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On Writing And Words Dedication Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Dedication

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Details | Epic | |

Pledge of love and loyalty

This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.

For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.

I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.

I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.

This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.

I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing

 

to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever

I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.

For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown

I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…


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.


Details | Light Poetry | |

A Merry Band Of Adventurers Part 1 of 2

There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me

The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest

& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers

There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys

There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells  … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted

There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove &  Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search:  For Soup & Treasure-Trove

Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A  Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !

There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay

There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That  Sir Lamoureu Pledge

Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But  She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords

We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman

Part 1  of  2


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


Details | Free verse | |

Shar W, Sharon T, Emilia, Charma, Ruben, Mitch, Phong, and Hicky

Smiles light my eyes as I think of them, 
I see them as my Soup waves~
they come and go, they go and come,
these people who've lit up my visits here
Some of them fleeting, some of them lasting,
those moments instilled in me forever...I hope they wave hello

She is the epitome of substance and class,
a Huge honor for me to call her friend
She's the ever graceful angel,
with her beautiful poetry, with her thoughtful actions
It's always a treat when I see her pass here,
Sweet Shar, thank you so much for always being there!

Another precious gem is she, my friend beyond poetry,
she's been an inspiration even before Soup
Her eloquent poems always touch my heart,
I miss how her memorable verses flow effortlessly...
And even if I only see her once in a blue moon,
Wonderful, caring Sharon, I'm so grateful for your lasting friendship!

She is like me in so many ways, Emilia is such a dear
Her poetry speaks right through me, a deep soul
that swims in an ocean of thoughts and dreams
How I hope this sweet Pisces girl lends flavor back here
In any case, I'm so thankful that I've gotten to know her...
Dearie, poetry hugs us, as I do, te imbratisez!

The charming Charma is also unforgettable,
her sweet and romantic words are always a pleasure to read.
She's someone I've also shared dessert recipes with,
together with hopes, prayers and dreams...
She always leaves wonderful encouraging words
Lovely friend, I'm so thankful for the support you've given me!

and although fleeting, these men have always made me smile...

Ruben, his smile alone can light up the page...
His wise, witty words and ever generous heart
pave the way for memorable poetry that leaves lumps in throats--
I hope you're doing good wherever you are, thank you for fun times!

Mitch, I wonder where he's driving now, 
whether someone else has captured his heart?
A talented man who can write poems in a flash, 
thank you for the inspiring and kind words, I hope you're doing ok!

Phong, haiku guy in search for the perfect rump...
Makes me think if he ever found a non-jiggly one for his rotisserie
Shame, he was here only for a short while, but ah, the laughter he elicited
Thanks so much for that, I hope you're dabbling more in free verse poetry!

Hicky, the ever sweet old gentleman with kind words...
his poetry always left me with a sense of wonder and smiles.
How I pray that he's doing good, and that his book writing is doing well,
Thank you my dear Hicky, I sure miss you here!



-nikko :)


Details | Free verse | |

Comments Better Than Gold

Truth is easy to write as its fluidity resonates! At times I read people well, and sometimes, not This is one of those times I have it right, I believe He’s an excellent poet with a gentle soul Blessed with a wealth of knowledge Already excelled in the craft, now he writes for the joy Self-assurance shows and he's confident of his worth Honor he bestows when he leaves comments on my poems We are graced by the presence in our midst Of a Doctor of Literature, so unassuming Always courteous and seemingly devoid of ego That he would bother to read my poems Tells me I am not too bad at all I can tell when he truly enjoys the read And when he’s merely being polite For me, Dr. Ram’s comments are better than gold ~*~
For: Joe Maverick's "Better than Gold" Contest Annalise Brigham


Details | Haiku | |

It is now

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


Details | Bio | |

Maurice Glenn Turner and Randy Thompson: Fallen Heroes

Glenn Turner and Randall "Randy" Thompson were the best police officer and volunteer firefighter in all of Cobb County, Georgia, until March 1995 (WWF Monday Night Raw and WWF Wrestle-Mania XI) and January 2001 (Raw Is War, WWF SmackDown!, and the WWF Royal Rumble) when their lives were taken away from their loving families by Julia Lynn Womack: aka the "Black Poisoning Widow." It seems that it was these two guys in uniform who married the same woman, especially when she was after their money, totaling hundreds and thousands of dollars, even in life insurance. Glenn and Randy have been killed by a deadly liquid by the form of Etheline Glycol rich antifreeze; Lynn Turner used it to spike that of lime-flavored gelatin (green Jell-O), sweet iced tea, and chicken noodle soup. Now, how cold-blooded was that? But to be honest, Maurice G. Turner and Randy Thompson, God rest their souls, really never should've met this gold digging assassin named Julia Lynn Womack (who's now dead) to begin with. Their families, their colleagues, and the citizens of Cobb County, Georgia, they still don't understand why the lives of these two men have to end in a tragic manner. They've got a bunch of whole lives ahead of them. But now that Lynn Turner, who killed both her police officer husband and her firefighter boyfriend, is dead, she can't hurt anyone else ever again. Randall and Glenn are no longer with their friends and families (including their moms), but their spirits will live on forever and they'll see their loved ones in heaven one day. And as for Julia Lynn Womack-Turner, she got what was coming to her and may she burn in the giant pit of inferno for all eternity.


