There are many really good poems.  
   Thank you!  

   Enjoy a variety of emotions.

 
  Special Artists on this page:  Roger J. Robicheau (a, b, c)  Paul E Sexton 3 (a, b, c),  
Alex Chornyj,  Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper,  Sean Money ,  
Sylvia Leigh, Robert M. Hensel,  Thomas R. Barnett,  Cynthia,

Jonathan's Rainby: Sylvia Leigh Your voice is   just as I remember. Deep, sensual,   rushing over me   like   the warmest spring rain.   Each and every word . . .   like  tiny raindrops   whispering   their own private secrets   before touching the ground. I live   for rainy days   like these   and all those surely to follow. For spring,    my Love . . .    is nigh. ©  Sylvia Leigh

"The Poet" by Robert M. Hensel Words flow onto paper like rain, forming giant rivers of unseen lands. The very force guides us along a journey that holds of great adventure. We are the explorers of the literary world. We must find the courage to write what others are unable to, with the greatest of passion. A poet dreams, and then must portray his visions upon the page that lies before him. It is the beauty of all things that inspires us to communicate in such a way. A man does not wake up one day, and decide to become a poet. It must live in the very blood that courses through his veins. He is the creator of a world, only he has known. He is the actor and director, of all that speaks out through his pen. He is a man of all men, visionary of all visionaries. What you haven't seen, he has. What you can't say, he can. For he is the poet. ©   Robert M. Hensel    WEBSITE

A Boy In The Rain Is Worth a Thousand  Words by Paul E Sexton 3 There is a photo of Nando and I in the rain, which captures perfectly the joy, in being fully conscious for the first time of the beauty of a thousand, thousand drops of water falling from the sky. And it seems that in all the other photos, wherever there is a group of people, it is me who holds the boy, head about level with mine. And as I thumb through them, I realize that is how it should be he and I together like that. © by Paul E Sexton 3  2000

Love In Your Call by Roger J. Robicheau We all face new trials, most everyday Some are minute, while some come to stay The test of your life, may simply appear To fill all your thought's, with trouble and fear So where can you go, and what will you do To weather your storm, for what might ensue You want to feel safe, way deep in your heart And get the best care, right from the start Love holds your key, to get what's in need It comes from within, His presence is freed With God on your side, you never will lose His home is in heaven, a place with no blues Trust in his truth, he has no white lies So all pure and mighty, he'll never disguise Faith makes the way, to weather it all Remember to pray, with love in your call © Roger J. Robicheau   website

A Poem From A Man, Who Has Finally Known  Love by Paul E Sexton 3 I love you. You summon emotions from places in my Atman that can not have possibly existed, until you came along and wholly created them from the once void spaces inside of me. I find my thoughts again and again returning to everything you do. I'm lonely when we are apart, wishing to be at your side where the slightest of things  seem viewed with brand new eyes. Even a few of your words are enough to make me smile Even a look warms my insides. . I don't regret a single moment since you have blessed my days It may seem strange to some, how one who Is very short with funny sticking up hair and bad table manners is loud often speaks incoherently walks rather inelegantly and displays some very selfish destructive even embarrassing behavior, could bring such pure joy into the existence of someone like me. But I walk proud at your side holding your hand without any doubt that your love for me is pure and everlasting. That we possess a bond that has no end. I love you, and always will. Truthfully, I am so remarkably glad to be your dad. © by Paul E Sexton 3 2000

BY HER SIDE   by Alex Chornyj Feel like hands are tied Can't loosen, felt helpless I'm there by her side By mom, who's so precious. Was always there for me Try to return favour So gave her a kidney When hers had failure. One would do same, if I Needed such to survive Easy to give, not take For mom, do again in two shakes. But when she gets sick Do what I can do By measuring stick Pray, for miracle rescue. I get down on myself Feel world on my shoulders Don't like to ask for help Even when dragged under. But one's impossible Won't take no for answer He treats me so special In unselfish manner. Do more if I let him Still hard to keep tabs on When he's out or in Above or beyond. Like me, has concern Not stop short of goal Eternal candle burns Inside of our souls. Which never sys die At times still get down I ask the Lord why Mom has thorns in crown. Want them to disappear I look for answers So Lord if you can hear Please be kind to my mother. © Alex Chornyj

Had to Let It Go by Paul E Sexton 3  I had to let go  of the idea  that you and I  were magic.  I thought  I loved you  as much as  one could love,  but magic  is something mysterious,  viewed from the outside  and not fully understood.  After a few years  had passed  I began to see you  as just "my wife"  It was then  you became  more a part of me  and not something admired  from the outside.  That was really  when the love began. © by Paul E Sexton 3  2000

