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Free Verse Life Poems | Free Verse Poems About Life

These Free Verse Life poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Life. These are the best examples of Free Verse Life poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Edinburgh


Sweeping through your scotch broom,
weeping over your cobblestones,
lilting around the columns of Calton Hill,
is an Age of Reason so brilliantly brooding,
some nights I am kept awake
listening to Pendragon's breath caress Arthur's Seat,
and whispers drip from sills on Ramsay Street.

Though roots may drink from a sleepless night,
when morning light creeps through the curtains,
my love for you is renewed.




*This is a re-post 
replacing an opinionated piece


+/-


Details | Free verse | |

Where The Sycamore Grew

The house seemed smaller, now seen with older eyes...
The street seemed narrower, the trees taller..
Where once were open fields across the road
New construction had bloomed
The small fruit orchard had disappeared

But somehow we knew it would still be there....
Strangely different, ...yet much the same

There was an unfamiliar young child's tricycle
On the flagstone path that we laid...
In front of this little house that lies
Beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...

Suddenly, thirty years faded into that autumn day
And quickly had become a springtime of our lives..... 
...of first Christmas trees,..of first anniversaries...
            ...a place where I cried night after night when mother died...
                       ...and spent long, starry nights holding newborn babes....
Yes....it is all still there, in the little yellow house

Funny, but I'm glad they kept the yellow...
It has the same white shutters...
The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
That sits beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...


                                         ++++++++++++++++++


Details | Free verse | |

Love Poem - 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
redundancies and repetition,
items that people throw into the wind,
kick around and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn.
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.

The old man who sits in a rain-filled gutter,
seemingly oblivious to the water sluicing down the hill,
splashing against his clothes -
fists raised up to the heavens in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly beloved wife....

....I fell in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem as insignificant,
ugly, morose, dirty and immoral.
The more I fall in love, the more I love each passing moment,
including the pain, torture and misery that may appear along the way.

If I write down treasonously treacherous words,
the reader could assume such words to be rooted in rage
or a cynical outlook. But the words are actually born out of love -
I love every single word in existence.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while still maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a proper conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be very ugly,
when in fact, she is an exquisitely gorgeous woman.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of rotting seaweed on the shore,
the way her hair smells baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
hypnotized by the essence the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat who after watching the moving truck drive away,
slunk around the alley in search of scraps -
over the years, she has proven to be
a most respectful and loyal animal.
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms when it shines
through the cracked antique windowpane
which I simply cannot find the presence to replace.


And as for the people who think that my love is a whole
different spectrum of emotions,
or how it is impossible for someone like myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day....

....well, I love them too.





April 6th, 2012


Details | Free verse | |

Closer

    The sky resembles the robin's eggshells
                                                      scattered across the ground,

a blue so seemingly infinite                     yet fragile,
cracks running between understanding and madness
 
       complementing each other

as divine truths in their own right
to conquer my mind,
to unhinge the doors,
making it unnecessary to pick rusted locks

      letting thoughts fly free,
                                       releasing love out into the horizon.

If frozen within caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,
      it will surely die,
                 but even so,
  I was willing to strangle it by holding on too tightly.

    
    Until I saw the sky and eggshells today


      Peppered clouds reflected on the water,
                                            paralleling speckles on the eggshells,
                                    remind me of the freckles on your face.

  We need to be wide-open-free,
                                                we need to fly,
         without focusing too hard on shells of yesterdays.

We need to unclench our fists,
unclench our tongues,
explore the vast blue peppered sky 
                                                 
                                                      on wings of letting go....

 so that we can once again feel with purity,       
 so that we can hold each other ever closer.







05.24.12


Details | Free verse | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sung under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propagandas
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

by;)


Details | Free verse | |

M


Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation, a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; a powerful sleeping pill

pulling the masses into slumber,
away from the obvious truth
that such supposed salvation 
is a ticket far too easy to obtain,
a discriminatory damnation of souls
so blindingly righteous,
even the most vengeful, maniacal deity
would draw the line there.

So many people hand-out the easy tickets,
cut and light the tree --
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into mortar for temples designated as sacred,
but the elements are desecrated by swirling sewers,
by shears amputating roots from the sky.

