Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

CreationEarth Nature Photos

Introspection Dedication Poems | Introspection Poems About Dedication

These Introspection Dedication poems are examples of Introspection poems about Dedication. These are the best examples of Introspection Dedication poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Acrostic | |

Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 

©  2011  ~JSLaM    


* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Light Poetry | |

Funeral for a Friend

Shattered glass
Broken promises
Loves untied knots
Black roses weaving in summer winds

We all will die, the days are duly marked
In the book of reaping angels
Who till the fields of human decay
Whom take what they can, young or old

Piano keys sound the waltz
Of the oncoming
Shaking fingers and smiles to deny
The raven will have his feast

The death of you is at hand
The death of me was long ago
Yet I still breathe, and you still smile
I am full of tears, you my friend are life

A life to be stolen
As we sit silently
Knowing my hands are as useless as yours
Later smile upon me, and welcome me over

I who have lost long ago
Walks along the shoreline of hell
Alone, no hand to hold
Wishing it could have been me

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Rhyme | |

Spill Ink

Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggle to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seek tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved 
(October 18, 2014) (Rhyme Septet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Couplet | |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”

When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Free verse | |


                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.

Copyright © Chuck Keys

Details | Tanka | |


LOVE God is always love Forever seek the kingdom; Praise the creator Keep giving what you can give Please endure until the end ANGELS Beautiful Heavens Protecting the meek ones earth Watching over us Helping us to cope with life Comforted with hope and trust MUSIC When you find rhythm You find your hearts inner core Celebrate the times Make them better than before Reminisce and dance all night

Copyright © humble b

Details | Free verse | |

Unshed Tears

Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy, 
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
My Oblivion,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
Cocain Addiction,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Dancing silhoutte,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
Dying joyfully,
With my last sight of you. . .

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Free verse | |

Take Me For Granted

Take Me For Granted

Maybe I'm just crazy
or my views are slightly slanted.
But I love when you don't have to ask.
When you take me for granted.

I need it when you're needing me
when push comes down to shove.
I love when you take it for granted
that I'll show you my love.

How when you know I'll be beside you
and I'm not afraid to fight.
And how you take it for granted
you'll be loving me tonight.

Go on baby you can look away
the seeds already planted.
I love the way it feels to me
when you take me for granted.

Not everyone will get this poem.
But those that do, have known love at a depth not everyone will ever see.
They've been hurt. Taken advantage of and they have been betrayed.

Still they have known love. 

They were open to it. They've been warmed by it's fires and chilled by it's North wind.
They've flown where eagles fly. And they've crawled through hell and back.

None of it for them but for one they loved.

Because if you know love, you soon find that it's not love until you give it away.                       

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert

Details | Rhyme | |

Love From Afar

Strange creature and my best friend.
The distance between us is great.
So why do we pretend.

You cross the street as I head to the bar
I'll drink to you my dear.
For if I cant hold you close.
I'll just love you from afar.

Like crumbs tossed to a pigeon from a delicate 
I'll wait like a fool.
For my heart is forever yours to command.

You say I cause pain when you remember the past.
Bitter tears erase the passion.
That sometimes isnt ment to last.

Sometimes it's easier to forget then remember 
who we are.
if it bothers you to keep me close.
Then I'll love you from afar.

Standing underneath your window in the pouring 
Times alone often i do reflect.
Love has a way of making the normal seem insane.

So very close never knowing who we truley are.
Taken from my heart.
left only to love  from afar.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo

Details | Senryu | |


Standing still head's up
Retrospect greatest pitfalls 
Mass consciousness whim 

Wandering till dawn
Waiting brave for the result
Less breathe heartless beat

Until the mind soar
Now is inexplicable
Sufferings indeed

People grim anew
For the best of all Juries
Render canny nod

Continued service
Captivated voter's wit
Last laugh never ends.

