My Daddy My Daughter

Great news: I have completed my second book of poetry, " Iridescent Waters". This book was a personal triumph for me, I challenged my self to use imagetry. I wanted to paint a portrait, and give you the reader a chance to peer into my inner sanctuary. I use my creative liscence and don't always rely on expected thruths. As I have stated before, I write about both what I believe, and what I conceive. I give rise to those things that are real and also what is imagined. You the reader will get the chance to discern those things that are real and those imagined the lines are not that blurred. "Iridescent Waters". As the title suggests, life isn't always about  sparkling oceans, rampaging rivers and majestic lakes of pure organic waters. At times the waters are Iridescent, splashed with beautiful colors of a rainbow. Look beneath the surface and you find, the water is still, muddy, dark, and murky. This book for me is a chance to confront and address some personal issues I've had with being in love, and my personal spiritual beliefs. 

"Iridescent Waters" is available now.

Wesley Allen Mack

Wings

"Pop, Pop" went the sound of the gunshots.

Eerie silence, as the scene played

out in slow motion.

Horrified expressions, scattering

in confused directions.

The realness was too real to be true,

surreal, a word to kind.

I stood motionless, seemingly

frozen in warped time.

Un-afraid, un-amused, un-nerved,

because this is unnecessary.

I observed two motionless tiny bodies

sprawled out in front of me.

A Mother crying, their Father dying

the children in need of emerge… never mind they're gone.

I see the siren's muted sounds,

the silence is deafening.

Don't I hear the sounds of panic,

swirling all around me.

People suddenly just appear screaming,

and yelling, words devoid of sound.

"Pop, Pop" went the sounds of the gunshots.

Just off to my left another body,

lay in waste.

No one stops to help him because,

it was already too late.

I try to walk over, but my feet won’t move…

I try to reach out, but my arms are limp…

I try to call out, but my lips won’t separate…

My mouth won't open, my words are frozen.

Two iridescent butterflies, flutter in

front of my face.

Asking me to move along, I have to

move at their pace.

I look back trying to wrap my mind

around this horrific sight.

Voices urging me to "Hurry, we have to really

fly to catch the fading light."

"Father will catch up, after he let go

of all those worldly things."

"Don’t try to walk, your legs are useless,

you have to use your wings."

And in that instant I realized, the message

these two angels did bring.

I died, in the "Pop, Pop" went the sound of the gunshots,

but I don’t recall a thing.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Copyright 2006 All Rights Reserved

The day the Black Family will die.

We could hardly believe, in front of our eyes,
ringing gunshots, from out of the isles.
Dissolved promises, by brothers, were you surprised?

That frosty day when Malcolm X died,

A nation mourned and with sorrow wept,
the Peace community overslept.

A second time the Black community cried,

the day when Martin Luther King died.
 

When Politicians no longer fight the fight,

we gave them the power to fight and do right.

Become fat cats while we suffer our demise,

We will see, the day the Black Family dies.

When concern for your own has left,

compassion is replaced by neglect.
Displaced by values made up on the fly,

this too will destine the Black family to die.

The day your kin folk decided to be,

no longer committed to the family,
and all that is between them is miles,
yet another day the Black family dies.

Brothers berate sisters, and they berate them,

the outlook for a truce is reduced to slim.
When a return to normalcy is not the outcry, 
signals, the day the Black family will die.

When there is a church in every neighbor hood,

the desperate, wont see the light nor see the good.

When good VS evil is no longer the fight to decry,

The last days in time, and the Black family will die.

Poem By Wesley Allen Mack

Iridescent Waters

In my youth, out back was a forest

there ran a crystal river wherein,

the best of friends would only

dare to venture in.

Magical, and by legend mysterious,

not for the faint of heart,

a treasure chest for the curious.

There you could find

Stones, perfectly round, flat &

oval, the skimming kind.

At the rivers bank just to dip

your feet in, or scoop up guppies

as they basked and played in.

There was gold in that river we

would find as a matter of fact.

We were foolish and young enough,

to really believe just that.

There were scary creatures in that forest

hiding within, creatures of legend

but we could never see them.

When the world around was at

it's worst and unkind.

I could go off to look for stones,

perfectly round, flat & oval,

the skimming kind.

Sit at the rivers edge and

dream my escape.

Sail away and leave all behind

before it was too late.

As the years past I've come to see

my forest of old, wasn’t all it

would represent.

An un-parceled strip of land, all

that it was, all that it meant.

No mystical creatures, to be found

just stones, flat & oval, the skimming kind,

some perfectly round.

There were pheasants, pigeons,

moths, and butterflies

with wings iridescent

to my surprise.

Rabbits, frogs, and

all the usual fare.

Were the creatures within,

we had to beware.

I still hold dear that sparkling

river with reverence.

That it was a creek , of muddy waters

still and iridescent.

And today look for stones, perfectly round,

flat & oval, the skimming kind.

And bring with me today, my son and daughters

to look upon my past, of muddy Iridescent Waters.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Copyright 2006 All Rights Reserved

Congratulations Dove for
"Bookends Apart" in Poetry Challenge

Bookends Apart

The dreams are becoming dreams of fields,
three books removed, closeness revealed.

Heart, is now loudly and frantically beating
last book removed, two bookends meeting.


Wesely Allen Mack
Copyright 2006 All Rights Reserved

Winner on the Poetices Fantasy forum board

Enchantment

So this is enchantment:

As we went fluttering

and then spiraling

at once, the chase

ended none too soon, and

I was kissed by a butterfly.