Details | Verse | |

Enigma's Calling

Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
 
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
 
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
 
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
 
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
 
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart


Details | Rispetto | |

In Dreams

Draw near in the dark of floating, misty dreams, appear to me, my love, as you used to be, from cold bitter death, leave your Paradise stream, open the gate and drift silently to me, and kiss me, kiss me, my love, within this dream. Inspiration from the poem, Echo, it seems. Christina Rossetti wrote of seclusion, of dreams and lost love with sensual passion. Rispetto January 8, 2013 For the contest, Poetry About Poetry


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Patricia Adams - An Alaskan Light ... '

She, Of The Cosmic Essence
Aware Of A Power
Aware Of A Presence
And Aware Of The Need For Our
Desire To Rise Higher
… and Higher
To Our Optimum Height
Patricia … You Are Like The Alaskan Lights
Those Northern Flares and Colors In Cold Night 
Floating Dreams, So Mesmerizing
Patricia, Brings It To Her Poetic Themes
Such Are The Verses She Shares To View
And Reading Them, She's Showing You
Her Cosmic Essence Insight
Oh Patricia, You’re An Alaskan Light …
So, Keep Reaching, Keep Speaking … and Write !


For The Girl, Who Shared A Comfy, Snug Book Read
On One Of Her Snowy Days … (Via Her Poem- ‘Autumn’s Passing’ 
Also - Your Poem ‘Journey’ is One)
See … It Brought Back Some Wonderful Memories To Me …

                   Your Poet-Friend,
         
                           The  MoonBee


Details | Senryu | |

' Raul Moreno, Poet - Sensei ... ' 56th Senryu

‘ Raul Moreno, Poet- Sen•sei … ’   56th  Senryu


   Like Marco Polo
Haiku Master, Moreno
Explores Nature’s Show


From Magnanimous Me (he! he!)  (LOL)
             Love Your Poetry, 
        Your Poet-Pal, MoonBee


Details | Pantoum | |

The Tales He Tells

He paints my world with words and phrases
meant to stir emotions, deep.
Tales of intrigue that amazes,
into my soul his stories seep.

Meant to stir emotions deep,
the tales he tells cast a spell.
Into my soul his stories seep
taking me to heaven or hell.

The tales he tells cast a spell,
leaving me waiting on every line.
Taking me to heaven or hell
as if each story were only mine.

Leaving me waiting on every line,
tales of intrigue that amazes.
As if each story were only mine
he paints my world with words and phrases.


Details | Rhyme royal | |

TO ANDREA DIETRICH FROM ANDREW CRISCI

To the happy lady behind those black shades,
I dedicate my poem as an exchange gift
for her incredible kindness and gracious wit...
even her words amaze the youngest lads!


Since her work was featured on Poetry Soup years ago,
I've become her admirer, and avidly read every poem she writes
with the passion and aspiration of a true poetess who immensely delights;
and doesn't she always capture the reader's attention with her unselfish ego? 


Many are the dreams she has...as we all do for another laud,
and from her insightful thoughts written with refined style;
who wouldn't be her loyal fan and often drop her a line?
Read all of her poems and feel what makes her proud!


Sweet and lovely friend, accept my dedication
and add this name to the memoirs of your ambition;
sincere and kind friend, isn't honor the greatest joy 
when someone such as me praises you as Helen of Troy?


Details | Couplet | |

SOUPS ON

         Writing is my challenge each day
     But it's not the words or what to say.

     It is the connection with other writers here
     Because I feel I'm not worthy or equal I fear.

     The talent expressed by so many others
     Often makes me want to hide under the covers.

     The gems that are written and ones that I read
     Are so inspired, personal, and give me a need.

     That's why I come here every time
     To see what others have put in their rhyme.

      Carolyn always has a message for me to ponder
      And others write things that make me wonder.

      I often race to the "New Poems"  just to see
      If by some chance there's one by which P.D has destroyed me.

      And Carol, Bob, Nick, Emily, Wilma, and "the Sweetheart"
      Write things that sometimes I just can't pull apart.

      The Doc has written so many things
      I am amazed sometimes at the thoughts he brings.

      Others are here who write so well
      Their words do me so oft compel.

      For like unto them I want to be
      Writing words that have meaning for others to see.

      Will they be worthy I say when I'm done
      Or will they be read by others, as I've intentioned.

      You know I feel so many emotions just now
      Because of all these writers, I just don't know how.

      For they are a driving force for me
      And part of my challenge each day is to make them see.

      That because of them I have to write
      Sometimes into the wee hours of the night.

      To pick a favorite writer is...well a difficult choice
      So I pick them all, because they shout with one voice.

      "Write, you fool, then write some more"
      Words I hear and cannot ignore.

      So I choose them all...all here in this group
      The ones who have made me hungry for Soup.

      There, I've said it...and you know that's not in haste
      The Soupers that are here are the best of all to taste.