Copyright © marvin celestial

Details | Quatrain | |

Heaven's Grocery Store

Marching down life’s highway, my feet became very sore
I then came upon a sign that read “Heaven’s Grocery Store”
When I got closer the doors swung open wide
Next thing I knew I was standing there inside
I saw a flock of angels positioned everywhere
They handed me a basket and said, “Child shop with care.”
Everything a human required was in that grocery store
With many commodities to carry, you could always come back for more
First I acquired some Patience; Love was in that same row
Further down was Understanding, you require that everywhere you go
I grabbed a box of Wisdom and Faith, a bag or two
And obtained Charity of course but more than just a few
And then reached for Courage to help me run this wicked race
My basket was almost full but remembered some loving Grace
I then chose Salvation for it was advertised as free
I tried to collect enough of that for both you and me
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill
For I thought I had everything to do the Master’s will
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and proceeded put that in
For I knew when I stepped outside I was bound to encounter sin
Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last thing on that shelf
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself
Then I asked an angel, “Now how much do I owe?”
She smiled and said, “Just take them wherever you may go.”
Again I asked, “No really, how much do I owe?”
“My child,” she said, “God paid your bill a long time ago.”

Copyright © Adam Kirkhoff

Details | Sestina | |


The day’s beginning is a special gift.
Given over a life’s eternity,
One can’t help but feel the daily change.
How often we stay into the evening.  An attempt to hold
Onto the feelings of joy and elation,
That made our day so emphatically special.

Are not the future possibilities also special?
That we dream of yet other gifts,
gifts  of such thought, that might also inspire elation
From giver and receiver for all eternity.
Constantly close to both, holding,
As if to say, “Don’t Ever Change.”

Does growth not require change?
Should not that change be also special?
Only if you have forgotten about holding,
The longing embrace of previous gifts,
One that requires attention for all eternity,
fueling existential feelings of elation.

Even when intentionally forgotten, holding
On to the recipient, despite elation.
At one point, this internal agony was a gift.
What could ever make this change?
This gift that could never be more special.
Now it has changed for eternity.

The re-direct of energy through eternity,
The loss of love’s forever embrace.
Love, making pain beautifully special.
Will there ever be elation?
Maybe if we only change
The way we exchange special gifts.

Our future’s eternity might fill with elation
From  holding the exchange
Of something special,
… the mere appreciation of a gift..

Copyright © Matthew Sample

Details | Free verse | |

Me, Myself and I

I thought of things each day
As if they were stream of events
Through my mind away
More scenes I kept
Within my soul blemished
Haunted and reminiscent
Each action that pricked
My inner being in the wilderness
Of its fruition bestowed
For those who deserved
To savor the sumptuous breed
Of nature who spoke
Within the collective cells
That circumscribed
The essence of my existence
I created everything
That pleased and hurt me at once
But it was just fragment
Of essential things
Needed to propel my desires
To become who I am
And be one with everything.

Copyright © marvin celestial

Details | Free verse | |

30 Years of Blooms

I guess it’s time to stop asking questions,
and start answering them.
Wipe away long dead evaporations;
mined trails overgrown with new,
more current vines.

Time to remove the silver duct-tape
from the face of killed memory; (the girl
in the cavern who sits, wide eyed and bound
at her skeletal ankles and wrists at the top 
of the wicked peak, looking for a way out –
her green eyes wild and rolling
like thunder and mustangs at the edge 
of the drop ,
looking for a way out of this 
buried-alive, hell)
and replace it with white words whispered
into my own children’s ears.

I cannot judge you.
Just as I cannot judge her.
We are all together in this moment.

And although I’d love to be 
the high and mighty mother who says,
“OH! I would never do that to MY kids –
I won’t. 
I won’t give him the pleasure.
The one who turned you to glass; beat you
until you were nothing but sunlight
in your own mother’s memory.
She loved me as I love mine (including
the young one who waits for her savior with 
the shining scissors; coming through 
the dark like rebirth and deliverance;
like a cool cloth on a charred brow).