So this is enchantment:

Daylight eclipsed eve's

last right, the horizon's

elliptical aura chastened

night's faded plight, oh how

I felt the kiss of God.

So this is enchantment:

Flickers fade to dim,

then flicker once again

first here, now there, where

next, in front of my eyes, Ahh!

I was kissed by a firefly.

So this is enchantment:

Your face is unknown,

yet I see it's color's hue

the essence of you.

Perfection awakened the sun.

And

I was kissed by the ocean.

So this is enchantment?

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Copyright 2005 All Rights Reserved

I absolutely love the message in this piece - well written

Jen

You can't preach to me
If you can't reach to me.
Because the most dynamic and
humble stand,
When Christ gave his life
for the sins of man.
Don't tell me Christ
lives inside of you
unless I can look,
see him in you too.
I can't quote scripture
or turn to the page.
But I am born again
and coming to age.
Christ gave up life for mankind,
he truly gave the most.
Requiem the Father, the Son,
and the Holy Ghost.
Don't come at me for the things
I do or don’t know.
Christ said God loves me,
and he showed me so.
Or pick apart the things
that I'm saying.
You're not my judge,
hear what God is saying.
In my hour of need,
I can't turn to you.
I give it over to Christ,
to see me through.
Why would God send you
to preach to me?
I just accept Christ and
he'll reach to me.
I don’t want to follow
in man's last stand
In the day of deliverance,
I put it in Gods hand.
Go out and preach to the masses,
then you can preach to me.
If you can't reach to mankind,
then you can't reach to me.

Wesley Allen Mack
Copyright 2006 All Rights Reserved

Congratulations Dove
for
The Coming

 in the Religious Forum

The coming (The last interaction between God and mankind here on earth.)

I can't whimper, sob, and politely cry,
to myself and no one will hear.
I will cry out loud for all the unjust,
to passers by, all that can hear.
As feelings are faded to the dimmest of dim,
twilight eluded night's copious.
Materializing in our jaded hour,
when faced with inevitability, un-just.
Look around hope is not found, we pray heaven help us.
Heaven's guided hand will touch only those among, us the truly righteous.

I better not softly cry, moan,
or otherwise keep held within.
That which is in my heart,
unleash and shout it to no end.
Prayers are like un-chained melodies,
un-chain them from the eclipse.
Melodies chained, prayers un-heard,
verily will succumb to the apocalypse.
Heaven help us, hope is un-found heaven please, help us,
God's guided hand will touch only, those that eluded twilight's copious.

Wesley Allen Mack
Copyright  2006 All Rights Reserved

Congrats Dove
for
Too Late The Children
at the Critique Forum

Too late the children

What have we done to our children?
Growing old in the streets with
a child's heart locked inside.

Where have we taken our children?
To a place so far sided that,
grown men even cried.

When will we harbor the onus children?
Remove it from your hearts,
Apologize, because we lied.

Is it too late to take it back my children?
Not gonna make excuses,
and pretend that we tried.

Could we ever find the time children?
We were too busy
making a home,
to lock you in and hide.

From the madness we created my children.
Though we saw the tears fall,
we never listened when you cried.

Wesley Allen Mack

Copyright  2006 All Rights Reserved

As exquisite as ever are your writes...Lovely, Lonely and Touching...straight from a garden of the soul!! Congrats Wesley!!! Lots of Kudos here !!!

Warmly
Ladydove

Winner in the Blues category.

The sun never shines on me

Wherever I walk.

The darkness and shadows follow

Even when I talk.

That's the way it is and has

Always been.

Even when I score the most points

I never win.

And I welcome the night, to me

It's warm and secure.

The daylight portrays my darkness

As pretentious and obscure.

The warmth of a loving woman

Can not ease the pain.

The soothing song of romance

Fades by the 2^nd frame.

This too will pass because

I will not be smitten

To cherish the taste of honey's nectar

It's sting or be bitten.

This is the way it will forever be

The more I try to change,

Change is more trying to me.

The emptiness that abounds

Should come as no surprise.

And this is what you see when

You look in my eyes.

Tell me why you expect that,

one day this will change?

When I shelter the darkness, forever

the lonely, and Dove is my name.

Poem by Wesley Allen Mack

Copyright 2005 All Rights Reserved

There perched dilly on a hilly glen
nested a bob-tailed peculiar wren.
Intrigued we were decidedly then
my travels rewarded that day when.

We caught each other's suspicious eye
wonder contemplated on river Wye.
Sat ever still as if preset from dye,
self indulged was I of whiskey N rye.

Out the corner of peripheral vision
another wren loomed, bent on collision.
Was thwarted with ease and precision
side stepped by the first wren's decision.

My observation derived from fright
in horror that the new wren might
induce the 1st wren to engage in a fight
they circled and swirled above in flight.

Then all my fears dissolved to dust
the flight turned to fancy and lust.
I bore witness, to this dance of trust
my travels rewarded in winds of gust.

Wesley Allen Mack
Copyright 2006 All Rights Reserved

awedfellow
A Poetic Wiz!

Dear Dove;

My what a busy little poem. You have done a wonderful job of treating the reader to a flurry of image and motion. Your writing style, though unfamiliar to me, is pleasant and distinctive. I hope the little wrens you write of are the same that scurry around my house for they are a favorite. Your poem certainly points to a wonderful talent and gift that you have been given.