Too many people preach, judicate, proclamate,
hold signs pointing towards a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path,
live the sacrifice because it feels right.

Again and again, 
the ticket isn't so easy,
we must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.

27 years, a branch in the road, 46664 etched into its bark.
The forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then the wood was made into crutches
for people to say, 
"M will fix it, M will do this, M will do that,
M will save us, just wait and see."
But M is finally free, yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us,
always surviving as spirit-seeds.

We must no longer lean upon crutches,
instead purge the pill from our blood
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our souls,
before the vision withers completely,

and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans
held in hands too weak to lift the weight....

held in our own hands all along, 
held in our hands all along.



*Inspired by Madiba Mandela

December 7th/8th, 2013







+/-


Details | Free verse | |

Recording/Re-playing/Recording/Re-playing

The farm
     and the porch light hums 
the sound of another 
orange dawn.

Burnt up – crisp
      aching new reaches 
of the imagination turn 
from corn
      to wheat
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
never kissed.

Sweeping ‘cross in whispers 
two thousand years
      and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
dripping sideways,
like a red cat's eye marble 
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
     and forth - 
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm 
     being heard 
by another set of ears,
in some other when –

     some other marble.

When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth

can grip.

Night sounds come in floods
of mauve,
      and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
unsung,
      where no ears hear.

The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true 
      to form,
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment, 
      lived.

The girl turns to face 
the enormity
of all she has yet to hear upon 
      the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps 
on the skin
that God gave her; 
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
 
      breathing in the dawn 
as it breaks.

The farm notes this coming.

The sky knows;

The wind knows.

The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
      exhaling
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,

breathing through this land; 
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
      and through into another’s
open mouth.




© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09


Details | Free verse | |

Footprints

Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore

Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers

Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide

The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait

Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again

Their legacies erased each day
Another scout, another age
Will surely cast its prints anew


Details | Free verse | |

- Every Breath You Take -



To get my heart in the right rhythm, I have to catch your inner you
Holding hands kiss colors inside sunshine warm paradise 

Together we share our dreams with a glass of pink champagne
Celebrating a living memory of eternal beauty sparkling gems glisten

We will find ourselves in an everlasting magical journey
Where the golden barley shakes silken softly whispers in our breeze

I'll walk with you through ages of time
Uniting as one shadow embraced dancing silver treasure

Pure angel of dawn, you've stolen my heart
Weightless without body floating beautiful falling inside the soul's desire 






Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)  18.04.2015 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

I Water My Garden

I water my garden
Every day
I tend to Wander and Lust
And between Wild and Sweet is no place to be
Like home

The rush of the wind over the river dry cuts
Through the garden mine
And compels the dust to whisper
Whisper, I know you,
Little Noise White

It whittles my garden
Down to the snow-white bones
And lies, like every flake of snow  in my garden
Unique and terrible each
Unique little white lies

Over my garden
One after another unlike the others
Ill-fitting coats in the high, high heat
Ill-fitting the other
One after another

Fallen to the ground too late for roots
The hard-won shoots shoot
They shoot the sky
They cast little shadows behind
My garden, I

The wind blows
And the seeds are carried away
They grow in fields strange
Where others tend to the wolves and I
Like the black sheep stray

A dream,
Drawn by the clouds,
The hard-won shoots shoot
They shoot the sky
And cast little shadows behind

Little stormcrow leave
Your place is no place to be
Like home
My garden, I
Water every day

The water is rising
And the seeds are floating away
They drown in rivers strange
Where others swim in the water and I
In the deep end laid

The end of the line
Shoots the sky and falls
Too late for roots
My garden, I
Grow every day

The sky is falling
And the shoots are tumbling away
They die in meadows strange
Where the grass grows inside and I
Like the black widow play

Too late for roots I shoot the sky
And I cry
Water, I
Garden, I
Every day


- A. H. Sewell ©2015


You can pick up a copy of my eBook "City Sticks - A Collection of 50 Poems" from Smashwords at the link listed below. Come stop by my blog or friend/follow me on Facebook, too! (Links listed below.)

