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Poems On / About CULTURE  8/2/2015 11:24:37 AM
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Seeking Publisher

for children's books. One subject is about America's newest icon for values, culture, fashion, and perfection in general, Martha Stewart. Another is about a new legend originating in Hispanic culture. Good sales potential in both Spanish and English. Both of these manuscripts are designed as thirty-two page books to be read aloud (I have talented professional illustrators working on both). Interested Publishers/Financial Supporters, please contact me through The International Library of Poetry, 1 Poetry Plaza, Owings Mills, MD 21117 or fax me at (562) 531-6681 (I have many other completed manuscripts). Excerpt from: CHUPACABRA: AKA El Chupacabra, The Goat Sucker By now the goats had settled down. They came wandering out of their shed to greet the two Children.
Then, Armando spotted the first evidence. It was one blue feather. Carla was the one who found the drinking straw. After examining it closely, Carla exclaimed, "Look it has blood on it! Chupacabra!"
Waterworld Wonderment It's the best of times while sitting on the edge of the boardwalk. Watching the gulls as they soar as kites upon the wind, forever chasing and fussing with each other. One stops and stares at me with a quizzical look of head-cocked wonderment, cast as the sandwich morsel in my hand that I brought to share. Later while on the shore, bucket in hand, I pause to wriggle toes in the sand, and a lone gull rises before the crashing wakes, screeching as it goes. I wonder of the numbers and thoughts of those long ago who have passed before me on these same sands, and of the recent prints left behind that I see, all to be quickly washed by the silvery sheet of slimey brine, and tumbling, flowing, grains of sand forever. I round the bend and plod up into the bay where the high tides come. That's where I see a treasure chest to explore with time at hand. I wonder of the times when men set sail upon that crumbling and broken hulk that lies in a final resting place, as roost and lookout for the hungry horde of squawking gulls, when traversing on the feeding grounds they purposely go day after day. What was the name that graced that derelict? How did it come by that fate?
Clifton C. Phillips

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Read more: culture poems, poetry poems, america poems, children poems, fate poems, wind poems, child poems, work poems, rose poems



Icarus Wing Two Too

Icarus Wing Two Too
Before the Wing was formed they sought a Mythical place to fly they tried to find the Cavern of the seldom found the place they dearly wanted to be some call it Heaven some call it frown down at the distant ground Prince Icarus used the precious wax to seal the feathers from the weather not understanding the power of the Sun they only worried at the Clouds formed the rain they were thinking of the rain and only what was there in the Cavern to be won they needed the secret of the wax they were searching for the waxen grail the Majic Wax used by the minions of the Cavern this is not about them but about Icarus Wing and differant culture how they see things differantly then we have trouble to begin a tale of woe excluding all the facts no history of wax but only what propose ideas formed in the group discussion but not looked up superstitiously nor copied for eye have read some very old long winded poets they never grasped this factor of the wax the very idea that the Great Grecian culture was searching for Magical Wax to enable Man to fly would Heaven be beyond us even now the properties of Tungsten Steal to seal the WIngs in flight between the stars but wait this story is in the past a fancy full of flight the young boy was still willing to try to fly but the old man still tried to keep him from going one last time and here is Daedalus talking to Icarus
" boy please listen to me now you can not go out there off the cliff with me you just are not strong enought to fly" the wind think of the rain what if it rains the wind will twist you like a huge bird then pounce on you like a ton of kiln bricks and you might fall into the Ocean and be lost we do not knoe iff there is even a Cavern where the Majic wax is sure to be found" Icarus pointed. That needle of black a crack how can you see that far a young lad like you intact and life ahead of you yet here you stand ready to die for what a chance at Magic wax" no no it shall not be so we will talk of this when you are older and ready then to go beyond the Sky we will fly on a clear hot day when there is no chance of rain and wind to hurt you. Obscure the reference is to the Prodigal son insisting on going out from home to have his fun snorting with his friends Icarus wing to high insisting on his right to fly young men like too near the bright sunshine the glare of sin is still what blinds them
Charles Hice

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The Grotto Trail

I'll come with you.
We'll rip away language
and grind away culture.
Language is pointless.
All cultures are death.
We believe in moments,
in wisps of breezes.
At the Grotto we have both.
raster punk

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Indian Culture Is The Best Like Gold

Indian culture is the best like gold
India hath need of cultured men,
A gun or bomb may convert into a pen,
Educated men have a royal hold.

All women must be literate and bold,
And all dress as per their religions,
Way of living depends upon their regions,
Old is gold as we have been told.

And we all live with our fore - fathers!
But we think as lucky and blessed,
For humanity sake we help to others,
As the citizens of India we are addressed.

So as all the states are our brothers,
In the golden words Indian culture is expressed.

Mazid S Kazi , INDIA

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Poems On / About CULTURE