Wounds of the World: Poetic Tales of Life’S Reality

By Mark Anthony Shayka

This gem of a read is a compilation of 35 years of intensive creating and work. Each page tells a tale about the flawed and hurtful world on which we live. Thoughts you think but seldom reveal are exposed in a masterfully orchestrated rhyme the author has labeled street poetry.
You will become part of the pages, part of the truth, part of this book that will simply consume you. You cant help but relate, for each and every living soul someday must feel The Wounds Of The World.They will always find you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479741137

Mark Anthony Shayka

This gem of a read is a compilation of 35 years of intensive creating and work. Each page tells a tale about the flawed and hurtful world on which we live. Thoughts you think but seldom reveal are exposed in a masterfully orchestrated rhyme the author has labeled “street poetry”. You will become part of the pages, part of the truth, part of this book that will simply consume you. You can’t help but relate, for each and every living soul someday must feel The Wounds Of The World….They will always find you.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Mark Anthony Shayka.

ISBN:                  Softcover                         978-1-4797-4112-0

                             Ebook                             978-1-4797-4113-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

118025

Contents

Why I remain an unpublished writer

(Intro) Am I A Poet?

Wound # 1

Loneliness

Dream About Angels

The Woods

Down The Mountain

Last Nights Contradiction

Lonely People

Hope

Aging Rock Star

Unfinished Angel

One Thing In Your Life

Black Coffee

Someone

Life’s Bullet

Opportunity

Kickin In The Wilderness

Crushed

The End of the World

A Very Special Dedication

Life

My Yellow Rose

Wound # 2

Used

Southern Town

Bluer Than You

Little Miss Perfect

Closed My Eyes

Spineless Pricks

Every Fathers Plea

In Search Of Love

Shades

Where Do We Go

A Letter To Santa

20 Years Of Haunting

Imagine A Friend

Every Living Thing

No Limits

Wound # 3

INSANITY

The Choice You Made

New Worlds Revolution

I Forgot How To Dream

My So Called Gift

Garden Of Joy

Serial Killer

White Dove

I Know A Girl

Runaway Dreams

5 In The Morning

You Are Not Alone

Porno Shock

Wound # 4

Heartbreak

Shine

Wounds Of The World

A Box On An Island

I Do

Take Em Out (And Shoot Em)

A Lucky Autograph

Reality

3 Magic Words

Alandra Du Boe

Writers Slump

Who Cares

Without A Friend

The Death Penalty

Empty Soul

Ups And Downs

Lovin Yourself

Palms On His Head

Wound # 5

Desertion

Step Up

Bring Em Home

Skeletons In Closets

Playing With Trash

G. E. D

Misery

The Chest

Fooling The World

Wound # 6

Reality

Simple Man

Voices Out At Sea

Fall Asleep Forever

Outside Of My Door

The Voice We Never Knew

My Prayer (Mark 1:23)

Crashing The Emmys

Look At Me

The Broken Chain

Lost

The Seeker

Public Speaking

Not Like Me

Things I Never Knew

Rooms Of White

Wound # 7

Choices

The Leftover Hippie

Don’t Do That

Mr. Cleanser

Eyes Of Wolves

Happy Thought

Won’t Take Me Alive

Your Little Clique

A World We’ll Never Know

Sentenced To Life

Maybe (gullible guy)

Sick Pups

Hey Dad

The Other Side

The Demon

Prison Doors

Black Magic

The Greed Show

What Is Music

Class Clown

Nobody Told Me

Wound # 8

Failure

Misunderstood

Conquistador

Hippie Moses

Evolvement Of Man

The Broken Window

What Else Can I Say

That Lonely Place

Sue From Kansas City

The Night We Met

A Show Of Hands

The Buzzards

Wound # 9

Depression

Opposite Life

Behind Those Eyes

Drunk

The Shoreline

Just As Old

Until I Find Myself

Orphan Child

Alicia’s Lesson

Reachable Star

How’s It Feel

Unknown Favors

Look In The Mirror

Flowers never grown

The Empty Chair

You

Wound # 10

Addiction

A Godless World

Cocaine

The Leper Is Cured

A Rose For Mom

Cancer

Somethin Bout You

The Legend Of Charlie Apple

Communion

Motherload

Inside Of Your Eyes

Enough Already

Someone But Me

Wound # 11

Death

Execution Of A Soldier

Human Vaccine (Step # 2)

