I don’t write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don’t write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don’t write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don’t write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
I stood on a hill and screamed for peace...
Lost in the noise were friends that teased...
A mask that hides what's wrong and right...
Too many stones thrown that blinded my sight...
Wolves that prowled with a sheeps face and a devils soul...
Crept slowly in the dark where the truth was never told...
My cape is wrinkled and torn and bloodied from the day...
A battle well fought where being right lost its way...
Then left with a heart with blood still there to drain...
No need to ask the question, I'd do it all over again...
I don't write stories, I don't write make believe... I write what's in Me.... Michael
Another story yet told…
Painful memories I couldn’t hold…
They take a backseat in my mind…
Missing words I still can’t find…
You had a pocket full of goodbyes…
Each one caught with a sigh…
We stood long in the rain…
Where tears blend in just the same…
Cracks in a heart that the eyes can’t see…
Faded scars that still may bleed…
Drips on my pages too express…
Into poetry that stays undressed…
My life is very insular, I move from page to page
never straying far from words which prance upon the written stage.
like a sputtering engine my tongue tangles on a phrase
I rub my eyes, red and raw, I can't remove my aged gaze.
My fingers curl and knuckles gnarl as velum dances right
I read, I write, I think and pause, I can't turn out the light.
Compose, I will, adjust I must, each simile an anchor
to a life much analyzed, but lived with little rancor.
like the scribes of ancient Rome my fingertips are worn
yet I persist with joyous bliss for I know I must go on.
My form has bent, bowed and curled to meet the need of the word
God forbid, I went through this lifetime never being heard.
I usually write in couplet rhyme
Its simply what I do it's not by design
It's just the way the words seem to flow
Into my head up out of my soul
I love the ones that are full of light
See they are what brought me up out of the night
People prove they care by the things that they do
So I write this light for all of you
I write it because I wish you to know
True beauty is born with-in the soul
The soul is a thing that cherishes the light
Do you not embrace the stars through the dark of night
Well as you do know my words are true
They may twinkle bright but not as bright as you
You are angels who covered me in your prayers
Let me know I'm someone worthy of care
I hold you all in my heart just like my wife
Like her you are "a blessing in my life"
Writing is my challenge each day
But it's not the words or what to say.
It is the connection with other writers here
Because I feel I'm not worthy or equal I fear.
The talent expressed by so many others
Often makes me want to hide under the covers.
The gems that are written and ones that I read
Are so inspired, personal, and give me a need.
That's why I come here every time
To see what others have put in their rhyme.
Carolyn always has a message for me to ponder
And others write things that make me wonder.
I often race to the "New Poems" just to see
If by some chance there's one by which P.D has destroyed me.
And Carol, Bob, Nick, Emily, Wilma, and "the Sweetheart"
Write things that sometimes I just can't pull apart.
The Doc has written so many things
I am amazed sometimes at the thoughts he brings.
Others are here who write so well
Their words do me so oft compel.
For like unto them I want to be
Writing words that have meaning for others to see.
Will they be worthy I say when I'm done
Or will they be read by others, as I've intentioned.
You know I feel so many emotions just now
Because of all these writers, I just don't know how.
For they are a driving force for me
And part of my challenge each day is to make them see.
That because of them I have to write
Sometimes into the wee hours of the night.
To pick a favorite writer is...well a difficult choice
So I pick them all, because they shout with one voice.
"Write, you fool, then write some more"
Words I hear and cannot ignore.
So I choose them all...all here in this group
The ones who have made me hungry for Soup.
There, I've said it...and you know that's not in haste
The Soupers that are here are the best of all to taste.
I write what I can't say
sometimes there's no other way
I write so I don't forget
when it's gone I'm left with only regret
for things I lost
for tiny thoughts
for things I need
that are meerly seeds
seeds that grow
into the pages of my soul
So much of my life I spent doing wrong
If I could write music I would write a song
I have done things a man shouldn't do
These words are written for they are true
If you open your heart and look to the sky
Ask of the Lord then hear the reply
It won't come in words not words you can hear
It may come with a smile or fall as a tear
I found an angel said bye to my ghost
After I lost everything I gained the most
I found the Lord through the poems I pray
Sometimes it’s best to just give it away
I write out my words for they help me see
Simple is best for simple is free
Think of yourself just never think down
Your mind holds the music just listen to the sound
Everyone you meet has something to say
Be sure to include them in the prayers that you pray
All that you do and all that you see
Shares in your story and your destiny
When dealing with others do what you do
Just be kind and gentle to those you do it to
Everything is nothing that it shouldn't be
As a seconds a second and a tree is a tree
I write of celestial moons and flying carpet rides,
Of seasonal hues and rising tides.
