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Introspection Women Poems | Introspection Poems About Women

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

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Details | Couplet | |

Happy Birthday Carol and Antoinette

April seven is joined together in two special ways
My wife and Carol Brown were each born that day

In so many ways, they remind me of each other
For each one has the heart and soul of a mother

Like a great big clown riding a little bitty bike
Antoinette and Carol are the type we naturally like

Two separate women who hold pieces of my heart
Although, each one holds a completely different part

Antoinette was able to see what no one had seen
Inside of this nightmare lived a very beautiful dream

Carol’s beautiful heart was able to help me to see
Poetry Soup was exactly the place I needed to be

Two very different women with two similar souls
Played significant roles in my reaching my goals

One helped me piece together my shattered heart
The other helped me keep it from falling back apart

I think I’m truly about as lucky as any man can be
There are so many different people care about me

Carol is just one of many I love here on the soup
I’m lucky to have landed in such a beautiful group

Carol, never doubt the truth in these words I say
This is the highest complement I could ever pay

To be written alongside a poem with my wife
Means “I Love & Respect” every drop of your life

You’re the very first to have landed in this spot
Old friend I reckon that means I love you a lot

April seventh I’ll proudly find my knee’s and pray 
You’ll have a wonderfully blessed special birthday


i wanted to write Carol a Happy Birthday poem
but I wanted to give it special meaning. Anyone
who knows how much I love, admire, and adore 
my wife; knows that for me to place someone in
a poem alongside her, is the highest complement
I could ever make. Carol thank you for the love,
friendship, support and prayers you have given me 
over the years. I'm very honored to be your friend.










Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Lyric | |

Garden Rose

Written August 21, 2013


There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed

But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red

She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone

Copyright © Brandon Carter

Details | Rhyme | |

I'm Not the Kind of Person God Wants Me to Be

I’m not the kind of person I need to be! There’s too many problems inside of me! I’m not the kind of person you’d want to know… I’ve too many worries and a troubled soul! I’m the kind of person who has a lot of stress! Lately, my life has been one big mess! I’m the kind of person who doesn’t have a friend. You listen to me now… But may never see me again! I’m the kind of person who’s gone through pain! I wake up some days, and don’t even know my name! I may not be the kind of person you’d want to be around. I may get discouraged, and “get you down.” I’m the kind of person who’s giving Jesus a chance… I know he loves me! Whatever the circumstance! I’m the kind of person who needs a lot of prayer! I know that God listens! And is always there! Please help me Jesus! That I may be set free! May it be your love that others will see! Thank you Jesus! For being my savior and friend! You’re someone that this person can always depend! I’m not the kind of person that Jesus wants me to be! That’s why I need more of HIM! And LESS of me! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)





Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Ballad | |

Antigone

I am the face of misery
My life, a dissonance of autumn and spring,
The years are written in the same
Lugubrious, nostalgic grey
How can it be the author to blame?
I cannot scream this all away…
Burn nor Bleed this all away…
To Death I am Ordained

Lacuna ever growing
With Velvet sheets of life flowing
Aeons apart of my "royalty"
Under the mask the cannot see...
Can you dispel this tragedy:
Antigone - Epiphany failing

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

No words of hope
No words of hate
Do I have Lenore to send to me:
The sordid child of Thebes
Caught In the longest nightmare
life - the slowest way to die

I know this is my life 
But I'm not under control
under the mask the will see
Just Another Human

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

Can you dispel my life; this tragedy?
Can you control the storm in my mind?
I'm asking you: can you rid me
Of The Curse of Antigone?

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | I do not know? | |

'Give me drink, rest, and solitude'

Give me drink, rest, and solitude--
these are all the things I long for.
Give me as well your finest food
and I'll ask of you, lass, no more!

My bonnie lass, what's the matter--
why are you all sorry and alone?
Don't be sad because you're fatter
than most, lass, for love loves its own.

Sweet lass, I'll tell you a secret.
If I were a young lad again,
I'd pursue you without regret!
But as I am three-score and ten

years old, indeed, I can never
be the youthful lad you most need.
But your pain won't be for ever:
for your heart will refuse to bleed.



Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen

Details | Lyric | |

Bob, the Forgotten Valentine and Greedy Double Dater

My friends, this saga slowly unfurls
 a love story that went quickly awry,
 seems greedy Bob dated a pair of girls
 when with one, to the other he’d lie.
 
The homlier girl’s name was Edith
 who, nonetheless Bob was fond of,
 but, greedy Bob wanted to live out the “myth”
 and with sisters, he was sure to find love !
 
He began slyly asking about sister Kate
 for her beauty was equalled by few,
 she was young, and he believed her well worth the wait
 she had enough sex appeal for two !
 
Bob’s antics had him severely troubled
 because, he covered his tracks day and night,
 his love-making prowess had quickly doubled
 so his lovelife was going just right !
 