The Man I Was

No Way To Live

The Empty Pad

This book is dedicated to:

My brother John Michael Shayka

1959-1981

ALSO:

John Shayka (Father)

Tommy the Hoov Hooven ( 00 M.B.I )

Patricia Mrs. C Cossel

Jerome Mr. C Cossel

Kevin The Vinster Carr

Margret

Madeline (Maddie) Degville (Contributor to this book )

Justin Mastroianni

Miss you Mom

WARNING: Explicit language, violent subject matters

And Truth

COVER PHOTO BY: Casey McCartney- Bottomley

Special thanks to:

Miss Gibbons my 5th grade teacher at Caley Road School who saw an ability in me that I was blind to, writing. Thanks for the candy bar assignment that started it all. But most of all, thank you for being a phenomenal person and teacher. You have no idea how much I needed both at the time.

Please know, you made a DIFFERENCE in one kids life and I have never forgotten that. You truly are what every teacher should strive to be. You are THE BEST and I thank you FOREVER.

Margret a very old lady (complete stranger) I met for 20 minutes in the hospital when I was 23. She wandered in my room and began reflecting on her life (I have no idea why she chose me) The next day I went to her room to se how she was doing. I was told by a nurse Margret died last night. Her last words to me I’ll never forget loneliness is a living form of death. Don’t ever let it find you like it did me. Don’t ever be alone. R.I.P Margret . . . There are no homeless in Heaven, just that picnic table under a tree we talked about. I hope you found it.

Mrs. Pearson my 11th grade math teacher for allowing me to write poems instead of taking the math tests, and then suggesting I post them on the cork board for others to read. Was it wrong? Absolutely, but I never would’ve shared my work with anyone if not for her.

Sal Bello who believed in my writing enough to actually try and have it PROFESSIONALLY published. Unfortunately, no one wants to publish my kind of poetry (rhyming truth). Thank you Sal, for trying and believing. You truly are a GREAT friend. Nothing but love for you and your entire family.

35 years of work

Wounds of the world is a compilation of work from:

My first book: The world that I see

My second book: The anger within

New material never released

(My greatest hits . . . . revised)

My boys Luke and Cody and ALL my nieces and nephews

Love ya tons

Special mention to my Friday poker friends:

Jen M.S.I / My bud Paulie / Ballsy Bruce / Blackhouse Steve

Yo, Yo, Yo Susan G / Studman J Watt / The voice Sharon

The annoyance Swanny / The wall Scotti / Newbie Lynn

One funny dude Wes / My laugh till we cry partner Casey

The real king of P.O.P Dave / Richie Rivers

Why I remain an unpublished writer

EVERY PUBLISHER I’ve submitted my manuscripts to has rejected my

work (art) because of my subject matter, language or rhyme. Because I don’t FIT their criteria of what THEY dictate a poet or poetry to be.

In their response letters the publishers have called me to cut throat, to opinionated and MANY other beautifully tagged labels. They CLAIM my style and choice of subject matter is not appropriate or acceptable for their main stream audience. Therefore we regret to inform you that your manuscript has been REJECTED at this time.

My dream is to get signed to a book deal and finally have my material on bookstore shelves. As of now, I have to pay to have my own books published!

I will never change my style or sellout just to meet their criteria in order to reach my life’s goal or dream. To me, that would be a flawed fake achievement that I’m just not capable of doing. My words are what they are (the truth) and if the suits of power don’t get it, oh well.