      



Details | Acrostic | |

Poetry Soup

Poets sharing their hearts and souls
Openly and honestly with each other
Expressing their deepest feelings
Truly understanding and caring
Rights of others shall be respected
Yearning to offer everything we can

So much variety, the spice of life
Opens many doors of knowledge
Understanding others views on life
Provides us with each others blessings



You know not a day goes by that I
don't feel like I should do more to
show you all how important you are
to me. I love you all and I'm not
ashamed to say when your poems
are sad I cry, when their happy I 
laugh and when they teach I learn.
"Provides us with each others blessings"
Thats what the soup is! Thank you
"Team Poetry Soup", Michael


Details | I do not know? | |

Why Do I Write

Out of all the questions I have been asked in life
None of them stump me more like this:

Why do I write?

It does not stump me because it’s tricky
It stumps me because it’s a stupid question to ask

Why do I write?

Because there’s nothing more relaxing than it.

Sure sometimes it’s frustrating
Difficult, fundamentally challenging
But that’s part of the beauty of it

Letting you emotions spill out across the page
And knowing that people read it
That people expect who you are
It’s brilliant

When you live a life of not speaking up
Of being that quite person in the background
Expressing yourself is… magnificent

I’m not me when I write
Something takes over me, controls me
So much so that I don’t really know what I am writing consciously
But it works so well 

I guess some people will never understand 
The joy in it all

When you're my age and you develop some characteristic
That doesn’t suit the normal criteria you get picked on

It happens, you can’t stop it
But I feel sorry for them

Expressing yourself through writing is one of my greatest joys
And I’m not going to stop
Not now
Not ever 


Details | Free verse | |

PoetrySoup

PoetrySoup …

I Was Heartily Welcomed… As I Sat At Your Table
By:  Carol, Sara, Carolyn, Dane Anne,  Moses, and Abel
               Tim, Leon, John, Michael, Jim and Yoni
               Deborah, Krista, Adeleke and Charlie
   …  James, The (Two) Ruben(s) and (The Quik-Composer) Raul
   …  and Many, Many More, I Love to Hear At Dinner-Call !

                  The PoetrySoup …

… It Has Member – Mushrooms
Chew and Chat Lunchrooms
Delectable  Hors d'oeuvre
Every Ear-Full… Heard
Every Mouthful… Taste
Spoonful of Gourmet Grace
Voila’ Words, Don’t Waste
Simmer-Slow and Baste’

In Dug-up, Sweet Potatoes
  Ripe Food for Thought Tomatoes
And Onions, That Will Make You Cry
Artichokes and Lemons that Squeeze – ‘til You Die
Garlic and Oregano Are Just Some Suggestions
And Here’s Some Mint… for Your Digestion
Parsley to Parley and Jive-Chives, Just Keep Stirring
But There’s No Clam Chowder, Shrimp, or Herring

A Dash of This… A Dash of That Seasoning
A Pinch of That and Sprinkle This Reasoning…
On The Side with the Mustard and Relish, so Fresh
Are the Cucumber-Contest and Radish Requests
And I Can’t Forgo the Tongue-in-Cheek Puns…
Your Laughter is Passed Around, like Hot-Buttered Buns !

…  Poets … Are Proverbial Peas In The Pod
The Harvesters of Herbs-Heard, in The Garden of God
so... Salt and Pepper to Your Superb Style
Did You Say Cheese, Please ?... ( Full Mouth Smile !)
There’s Hot Chicken Broth, When You Are Cold
Everybody Knows… Its Good For The Soul
And All That’s On The Human Menu… It’s In There !
… Even A Mother’s … Tenderized Care
Like Campbell’s Brand… Its Umm… Umm… Good !
The Aspire – Asparagus, I Took… I Understood
So, PoetrySoup’s Cupboard is Never Bare
And There Ain’t No Bones, No Medium, Just Rare
And On The Star-Burner… Is The Savory Meat
So… Grab A Heartbeat-Bowl… and Bona Petit’…

Yes, Thank You, PoetrySoup
(You’re Up There with MoonBee’s FruitLoops !)

It Has Been A Pleasure Getting To Know You All 
Thru Your Beautiful Expressions, Coming Straight
From Your Warm and Welcoming Hearts

God Bless You......

MoonBee


Details | Senryu | |

' Devonshire and Fraser ... ' 44th Senryu

‘ Devonshire and Fraser … ’      44th   Senryu

Some Poems, Highland Fling
Kilt-Clad-Portrait, Scotland’s Theme
The Laird of Sweet-Dreams

Devonshire, The Dove
A Vision Of Light and Love
Highland, Speaks Well Of …

Together They Write
All Combinations Delight
Deep Thinkings, With Might


For:          The Dynamic-Duo of Poetry Soup
      James Fraser and Carolyn Devonshire – ( 2 Scoops)
                  You’re In My Must Read Group …

                              Your Poet-Friend,
                                        
                                             The  MoonBee


Details | Verse | |

Two Poets

There were two poets I use to know
One upon words would blow
Like an abeng, and tell of battles
In the heart, where history rattles
Us still, driving destiny like a cart
From the speech's freedom in the art.
This man, this Christopher Higgins
Does come again in the polar winds?

The other's words were long telescopes
Dissecting the distant galaxies of desire
A man whose life formed the tropes
For existential certitude in ancient fire
This man made me walk strange cities
In smoky bars, at the shadowy edge of men
This Williams, Colin Mitchel that defies
The paradigm of same, will he come again?