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539072


www.facebook.com/HelanaSewell1
www.ahsewell.weebly.com


Details | Free verse | |

THE OLD OAK TREE


         Oh I am but a simple leaf
         withering within the gutter
         one summer of bliss
         now! Just an autumn flutter.

                   For some; destine to fall
                   upon stony ground, a part
                   of life’s infernal gyration.
                   Yet for those that fall
                   within your reach, to live
                   on within your soul!

         While limbs that stretch
         towards the solstice, create
         vivacious veins as channels of hope,
         a pledge of foliation continues
         to endure what spring has
         furnished; autumn expires. 

                   Yes! If we can but learn
                   from nature’s complex simplicity,
                   that life be of a cycle
                   from the seed we are conceived,
                   then let spring be my beginning
                   winter my exultant eve!

         Let our two cultures
         merge as one, the
         decomposed humus
         to become the sustenance;
         our transfusion the
         new beginning.

                   Let us breathe the
                   fragrance of born again;
                   let each slender limb,
                   stout body bear our
                   tenaciousness, each lyrical
                   leaf our life’s blood.

          Let us mollycoddle each
          precious tear that falls from a
          angry sky; dance gracefully
          upon the wind, embrace
          on moonless nights, bathe
           in summer madness.

                   Let us hear the bluebell call,
                   the daffodil pray, the apple
                   blossom bear witness; the
                   clamour of the field mouse
                   the pitapat of the butterfly
                   the silence of lovers in love.

             Let us be sanctuary to the
             symbolic songstress, scuttling
             squirrel, vulgar urchin;
             a fortress for the warrior
             a haven for the pacifist
             an inspiration for the poet!

 EPILOGUE 

                  The call of springtime
                   we will invoke,
                     logging representative
                      we will gladly choke;
                        nature’s guardian.
                          “This! Obliging old oak.”

Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000


        

         








Details | Free verse | |

This Girl

This girl, she's crying inside,
But all everyone sees is smiles,
This girl, she's hurting inside,
She's lived like this for quite a while,
Always holding her pain inside, 
She won't ruin everyone's time,
This girl, she's breaking down inside,
But all she does is smile,
Those deep eyes,
Hold a lot world of misery,
Playing pictures from her mind,
Showing her past, her history,
She doesn't want to remember,
But the memories continue to play,
Every night she prays,
Wishing them away,
But this girl lies with her laugh,
And hides behind a mask,
So that no-one can see her pain,
Her past, her denials,
This girl, she's dying inside,
Although no-one can see her pain,
She just continues to smile bright,
From day to everyday,
With beautiful lying eyes,
For everyone to see,
Everyone and anyone,
Everyone but me.


Details | Free verse | |

The Ladybug's Whisper

And the ladybug placed a caressing whisper into dragonfly’s ear,
“I want to fly again. I crave to flap my tiny wings towards sunset’s crux. 
I want to breathe again. I want to be held like winds within canyon’s dialect.”

“But, first, I just need to scream.”

…

Let me be your breeze.

In
One
Fell
Swoop

…

The power to swim!
The power to grin!
The desire to never, ever fall again!

Let us embrace conundrum’s waterfall to be its resolution!
Let us allow joy to be our bedtime lullabies!
Let us let love IN without full moon’s dependency!

Ride on this impeccable jet stream towards animosity’s downfall!

Look in the face of your beautiful enemies
Daring it to stand above pedestal’s fallacy
Let your radiance be their final intimacy!

Take incipient steps,
Upon mended asphalt wishes

Let them tremble at the sight of your beautifully embattled smile
Knowing they will never reciprocate

Where desert winds kneel in our reflections
For we are an oasis
Forged of blood diamonds; sacrificial memories

Breezes become gusts
Gusts become worshipped exhales

All that I am!
All that you are!
All that they hope to be!

Our Yin & Yang
Will release proverbial boomerangs
Breaking vicious circles upon this genesis

We sway above greener pastures.

Gusts become breezes.

One
Fell
Swoop

Breaking enigmatic mirrors to see your true colors
With a scream to paint your new canvas

…

The time is now,
Let your two feet become one.