So I will plant my Mother’s Day lilac tree
in her honor –
burying the questions,
honoring the love we shared
and still share.
We will leave our judgments at the door and sit 
beneath its amethyst blooms 
(my birthstone; 
                                  your given gift of insight)
exalting in the sacred heart of motherhood;
laughing until we cry;
feeding its deep roots
with memory.

© Kristin Reynolds 5 9 09

*Dedicated to my Mother this Mother's Day (I hope you are listening...)

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Free verse | |

I'm Your King

A burst of white light gamma rays, overbearing a flash of brilliance burns through to my soul everything is like hell the world starts to melt in the blink of an eye just the cold blackness of night I don't care if I am not again what I once was, for at this moment I am greater now than ever before I took the path between teetering, tight roping walking right up to my right divined in my unholy state I thought I told you I am your king still you sit there, hesitating I know you hate me what does that mean? I hate just about everything still I'm chosen I did not wish before now bow down to me refuse me no more for I shall always be your demon until you accept me as your King. I don't even know you though you say we used to be best of friends, you and me the day you ditched me I remember now exactly how it played out back when we were just tiny things even back then I still was King you thought me stupid just a ruse I would laugh inside, you see? not one of you single, mean people ever even knew me in a world, mostly seen to me that is why only I can be your true King and bring forth a new source of light everlasting. As two worlds collide slowly aligned one wrapped in shadows one bathed in white evils swirling in the clouds above I'll always be the king you love to hate or despise as in your blood I thought I told you, I am the one I am the way, the way out shall be shown breathe in my spirit as it carries you away breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough higher than you've ever dreamed of for I am king now, and your in my hell your in my imagination, I'll just never tell you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now if you try and see you were always found the most shared in the light cast upon me the last bright star in heaven. Denounce my name, if you may One year later, still not afraid A black sheep, a darkened spade That's just life, I'm not right I'm in the wrong, follow along Like a piper, I'll pitch a song Mesmerized, the weak wills sing I thought he told you, he's still our king.

Copyright © Bj Fard

Details | I do not know? | |

Blood upon Pages

As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Free verse | |

Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...

       Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, 
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. 
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate?  If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us. 
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. 
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. 
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep 

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Free verse | |

Tension Waiting

The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.

Copyright © Samir Georges

Details | Free verse | |

o', just for once, to receive what i give-

if he were to write me a love poem, would it breathe 
like the quintessence of begin? would it live 
as the moon to the sea – as precise as the art
of expanse along kismets journey, and all horizons linear? 
would it wind-wash and rush my untouched
expanse, as a field soft and wild, exhaling through hair?
would you hear all of my hurt as it crashes to floors; crashing
through my glass floors, formed by years of perfected neglect; 
(reverberating through centuries of cause and effect)

or would it die in my hands;
turn to dust
at your


to read his undying words, such as my deepest imaginings 
can conjure, would be as if the very sun had come to rest beneath 
my bosom, shining exponentially forth every wish and dream i have 
ever harbored within the safe haven of my yearnings, since long 
before the birth of time itself!

o’, words given from the depths of my hearts deliberate daydreams, 
from the vastness of your perpetual being,
would surely render my mind useless, striking my fluttering 
body numb, and alive all at once!
if my love ever wrote me a love poem, i would answer 
by way of warm lips on eyelids, (weary from longing 
and unrequited need) gliding them 
down his fair face, kissing years of spent tears into the oblivion that is       
no more (the culmination of death and the sweet realization 
of answered prayers), and yet

i would no sooner ask him to write me a love poem, then I would 
expose my longing to receive one.

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Elegy | |


Strange shadows on these coral walls
stay hidden from the setting sun, 
yet creeping through the shafts of amber light
drag behind them to the high parapet
a cloak of utter darkness.

Fierce defended, now are none:
no frightened men to urge the heavy cannon round
no shrill alarm or battle cries;
the end of this, as every other day has sealed
a silence now complete.

Once we held here, on this foreign shore, 
the fortress of our childhood dreams
and all the world’s assaults
seemed nothing then;
an ocean  breeze would cool the hurt of falling
and bring sweet scents to pick us up again.