Details | I do not know? | |

A Souper Good Bye

how do i say good  bye
to a group of girls 
and a crowd of guys
and try to speak
with tears in eyes
of struggles we have
vocalized
of emotions we have
emphasized
of passions we have 
recognized
of feelings we hope others
realize
of truth a little 
compromised
in short
we let the world know 
that we spoke
and that we spoke
eloquently

God made broken hearts 
pick up pens
and write what 
he was saying to them
God took creative minds
and wrote purposes
so divine
God put love in lonely hearts
that picked up pens
and created art
and unlike most
that toast the occasion
tempted by the devil
to drink and forget
we the scribes
chisel our words in stone
reminding our posterity
that they are not alone
each and every word has grown
and some times spoken from
the Throne
our speech, our claim
our poem
WILL LIVE ON!


Details | Couplet | |

Guess What Phyllis, I Tagged You

After reading your comment to Sharon so true
I decided oh yes, I must tag Phyllis to

”Tag game” is about people sharing their heart
It would sure be special if you shared your part

It seems sometimes we just run out of time
Remember when a phone call cost a dime

So did a bottle of soda as a matter of fact
Remember the machines when they slid on a track

Well hopefully not because these words are true
Remembering those things means you’ve seen life to

So many changes between those times and now
Now days they have lasers that operate the plow

With me it all changed way faster than most
Years in day is the story of a convict ghost

But that is the past and praise God I am free
Exercising my right to tag Phyllis you see

Every game should have a Mentor Raul is his name
He was tagging us all without knowing of the game

I’m tagging Phyllis and giving honor to Raul
For without a doubt he is a model for us all

------------------------------------------------------
You know a while back the "Tag" game was a part
of our site. This was a very special part of our site
and Raul with his unselfishness writing Poem's to 
members on our site reminded me of this and to be
honest I tried hard to ignore the impulse. So in Honor
of "Our Mentor" lets bring that special part of our Soup
Back, spend our time writing of love instead of some knack.


Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!


Details | Lyric | |

More Than Words...

Once again as my pen fails the page
In a humble but sincere effort
To honor my loving sage

As I ponder and attempt to deduce
In a low, soft chuckle, “more than words”
My rhetorical excuse

By function; words exact, color and define
And with Webster’s sword levied I chase
Definition of you into the sublime

Concept, newly born of insight and ash
Presents no attempt at justice
So its fate is sealed to trash

And alas, as a thousand times tense
I seek to corral feelings
By pen within paper fence

For moment’s sake, suppose these words I cannot cage
I humbly offer in place of love song
The feelings that surround this page


Details | Concrete | |

I know I can Be a Bad Man

Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

I think about life, I think about my everyday strifes
I know I love you girl you the mama of my children
You already like my wife
I know I have cheated from time to time 
but you the only one who I sleep with at the end of another long night

Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

I know I like to drink yet it feels like I love that alcohol
This liqour and beer is my number one downfall
If it werent so then the crazy *****in my life now I would have never saw
I would have never ended up sitting in prison for breaking the law

Yeah I know I can be a bad man
But I just want people to understand
I do what I must, I do only what one can

It's alright now though because Im back in school
I know I struggle at times but Im reframing from being another lost fool
I know it bull-*****even though many youngsters think that *****is cool
But they don't know if they been where I been and still want to do what I do


Details | Rhyme | |

He Makes Me Smile!

As I sat and wrote this poem, I was grateful for my cozy home. I started praying on my knees, And suddenly I could write with ease. I am sure, that if you pray, He’ll be there for you each day. He’ll show you your talents and your calling, And when you are down, He’ll catch you from falling. When I’m praying on my knees, I know it’s Him I’m going to please. By writing these poems and spreading the Word, He knows when they’re read, His voice will be heard! I hope He makes you smile today! I know it happens if you pray!
Michelle D. ©6/15/06


Details | Ode | |

Ode 2 My Poetry

Why can’t I do it how I want to do it?
Been told my rhymes are simplistic at best
I may violate pentameter but I write what I like
Why must it pass some journal’s vapid test?

Behind a block of writer’s I’ve been hiding
Cowed by thoughts of editing snafus
Trying to write deep, intensive tomes of valid lore
Only to be chastened and abused

There’s elegance found in concise expression
Saying all the world in just a line
No matter that I know this I belabor all my thoughts
Create an elegy for elegance in time

Onomatopoeia is my best friend
And alliteration waltzes through my dreams
Thoughts chatter, clatter, chirp and clunk around about my head
Demanding that they be released in streams

And after I have done what I have done here
Exposed my heart by opening my head
I send it forth with hope that someone will enjoy my words
And get rejection letters in their stead

But won’t you like my poem just a little?
I promise it won’t be a trite conceit
You say my writing’s convoluted, so, I strive to simplify it
Then you call my writing sophomoric and cheap

Yet still my writing exists, remonstrating
That whether it be ballad or blank verse
It should be able to do just exactly what it feels like
And it finds you and your editing, perverse

It says it does not care if it is published
Doesn’t want you to consider it profound
For if you did then it might accidentally be common
And make cool people like me put it down