Well, finally Bob’s saga ended in terror
 because the girls both found out what he’d done,
 Bob had mixed their names up, in a passionate error
 and what transpired next, was not very fun !
 
One of the sisters had taken Bob’s life
 because he’d proven he couldn’t be “true”,
 and the lesson he learned, at the end of that knife
 taught, “you can’t have your Kate…..and Edith, too !

Copyright © david goodwin

Details | Rhyme | |

I'm a Muslim I'm not a Terrorist

I am a Muslim, I’m not a “terrorist”.
How can I be a terrorist
when I’m against all kinds of injustice.

I’m against every act of sin and evil.
I hate all kinds of crime and even loathe
what Adolf did to the innocent Jewish people.

I hate what God hates; He (Allah) hates oppression.
I’m against stealing, against taking away
people’s loved ones and belongings for no reason.

I’m against suicide bombings,
against racism, against ignorance,
against self-harm and even derision.

What God hates I hate and God (Allah) hates
oppression. I hate it too when people fight
for foolish nationalistic reasons.

I’m a Muslim; I follow the true religion
of mercy from Allah the Most Merciful
Who simply wants us to answer His Call
to believe in Just One -Just One God of all.

So don’t call me a “terrorist” when I clearly
don’t have a ‘mass destruction’ weapon
and my goal in life is to
be with our God (Allah) in Heaven.

Copyright © Mariam Mababaya

Details | Rhyme | |

The halo effect

If there is one thing I remember
It is what life told
Just open your eyes
All that glisters may not be gold
So who is to blame and whose fault I hold
The halo effect, the one in disguise
Manifesting deception in front of thy eyes
Treat one different because of their look
Why read? Judge the cover of the book?
But you do read others because they don’t have the look
If you understand, how long has it took?
The halo effect, we magnify a trait
Condone the flaws, we magnify a trait
Attractiveness, is this what you mean?
All this talk, my perception a feign?
What I see, aint what it seem?
Huh, thanks for this, as well as that.
The halo effect, my mind was hacked. 

Copyright © Darian Brown

Details | Haiku | |

MUSIC - HAIKU

Play The Radio Get Up And Dance All Night Long Music Heals The Soul

Copyright © humble b

Details | Free verse | |

A Departing Memory

I know you.
Candles lit, incense fuming,
You like it when I bite your neck, just hard enough.
Blankets thrown about the room
So recklessly, they refold themselves.

And we roll down a hill together,
Kissing the leaves, tickling with our eyes,
Laughing with our hearts.
"You'll just leave me for the next girl you find."
"Yes," I say. Because only
Nothing
Lasts forever.
And it spills through the cracks in your hands
The moment you grasp it.
Like water from a stone.
She bites my neck
Drawing lines of ecstasy down my back with her fingernails
Spilling into me, fighting my words.
"I leave when the sun sets."



Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | I do not know? | |

The Nameless - for South Africans of all colours who fought for freedom


The Nameless


Slipping through the sieve of history,

the nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built.

Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled.

The nameless rest.

Their silent sacrifice,

quiet ordeal,

muted trauma,

remain interred,

amongst their remains.

The nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited.

Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed.

The nameless rest.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

in every step that we tread.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

for their spirit is not dead.


“Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal”
- inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow


Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten.


My sister’s middle name ‘Nobandla’ which is an isiXhosa name and means “she who is of the people” was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father’s ‘best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent’s wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Personification | |

Birth of a Poet

The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”

Copyright © Spenser Jones

Details | Haiku | |

What People Were and What People Are

People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

branded

  if we could write a scarlet letter
in a world where there is no shame
and place it on a hester prine
just to shame her name
could we find another letter
to represent the womans scorn
and place the letter on her breast
ever to be worn
what would make the woman suffer
the intended consequence
could a conscious spur a soul
into moral consciousness
could a letter change her fate
from being evil to becoming good
and with the added question
did it harm the neiborhood

are all women judged by letters
as harmfull as she
all women judged by letters
to recieve a guilty plea
and all women judged by letters
to wear this ugly blot
and never be free from the sin
that made the awful spot

hester had integrity and hester had a skill
neither man of god or judge of men
could break our hesters will
hester had determination 
and hester had her pride
she was not a rat 
and yet she never lied
throught the years friends turn into enemies
and foes become good friends
a letter became a decoration
and no longer a mark of shame
soon the world would learn the truth
and the truth can set you free
it's not about who they say you are
it's about who you'll be

when the world sends the letters
and they come to you as mail
don't ignore the letters
answer them very well
when the world sends you letters
through the whispers of friends
don't believe everything
said by so called friends
when the world sends you letters
judging your moral values
take a look at yourself and be honest
do you really have to?
and when the world sends you letters
about your lower class
i don't even have to tell ya, you know.