Across the bay the dhows set sail upon a rising tide
their canvass spread against the purple sky.
We watched their leaving long ago
but you are gone away now, gone to  sleep
and no injured soul so left alone
can wait to watch them home again.

Yet I will stand, a little or a while, 
and  will not fear cold shadows rising 
nor while breathing yield the fort to them;
in every breach I meet your laughing eyes
and feel the warming of remembered suns.

Copyright © Florian Beauchamp

Details | Rhyme royal | |

" Bahama Nation"

A nation of peace,a nation of pride
A nation that's spread far and wide.
A nation of hope,a nation of joy,
Thats free for all, man,women ,girl and boy.

A nation to give,a nation to take
A nation filled with reggae,socca,calypso and rake and scrape.
A nation of colors; black,gold,aqua....sometimes called blue
can be seen everywhere above land and under sea too.

A nation of democracy and old english style,but things  sure have changed if you
look up our file.
From outside rock stoves,to TV,radio,computers and wi-fi connectivity.........
I'd say that a long way from July 10 1973.

An nation filled with hospitality,love and history,
Arawaks,Caribs and American Indians are the basis of our nationality.
A nation where Tourism is number one, because of the Bounty of sand sea and sun.

Yes,a nation of Youth,sports ,culture,uniqueness and island fashion trends,
Like native Androsia our own local blend......and straw work and junkanoo,the list has no end.
This nation of beauty,splendor and self defense ;yes its celebarting its own INDEPENDENCE.

Copyright © Quentin Sands

Details | Rhyme | |

There Was A Time We Weren't Ashamed Of God

There was a time in America, when the Bible was taught in the schools. The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.” There was a time in America, where the cross could be displayed. Even in public places, people came together and prayed. There was a time in America, there was no “church and state” separation. As people all across this country asked God to help this nation. There was a time in America, where people knew right from wrong. You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song. There was a time in America where one was proud to be a Christian. One could take stand for holiness, without coming under “suspicion.” There was a time in America, when mom and dad were together… Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.” There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.” There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say; “I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.” This is the time for America, to wake up and try to understand. We need to seek God right now! All over this land! This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear… The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near! NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found! The word of God needs to be read in every city and town! Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today? Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Haiku | |

It is now

Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust 
for things start to be.

Copyright © viviane leite

Details | Rhyme | |

Lord I Praise And Worship YOU

Lord, I Praise And Worship Your Name! Lord, I praise, worship and honor your name! Into my heart… I invite you to rule and reign! Lord, I give you my love and attention! You have set me in a new direction! Lord, it is you that brings a daily reminder… Your grace and mercy is so tender and kinder! Lord, I humbly raise my hands in adoration… And lift you up in worship and exaltation! Lord, Jesus… You are the one I need this day! I appreciate you much more than words can say! Lord Jesus… Thanks for all you’ve done already. When your trumpet sounds… I want to be ready! Dear Jesus, take my life and my way of living! All that I have… To you I am giving! You are and will always be the one for me! How I long to be with you for eternity! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Ballad | |

The Power Of Pride

As I surmise all that is me strewn and cluttered, 
My conscious lies casually shorn and shuttered, 
For here lie the spoils of stubborn iniquity, 
I shuffle and toil, floundering in frailty. 

Oh what great havoc, what conscious so lewd, 
Creates such traffic which now spoils the fruit, 
Of truly righteous deeds committed by a scurrilous man, 
Of whom I could no better know, no better understand, 

For this terribly lost and forever forlorn soul, 
Is none other than me shivering and sniveling so, 
And as helpless as I suddenly appear to be, 
I now understand the strength pride provides so easily, 

For there is purpose in pride, yet none in shame, 
As ambition carries us blind to who’s at blame, 
And just where is the woe when the devil may care, 
For we are soon found alone, our conscious left bare, 

And as I embark into this desolate place, 
My horrors so dark, my fears crimson in taste, 
Forward I race into the perilous pit, 
With none other to blame for this simple life I quit.