Rise, my ladybug!
Rise

Say goodbye
To detrimental trials

And caress newfound trust
Within a gentle

S				E
       M		 L
                 I

©Drake J. Eszes


Details | Free verse | |

A Mountain's Challenge

majestic he seems, staring down at me with provocative, charcoal cavern eyes challenging me to forge upward massive boulders, slippery streams and fallen trees arduous obstacles he puts before me shall I take his dare perhaps ascending a few steps closer to cerulean heaven reach out to touch the kaleidoscope rainbow an arc above this complex journey’s struggle or is communing with the universal consciousness beyond reach will I step, slip, stumble and fall if I climb, seeking to prove myself finding visions of self awareness as he urges me on only to wonder why I see nothing but myself in a shroud of misty grey loneliness at the peak far easier it would be to lay my head upon the verdant meadow’s grassy pillow content to admire him from afar rather than challenge myself to win his approval gratify my ambitious nature what satisfaction will come if I remain complacent in my life’s lackluster station never growing, never knowing what might have been if I’d listened to his provocative voice
*Written July 30, 2014


Details | Free verse | |

Oh Those Eyes

All those that I have loved before and the ones that will come after would never have those eyes Oh those eyes the moon of night those smiling eyes that do not shine yet glow with comfort in my life His unforgotten cheeks a musky scent of blown gardenias treaded softly in my sleep His Spring-kissed skin The fresh sweet taste of last aquatic dew which poured and reached my soul within Without demand I think of him And whoever said that men can never smell like flowers and whoever said that men can never taste like rain Those are the ones who never stretched their arms as far as to behold the one and whisper out his name.


Details | Free verse | |

The Words That flow Through My Pen

Sometimes, life has no reason unlike the seasons
It aimlessly drifts with the wind
We find ourselves in places of unfamiliar faces
Bathing in the shadows of sin
Our souls become lost up in the holocaust
That once was a beautiful life
Like a ship drifting upon the tide we bang and then we ride
The white horse straight into death
Into a giant black hole we dive in with our soul
Until we have nothing left
We then fall prey to our host who spreads butter on our toast
Our habits take over our lives
Everything we hold dear falls with one last tear
Into the darkness of night
Tired and defeated all our hope is depleted
Because we have nothing left to lose
Sometimes the storm passes as slow as molasses
Left frozen somewhere in the snow
Then our red eyes run dry with no tears left to cry
As we admit, I’d rather be dead
If you have a desire to live right, please take heed of my plight
And know that it’s never to late
Soon as you give it away find your knees and pray
You will find the comfort of home
And all of the disgrace will fall off of your face
Like the leaves that fall off the tree
And just like the bare tree soon you will see
Life is reborn in the spring
Like a warm days cool breeze, God fills us with his ease
And through him we find some peace
One day at time the trials all unwind
As the jigsaw falls into place
As everything gets better we become one with the weather
And the seasons suddenly become our friend
Our lives suddenly fly past, because we want to make them last
Like an ice-cream on a really hot day 
We are overcome with the obligation to tell of our salvation
Remembering all of those left behind
Some will find their way, others all we can say
Is Lord, we truly did our best
Dear Lord we write for your glory, telling our stories
That we would rather keep hid on the shelf
Our desire is to aspire so we can rise ever higher
With the words that flow though our pen
Giving of ourselves becomes our greatest wealth
As our souls become one with the Son
No high could be higher than faith and desire
Knowing we have been born again
One day we will stand before the gates that shall open to our fate
As heaven welcomes us in
We will look down on this earth, spirits of a new birth
Watching over the seeds that we spread
Knowing their lives were made better, because we were able to weather
The storm that raged through night 
Until the day I become shadows and dust I'll forever trust
The words that flow through my pen



Details | Free verse | |

The Whispers of a Troubled Spirit

I didn't read the signs,
and you were raised not to complain,
holding it all inside, behind an ever-present smile.

Too scared to ask for advice,
too proud to ask for help,
you tried fixing the problem on your own,
until the problem appeared too volatile.

silly boy

I was here the entire time,
as I am still here even now,
and I can feel your shadow
moving over me,
whispering up my spine.
I can feel you wishing for the simple things,
wishing only to wake up in your bed again,
just wishing to re-start that day once more -
to feel the pain,
to feel the need
of trying things a bit differently.