I write when golden light fills the skies,
And emerald hills enchant my eyes.
When the aroma of thulian roses scents the air
And wind blows the willows like Pele’s hair.
I write of all things that remind me of you,
How I’m sheltered by your shadow in all I do.
When I hear the call of a turtle dove,
I smile at the mellifluous voice of the man I love.
As a glowing garnet sun sets on a calm sparkling sea
Your love songs will echo eternally.
Our love will remain pristine and pure
As our souls combine and forever endure.
© January 20, 2013
For 'My Valetine' Contest Sponsor: Suzette Crous
Decodeing secret message:
This message is to my mate when we met on one of my flights, hence the
flying carpet rides. The tides are because we live on an island in the Pacific.
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
Can't write about Christmas or New Years Day, Written just for Paula's
Or Easter or Kwanzaa or any other Holiday. Contest :)
I've written too much about war, about love,
and depression and sex both deserve a shove.
I guess that I could just swallow my pride,
And sneak in a write about suicide'
But Paula don't want these kinds of idolitry,
She wants us to write a poem about poetry.
How do you write about what you never said,
Or the way that words rattle around in your head?
Or how hard those words are to make a pen fashion,
Or how when they're written they seem to lose passion?
O Poem, what can I write about you?
I think until my thinker turns blue,
I come to the end of a poem about poetry,
But it won't rhyme.
I’m riding your horse, no giddyap allowed,
simply plunge into the deepest unknown.
Your voice sets the pace, it whispers
into the ears of my ride, sometimes they twitch
sometimes they find water, sometimes
the waterfalls absorb all thought. I lean
over neck, sample horse blood like a vampire,
like a computer’s command mode
taking over my brain, allowing my heart
to beat in tune, my feet to turn to hooves
and kick up or canter, moving with the rhythm
and flow, feeling the sweat of the sun
overhead and the damp of shady pines
and raking the grasses until they rustle over skin.
This is how I know you: the whisper on the wind
the stroke along my frame, the bed stead
in which I dream, the places of unimagined
like a lure, a bait, overtaking me, leading
me down a road I’ve never found
until you lent the movement of ride forever.
I hold you close to me and I don't know why.
You give me strength and purpose I can't deny.
Like a dry sponge, you allow me to pour,
My soul into you and you never close the door.
You are part of me, like my arm or my hand,
So tired I become, can't even stand.
My eyes glass over with water from my tears,
Doing this with you helps me fight my fears.
I hold you so tight, with the grip of steel,
Never to let you go, so strong is my will.
Through you my friend, I can do anything,
Compose music, write a book, or even sing.
With a delicate hand, I keep you so sharp,
I can put you down to paper and then we can start.
-Not for any contest
I was read to as a child,every night at bed
Fairy tales, short stories, prose, or poems is what was read
Beatrix Potter, Mother Goose, Childcraft books were chose
But my favorite things to listen to were poetry and prose
I learned these things all by heart knew,when to turn the page
Mom thought I could read quite young ,was advanced for my age
But I was a fooler to those around ,cause I would memorize
Each page that was read to me, my reading was just lies.
I was fortunate to have a Mom that was well versed in liberal arts
I was read all sorts of things and would recite different parts
I listened to many poems from Percy,Keats,Frost and Thoreau.
Wordsworth,Longfellow, Lord Byron sometimes we wouldn't know.
When a child is read to when very young they get well versed in rhyme.
Then writing them as they age is something that fills their time.
I thought that this would be an interesting topic to write
As some thoughts about this year's awesome events came to light.
Recalling the year's events made me pause
Yet several "awesome" events gave me cause.
In thinking about one particular thing I would say
That finding Poetry Soup has made my day.
Not ever knowing how addictive it can be
To write my thoughts in words for others to see.
And then there are the friends I have found here
Who's poetry sometime will bring me a tear.
Oh, I laugh at some, cry with some, even get quizzical
But it only makes my fingers want to get physical.
My brain starts to ache as I work up a lather
Typing words into rhyme as fast as I can gather.
Yes, it is a gem of a site that I see
But the real gems are the others who write poetry.