But won’t you like my poem just a little?
At the very least try to be noncommittal


Details | Lyric | |

Amidst Celestial Dark

Billy my brother drifts on a plain
In my mind I still feel his hurting pain
I still see you Billy, seeing me cry
Dad it looks like Billy, he's saying goodbye


He tell me of places that no one has seen
Amidst the celestial dark amongst it's diamond screen
Where no one can sail against the luff
I still see you Billy, why has life been so tough


Billy my brother what would I see
Smiles on our faces once again when we are annealed
Still inside I cry and the reasons why
Billy your gone now, but your so nearby


Billy my brother what would I see
Smiles on our faces once again when we are annealed
Still inside I cry and the reasons why
Billy your gone now, but your so nearby


Billy my brother drifts on a plain
In my mind I still feel his hurting pain
I still see you Billy, seeing me cry
Dad it looks like Billy, he's saying goodbye
Dad he's looking down, there's tears in his eyes







My entry for John Heck's 'Dear John' contest with 'Daniel'
               written by Elton John & Bernie Taupin


Details | Haiku | |

A True Haiku

A fine true haiku
 
Words set in five seven five
 
Poetry breathing


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

A Dark Fairy-tale

A Dark Fairytale

As I was chained, I breathe in.
As I was burned, I breathe out.
As I was cut, I looked down.
As I was broken, I looked up.
As I was destroyed, I closed away.
I had killed myself damaging beyond any repair.
To keep myself closed I chain, cut, burned, and destroyed what was within me, isolation my fear around me. But suddenly as I had nearly been kindled to a shivering light, something braver and stronger then I appeared and took me and held me and once again I was fixed and this is what happened; 
Suddenly I breathed in as I was unchained.
Suddenly I breathed out as my burns disappeared.
Suddenly I looked up as my broken body mended.
Suddenly I looked down as my cuts faded.
Suddenly I was opened up and my destruction was nothing more then a dream
As my knight, you entered that shadow and held me now I grow with a unprofaned radiance.
I was held once more, and my soul emerged.
I was spoken to once more, and my mind went blank.
I was kissed and my body reacted without a second hesitation.
And before I could run away once more, I was trapped.
Unlike my prison I lived in a fairytale, in were I don’t want to live this place anytime soon. What happened then and what happening now are so fair apart it hilarious.
 I’ve forgiven the past, not forgotten it. Prove never to make the same mistakes or else be locked back inside that tower I call my mind. 
Let me in brave knight, into your mysterious ways.
Let me in brave knight let me have secret passages into that world of yours. 
Let me in brave knight so I can truly capture you. 
I was as cold as ice even more then winters hail, but you with a ridged past that icier then I could have imagined is as warm as the summer sun and sweet like spring air.
For saving me, for taking my heart, for releasing me, I’ll become everything you want and then more, I’ll stand by your side and hold you like you held me and I shall be everything you need.
My sweet Knight.







Details | Narrative | |

THE RICHEST HERITAGE OF HUMANKIND

Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same, 
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.


The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,  
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.


Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.


Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and satire...to scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.



Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | I do not know? | |

Simile

A revolution without radicals
is like 
squash casserole without squash.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, and just so ya know, radicalism and violence are two completely unrelated terms.


Details | Light Poetry | |

Butterfly

I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is 
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not  done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am 
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing 
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the 
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside 
 a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...


Written By: Christina A McCullouch 
04/09/2013


Details | Bio | |

I Am Poetry

I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation 
                     of words cascading from a nebulous eye 
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto 
                     a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,

and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly 
                     sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades 
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry 
                     fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,

Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion 
                     itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so 
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever 
                     careering from caustic career path to another new low,

Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s 
                    counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the 
                    fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp 

Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent 
                    with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering 
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond 
                    farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering 

Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and 
                    gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the 
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed 
                    existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a

Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding 
                    gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of 
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels 
                    in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love. 


Praise no other; I am poetry.


Details | Rhyme | |

MY FAVE WRITER

You reckon you're a poet
that title, forego it
though you churn out verse 
at a rate perverse
and polish and tweak
cos perfection you seek 
to replace Mark Twain
but a wish will remain
I rate you no more
than a comment-whore

Yet with ambivalence
masochistic diligence
I seek out your writes
to soar me to heights
with your style unique
all my senses are peaked
silky rhythm and rhyme
your words sing and chime
with admiration I hiss:
there!! your petunia I kissed

For Vie's "Anger and Admiration" contest


Details | Narrative | |

Sunday Morning Blues

Sunday Morning blues

 RIO DE JANEIRO all nights or LAS VEGAS nightlife
After two-three glasses of Twisted Ice Lemon
Or was it an Alabama Slammer?  You mustn’t trust!

My days and nights felt like a Freight train ride 
And that no lie!

Then I remember the Cuban Bulldog who bite me
 Three years ago, in Kissimmee; I think
which left me more than a little weak
 in the knees those feisty drinks

Or was it that wicked, wacky Long Island Ice coffee
Which almost has done me in? 
after watching a news clips of Momar Kadafi
or was it an episode of Friends

 Luckily, for me I met my sweet Marlin Brando
And it was hallelujah and Amen in Key Largo
So many bartenders, so many smokes filled rooms
So, once again here I am nursing
Another Sunday mornings blues.


