Broken But Not Dead

(a poem by Earl Chinnici)

Photo by Curt Cornum

how long has it been
since i saw your pretty face
we were grown children

and you went your way
i suppose i went mine too
it seems both are true

but now i’m broken
many decisions do haunt
this body and mind

broken but not dead
a peculiar state i’m in
and time passes by

unable to ask
these questions upon my mind
will you be afraid

if only you knew
how much i think about you
would you run away

or would you reply
that i’m also on your mind
and that scares you too

would you tell me then
that you’re also quite broken
but hide it so well

your kindness a front
and the smile on your face
who could ever know

years have passed us by
a peculiar state we’re in
strange to see you here

i yearn to touch you
to hold your hand as we walk
any place or time

maybe it’s silly
or maybe we always knew
we would meet again

broken but not dead

Connect with the author: Earl Chinnici

Website: https://CleanWIP.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/e.chinnici
Twitter: https://twitter.com/earlshelpdesk
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Chinnici/e/B00L894LL6

Pledge of Allegiance

(a poem by Earl Chinnici)

I pledge allegiance to the ONE
Who created this land we live upon.
We raise a flag and fly it proudly,
not as an idol, but to declare loudly,
“We will worship our LORD without interference
as we await His last trump and reappearance.”

The U.S. was founded by a woman who fled.
For so many freedoms, she saw so many dead.
This land prepared before her by the LORD above,
she claimed many symbols: a cross, a fish, a dove.
She fought many battles and she still fights today.
Her children, beaten daily, sing and laugh and play.

Now, longsuffering, gentleness, and patience keep peace quite a while,
but a hateful, accusing and rebellious people will ruin any leader’s smile.
The dragon accused the brethren day and night before the LORD,
but was cast and bound to the earth by His mighty WORD.
See, Michael and His angels fought; they cast the dragon to the earth,
giving Heaven a peaceful rest, giving us a blight-filled dearth.

The dragon was given some time to further deceive the nations,
as he has deceived so many before us throughout the generations
Satan sacrifices his children and teaches his children to do the same,
but evil is still evil no matter how loudly they otherwise proclaim.
So we raise our swords for battle; it’s time for another inning.
Hard to war with one another, but this war is from the beginning.

Two great documents of reason once spoke out like a lamb.
Devils crept in unseen by many, though foretold by the great I AM.
Two great divisions of old, at odds since Earth’s foundation,
gather their people for battle again dividing nations.
Neither side will waiver and we know only love can win.
Joy and peace… kindness and faith… will raise their flag again.

Connect with the author: Earl Chinnici

Website: https://CleanWIP.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/e.chinnici
Twitter: https://twitter.com/earlshelpdesk
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Earl-Chinnici/e/B00L894LL6

See this poem on various products via the CleanWIP Magazine storefront.

Harvest Ball

By M. L. Farb

(Photo credit: Allef Vinicius)

I started writing poetry in college, when I took a one-week graduate-level poetry course. I ate, drank, and slept poetry. It seeped into my blood and still pumps through me, impacting all my writing.

My favorite lesson from the poetry course was: Poetry is a snapshot of life. Capture the senses and emotions of a moment.

The following poem is still a work in progress, capturing a moment in my early-married life.

Harvest Ball

New parents with six-week-old baby in tow,
we trudge through snow to the harvest ball.

Exhaustion from baby nursing nights
and intense school days
melts under music.

We jive and spin to the
rich brass call of Sing, Sing, Sing.

I float in his arms as we
trace the steps of Strauss’ Vienna Waltz.

We laugh our way through fast songs.
He has natural rhythm and style.
I follow in stumbling imitation.
Walk like an Egyptian and Cotton Eye Joe

I lay my head on his shoulder
to the gentle swaying of Lady in Red.

Our baby watches from her car seat,
then begs to join.
We dance, her nestled between us,
until she falls asleep.

A limbo line starts.
I try my luck and startle to find that
pregnancy limbered my joints.
I skim under the stick at waist height.
He cheers me on.

We return to our dancing.
Two become one in music and movement.

Hours later we return home,
the dance making our steps light over snow
and our hearts ready for the coming struggles.

Connect with the author: M. L. Farb

Website/Blog: https://mlfarbauthor.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MLFarbAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/FarbMl
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/M-L-Farb/e/B07TKYDNHD

CleanWIP Magazine has obtained from the author non-exclusive right to publish or republish this content. The author retains copyright.

Close Calls of the Past

(Eighty Drops of Rain)
By Earl Chinnici

Beautiful dawn…
amazing reds…
I pray silently
thankful to see this day
Close calls of the past
warn me destruction draws near.

Outwardly brave…
inwardly weak…
this war in my mind,
threatens my sanity.
Close calls of the past
remind me I must trust.

Distant rumbles
drawing closer;
eighty drops of rain
hit a torn metal roof.
Close calls of the past
feed anxiety today.

Flashes of light
each time brighter;
moments between them
darker than day should be.
Close calls of the past
feed the fears within me.

An eerie calm…
strong gusts of wind…
seems they’re taking turns.
I pray there is more calm.
Close calls of the past
remind me to stay down.

Relentless rain…
pulses of light…
I ask forgiveness
and that I overcome.
Close calls of the past
feed today’s revival.

Deafening now…
my home trembles.
The breath escapes me.
Old trees slammed to the ground.
Close calls of the past
feed the terror within

Incessant prayers…
my soul trembles;
powerless I am.
Without HIM, I am naught.
Close calls of the past
remind me of HIS grace.

Suddenly deaf…
no… loud ringing…
turmoil around me,
but there’s now calm within.
Close calls of the past
remind me I am HIS.

Thankfully, HIS…
the great I AM.
I give thanks again—
for all of life’s moments.
Close calls of the past
feed me every day.

Poem on Poems

I think I should write a poem but wherever shall I start?
Many have written before me about matters of the heart.

Some cried tales of lost friends and loved ones, heartaches, and deep sorrow.
Others rhymed words of joy, of true love, and a bright tomorrow.

Some wrote about pirates and their shipwrecks, and buried treasures.
Still others told men’s secrets, evil schemes, or hidden pleasures.

Countless moving verses have been written throughout the ages.
Once I put the pen to paper, I’m sure to fill some pages.

~ Earl Chinnici “Poem on Poems”