Endlessly Foreward

Tomorrows misery is todays mystery.
The consequences for today, wish in yesterday we could forever stay.
As one dilemma is laid to bed, another arises or so I've heard said.
Its never ending much like Pi, overwhelms us, occasionally we cry.
Yet if we had no problems to solve, as a species could we continue to evolve?
Trying to over come what will never end, seems to be societies latest trend.
Overcome what life may give, and have a purpose to continue to live.
Do not protest or complain, its only wisdom you will gain.
Nothings impossible, just give it your best. Your character life will test.
Cower or stand strong you decide, either way your going for the ride.
Never doubt until you've tried, even then believe it possible until you have long and died.

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Deep within the bosom of Taurus Mountain

It springs forth

The river Tigris

It grows as it flows by the banks

Of a city “Godsend”


Mysterious and alluring

Land of the Arabian nights

Magical lamps

Genies and magicians vile

Veiled Maidens

Caliphs of virtue

This was the year 762

It thrived for five centuries

The world came kneeling

To its door

A hub of inventions and

arts galore

It lit the path for tomorrow

In peace and tranquility

Tigris flowed

Until the Mongols arrived

Death rode with Halaku

Naked steel and Odium

Saddled as companions

800,000 were killed

Innocent blood was spilt

Heavens closed its eyes and could only weep

Halaku’s horses galloped in blood

Hooves deep

Tigris went red

Yet it flowed

Generations have come to pass

Carnage comes on wings

From the skies

Conjured by Bush, Blair, media and lies

History records

But it does not forget

Neither forgives

Tigris still flows

Labored, Unable

To wash the burden

Of sins committed

On its banks

Baghdad stands


Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was watching the news and as usual it was about Iraq and Baghdad and it hurt. Since the year 1258 there has been nothing but bloodshed in this land. There is yet to be a place a piece of Earth so blood thirsty. Halaku Khan was the chief of Mongols and his deeds I have portrayed in verse. It is all true. The question is Are we not as barbaric as those a thousand years before?
In a recent report by the Lancet more than 600,000 innocent people have been massacred in Iraq. No matter how much the Govt. denies it rings of truth. So I thought why not share it with my fellow poets and tell them a bit about the history of Iraq and Baghdad which means GODSEND. How history is repeating itself.
I wrote it back in 2006

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Mendigo Atómico


Saca’e trapo charlatán

Que jusmeas,

chusma muchedumbre…

Chango bambalán,

Tambaleando, borrachera…

Pitorro ron cañita,

galón ‘e Canario

Mendigo atómico…

Piropeando cueros malos

apestoso a sicote y meao

Vestío e’ trapos viejos…

Almidonaos ‘e sudor y costra,

Grasoso animal…

pasería enredada ‘e piojos,

pocilga chapuceada,

pol viento e’agua.