If only I had been able to decode 
the complex puzzle of your mask,
I could have offered more help.
Did I not try hard enough?
There is a shadow in my heart,
that believes you would have drowned
in your selfishness,
regardless of what any of us had done or said.
Either way, you were already marching toward 
the dreaded plains of the regretfully dead.


(there are times when it is truly best to stop asking why.
On certain winter nights,
I open a window to softly falling snow -
not a single breath of chaos blows.
The night is so calm, I can hear snowflakes
touch each other on the windowsill.
I turn on a light behind me,
and as the light pours out into the night,
thousands of crystals glitter like a city of angels.
I don't have any tears left to shed for you,
they are all sitting frozen in the blanket of sparkling snow.
It is at moments such as this,
when I miss you the most)


Yet, the offer of a helping hand is still open,
a helping hand for a troubled spirit.
Reality is constantly altering,
changed in so many ways,
but I am still here,
here as I ever was.
So whenever you feel the need,
whisper up my spine,
dial up the ancient area code,
and together we can dine.

Possibly, just possibly,
we can figure out a way 
to push you through the needle's eye,
and both of us can stop asking why.








February 8th, 2012



Details | Free verse | |

Like a Rock

I carry my mother 
like a rock in my pocket 

that I just can’t seem to throw away 

It serves me 
no purpose, 
it just weighs me down 

~~~
 
When I first found it, 
when I first picked it up 
and started carrying it with me, 

I thought it so beautiful – 
I could look at it for hours 

But, like my mother, 
it never looked back at me, 
never grew warm under my loving gaze 

For the longest, I was blind to that, 
Blind to anything but the beauty, 
blind to the cold, hard, 
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone

~~~

I carry my mother,
a thought without weight

And she’s heavier

and she’s colder

than all the stones
there are

~~~
 
By the time I recognized her 
immutable, emotional unavailability, 
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –

But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart

Could not stop
wishing
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,

Might just become
its own opposite –

Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm

But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water

When my mother
stops being
a stone


Details | Free verse | |

A Cinderella Story

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Simon, I have something to say unto you. There was a certain creditor

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Whom had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And when they had nothing with which to pay he freely forgave them both.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tell Me, therefore, which of them shall love him more?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
   
Simon answered and said, “I suppose the one whom he forgave more.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He said to him, “You have rightly judged.” He then turned to the woman and  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house, you gave Me

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No water for My feet, but she has washed my feet with her tears and wiped them

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With the hair of her head. You gave me no kiss, but this precious woman

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Has not ceased to kiss My feet since I came in. You did not anoint My head 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With oil, but this priceless woman has anointed my feet with fragrant oil.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Therefore I say unto you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven...Your faith has saved you. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Go in peace.” ~ “A Cinderella Story” ~


Details | Free verse | |

Initiative

How do I tell you that you’re beautiful?

How can I be different?

How can I express my attraction?

When columns upon
Columns
Of testosterone filled wolves
Dressed in rented Italian suits
And discolored, mesh sneakers
Speak similar flirtatious dialect

Will this baby scented Sunflower do the trick?

I picked it from my walled Garden of Eden.

I spent 4 years mending these butterfly coated petals,
Solely for this moment

How can I express my need for your smile?

When tattered paper donations have been sent
To elicit short-term, newlywed goose bumps upon your flesh

...

May I have this dance? 

You’ve never heard this sensual ballad.

But, it’s an element of my Spoken Word
Waiting for your translation

I await your palms,
Because this is not a Man’s world

This can be ours.

But, will you leap off from trampoline’s corazon? 

My syllables are in your hands.

My book is within your misunderstood palm paths.

But, 
If you’re going to read between my lines,
Do not be illiterate to my heartbeats.

Your move…

©Drake J. Eszes


Details | Free verse | |

Forty Today

Visited you today
as the sun set in the horizon…

the orange tinged carnations 
were a perfect complement 
for the skies
and for you… 
orange and blue
always remind me of you

the winds softly blew
and I just sat there
staring at the grass,
well more at your name really…

hardly believing
what I am looking at, 
that it’s been seven years

of missing you,
of just putting that reality
at the back of my mind…

But there are days,
such as today
which make me 
confront that reality—

I see your smile,
remember your laughter
celebrate your spirit
and your love

Tears, I tell you I have
the most stubborn tears
maybe because they 
make it so real for me?

I look around me
and look for that sign

Nope, not there…

I say a prayer
and speak to you
thankful for the life shared

I kiss the date that you were born

and walk away

my reflection on the car window
misty

One last look around,

and then I see it…

a cat, as we drive away…

Skies now streaked purple and pink


**My brother would have been 40 today, May 6…


Details | Free verse | |

Brush Stroke to Uniqueness

If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red? 
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration, 
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green, 
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
on absorption.
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
"Mind's Eye"
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.


Details | Free verse | |

On the outside, looking in

"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."

This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution

I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.

Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning

There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders

I was surrounded by shovels
Ransacked
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench

While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics

Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…

…

…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath 
Simply
Searching
For B-rated serendipity

Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Turning away from windowed afflictions
Ready
To step towards gratitude’s breath

Outside,
No longer looking in

How good it feels.

Yet, I still miss my friends.

©Drake J. Eszes 


Details | Free verse | |

Tangled Vines