Details | Couplet | |

A SILVER FOX FUR FOR P D

I wanted to enter the contest offered by P. D.
As I can do couplets like 1 - 2  - 3.

When looking at the list of Foxy things to write
The Silver Fox Fur for P. D. came home to bite.

She doesn't deserve one of reddish hue
But Silver, yes indeed with, she could do.

For the special poetry writes P. D. puts on
Many a contest with them she has won.

Words that flow like "Slam, Bang, Boom"
Could only come from P. D.'s Foxy Room.

When they are read and and read over by me
Sometimes I see how Foxy she can be.

That's the real art in the written form
Doing something outside the established norm.

Words so clever, cute, rewarding, and sly
Make P. D.'s Foxy side show so apparently.

That's why the color of fur cannot be red
It wouldn't fit the gifted nature that fox can tread.

So "A Silver Fox Fur for P. D." is one I would award
To one of the Foxiest writers I am drawn toward!


For P. D.'s Inner Animal Contest.


Details | Concrete | |

Please Don't Asked For My Decision On Anything

Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
The difference between, the Concord or a Jet Plane
The Republican or the Democrats, 
White lies or some faker boldfaces fibbers 
 The donkey audible or the gold $$$ signs
Each of them has his or hers agenda to threaten small businesses
Like our MA & Pa's Country Stores
What is next to give city contract to street whores?


You stole from poor and you gave to the rich
how unfortunate:
investing billions of dollars into useless political funds 
let wait and see which canidiate is going to get the job done

To send a man to the moon is costly 
taking care of a homeless shelter is leisure: and tax deductible
However, giving millions dollars companies a hefty tax break:
                                                                       not so sensible. 


Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
How is the weather outside, it is raining? Sunny or simply gloomy
Because I guarantee one day someone is going to sue me.
Either for libel or slander

 Or just for being a party pooper: Like our famous America future 
Sarah P
Please don’t anybody ask me to decide anything.
 because my views on world politics is shilly-shally.


Details | Alliteration | |

We Beat Until We Battered

We sometimes drink and smoke so much We get beat until we are battered 
Our dreams were like one giant wall of glass where upon they were destined to be shattered
 Broken in a heap of glass we now stay occupied where lost souls continue to gather
 Dark yet so desolate living amongst those were nothing in life but a quick death seems to matter
 It seems as if the harder we try the more below we get needing somekind of ladder
 All I hear are silent screams among gossiping chit chatter 
Our truth is getting skinnier while our lies are well fed by the way the are getting fatter
 Crying souls overcome those that are filled with laughter 
The clock for many of us gets slow but our life train to death only gets faster 
Many of us which remain lost in addiction looking for a positive leader, a mentor, some kind of master
 
But when shyt hits the fan we must remain strong even if we just lost someone close and are feeling sadder
 If life is to throw us those curveballs in a the ring then its time stop mr nice guy and get badder
 You must endure the shyt that you got to endure even if it gets your hands and feet a little tathered
 Life can and will get you drunk so handle your drink or let it bring you down until you can no longer stagger
 You must tell yourself **** them and everybody else because you still got skill even if you aint got swagger
 Just tell yourself "**** they judgements" because you know in your own eyes you still look sharper than a dagger
 SO QUIT ACTING LIKE YOU AINT NEVER BEEN MENTALLY BEAT UNTIL YOUR PERSONALITY WAS BATTERED.....BECUASE IT WHAT YOU MAKE IT IN THE END THAT TRULY MATTERS!!!!!


Details | I do not know? | |

Crucifier (poem story)


On the day He died, I felt ashamed.
Quiet and remorse, I wanted to remain..
Why did I follow the ways of the worldly men?
When they mocked, scorned and spit on him?
I was the cause for what He went through.
I tried to find comfort; but, guilt was all I knew.
I couldn't eat or sleep, knowing He was dead.
Wishing now, I could take back everything I did or said.
When I had no one, He took care of me.
Set in my ways, his caring; I couldn’t see..
When I was ridiculed He didn’t take part.
Every kind thing He did, came from the heart.
He showed love to the rich and the poor.
To the lonely and the broken hearted, He restored.
How could I have been so prideful and blind?
How could I have been so cruel and unkind?
Sadness and guilt would not give up.
I wanted desperately to have taken the cup.
Why did I point at him and yell “Crucify!"
Part of the crowd, I sentenced him to die!
Oh, my Judas heart what have I done!
Oh, heavenly Father, I have betrayed your Son!
Crying and weeping, my heart slowly withers away~
So ashamed of what I took part in and witnessed that day.
As the days and nights slowly wore on.
I knew in my Judas heart what must be done.
In my heart I no longer wanted to live.
My own life, I wanted to give.
I bowed my head, feeling laden with sorrow.
What is the future of man's tomorrow?
I lifted up my face with tear stained delight.
There beyond me a beautiful luminous sight.
Was that Jesus standing there? Or was it a dream?
I wanted to run and tell him those things I said, I didn't mean.
I walked up to him crying and at his feet I knelt.
He looked at me, knowing my heart; what I felt.
He showed me his nail pierced hands~
Why He still loved me, I didn’t understand..
What I did I could no longer face.
But, in loving arms, I realized I was saved by his grace.
He said, He loved me and all men still.
That He died because it was His Father’s will~
That, through him, all men might be saved.
I knew then, in place of ours, his life He gave.
That all men may repent and be forgiven.
To be in heaven eternally~
Not In Hell, forever condemned. 
To reign with the heavenly Father~
For all eternity, where unconditional love abides~
To be with Christ forever~ by His side.