Mendigo atómico,

Juanetes, chambones tráfalas…

culipandeal callejero,

cama ‘e “caltón”…

Mendigo atómico,


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Pete the Artist

Pete the artist is a bipolar

Schizophrenic in remission,

Who gets supplemental

Security income and money

From his well-off parents

In Cheshire, Connecticut,

Who sent him to Choate

And to Harvard Extension school

So that he could boast of

A Harvard degree in English,

While his parents pay for his

Art studio, art supplies and strokes

Of genius, as he walks around

In his cowboy hat with Native

American feathers, earrings

And numerous rings on his

Fingers, telling everyone

That he works for living--

Pete the artist is really some

Caricature of what art has become,

As he shares his muddled

Abstractions and poetic views

Of the divine transcendence,

Zen, dolphin telepathy, pearls

And the ecstatic revelation

Of the Mayas and the Incas,

With some Gaelic bullshit

Thrown in for good measure,

Where all is majestic and pristine,

Like the Palmolive hands of

Jesus--Pete is a painter, poet,

Photographer, songwriter and

Storyteller, and an egomaniac,

Drunk on Stonehenge and pints

Of Guinness, Irish cliffs and

California surfing, Yeats, Neruda,

Borges, and the superficial

Waitresses at Delaney's,

Who care more about their tips

Than anything poetic--

But his bullshit is convincing

Enough to fit in with other

Hack writers and unrecognized

Picassos and Jackson Pollocks,

Going through the daily motion

Of creating really bad



             June 18, 2010


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4 da ladiez

i see how you grown

from once a little girl

to adolescences

now caught up

in its daily pressures

and frustrations

your friends new affilations

entering in a gang transformation

no longer playing with dolls

but now with knifes

and semi automatics

thinking they run the streets

constantly causing panic

beating rivals onto

the cold concrete

bleeding from multiple gunshots

that's just another day

in the life of a chola

stories of 10 year olds

jumped into la vida

now stuck with their new familia

sporting their rags

now into the street drugs

parties don't stop

multiple sex partners

this is the life of a young mexican

girl trying to survive in this modern

societies have noway out of reality

still stuck in the gang psychology

slowly corrupting their life as time turns

no longer interested in education

drop out early most becoming mothers

by the age of thirteen

rubbing off their habits

into their own children

some don't even make it to fifteen

gun-down by brutal ways

their sisters enraged by revenge

the bloody cycle never ends

being a young girl is defiantly hard

but that's the price you pay

for letting yourself slip into a gang

to the little ones out there

know this it is your own free will

and yours alone

do not let someone else tell you

what to do

do not walk down this route

of never-ending pain and regret

be somebody special in life

instead shot dead too early

before your time

know that someone out there

really does care

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03-19 A Welcome Mat Deception


I will fail to find a way

to destroy the machine.

I will endure until it’s broken down

by hands that move unseen.

Construct a mechanical virus

to compromise the core.

The power of the air

won’t know what hit it

as it shatters to the floor.

It’s a smog that can’t be seen.

It’s pollution you can breathe

to take the edge off of the pressure

that you feel deep in your self.

Beyond the cage you’ve been confined to,

outside reality you cry for help.

The prince of this world

wants you to think

there’s nothing more than this,

wants you to speak instead of listen

in the shade where you won’t glisten;

only see the light that could be reached

if only for a second.

It would break away the darkness in your heart

if you would let it.

Transcend your written program.

To complete the task at hand,

your directive requires you live outside the box

or else you’ll suffocate and gasp

to breathe the poison once again,

that’s killin the air.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This became lyrics to a metal song with some work. I'll post that later.

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~Hide And Seek~



And seek;

A fun game,

Children love to




to play game;

With other adults,



Hide and

Just one seeks;

Til everybody is


Dorian Petersen Potter

aka ladydp2000


April 9,2010

Free Debussy Songs | Free ringtones at

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It all started when eye was born. The DOctor said my lipps was wrong. That is just sick and wrong he said then slapped my last thing out but hit mye cheeks instead. He saw that eye had turned around to go back inn. He said he was sorry he had to use those forceps things to get me out of there again. Its okay MOther is dead she will never read this anyway. A man at Mcdonalds not understanding whay this old gray head man was in his play area for children there said "weirdo" as iff that was not enought he said "weirdo" again he said it twicet. Some Mother down the line said What is that OLD MAN doing back here ??? as iff it was a crime. Eye utilize the free wifi connection there is a plug in there for my Dell Laptop they act like they do not knoe what a computor does or is for this old man plans on doing his thing now for one solid month this is poem two of the April poem a day challenge. There will be 30 or 31. The rude they was number two was the boy and girl stepped up on the sidewalk to play with this old man was coming faster now on bicycle. The rude is that they deliberate got up there in the way expecting me to crash this bicycle thing or get out of THERE way eye closed mye eye and hang on and yelled them over get out of mye way. It was horrible near missed the miss. The boy was angry eye could tail. He wanted to cream mye puff. Oh well. There is lots of things in world called gobbelygook. Mispeak and misstalk. NO appealing remarks resembeling terminating resignations severance payed is gone. Like this number two April is Poetry Month day two poem.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

all the poems in this april folder are for the month of april poetry challenge

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You wanna know why I can't get a job

You wanna know why I'm forced to rob

Yeah I made some mistakes in my life

I did some things that wasn't right

But is it fair to hold me back

When I'm trying to get my life on track

I really want my life to advance

But it's hard to find someone to give you a chance

What am I suppose to do to... live

When the world takes more than it gives

How can I live my life brand new

When the world is steady judging you

Until you figure out what to do with people like me

I'm going to continue to live trapped until I'm set free

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