Copyright © The Situation

Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.







Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Free verse | |

Freedom in Love

Keeping my head up, treading water
Cut throat surviving, struggling
Going under, death visits
Will to live, tested!
Selfishness Vs Selflessness
A Greater Love, encompasses me
God demonstrating mercy, for his children
Learning about forgiveness, cultivating, inner faith
Melody of Love, one can experience
In the darkest, waking hours, of everyday living
Self survival, learning how to live
Peace of Mind, Peace of Heart
Peaceful Spirit, Freedom in Love

Copyright © Amy Rose

Details | Haiku | |

THE WOMAN WHO WAITED TOO LONG


THE WOMAN WHO WAITED TOO LONG

               Empty womb
        Springs tumble winters
              The clock ticks

            Plum blossoms
         Yearnings of passion
               Wept away

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop

Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.

Copyright © Molly McCarthy

Details | Rhyme | |

Paper Thin

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
For kicks is why I do it now.
You tell me to love but I never knew how.
Our feet hitting pavement,
We spent the day in sunny California with sun kissed skin.
I’m learning to forget and how to fade scars,
And you let me let myself down so hard.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
And now I just do it for smiles,
We’ll never see flower girls stumbling down aisles.
I’d lose my head just before that chance,
But if you want we can still have a first dance.
Cause I think I say things that I don’t mean,
Once upon a time you meant the world to me.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
But I’m trying to refrain,
To make this not all end up in vain.
Maybe I can learn to love like some people do,
And you can learn to love yourself a little too.
Or it is in all fairness to let this go?
I guess we can try but then we’ll never know. 

Copyright © Ag Ki

Details | Lyric | |

Women Who LOVE Football - VERSION 2

Women Who LOVE Football
Are DIFFERENT from the rest
They live their LIFE with PASSION
They love their FAMILY best.

They aren’t afraid to get their hands DIRTY
They are not afraid to FIGHT
They know how to put their GAME FACE on
Attempting last DOWN's under Stadium lights.

They are always ready to EXECUTE their OPTIONS
They always plan to SCORE
They have a sense of PURPOSE
And are STRONGER than they think.

They WILL NEVER GIVE UP without a fight
They always PLAY by all the RULES
They have a positive ATTITUDE
They always keep their COOL.

Women who LOVE Football
Will always WIN with STYLE
And if they ever happen to LOSE
They will always lose with DIGNITY
Leaving their problems upon the FIELD.

(Version 2 revised December 21, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)

(December 21, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved


Copyright © christine a kysely

Details | Verse | |

America's Veterens

God bless the man
who made the stand
to keep America free
from the beginning of
America’s history

for over 200 years
our men and women have
stood in harms way
who believed in America
to keep her free

honor and sacrifice are 
just two of the qualities
that reside in the hearts
and minds of our heroes
who ask nothing in return
for them selves 

only to serve, protect and defend
the greatest country in history
where freedom rings though out the land

today is May 31, 2010
we honor all that men and women have done
and all the battles they have won

how many lives have been cut short 
and buried in graves through out the world
knowing that they would never return 
to share in the freedoms they fought for

so I say again God bless the man and woman
who have served 
alive or passed into history

God damm the liberal left traitors in America 
Who sit on their ass hiding in the tall grass
that have no intentions to serve

Dennis H. Davis

Copyright © Dennis Davis

Details | I do not know? | |

Cheer

Helping the warriors of the sport,
Gleaming in high spirits even when their team is down,
Their call and dance rallies the crowd.
They are the leaders of the fans,
But they are so much more.
Their agility and dancing bring hope to the worried team.
They train like warriors on the field,
They are athletes themselves,
They are the messengers of the fans to say,
"We believe in you."

Copyright © John Henry Galas

Details | Senryu | |

Profound Question

If Adam ate first
Of the Forbidden Apple
Would women rule Earth?

Copyright © Tara Andre

Details | I do not know? | |

You and I



You and I.


You.

Your heart blazed,
with a warmth of spirit,

soothing,

alluring,

soaked in truth.



Your smile burned,
branding me permanently,

gentle,

tender,

enveloping my being.



Your love was complete,
from the depths of your soul,

unsaid,

yet fierce,

bathed in silent knowing.



Your dreams were poetic,
fluttering in the afternoon breeze,
infused with the distilled essence of rhyme.


I.

I squandered your generosity of spirit.

I vainly discarded your priceless poems.


Now I stand,

alone,

empty,

desolate,

wasting away,

rotting inside, day by day.



Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

My mother

she was an angry woman
not much love, 
she wouldnt put up with a man
abusing her, 
the mistake women made then,
prostitution for security,
selling your heart for money,
she regretted having me,
lost freedom,
tied down,
single mom, poor,
abused by the culture,
her love was shown
in that she didnt abandon us,
even though she was tempted,
her mother wasnt that strong,
my heart didnt value that,
i wanted to be wanted, loved.

