Critiques and Revision

Woderful poem, it moved me to tears.

DIPHTHERIA FESTIVAL

A black-and-white moth, its golden wings bearing
hieroglyphs. I google Dipthera festiva. Did you mean
“Diphtheria Festival”? No, I didn’t but thanks anyway.

Now I can’t stop imagining diphtheria victims
enjoying themselves among the party lanterns
& tents beside a dirty river while my Facebook friends
hand out lemons & instructions for making lemonade,
admiring the blue skin of the dying, their festive barking,
their bull throats & bloody noses. Yes, they call me
Mr. Negative. The vocalist knows me. I should leave
but here comes the verse I like: when you pack your bags,
you gotta pack two, one for yourself & one for your bad attitude.

Know what’s cool about Dipthera festiva, the hieroglyphic moth?
Its evasive “system, ” an organ in its ear, activated by a
bat’s high-pitched note, an organ that signals its wings to spasm.
The moth survives, like all of nature’s darlings, involuntarily.

Jefferson Carter

Wisdom is Her Name
by Roger Horsch

Does not wisdom call out her name
On our paths along the way?
That's why we should listen really hard
For she has things of worth to say.

And, at the point where our paths should meet
Is where she'll take her stand
She can lead us into the city of gold
If we would only take her hand.

Her voice speaks of understanding
And her mouth speaks of what is true
That if we listen to the knowledge she gives
We will know just what to do.

She was there when He set the heavens in place
And the foundations of the earth
For all the words of her mouth were just
From the day of mankind's birth.

So, if you seek you'll find her
And your life won't be the same
For you'll always find favor from the Lord
'Cause, Wisdom is her name.

I Miss

I miss the way you would comfort me
When I was just a child
I miss the way you scolded me
When I was young and wild.

I miss the days you would tell me
That everything would be alright
I miss the way you worried for me
When I was no longer in your sight.

I miss the days we would share together
But those days I know I took
I miss the days when I did something wrong
And you gave me that special look.

I miss your love and compassion
God's gift He gave to you
For no matter what would happen in life
You would always pull right through.

You kept our family together
You were there through thick or thin
You would fight the toughest battles
And you would always seem to win.

I love you mom with all my heart
So please never close that door
For I hope there's days we can share together
‘cause I hope to miss no more.

Deer Hunters' Camp

It's another year of Deer Hunters' Camp
Where my friend Tom caught fire while igniting his lamp.
He screamed, 'Put me out! ' as he ran out of sight.
I yelled, 'Stop, drop and Roll... and you'll be alright! '
Then there was Greg, who loved to get drunk.
He passed out in his tent, while hugging a skunk.
Him stinking so bad, it must have been hell.
So, we kept him down wind because of the smell.
Now here comes Bill, who brought us a treat.
He fed us all jerky that smelled just like feet.
We about beat him to death with a bag full of rocks
‘Cause, it wasn't deer jerky, it was hard crusty socks.
We hunted all week without any luck
Then what came into camp was the world's largest buck.
We looked at each other, beaten and tired
Then pointed our guns, but nobody fired.
We seemed to go through this year after year
And I'm never amazed why we haven't got deer.
When we all get together, the deer is the champ
But, there's always next year at Deer Hunters' Camp.

Flying Raisins
By Roger Horsch

Flying raisins are in the air, there are flying raisins everywhere
I see them flying all around, I see them landing on the ground
I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
I see them flying in the sky, I see them getting in my pie
I see them walking on my cake, I see them in everything I make
I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
I find them in my cookie dough, I don’t know why they just won’t go
I do not like them can’t you see, flying raisins are all over me
I don’t know where they come from, I just want them to leave
There’s three or four more on my shirt, and two more on my sleeve
Then I saw the open box, sitting high upon the rack
I pulled it down then turned it around, it said “ CAUTION “ on the back
It said not for use in cooking, such as cookies, cakes or pies
For I thought I bought a box of raisins, but they were laboratory flies

Hi friends, Please read and review my poem Think...Who am I, Thirst for love and Mischief. Any suggestions are most welcome..Thank you.

Lend me your spheres.

Lend me your lens for my spheres are broke,
Spliced by a splinter of image galore,
Thoughts diverge like white lights spectrum of gore.
A compass of breadth to observe, to evoke.
Yield me your orbs, your yellow spots humour;
Furnish my brain, diffract my retina,
Freeze these cones, oh plague me myopia,
Resolute in tandem with earth’s voyeur.
Haggle me the eyes of a new born foal,
Acute awareness is what I aspire
So melt down my stars in a spiral of fire,
Torch our terra to its terrible goal.
For their virtue these kind eyes do me well,
Aeons inert in the expanse of a cell.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated :)

Check out my new poem " We the strongest" . Welcome all the feedback and comments. Thank you for stopping by. Cheers Tara

If I Had Ten More Minutes

If I had ten more minutes
and my voice was not faint
nor my face so devoid
or my mind so blank,
I would profess—

But I'm afraid of words
which might betray lips,
For what is kept
is of my eyes—
that impulsive organ
I've attempted to stray;
hooded, hazed.

Construing a montage
ever playing:
concerns, worries
fears, and doubts,
Come to life
in bursting light
whilst straining in the dark.

And if such creations
could speak—
or better
could be heard—
through the mist of passion
And masks of pride,

I would profess
All in my heart;
Every quaint murmur
Forsaken night and night.