Their words are more elegant than mine
And I often wonder how they come to them sometime.
When I read their work it is more than a cure
They express the thoughts which are ever so pure.
Like distilling fine cognac from its brandy base
The words that I read all fall into place.
So it makes me want to make my own work better
And to them I have become a debtor.
For the words I write come from inspiration
And some of the contests exact great consternation.
You see, I don't know an Iambic from a Pentameter
But, that's what makes me want to try harder.
So I write words in ways that I think are good
Hoping that my thoughts can be understood.
Many a comment passes the site each day
All, to me, are special when sent my way.
I appreciate the thoughts of others who will take the time
To read the words I have tried to rhyme.
So in looking for something happy that happened this year
This "Awesome" site makes me want to cheer.
Poetry Soup may not give you the zing,
But then, next to sex...it's the next best thing!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL !!
By Sashi. Prabhu (ZEAUOXIAN)
I am not afraid any more,
I am not afraid any more.
I have cheated my fears alright,
I have broken up with my doubts uptight.
I am not afraid any more,
I am not afraid any more.
I got engaged to my faith last night,
I married my dreams at the sight of first light.
I am not afraid to get up today,
I am not afraid to wake up to another day today,
I am not afraid to open my eyes and see today,
I am not afraid to climb out of bed today.
I am ready to walk into the gardens in the heavy rains,
I am ready to open my nose and smell of mud from wet terrain
I am ready to face the world all alone,
I am ready to do anything to walk up the stepping stone.
I am ready to say anything to anyone,
I am ready to talk to anyone under the sun.
I am ready to yell from mountain tops,
I am ready to dive from ravine drops.
I am ready to walk for a cause,
I am ready to run to protect environmental laws.
I am ready to touch taboo objects & subjects
I am ready to work on regressions of y on x
I am ready to understand tangled issues,
I am ready to wipe all tears with tissues.
I am ready to taste tropical fruits,
I am ready to chop, boil and eat bamboo shoots
I am ready to jump out from a moving truck,
I am ready to pull my allies from loads of muck.
I am ready to be creative again,
I am ready to write and spill out my joys and pain.
I am ready to sing and hear my own songs,
I am ready to correct my own wrongs.
I am ready to throw a stone afar,
I am ready to play my own music for all with the door ajar.
I am ready to write notes about me,
I am ready to put them up for all to see.
I am ready to whistle whilst I walk down the alley,
I am ready to bring out tunes and them create verbally
I am not afraid any more,
I am not afraid any more.
I do not write in April, because that’s the month that comes before May.
I do not write in April, because then June would arrive in total disarray!
I do not write in April, now, although I have before this day.
I do not write in April, actually, although with words I’m known to play.
I do not write in April, when there’s ANZAC’s, Easter and Palm Sunday.
I do not write in April, and from that delicate decree I’ll not go astray.
I do not write in April, but exactly why, I can’t quite say.
I do not write in April, and it’s for the best, that here, I don’t betray.
I do not write in April, although I do read papers from my in-tray.
I do not write in April, so you won’t find any papers in my out-tray.
I do not write in April, when I’m outside whiling my time away.
I do not write in April, for that fills my insides with strange dismay!
I do not write in April, for I’ll not wear a wreath like a gloomy lay!
I do not write in April, but I’ll cheerfully whistle down your way.
I do not write in April come whatever, come what may.
I do not write in April. I do not write in April I say!
I do not write in April, but I’d gladly sing a song for Spring to stay.
I think I'll write a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'
We'd have been married thirty years today
if he hadn't had a penchant to stray.
I got the pickup truck, so we'll leave that part out
but there's lots of other things I can whine about.
I can hit a few notes on this guitar of mine,
now I need to come up with some catchy line.
Country songs need to have a refrain,
something so catchy it'll stick in your brain.
They're all about liars and cheaters and such
and cheapskate dates who want to go dutch.
I'll make a fortune when my song's a hit.
My inspiration was my ex the ....jerk?
Yes, I think I'll write me a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'.
I'll put in a verse about socks on the floor,
then casually mention his red-headed .... friend?
Maybe I'll say that he broke my heart
I'm still not quite sure where to start.
Most of what I write may even be true.
I could mention his cologne smells like... aqua velva?
Yes, I'm sure I can write one if I try.
It'll hit the charts and from there just fly.
I know I can write a country song.
Anyone can when they've lived this long.