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On

Details | Imagism | |

Guilty Reflection

Looking dead at me in this smeared mirror...
a lost man
face red
and teared

stacking excuses 
the longer I stare
this stress abuses 
my conscience with a glare

a guilty reflection warns
my mind is the prison I fear
as I long to escape 
from the  hell I dwell in
right here

who have I become? 
what have I done right?
crossroads appear suddenly 
as fog fills the mirror tonight

darkness owning the room,
prefers I suffer slow
so I proceed with speed 
because it’s the only way I know

tasteless stories
flood my life’s hard bound chapters 
while this smeared mirror reflects tears
dripping from a face 
which was once filled with laughter. 

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Free verse | |

The Beauty In Futility

my heart breathes its last breath
Embraces its own death
Ready to be reborn 
and made anew

Can’t live a lie
Refuse to “do”
and I’ll DIE....
Focus now on why I’ll live 
And never touch the sky. 

I have to forget you
I have to reject you 
But I will never love anyone 
like I loved you.....

I heard you whisper 
and you never knew it
I wiped the tears from your eyes 
But you couldn’t feel it

You’re lost and you’ll never find you
And neither will I 
And I’m so sorry--
but I’m NOT. 

I'll attempt to reset
Try to forget
But you know, I never will. 

Be my dirty little secret 
My very worst-kept secret 
Sweet, smooth, beautiful poison 
My infernal and endless attraction 
towards complete and utter self-destruction 

I fell in love with the devil
And it will take one heck of an angel
To save me from the likes of you....

My addiction 
my confusion
my nightmare
my dream never to come true

Oh, I’ll never forget the times
we never shared
I’ll never forget 
how you were never there

Always me, the stars, and tears
And I ask you,
what kind of life is THAT?

I have to face the facts 
I don’t know what happens now
but it happens without you. 

The stains will always be there
the scars will never fade
But the memory of you----
it HAS to. 

I could carry the torch forever
But it would only consume me
I can’t cry another tear for you
Or I’ll dry up completely

It doesn’t affect you
and you never deserved me

You’ll go on with your life, too
All, all alone
Because you’ll only ever be in love
with you. 

Copyright © SLS It Is Rife With Ambiguity

Details | Free verse | |

Carbon Monoxide (CO) Week 2: Carbon Cabrona

Smokeless inhales hurt.
I cough tar on my shirt.
As my black lungs breathe,
Shrilling exhales wheeze.

Falls me
Down to
My knees.

The nicotine cracks
My will.
My composure

I want 
I must 
Have this.

I sink
The brink
Of madness.

Copyright © Hyle Chu

Details | Rhyme | |

When Autumn Comes

When autumn comes to drop it's leaves.
Unreconciled, the branches greive.
To enter winter's long goodbye.
Awaiting spring, again to sigh.

Amidst the heat of summer's sun.
The planted seed will soon be done.
Only the rain of heavens love.
Can help the plant rise up above.

The seasons we all have to live.
Are waisted if we don't forgive.
A heart that's full of pain and sorrow.
Requires hope to meet tomorrow.

When someone needs a helping hand.
It's nice when they can join the band.
To know that they can sing along.
To harmonize in life's long song.

Copyright © robert johnson

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Where The Grass Is Turning Brown In Spots I Buried My Memories

List of things to do before

I fall in love again
I allow my mind to take me
Into the
A wild opened fields
where the grass is turning brown in spots
There’s one
 Wild flower
Dozens of
Scattered pebbles,
Under my feet
Taunted memories,
Bare trees with bend trunks
A cool breeze washes my face
No more umbrella tree
To relief me from
Ray of the sun
I squint from the sun in my eyes
Think of the ghost in my past
Or to deal with the
Ray of the sun
Lists of things to do before
I fall I love again
Buried the pain
Low the drawbridge
Keep the enemy out
I want to be happier 
Than I‘ve ever been
Fall in love again
I buried
 Painful memories
Under the bare umbrella trees

Copyright © Annie Lander