covers




LITERARY CONTESTS FICTION NONFICTION POETRY HAPPENINGS BOOK REVIEWS INTERVIEWS NEW TITLES ART & PHOTOGRAPHY

ADELAIDE Independent Quarterly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Trimestral, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

THE BUG ON THE WALL    
By Samuel Kaufman

                 

 

 

 

  OOO O  THE BUG ON THE WALL      
   
    

“I shall never cry”
She said between sips of her wine
“I shall never shout”
She exclaimed in a voice riddled in doubt
You see I live a life above you all
For I live as a bug on the edge of the wall
Just waiting for the crumbs to gently fall then
WHOOSEH
You will see me crawl
To the edge of the floor in a blink of an eye
Gathering substance and hope for a fleeting supply
Leaving no time to think
How’d she get inside?
The truth is I was always there
Just a bug on the wall with her judgmental stare
Taking small bits of love in times of despair
Just dreaming of the day that you’d finally care
But as you know that day never came
As the bug on the wall was drowned in the rain
And I can’t speak for you but I was never the same
Knowing my place on the wall was forever detained
I tell you this as I swallow my pride
And I take back oaths not to shout and to cry
Because it’s hard to look forward
When you can still see behind
And I can’t help but think how you were almost mine

 

 

 

 

 

THE MADHOUSE CRY
 

There is 1.5 gallons of blood flowing through our arms
And every day we get nicked by the cold hearted animal farm
Who laughs at the pain ca ca cawing like the crow
With the sudden shock and dismay of stubbing one’s toe
On the concrete steps of the institution called life
Revolving doors of madhouses named perfect insight
The mental state of our being questioned each day
As we are kept for two weeks before being thrown out in the haze
The air so thick you could cut it with a blade
And feed it to your children as the substance they crave
Slowly poisoning the mind that comprehends social cues
Being mistaken for Christians Muslims or Jews
Not understanding which way leads to the light
We burn bibles the Koran and the Torah out of spite
Feeling we have been cheated out of finding the correct path
While the so called leaders just sit stare on their ass
Twiddling their thumbs singing their spiritual lullabies
That drown out the sound of the madhouse cry
And turn a cold shoulder to all who are inside
 'Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?'

'My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?
Why is this the only thing Jesus said I find true?
There is 1.5 gallons of blood flowing through my body
And I don’t know for who

 

 

 

 

 

HINDSIGHT 20/20

Keep with the hearts that keep you alive
As you ride the stallion through the sinister gates
Let light shine on those who are wicked
So they may bask in their own disgrace
Create cities upon mounds of dirt
And build churches in thy name
Let your creatures live the lives they choose
And let not one be ashamed
Take the love you find within
And create landmarks in its grace
Make your guns shoot out roses
And find peace at one’s own pace
Promise this to me as I give you my final breath
For I have found the clear perspective
That only comes with death

 

 

 

 

sam kaufman

About the Author:

Samuel Kaufman is a poet from Asheville North Carolina. At 20 years old Samuel understands the need for all generations to enjoy poetry. He believes the common view of poetry is that it is for the feminine or the pretentious, and while that can often be true Samuel believes poetry can be enjoyed by anyone. 

 

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
CONTENTS

HOME

CONTRIBUTORS CURRENT ISSUE STORE FICTION HAPPENINGS NEW TITLES CLASSIFIED ADS
ABOUT US

FRIENDS & PATRONS BACK ISSUES CONTACT US NONFICTION BOOK REVIEWS ART & PHOTOGRAPHY FACEBOOK
MASTHEAD

DONATE SUBMISSIONS BOOK CHAT LIVE POETRY INTERVIEWS BOOK MARKETING TWITTER

Copyright © 2015 Istina Group DBA Independent Publishers, New York            Webdesign: svnwebdesign