PAINTED FLIGHT by Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper Little golden butterflies - with elegant shape - flutter above the surface of the pool, making the whole scene shimmer. Rise in painted flight on your glorious wings. You flit across the clearing as light as air - float past me with all the beauty and complexity of nature itself. With a tremble you change my world. © by Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper        website LAUGHTER My laughter bubbles up creating a fountain of joy; an overflow of happiness, reaching out, touching the lives of others like a soothing balm. Show your appreciation for what life has to offer, releasing stress. Let it soften your sorrow, mend the anguish, wipe away your regret for what might have been. Life is captivating and complex. Experience - savor. View it with merriment. It is a healing that lives within us all. © by Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper        website

new addition  with a twist:     Included is  the tale of the poem's origin.	What Service! by Roger J. Robicheau The Poetic Plumber   To hold the phone can drive you nuts Repeating statements, old music cuts They make it sound like help looms near You wait and wait, you pull your hair How have we lowered to this state Our time means zilch, Boy! ain't that great I'd rather hear that busy sound Than wait and simply hang around As I form this worthless poem My ear is stuck, to the telephone I'm told my call's important stuff It's been an hour, and that's enough Bye bye music and recorded voice With patience gone, I've but one choice You've so succeeded to make me nervous Over and over, I think, What Service! © 2001 Roger J. Robicheau  ~ signed:  A Poetic Plumber who has had it with the "hold syndrome".  Roger.	I Died Today    by Roger J. Robicheau The Poetic Plumber  I died today, is never heard  Silence has no spoken word  Speak your piece while there is time  Do talk of good, search for divine  Never wander far from home  Or you will fall like ancient Rome  Just don't watch those children grow  Teach them, show them, they must know  If you hold a mighty hand  Use it for His righteous plan  The soul must guide us to succeed  Let it show, it's meant to lead  Someday we'll find what's dead ahead  But never on this earthly bed © 2001 Roger J. Robicheau   The Poetic  Plumber
The  Poetic  Plumber's  story: I  called a  company to report a problem  and was  immediately  put on hold.   Recorded  music and  the same message  played repeatedly.   I  cradled  the phone  between my shoulder and ear  and began  to create a poem. When I finished my first draft, I had been on the phone for  over an hour.   Disgusted by this point, I hung up.

technology vs. the poem by sean money we hope         our technology will  surpass our             biology  yet, in Einstein's thoughts  technology has exceeded our humanity  we have already destroyed  our spirit,             we the damned  with the police sirens  revolving evil wails              outside my              window  perhaps--there is a way out my way        out has been the poem  the art which demands          which allows          which reveals  that in the intermost                       heart  there lies a fountain  that flows                   eternally. ©   sean money

When I Speak of Love by Thomas R. Barnett When I speak of love Should I think like Don Juan? Byron's hero with whom I can follow along And learn as great lovers do To woo and to charm The lady I love, the heroine in my arms. No I'll leave Don Juan to Byron And do this alone And sing to the Angel Who calls me her own: Light of my life Dream of my dreams My radiant wife Who joyously sings A love song so tender O'er long lasting years Its wondrous splendor No sorrow, no tears But love's lovely number That kissed the night air And caused me to slumber It's music I hear. Now my heart dances To the love that I see A woman enchanted Upon the night breeze That gently caresses Like soft moonbeam rays The curl of her tresses As she slowly sways In rhythm and motion On soft blue vein feet With love's true devotion Kind hearted and meek Light of my live Dream of my dreams My radiant wife Who joyously sings! by Thomas R. Barnett

Ashes from the Fire by Cynthia ASHES FROM THE FIRE DANCE AND SNAKE THEIR WAY INTO THE DARK OF THE NIGHT. A NIGHT MORE DEVIL THAN THE SIMPLE TURNING OF A PLANET. A NIGHT NAKED, AND STRIPPED OF ALL IT OWNS. NO STARS, NO MOON, NO SHADOWS. ALL FOG AND QUIET NOTHING. REACHING FOR THE ASHES TO FUEL THE STARS AND MOON, COLD HEAT, COLD LIGHT, COLD FIRE. ASHES FROM THE FIRE. WRINKLED AND GRAY, NO FORM OR SHAPE. A BREEZE STIRS, LIFTS THE ASHES INTO THE AIR, NO LIFE, NO NOISE, NO WEIGHT. STIFLING, MERGING WITH ITS FRIENDS, LEAVING A TRAIL TO TELL A SIMPLE TALE OF ASHES FROM THE FIRE. © Cynthia   website