I saw the other children, 
wanted, loved, rich,
my blinders on, 
rose coloured glasses,
envy, despair, no self esteem, 
worthlessness, less than human,

not expensive enough clothes,
not nice enough car,
"drop me off a block from school"
"I am not shopping at wal-mart"

something i didnt notice then
i have always been blessed with beauty
i never even saw the girls that adored me
too afraid, to poor, to stupid, 

If my mother didnt love me, how could another?
greedy, selfish women, angry, 
years of oppression, and taking it out on me,
the male, the enemy, "no love from mommy".

Now i pay the price for my fathers oppression.
the gay guys arent as wierd as i thought,
at least they are getting laid. 

The women i meet now, 
if i love them
i am not good enough for them
if i use them or tell them how pathetic they are,
they love me, addicted, cant leave. 

On occassion i love a weaker girl,
i see their potential,
usually sexually abused as a child,
they will leave, hate me, 
for my honesty, 
too afraid of love, of closeness,
get pregnant and leave or kill themself,
one or the other, such drama,
If a child wont end their suffering 
then death will. 

What did i do to deserve this?

Copyright © Michael Harman

Details | Free verse | |

Scars of an Inner Child

You are not the man, you want to be
You said you were my Father, till, I discovered different
Enduring, daily beatings
Bashing the living day lights, out of a woman and a child
Repetitive, bad ass attitude, nasty streak
Mean and aggressive!
Fists, knives and guns, your weapons of chose
Out of control, abusive, devious
Relentless, over – bearing!
Breaking me, piece by piece
Confusing a child, with unhealthy love
Hand fed your bullshit, brain washed
Using me as your human, punching bag
This innocent child’s blood, staining your callas hands
My child’s curiosity, asking you one day
“Why do you hurt me and Mum?”
Your retort: “I am not your blood!”
I didn't understand, back then
Now, as an adult, I clearly understand!
Believe me, when I say
There was never a day that went past
That you didn't remind me of that!
My freedom, restrained
My sanity, tested
Caged, like a wild bird in captivity
Behind bars, looking out
 Here, I am today, free from your grip
Nursing, this inner child’s, bleeding love

Copyright © Amy Rose

Details | Rhyme | |

The Bourgeois and the Spinning Wheel

In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams

Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay

The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways 
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire 
She presses her finger on the thorn 
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Ballad | |

Detoured Dreams

I always thought of heaven,
as a warm, New England Fall day. 
The leaves were shining brighter
than the street post lamps at midnight. 
I’m cruising along the highway. 

Passing scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us?
Everything that was -is 
fortunately apart of today.  

And I write-
because it relieves my pain. 
I create
because it’s nice to remember how to love.
Am I therefore less worthy, 
if I one day choose to make money, 
off my lovely creations?

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
Legend has it at one time, 
that’s what he wanted out of life.

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
What if someone had embraced this passion, this skill?
He could have sipped wine, 
painted on blank canvases,
and basketed in reflection of the moon.

He could have
Made love, 
and wrote songs, 
and Praised God, 
for the fortune of being able to dream. 
 
Instead, 
He abandoned his love for creation,
His love of art, 
praised only the devil
and became crazed with hate,  
millions were slaughtered, 
millions had to pay the price.
How tragic can life be?  

But now, 
I’m Passing through scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us? 
Everything that was -is 
unfortunately apart of today.  

we never know just how much
shutting down one little, tiny, persons dream
can effect so many other people’s dreams.
and the generations to come. 

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
 would it have spared us some?

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs

Details | Rhyme | |

What's Happening to Marriages Today

What’s Happening to Marriages Today?

I was listening to someone just the other day…
And I couldn’t believe what he had to say!

He had left his wife and children for another!
She was young enough to be his daughter!

Here they were, “in love” and holding hands!
Hoping to soon, get their “wedding bands!”

They were pretending that this was so “cool.”
Living now by their own “set of rules!”

How sick and disgusting this is getting to be!
Is this something that many can’t see?

God gave us Adam and Eve to become one.
To bear fruit through daughters and sons!

He gave us marriage as holy vows are made.
Not to march in an “adulterous parade!”

We are treading on very dangerous ground!
Faithfulness and commitment 
are scarcely found!

The very definition of marriage is changing!
As the family unit is always rearranging!

Our only hope is in Jesus!  And him alone!
Let’s promote his love! Into our hearts and home!

Let’s allow his love to be our heart’s glue!
And bring new meaning to the words; “I love you!”

May his love bind our hearts and lives together!
And remain faithful to each other forever!

By Jim Pemberton    

Copyright © Jim Pemberton