We all have something twangy and sad,
something good in our past that turned out bad.
* any resemblence to actual events is purely coincidental
** and thanks Nancy for the blog that inspired this
I need to boast on all the blogs I own and write you see,
That I am a diverse writer of creativity!
I need to enhance my ego of mine for all to view,
I need the self esteem high that is all mine and so due!
I need to make sure you know I write intelligently,
This calms and soothes my demons inside of me.
Tons more I wish to do,
Much more I want to do,
Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue,
Much more I wish to do……….
I want to scale scary heights,
I want to bungee jump without any fright.
I want to travel rough terrains on bikes,
I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes.
I want to wander singing songs,
I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs.
I want to be creative again ,
I want to write about my joys thrills and pain.
I want to pour my heart and passion in my works,
I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks.
I want to take many a calculated risks,
I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks.
I want to contribute for a good cause,
I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross.
I want to untangle messed up issues,
I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues.
I want to work on taboo subjects,
I want to solve regression of y on x.
I want to listen to my music loud,
I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd.
I want to sow seeds and many a plant,
I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant.
I want to drench in the rains,
I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains.
I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth,
And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth.
I want to boldly write about myself only for me,
I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see.
I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me,
I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee.
I want to be happy about just any small thing,
And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring.
Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre,
I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire….
All this I want to do very soon,
Before sets into me dreaded gloom.
But the life I live is taking its toll,
I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole.
Time is just right to set aside,
And take a ride
Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow,
And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago.
Now I don’t want a moment long,
And I will do what I want and sing my own song,
And do what in me I let grow,
Many, many years ago.
We live in a modern world, where liberty is readily found
When ones writing should be shared, not driven underground
Co-writes, even collaborations, two thoughts to join as one
Some are frowned upon, before they have begun
These traits that lie among us, I care not for what they are
They serve no other purpose, it's jealousy gone too far
This applies to whoever, out there in the living world
Let poets write their writes, for they have to be read and heard
If it's something you can't comprehend, get you heads back in the sand
For quills will turn into arrows, by literal command
I wrote you a sonnet
you yawned and you sighed,
I wrote you a ballad
you tossed it aside
I wrote you a senryu
you said ,"Much too short!"
I wrote you a cinquain
you had no retort......
So I wrote you a check for a million and five,
"That's more like it,
Ah, life would surely be tasteless without a ladle of Soup each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!
There is romantic verse, hot and spicy, to warm the cockles of the heart!
Inspirational and insightful poems from the poets' very souls to impart!
So delightful are the witty and humorous ditties that evoke a grin,
And so are the spiritual writes that warn us against the perils of sin!
We learn so much from the historical ballads written by our creative peers,
And read of the vicissitudes of life that bring the hardest of hearts to tears!
Others write of the brave deeds of soldiers that swell our breasts with pride.
Still, others write of the grandeur of God's Creation so great and wide!
'Tis so pleasing to read glowing tributes to others written from the soul!
We enjoy tales of cowboys, their saddle sores and favorite watering hole!
Poetry Soup offers splendid opportunities for budding poets and is first rate,
But the folks who ladle out the Soup to receptive minds are what make it great!
Ah, life would certainly not be complete without my Soup 'fix' each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in David Williams' "Life Without Soup" Contest - February 2012
By reading we can pass our
As killing time is a crime.
By reading we can develop our personality like never before,
It gives us knowledge as much as sand on the sea shore.
By readind we can develop our mind,
The best thind is that the books are so kind,
The treasure hidden here no where we can find.
The usefulness of reading is beyond description,
By reading we can not only fulfil our ambition,
But also can develop concentration.
By reading the books of spirituality,
We can reach any stage of humanity,
And can face the worlds reality.
By reading we get pleasure,
And can also find the knowledge treasure.
Reading solves the mystery of life,
It teaches us how to survive,
And it makes life a comfortable drive.
By reading we can develop our personality,
This is nothing but reality.
Reading castes such a spell,
That it rings the mind's bell,
And helps us to extract the pearl from a shell.
Books are said to be our best friends,
We can face any challenge they give us such courage and strength.
-BY RACHIT BANSAL.