Details | Couplet | |

Where does the Time go

I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…


Details | Ballad | |

Keep Trying

 Im Building my own teepee made from straw Logz 
I try n keep up with my cats but how can I when I cant even trust my own dogz 
I know I have a hard tyme trying to get a simple regular low paying job 
but I shall overcome, I shall rise against all my past tattz and all my ****ing oddz
 I used to be down with the evil d, now Im down with the holy G yeah dats God 
I used to give you nothing Lord now its tyme I start to giving you nodz 
I used to be all about talk, but now cuz of you Lord Im all about walk 
I spit words while I walk through gates locked either bottom or top I still rize till I drop
 I dont stop I shoot guns at fake cops tryna steal my patnaz freedom socks 
but this my life now homie I cant end up lying in chalk 
I walk my talk while I talk my walk through unknown clocks ticking away like my times tock...
 
I running past bumps while Im jumping over dead pits 
I struggle like many, a life of addiction I know its hard to quit 
I just had my first kid....it still hard tryna rize above the past shyt i did....
 I done placed my rez life betz...I done already placed my lifetyme bid 
I cant lie I still smoke n drink but the alcohol from my life rite now like many I struggle to rid
 I try n cover up shyt but how can I cover up tattoos Lord they come without a lid
 everymorn it feels as if I awake to a life full of crap leaving me lil tyme to give a shyt
 but thats life Lord I know now thats how we deal n what we MAKE OF IT 


Details | Quatrain | |

Hats Off To You {Vignette}

heart flutters bearing the news
appointed poet laureate
bows comrades honoring name
gift gabble raising thy brows
expectations of nil
inspirations for others






Tribute To Poetry

And To All The Wonderful Poets
Here In The Soup Bowl
I Bow To Each

Also Entry For
Brian Strand's 
Poet Laureate Contest
GL All


Details | Rhyme | |

A Writer's Longing

My writer, my writer,
where art thou
and our times shared through the pen ? 
I miss our writing together
as I look back
now and then.

My writer, my writer, 
for this I long;
to write with you once again.
Our writing together
a perfect song.
So let’s write my writer and when ?


Details | Villanelle | |

My Hearts Song

These words are my hearts song
I bleed a script on how I feel
The sanctum, to which I belong

Harmony, hate, peace, and love are strong
I am not limited one emotion
These words are my hearts song

Un-veil the scroll of my life’s bond
Enter my lucid mind, over-flowed passion
The sanctum, to which I belong

Inspired by events of breaths prolonged
To exhale, you first must inhale
These words are my hearts song

Burning in my heart so long
This here pen is my ember
The sanctum, to which I belong

In my Eden of words, I do no wrong
With an idle quill between my fingers
These words are my hearts song,
The sanctum, to which I belong.


*Miranda Lambert*©
Started: 4/11/2011
Finished: 4/18/2011


Details | Acrostic | |

It's Just One Word

 Am I the only one who's feeling there is something very wrong with all of this ,
I can't seem to get anybody to listen not even when I raise  my fist.
    How can they not see what I see ,has everybody lost thier mind I say,
Why can't they see what it is that is making them act this way.
   Have you taken a look around to see  there's something that has changed,
When you look into peoples eyes Lord how you can see the rage.
   No compassion  for thier fellow man as if they have never ever cared,
For the future of mankind and how we all should be  aware.
    Saw a friend of mine the other day he was acting a little strange ,
I can't help but wonder just when , how , and who's the blame.
   This power and greed is consuming us all we just can't seem to stop
Stepping on our brothers & sisters as we  race to the top.
   Where's the love ,the kindness ,the hope and faith  we use to live by,
How we allowed ourselves to sink so low I' will never know why.
    Still I will contunue to spread the word which has always been,
Be good and love one another as you are learning not to sin.
    Please don't be another wreck that has been pushed to the side ,
If you' listen to the one and only word you will know why.
    We will all band together so we can stand  tall and free,
It is one simple word and that is love how could you nor see.
TAC


Details | Rhyme | |

A Tribute to Robert L Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF Ret

If he and I were neighbors,
Why, I doubt if we’d be friends.
On many major issues, we’d be
Found on different ends.

Just pick a topic and I know
We never would agree.
Our politics alone would prove
Dissimilarity.

And yet, I love to read his poems
And he reciprocates.
Our writing’s formed a bond of which
There can be no debates.

His rhyming stories crack me up – 
They’re laughter-generators – 
And he’s aware I’m partial to
A poem that mentions “taters!”

So here’s to Robert Hinshaw,
My retired Air Force friend.
I’ll always be a reader of
Whatever he has penned!