All I know is, with every poem I put out my audience grows because my readers share them with friends and family. Sooner or later I want to believe, my material might fall into the right hands. But until then, I will remain an UNPLUBLISHED writer who pays to have his words read. It’s called paying dues for the art you love and doing it with ZERO REGRETS

My dream still waits

My tolerance tested

My belief won’t budge

So the dream continues

WANTED: A LEGIT PUBLISHER

REQUIREMENT: AN OUNCE OF GUTS

(Intro) Am I A Poet?

Am I a poet, that’s your call, are my words pretty, not at all

So if your taste is birds and bees, in fluffy clouds above the trees

Or if you’re sheltered, void of strain, unfazed by bills, untouched by pain

Than words I write are NOT for you, but here’s one thing you ought to do,

Crack a window, look outside, where people suffer, loved ones die

For that’s the world that sought me out, and feeds me what I write about

For in my ink I strain to seek, the thoughts we think but seldom speak

The thoughts of pain, abuse and fear, the victims voice that no one hears,

My stories told of life are REAL, poetic tales I hope you feel

And my lone goal is you RELATE, to subjects this scarred mind creates

For I will never sugarcoat, or lie to you with some false quote

I lay it out for all to read, in black and white, these words I bleed,

Cause writing is my therapy, it kills the demons trapped in me

Demons most won’t talk about, the ones you have but won’t let out

Some call it genius, others trash, some compliment while others bash

But I’ll keep writing thoughts I think, with this ole pen I call my shrink,

Offend I may, and curse for sure, to grasp these thoughts I’m searching for

While bookstore shelves I’ll never see, cause publishers won’t publish me

And so called poets hate my stuff, cause it’s not boring filtered fluff

Don’t give a damn about those 2, don’t write for them, I write for you,

Am I a poet? That’s your call. My styles dark, it’s harsh and raw

And all I ask is for a glance, so you might give my words a chance

So you might say I can’t believe, it’s like he wrote this rhyme for me

Cause what I do is seek to find, wounds of the world within our minds . . .

Hope you enjoy

But most of all, I hope you RELATE

Thank you ALL for taking time out of your LIFE

to give my words a chance. I know you didn’t have to

and that’s why it means EVERYTHING to me

Turn off your T.V or radio. Find silence

And Then . . .

PLACE YOURSELF IN THE WORDS

Wound # 1

Loneliness

Stanza from the poem: Lonely People

Where do lonely people go when they’re about to fall

When all they sense is hopeless life with no real point at all

Those times of true uncertainty when nothing’s left to give

When they’ve become a shattered soul, no reason left to live . . . .

IDEA: My very good friend NW told me her mother use to say dream about angels before bed.

Dream About Angels

Dream about angels my mother once said

As she pulled up my blankets and tucked me in bed

A kiss on the cheek, a joke just for fun

But when I awoke, the joking was done,

Now gone are the smiles that we used to share

The day that I found my mom wasn’t there

Instead there’s a picture that speaks with no sound

When I pick it up, I can not put it down,

For inside the frame is a world I once shared

With a mother who hugged me, who sheltered and cared

My mother who saw me as nothing but good

My mother who loved me, the way a mom should,

And while I stare deep, a tear hit’s the floor

I have one regret, I’ll regret evermore

It’s not knowing then, what’s plain now to see

Exactly how much, my mom meant to me,

So dream about angels I hear in my bed

For those were the words my mother once said

But that’s not a problem, the halo is clear

And under its stardust my mother appears . . .

IDEA: Child abuse

The Woods

I ran to the woods, not far away

Secluded from humans for more than a day

Escaping this torment consuming my mind

Of pain and abuse, I just left behind,

I need some relief from the pressures I knew

Of degrading slurs and the hatred in you

I just had to flee from the anger you store

Thought here in the woods, you could hurt me no more,

Here I can think,