Denise Sutton is an inspirational writer from Warsaw, North Carolina, who expresses herself through poetry, songs, skits, and quotes. Her first remembrance in sharing her poetry was writing slogans while running for office in junior high school. She grew up building her skills through reading numerous books and writing her feelings and thoughts on paper. In high school, under the leadership of her English teacher, she wrote a weekly column entitled “These Are The Times”. In college, she wrote and performed an original skit in a pageant which won her the crown. She continued to write poems and songs while living on her own after college and eventually penned what she wrote in her first book, “My Words and Me.” Since then, she has authored three more books while producing numerous songs heard on the internet. She loves writing poems for special occasions and often finds herself writing verses to songs that she sings in the choir and for instrumental music that she hears on the internet. She believes originality is a key factor in branding oneself and often looks for creative ways to use her art. Here is one of her poems….

The Library

I can meet a perfect stranger, fall in and out of love in one day.
I can see places I've never been before, whether near or far away.

Whether I join with other readers or choose to be by myself,
My chance to enter another world is there sitting on a shelf.

I can look for well-known classics or books not recognized by all.
And if I want to know my heritage, history books heed my call.

I can learn a new language; find out how to get a degree.
And I can even keep up with the latest news at my local library!

I can surf the internet; research until my heart is content.
I can make each visit special, more like a spectacular event!

I can check out a video if it's something that I really want to see.
And if I'd rather hear a song, I can go to the music section to look for a cd.

I can photocopy or laminate items; there's so much one can do
And fun, inspirational, and educational events are often offered too.

If someone questions the importance of the library, I’m sure you will agree
How much of an impact this institution makes within our community!

Denise Sutton
copyright September 2009

My name is Kiara Allen. I am a graduate of Fayetteville State University (2016).  I have a degree in English Language and Literature.  I am currently working on my Master’s degree in Sociology at Fayetteville State University. In my spare time, I enjoy spending time with my mom, husband, and children. Overall, Poetry is a beautiful genre that allows writers to step outside of reality and create meaningful poems on various topics.

Emotions (2017)
Haiku poem

It makes us human.

Is really who we are now,

What we are made of.

by Kiara Allen 

Fessor D McCoy is a Wayne county native born in Goldsboro NC.  He is a graduate of Tusculum Universary in Greeneville, TN and majored in Social Services.  He has been writing poems since he was 23 years old.

My Gift

If God has blessed us with a gift
To encourage others and give them a lift
It is wise to use the gift in the right way
Let’s help others who are in need everyday
A gift is a blessings to be used to help others
Be kind to people who are our sisters and brothers
God knows our hearts and he knows our minds
So use your gifts wisely to benefit mankind
He has blessed me with the gift to write poetry this is true
I have written many poems of encouragement I can’t count them for you
They come to me so quickly the words just seem to flow
If I’m driving I have to pull over and write them down you know
I have written poems for families in times of great sorrow
I have written them for friends to encourage their lives today and tomorrow
To be blessed with a talent let it come from your heart
Use it to glorify the lord he will bless you from the start
To all my friend who I have written poems for it was a pleasure
I hope it’s something that you will always treasure
I love you all and God has touched me again today
As I write this poem to send it on it's way

Sid Wade, retired from Seymour Johnson AFB after 24 years, is an author as well as owner/operator of First Amendment - Goldsboro, LLC which specializes in Open Mics every third Saturday of the month.  Born and raised in Roanoke, Virginia, he got into poetry at a very young age and even though he had put the pen down for a while, the love was rekindled after being surrounded by well spoken poets and Spoken Word artists.  Sid has authored a book of poetry, "Gentleman With A CAPITAL G" which speaks to the building blocks of becoming an ever-evolving Gentleman.

Sid allows his poetry to tell stories of life from a Gentleman's perspective thus allowing the reader a chance to step in his shoes to receive a different perspective from their own.  Sid is currently working on his second book while continuing to provide a platform for other poets and artists.

Doorstep

When it makes it to your doorstep, by then, it’s already too late

Situations have occurred and sealed is the fate

There is no turning back of time, no second chance

No way in our lives to make any amends

For what has happened has happened and we all must live

With the regrets and the horrors and the shocks and the feels

We take for granted that all others can control their emotions

We take for granted that all others share our devotions

To the lives of all others that we say are so precious

But in the blink of an eye, it can be gone and the results contentious.

Nary will I ever say that in mental illness am I a pro

I know that I’m an amateur when it comes to my own.

I do know that something has altered in how we interact

As social norms tend to relate to that fact

That people seem to spend more time on their own

Not speaking to others about what seems to be the unknown

Then there’s a shot in the dark or the light, the result so SENSELESS;

More lives lost and a world which cannot seem to comprehend

The pure anguish that must flow through the one or ones who commit

Such acts of cowardice that Communities now REGRET

As loved ones are lost to another round of violence

Not given the chance to RISE again;

Not given the chance to live out their lives;

To be given a chance to be good husbands or wives

To remain good sons or good daughters

Good sisters or good brothers…

Lives cut short because we seek to not understand life’s dynamic;

Lost because of another’s humanity sinks faster than the Titanic.