I now lie here alone, the wounded have joined the dead
Hours pass like years, my body, in shrapnel torn shreds
My duty, my love for my country, I can no longer give
Memories knowing I have lived, are now starting to sieve
Being so far away from my family, so far away from my home
Daylight like my life, allures me to a darkening roam
To my love I write this letter, my wife my lovely Serena
My words are all I have left, in this war torn theatre arena
Remember when I moved in next door, you were first to say hello
And the day when you asked me out, I was too scared to go
I know we were only eleven but something clicked that day
Into our teens we grew, knowing I'd marry you one day
The day of our wedding, was the happiest day of my life
For knowing my heart was true, when I asked you to be my wife
Thank you for being who you are, and what you made me to be
Never wanting me to enlist, to protect the land of the free
I'm seeing places of our past, the greens, our courting grounds
You playing with your lovely blonde hair, twirling it around
Serena, my love, my friend, thank you for being my wife
Tell our kids I love them dearly, thank you for being in my life
I'm growing ever weaker, as I write through redded stains
The darkening roam allures me, the light now starts to drain
~*~ Inspired by an image created by Serena Dunaway ~*~
The poetaster attempted to write a couplet with success
The results were more than embarrassing nonetheless.
Poetry sets me loose
No, I haven't had the booze!
It just gives me a chance
To jump into a written trance!
I play with all heartfelt thinking
And dig out every feel of sinking!
I pen it down into lines
Hoping each word shines!
I feel the words across my face, breeze
Giving me a momentary freeze!
Now that its in the open and out
I feel like yelling a joyful shout!
Yes, oh yes, Poetry sets me loose
No, I haven't had the booze!
If I were to believe in you, would you believe in me?
If everything that I promised you actually came to be
If I were a beautiful rainbow, a reflection in the sky
Formed by the rays of light as your tears you cried
Sweetheart I am just a simple man with a complex plight
My blessing is you’re here with me, as this quest I fight
Sweetheart you know I’m a warrior, though I live like a ghost
I fight and write living my plight, inside the belly of the host
From shore to shore, a forever war, that will never end
Just today I got the word the host has taken another friend
Another soul another goal of course another wasted life
God I am a lucky man to have become one with my wife
Pains insane it shreds my brain and tears my heart into
I’m left here asking myself, “Was there anything I could do”
I have to write a eulogy though I just don’t know what to say
Here is a soul, another hole, for someone who lost his way
Sobriety is really great but at times it is truly rather hard
You watch them take another friend and plant him in the yard
Another smoke, another joke another party has reached its end
Here I sit in a spiritual pit feeling totally lost about my friend
I hope someday someone reads what I say, takes another course
Pass on doing that shot, love it or not, death upon the black tar horse
So I shall write my Eulogy falling to pieces about my friend
Who made fun of the man I turned out to be, until the very end
But that’s ok it was just his way, right up until the day he died
The one true light shinning bright, lives inside of you and I
So will all of you join with me let your spirits pen my words
About a beautiful soul, who found his goal, flying with the birds
Very few people in this life that I love enough to let make fun
of the changes I made in my life. Addiction (The Host) took 6
friends in 2007, 5 in 2008 and this is the first in 2009. He didn't
overdose he was shot a couple of days ago in Chico, Ca during
a home invasion robbery over his heroin debt. I used to always
pay his debts when it reached this point with bags of Meth. This
time I couldn't go there for him and now he is dead. This is my
life, my gift and my curse. God Bless you all, mj
If I knew how to write a song
I’d write one everyday
It would say that I’m in love with you
And why I feel this way
It would have to say you’re pretty
And as rare as a desert rose
It would say you’re a looker
From your head down to your toes
You are funny, dainty, fragile
And as feminine as can be
You’re smart charming lovely
And everything to me
You’re my comfort when I’m lonely
You’re my peace when I need rest
Of all the women I’ve known
I must rate you the best.
You’re the orchard in the jungle,
you’re the better half of me
You’re all of this and so much more,
you mean the world to me
Still so much is left unsaid,
It would take me far to long
I know how much I love you,
If only I could write a song
In my mind there is a poetic spark
Illuminating words that were in the dark
When I put pen to paper it starts to blaze
My syllables are on fire as I kindle my phrase
Fiery words race through my mind
As conflagration of thoughts combine
A liquid thought attempts to put out the fire
But it's too weak to extinguish my burning desire
Then like a volcano my stanza erupts
My words are red hot please don't interrupt
I'm in rhyme mode and I cant stop
A free verser intrudes but is quickly burnt up
My final couplet flows with the lava down to the sea
Smoke rises from my pen, my poem set free