I walk along the old familiar path in the wood of my childhood - the place that I willingly abandoned for the lure of new friends and activities that carried me ever farther from my simple carefree days. Nothing here is quite the same, and all that once was large to my child’s eyes has grown small. How can it be? The houses on the fringe of this old wood are the same houses we always came upon as children as we ran - exuberant wild Indians of our enchanted forest - away from our foes and into the safety of “clearings” - those back yards of neighbors whom we never really knew. Our small legs ran so quickly down that well-worn long-ago path in the days when we were soldiers hastening to secure our forts. Other times we searched for treasures in the wood's crevices, finding - one day - bed springs, metal pieces, and old mattresses and converting them into contraptions for jumping. I tread slowly, noticing how many spots along my way are now overrun with weeds and tangled vines. How did I ever not notice there were vines here at all? They must have been well hidden off our path. Perhaps a kindly neighbor kept the pathway clear of them out of consideration for all us kids. I cannot know. . . It was so long ago. I glimpse the raspberry bushes we used to happily discover each summer when fuzzy berries showed brightly red and plump. And there’s old man Miller’s house, whose fence we used to climb so we might quickly steal the juicy apples fallen from his tree. Sadness tugs at my heart. The tree has vanished, and in the place of old man Miller’s shed now sits a swing set looking barely used. I head toward the center of this miniature forest recalling how it used to hold such grandness in my young imagination. The pond where we used to skate in winter has disappeared as well. In its place is a broad high pile of dirt, and at the north outer edge in the distance I can see diverse machines used for excavation. Maybe soon the wood will be cut down. Though small, this place was once so wondrous! I think back to our Christmas vacations, looking for the perfect little hill to drag our sleds up- and the thrill of barely missing trees as we slid back down. Everything was magical, crisp and clean. Suddenly I trip on tangled vines I’ve failed to see. The vines are stumbling blocks that have blotted out the utter charm this locale once held for me. You’d think that being smaller to my grown-up eyes, the wood would seem even simpler now. But no, it’s lost the grace of my simple and easy childhood days; It’s become a labyrinth of too lush plant life. I think how - like my complicated life - this old familiar place is decaying and is overwhelmed with all these obnoxious vines and how one day - like the pond and Mr. Miller’s apple tree - this dear wood will have vanished. inspired by events of my childhood and the contest of Constance la France and now for Caleb Smith's In the Woods Poetry Contest


Details | Free verse | |

Maturity

As I sit by the window and look out towards the sun,
A half of me says stay, while the other half says run.

I know it's part of life, to grow older with each day,
but the older that I get, the more I want to run away.

All the stress and hard decisions that I'm left to ponder,
only makes me crazier, as now I'm left to wander.

Like a never ending clock, the days and nights will pass,
so I'll hold on to my memories, for only they will last.

And I can use them anytime, to make me laugh or smile,
or just to sort of drift away, and daydream for a while.

Although life seems so hard, I thank the Lord each night,
for blessing me with all the things He's put here in my life. 

So as I grow in my time of youth, I tell myself one thing,
Never regret ,or you'll lose out, on the  things that life may bring.


Details | Free verse | |

Melded

Questions hang suspended like stalactites Time, circumstance and elements contributing to its formation (—then something else seeps in, pushing me to call it fate) Questions that know not whether they should be voiced out and see light ...or remain hidden in caves, destined to be only heard by the labyrinthine chambers of the heart But yes, it is inevitable that these questions d r i p They drip, bit by bit, oozing with curiosity, forming more queries, that turn into stalagmites— Grounded questions to the suspended ones, open-ended to the closed. Sometimes meeting, creating columns, melded complements of each other. And then this makes me wonder— When these questions meet, do they ever find answers within themselves? Will the truth ever be brave enough to come out of hiding? This then makes me think of the words within souls, how these souls are the questions, in search of answers. ...And of how your words, your thoughts, your feelings, can drip into mine, feeding that inner glow It then collects, forming this deluge, flooring me as it creates a bond so powerful, it seems to defy time and even reason. A fascinating influx, that makes me smile despite myself Where sometimes I don’t know the beginning from the end— where bliss swims freely there, immersed in waves of laughter and ripples of tears. This for me is the beauty of it all, the search, the mystery...the discovery That constant ebb and flow, the give and take, that push and pull the flooding and trickling, that hiding and seeking Where one listens as the other speaks, but ah, both feeding off each other— hungry, thirsty, full, satiated yet craving for more. It’s something akin to, but not quite to how sunlight makes way for moon’s glow, how thunder rolls after the lightning strikes, coming hand in hand...yet both so defined. -------------------------------------------------------------- Yes, the questions may still hang like stalactites, and sometimes I do wonder if they will fall— And if they do, will they shatter, piercing hearts as they do? Or will their fates let them stay there, melding with stalagmites, standing the test of time, and sparkling as they do? June 17, 2012


Details | Free verse | |

Butterflies

BUTTERFLIES

Clouds passing by swiftly.
Like the desert sands,
tiny grains rest in my hand.
Here I lay peaceful on the ground.
My life finally reached its final strand.
Breathing faintly with no sound.
My life slowly slips back into Gods hands.
Counting each beat from my heart.
Leaving behind this shallow land.
Taking a long glimpse of this magical world.
Something came to carry me away.
Without giving me a chance to say goodbye.
This wind gave me a sensation in not wanting to stay.
Gliding away into the blue sky. 
Finally I feel this heavy load removed.
I look back and see where my body still lays.
An empty temple, no longer full of grace.
My life in front of me revealed.
Blessed for all those days I would pray.
God protecting me with his shield.
Kept his promise to take me back one day.
Now I am back where I belong.
Pass the horizon of the ocean sky.
Living among the butterflies.
Reunited with my love ones.
Angles flutter into the sky.
When your life on earth is done.
For you I will wait beyond the sun.
Somewhere deep beyond the skies. 
Your day soon will come with butterflies.

~SKAT~   *re-post*


Details | Free verse | |

Pretty Flower in the Deep woods