But, instead of reaching out for help or others seeing help is needed

They’re left alone to their own devices, their own world conceded

Driven into the depths and despair marked by a personal purgatory

Thinking if they bring pain to another it would end their own suffering.

Though it’s not the case and we can’t continue to turn into Stevie Wonder

We must look further into our brethren to help them get from under

What weight of this world that continues to bring

Such pain, agony, hurt and internal suffering.

When it makes it to your doorstep, by then, it’s already too late.

The results are then irrevocable and damage too great

People then do as what has been the norm

Wondering what the triggers were and who missed the storm

That consumed the perpetrator, the one who was still just a victim

Of some incident, of some unspoken traumatic jolt to their system.

Mostly likely not given the tools to or even worse, chose not to use them

To be as noble as the Phoenix and choose to RISE again

Over the circumstances that caused their lives to lose its luster

Just a shimmering hope is probably what this person could muster

But instead of that hope being enough for them to overcome REGRET

Became the trigger that caused them to become a threat.

When it makes it to your doorstep, by then, it’s already too late.

The train of despair has left the gate.

And those left behind are the ones picking up the pieces

Of another SENSELESS act because people failed in their reaches;

Failed to tell someone that what happens to them is troubling

Failure for others to take things in consideration instead of doubling

Down on the torment or even the ignoring of a simple plea

For it to all end and just let them be.

The villain in any story is almost assuredly a victim in another

A victim long forgotten until their seek revenge on others.

All the while, people choose to scream for gun control

Like it’s the gun’s fault someone took another’s soul.

The gun lies there at rest until someone takes the motion

To seek asylum amidst the commotion

Control for the guns? That’s not where the issue lies

To me, social interaction is where the need cries

People need to be able to have discussion in an open, honest forum

Where their words can be heard under decency and decorum

In a place where anyone can be free and not be afraid of repercussion

Where people can see people for people and are open to discussion.

We’ve grown accustomed to teaching generations how to react

But are slow in adjusting to teaching them how to better act

In advance before the situation gets dire

Before we’re left with more empty arms and our shoulders tire

We need to adjust before we’re continually forced to adjust

To another piece of inexplicable bad news while we lose trust

In humanity, in ourselves and in our culture.

No one knows how much more we can endure

Yet here we sit with open arms looking for a solution from an entity

That makes money on the selling of the inanimate object of choosing.

That solution we seek is inside each soul, we just need to look deep inside

Step out from the shadows and start to take pride

In getting back out in front and creating much needed dialogue

To cease the sense of hopelessness which leads to an epilogue

Or a eulogy to be spoken at another untimely demise

So, I implore that we look into each eyes

Tell each other that it’s ok to generate open conversation

That’s ok to be hurt and still live anew, provide proper education

Get people out of their solitary and back into physical interaction

With each other, not holed up looking for a new distraction.

Too many SENSELESS endings on the RISE leading to much REGRET

And no clue to stopping such travesties have seem to happen yet

The atrocities that occur definitely carries way too much weight.

For when it makes it to your doorstep, by then, it’s already too late.

Donald Rice, of Rose Hill, North Carolina, states that he writes poetry to influence others and bring them closer to God and their families. He feels that it is important to become closer and not pull apart in relationships. He says that he writes in different styles and forms hoping that everyone that reads his poetry will be encouraged to “keep on keeping on” and find that the answer in life is Christ Jesus.

An Inspirational Poem for:
“Christ Jesus”
Christ knows that we must listen
Nice to find what we are missing
Jesus Christ is full of pure love and care.
Very deeply, He’ll always share.

Find the answer, it’s so easy to do.
So much can come from the heart of you.
Must be straight all of the time
Is hope right there before you to find.

We have so much right here in our face.
That is the purpose of God’s Holy Grace.
Answer is before us, lets Reconcile.
And that is not just once in a while.

The Perfect Solution remains Up Above;
Time is Priceless and so is His Love.
Need to keep Jesus for His Heavenly Ride.
Recovery means more when you feel it inside.

Souls must stay ready for the Promised Land
Is it simple to walk hand in hand?
Our time on earth can be stopped
This life means you must read the first word
of each even then odd lines from the bottom to the top.

By: Donald Rice
Rose Hill, NC
August 10, 2021

E.S. Woodard is a Goldsboro native. He attended Wayne Community College and UNC Chapel Hill. He works in the federal government specializing in administration and casework.

That Bony Hand
By E.S. Woodard

In bedsheets’ luxury, life gallingly lingers long,
Therein lies pain singing a silent song—
—Depression, that bony hand, skeletal and cold,
Extends down deep, an acquainted ache, again, retold.

Violating the throat, its plunge a familiar recite,
Grasping and twisting about the heart's own light.
Forlornness, its clasp is devoid of grace
Tearing at the soul in its abominable embrace.

Heartstrings, once tuned to joy's gentle melody,
Now heaved and yanked with cruel tenacity.
Gloom pulls threads of such weighty sin
Upon extremities, fabric stretched oh so thin.

The body’s fiber strains in mute agony,
A grueling concert of discordant rhapsody.
Despair seeks to smoother the soul's own fire!
Shall surrender bargain with that bony liar?

No… Not today, shall that transpire.