armies”,

genocidal, larcenous.

Taking everything,

everything.

Illegal aliens

not to be denied,

just kept coming through

unrestraining borders.

Delivering plague, fear, death, shame.

Apathetic annihilators

of cultures, ways of life.

Shackled by poverty,

ignored by those

choosing to just look away.

Those who proudly and falsely

claim to be from them.

Banished now to POW camps

they call reservations.

To be forgotten into extinction.

LH

© December 2010

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

My Father’s Eyes

From the very beginning,

you saw thought,

wondering what he saw.

He always saw more than you thought.

 

It wasn’t so much kindness,

although he is kind,

you saw caring,

more understanding than you thought.

 

They sparkled with mischief,

and still do,

crinkled with laughter,

enjoying us more than you thought.

 

You wanted him to see you do well.

You wanted to see pride for you in them.

He may not have said the words,

though his eyes showed more than you thought.

 

They no longer see

more than light and shape.

But the rest is still there.

Those will stay longer than you thought.

 

I have my dad’s eyes.

I only hope I have the rest.

And I hope my dad’s eyes saw

how much I love him…

 

…even more than he thought.

 

 

Larry  Humphries

© November 2010

 

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

Ode to a Neoplasm

I needed to lose a few pounds anyway,

so thanks for your help with that.

I’ll take my time away from the Grind,

and use it for taking naps?

You can take my hair, I don’t care,

I’ll look like Paul, that’s okay too.

I’ll get my ear pierced and buy a big hog,

and I’ll be happy in spite of you.

Now as far as neoplasms go,

shame on you for calling yourself the Big C.

I look forward to the fight you son of a bitch.

You can’t get the better of me.

You made a pass at my daughter a few years ago,

and she kicked your ass without breaking a sweat.

Well, you should have given up when you had half the chance.

But we’re not done with you yet.

Now I’m not sure why this is happening.

But I’m sure that it’s mostly my fault.

I eat doughnuts and French fries and red meat off the grill,

and I chase them all down with large malts.

I don’t smoke, I don’t sniff, I don’t chew anything.

I’m busy and active most the time.

And that other thing they say you shouldn’t do,

is just supposed to make you go blind.

So you picked this fight, you coward.

I’ve seen what you’ve done in the past.

Give it your best shot, I’ll take all that you’ve got,

and I’ll shove it right back up your ass.

L. Humphries

July 2010

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

Assaulting the Quiet

The coffee shop is empty now,

patrons have all gone home.

The musicians have loaded out,

their echoes follow.

 

I turn off the lights,

the work is done.

I pick up my guitar and feel it’s energy,

waiting, frustrated by unmet expectation.

 

There’s so much beauty inside it,

but I’m not to be the channel for it’s release.

I gently put it back in it’s stand,

and lock the door behind me.

 

 

L.H.

September 2010

 

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

The Sons of Mothers

You were our first mistress,
we were your slaves.
They were your eyes
we most wished to look into.
They were your eyes
we most played to.

We would have changed the world,
we would have become anything you asked,
just to stand at your hem,
be in your close favor.
It is you that we
measure womanhood against.

It was you that started our day,
and set us off to take on the world.
It was you that we wanted to
scare away the monsters,
read to us, and kiss us to sleep.

We are nothing, nothing,
that you did not create.
We look to find a woman,
a woman that measures up
to the standard you placed in us.
We may look our whole lives.

The love we will love for our woman,
is the love for a woman you gave us.
We learned from you
that a life without the love of a woman
is not a life at all.

We will always be yours,
the sons of mothers.

L.H.
© October 8, 2010

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2011 in Poetry

 

Secret of Winter’s First Snow

The wind blows cold,
like a breath from the north witch.
From somewhere far away,
lonely bells can be heard ringing.

Fireplace scents expose,
of warming those who do not dare
to experience the secrets.
Taking refuge against nature’s endowment.

This, the first day,
unwanted spring not so far away.

Walking among the forest’s furtive tale,
trees’ weathered branches a woven cloak
to protect in secrecy that
which it desires to conceal.

Snow pillows soften
footfalls to silence,
Leaving all that is familiar behind,
for a frontier, evergreen scented.

Nymphs laugh and hide
waiting for the unsuspecting.
Silence, perfect silence.
Thoughts uninhibited.

In continuous renovation,
this scene never before seen,
to never be seen again.

LH
© December 2010

 
3 Comments

Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry

 

Free Willie

I can finally now rest easy,
I’ll sleep comfortably and worry not.
With a sieve for a border,
and the cartels out of order,
they’ve arrested Willie with six ounces of pot.

This bastion of crime and mayhem,
This purveyor of fun…this felon.
Has finally been apprehended,
His criminal empire upended,
The dreaded & dangerous Willie Nelson.

With our border guards standing guard,
We no longer worry about such grave danger.
The worst of the worst bad guys,
Busted and cuffed up with plastic zip-ties.
They’ve captured the Red Headed Stranger.

Now they’ll tell you that they’re only doing their job,
Taking in this icon of song.
The streets will be safer,
From this border bus racer,
Or am I just seeing this all wrong?

Perhaps I don’t have the whole story,
Is there something they’re just not telling us?
But if I saw him today,
I’d look him straight in the eye and say,
Willie you gotta get a much faster bus.

LH
© November 2010

 
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Posted by on February 23, 2011 in Poetry