VINEYARDS of HAPPINESS          ---------------------      GARDEN of SORROW

There is no greater Happiness,-----------when-----------Pulling away  sorrow
then being in my  lover's arms,-------letting go of----Broken memories 
Kissed by his  hungry lips,-------------------------------Rejecting all hunger, of love
spoiled by his sweetest charms.-----------------------The surface spoiled look in his face

There is no greater Happiness,------------------------Holding the depth of solitary sorrow
feeling my love's warm embrace,-----------------------Feelings of cold,no emotions on Gods grace
Meeting in our secret GARDEN,-----------------------Prolonging the visit to our VINEYARD
Opening dreams' golden gates.------------------------the door you open leads into dark woods

There is no greater Happiness,-------------------------Reviving every motion of sorrow
and there 'll never be ,for me,----------------------------trapped forever inside of me
till that far promised day,------------------------------------Broken promises day by day
My Honey  love s' here with me.------------------------a wound so fresh, damaged like a twig
                                                   

            HAPPINESS  -------------------------to-------------------- SADNESS

Happiness to me,is as easy as can be,----------------Sadness triumphs over anything in me
a doughnut,a cup of English Tetley tea.------some nights----------A bucket of ice cream,a bottle of Jack Daniel
Lying on my beige leather sofa,------------some days-------------Slouching up against the wall
Covered by a Woolen red tartan rug,------------- tears fallen like a red river on the carpet
Hugging and Kissing,Fondling and snogging,--- some mornings ---Crying and Weeping,Wiping the Sobbing
Just watching T.V.------------------------------------------Just imaging you                                                                    
                                          

         THE  ROSE===============================WITHER

Love is a Pink Rose,--------------------------------------------A rose in the dark woods
with a crown of thick Grey thorns,--------------------------Like a cloud following you
delicate and strong.-----------------------------------------------Tilting till its gone
By ;Charma                                                        By : P.D.


inspired By : Charmaine Chircop            compose By : Poet Destroyer

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~


Details | Free verse | |

Hard Work

Laughter drifts through the house, ....it has been such a while
Debate filters in, from the kids in the kitchen
The rafters are rattled with two strong opinions
Girls against boys, with opposing positions
I've watched them shuffle their cards and argue who won,
They seem to be lost, in the light masquerade,
of bittersweet happiness that is dim from the gray

Dipping their chips into onion laced cream
smacking their lips, and drinking their cokes
They are betting a few of the red plastic discs,
that will ante' this round 

...I listen, and smile, it's a beautiful sound, ...
   So long overdue,.......
                     we are embracing the mood... and it is time that we do....

Now a new game ensues.....
Monopoly, perhaps? Or charades, they will play
Whatever it is, ........ let it fill up the day
                                Let it take them away,....away from the gray

I let up the shade
to watch the evening come in,  bringing umber and rust,
as earth swallows dusk, which is fading away

From the living room window, I am hoping to see 
geese flying back to their warm winter homes
All nature seems normal, routine, once again

Winter is coming and a new year begins
How will it be now, this journey, untried,?
As we move on, wearing smiles, wearing grief on our sleeves
Smiles, for awhile, hiding anguish, and pride

Cold days are arriving......and there is talk on the hill 
where tall pine trees are whispering, 
reminding the creek, and the ash trees are shedding
and katydids will not call out condolences in the dark

Soon enough, when the lark sings,  wet grass will need tending
stacks of shutters will need painting,
and snow will yet need to be pushed aside

How will they cope..?
He's not here to do it...but somehow we hope
they will wade their way through it..

But for now , at a kitchen table
for these brief moments, they are able
to laugh, argue, and have fun...
                       Someone shouts out,  "I won!"..

Joy is hard work...but it needs to be done 




_________________________________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

let sacred delirium flow

(in-between wakefulness and dreaming, in-between free verse and prose....it flows - I wouldn't trade it for candy-coated couplets, nor silky sonnets set in cities of gold, for my delirium is uninhibited, unhinged, freely flowing) delirious non-linear shutter-frames capture us over there, here now, before - a nuance, a taste on the tip of my tongue leading me towards need without a name nor face. Prying open other people to see if you were inside. Searching for a known desire with an unknown label, to find something never actually lost - to make it more palpable - closer. Crawling out of my skin, out of my skull, slinking through invisible trees, you appear: a jungle cat licking my mind - you always made love to my soul first, before enticing me with a liquid growl off-set by the pitter-patter of paws and purring. Your purr, your velvet purr rumbles for my submission. Willingly I accept the invitation of vulnerable humility bowing towards a fearless trust lush with a luminary borderless meshing, catching up to right now. - Right now - Your black-light curvaceous muscled trembling licks my mind, my body, my hands and mouth glide across your skin, testing the earth for stability. The tectonic plates of my belly quake resettle within your womb. Inside-outside, outside-inside a lotus-soul union, just as ancients had hinted, dissolving, letting you devour me, before I drink from your salty grail. Over-stimulation leads to an un-thinking deep rhythm, waves pushing out - in until the shoreline and tides become indistinguishable, a backdrop to a pace quickening. Outside-inside of you, you are outside-inside of me, there is no longer the need to fear unknowns, for the unknown guides us higher, guides us ever deeper, until even our release merges with the flow of ancient rippling rhythm. .