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Tucker James Edwards
United States of America

Moka's Utu - Penny Howard
Born and raised in Manchester N.H., U.S.A. Poetry is my passion, cooking is my job. I am 36 years old and now reside in Epsom N.H. A smaller town with less to distract me from listening to the voices in my head. As with writing poetry, I've spent the majority of my life taking care of my severely handicapped younger brother Christopher, who has been one of my biggest inspirations. Living, Loving and Learning. My name is Tucker and I am a poet.
Down Hells’ Stairwell

Stuttering on words yet to be spoken

Pulling on the spirit yet to be broken

The wall has been breached

The lies have been preached

Take it for granted and it will leave you

Contort your mind and deceive you

There will be nobody left to believe you

Dismissing the blessing it took to conceive you

Darkening a heart that was a gift

Mastermind of the power shift

Negotiating for more

More than you had before

Which was more than enough

One holds the call, the other had the bluff

Betting all there is on the Ace

A phony disguise on your face

Unnoticed expressions behind your glasses

Doing whatever it takes to fool the masses

Make them laugh, make them smile

Corroborate the defense for the trial

Run a few feet or walk for a mile

Life has a way of turning the dial

On a light that burned out

Disappointed with how it turned out

You’ve made the lullaby frightening

Hide under the covers when you see the lightning

The pounding thunder makes you block your ears

You’ve let go of love and submitted to your fears

The puppeteer took control

Of your heart and your soul

So I bid you farewell

On your descent down Hells’ stairwell

Eye of the Beholder

We question our Halo but, never our horns

Roses shed their petals but, never their thorns

A word that is profound doesn’t make a sound

Closed-eye visions are redesigning the ground

Placing the blame at the feet of belief

Racing with shame, pain and grief

The word was stolen by the ruler and the liar

Fables were written in the pit of the fire

Spoken tales of fear from behind a podium

Chaotic verses that cause spiritual pandemonium

Frocks for the friars

Stocks for the buyers

Begging evil for a piece of it’s root

Chewing on flesh and neglecting the fruit

Truth is embedded in the minds of the forgotten

Sin is spit out because the taste is rotten

Slamming the door in the face of the emotions we feel

Opening the idea that none of this is real

Afraid of death when it’s merely a departure

Your walls are the target and I am the Archer

Leading us to the brink of extermination

Red in the face from the hostile determination

The end of your reign is coming and you know it

Leave this Earth and let us re-grow it

At the mercy of the darkness of night

Descending out of reach of the child of light

Repetitive Whistles

Perhaps the world isn’t spinning
Maybe the universe is a big clock ticking
Ringing in high noon
Times are changing for the sacred lover
Full with emptiness
Coming apart at the seams
A wooden face with a name that’s fake
Lonely hearts are judged by their beats
Abandoned by the bleeding cross
Crucified by the magnitude of the eruption
An aggressive fire burns leaving behind a past tense
Question marks for the pedigrees
Isolated enough to stay dead beyond life
Labeled by evil at first glance
Familiar places no longer welcome the embrace
Nothing to contribute but a misunderstanding
The source is overlooked by topic
Feeling the will to survive fall through the cracks
The desire to let loose this hold on life still lingers
Gloom awaits the return of the burning sky
Painting the eye of the secluded mind
Depression lays inside in a fetal pose
Derivatives of pain clear the path to the unholy
Pan flutes whistle with rancid goat breath
The bull has arrived with sharpened horns
Carcass by his side
He calls my name