Details | Couplet | |

The Pleasure Has Been All Mine

<               I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it's my gift to you
                 Now use it wisely and write about some captioned caught views


                 thus that of an snow-capped mountain with an eagle that soars
                 or white sandy beaches where ribbed tides rolls back to it's shores

             
                 maybe stars and moon dance reflecting off stilled bay's port
                 in ones head you must determine choice of words to now sort


                 from beautiful to just pleasure does not hit it's mark
                 beneath recant memory that caused the ignited spark


                observer of denial you can not destroy ones voice
                within pens stroke there comes a poet with another choice


                seize the day and come bow to the chosen word of the day
                dont let an overpowering object just get away







Written By Katherine Stella  6/26/11

Entry For A Rambling Poet's

Writing In The Sublime


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Death Of A Believer

        DEATH OF A BELIEVER
The death of soul steals slowly through the years
the fog of mind that's never known to be;
brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears
the fate of all that few can ever see.

It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves,
once green and shining in the morning sun,
now setting on it all, in evening grieves
for lack of interest in what life has done.

Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime
and old and tired now beats the heart we knew
life now mundaned by passing of all time,
there's nothing left the heart would like to do.

     Old man, you're numbered to your final breath
      and no one cares for all your sweat and tears,
    your rest is not until it's done in death,
      but keep the faith in what you've done for years.
            © ron wilson


Details | Concrete | |

Play On Bukowski--,for Linda King's Buk sculpture

   -                                                         you dirt dog                                You dirt dog
                                                    grimy as they get
                                                   Heiny in each hand
                                                  one from the ice box
                                                 other from the brothel
                                                    Slouching slurring
                                                    so clear you speak
                                         filtered through the old typewriter
                                        your "Baldwin" or your "Steinway"
                                           Love really is a dog from hell
                                         Play it again "Chopin Bukowski"
                                          Your poetic piano masterpiece!
 

   

   : a tribute to Charles Bukowski                  HERE'S a Link to the BUK Sculpture:
     and Linda Kings Sculpture of 
     this great American poet                                         http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.bukowski-gesellschaft.de/pix/art71linda-1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://bukowski.net/forum/index.php%3Fthreads/bukowski-bust.45/&usg=__5cQH_14jh2_Tyw5KpTdQJdvq7x0=&h=540&w=744&sz=76&hl=en&start=32&zoom=1&tbnid=ebDaiH5RBcXZrM:&tbnh=154&tbnw=201&ei=M7m4TeqlHc7b4wb1ttDfDw&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dlinda%2Bking%2Bbukowski%2Bsculpture%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3Dfwa%26sa%3DX%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1120%26bih%3D518%26tbm%3Disch0%2C6930%2C693&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=820&vpy=215&dur=481&hovh=191&hovw=264&tx=188&ty=92&page=3&ndsp=11&ved=1t:429,r:4,s:32&biw=1120&bih=518


Details | Quatrain | |

THE RHETORIC LANGUAGE OF WHAT LIFE SEEMS

And you all thought
that after reaching home,
I would jump in the shower so fast
and off to bed...I'd snooze to end my boredom?

On my lunch hour I take a light nap,
it's beneficial to your health the doctor confidently says;
and should I ever see a scary, black cat
running across my windshield...a nightmare surely begins.


Working hard in a warehouse
with people and forklifts in full swing,
I must be more alert than a mouse
being chased by a bunch of hungry cats drooling.


To sit at my desk and write a poem for a new contest:
is a challenging and rewarding experience for an obscure poet;
and while others sleep and their spirits float in mysterious dreams,
I reflect over the rhetoric language of what life seems. 


Details | Tanka | |

'To Joe Maverick From Wilma Neels'


Joe, a gentle guy thought provoking poetry open heart and mind the skill to look beyond words capture a deeper meaning
©221220112350


Details | Haiku | |

Note to Self

Stop writing haikus
They don’t even make sense now
Something something cake


Details | Didactic | |

Realm of Reality

Introduction: Life is a mystery with many ups and downs throughout the journey. The
journey filled with thoughts of tranquility and turmoil. But the perfect sensation is the
time when you get to feel closer to your Almighty, the one who understands you the best,
your closest friend, your hope and light, your solution to every problem, The mystery you
came to life to solve and to believe in.
Even in the happiest and the saddest moments, He is always there when you need Him.




Right now I am, thinking what to write
Holding my pen, it’s almost midnight,
I’m truly out of words, to express my whole life,
It’s so absurd, cut all pain through a knife
And I wish I could feel, Your presence in my soul
I know that You know, what I am going through
And I’m not sure I believe, unless I really feel
But I know when You’re not there, so I pray to feel You near

Now I can see, what this life is about
Now I do know, I’m too lost without,
Diamond in the rough, that’s what I was
But now I’m reborn by the shower of Your bliss
I’d die to satisfy, I’d do everything I can,
No matter how tough, after all I’m a man
I won’t fall apart, You’re always in my heart
I’d swim oceans and more, only to be Your friend

This undying grace of Your creation,
Time and space, more than perfection
You’ve opened my eyes and showed me the truth
You’ve blessed peace to my soul; I know what’s my role
I see two key coins, one black and one white
And all I have to join, the one with your light
Life is as it is, we make it our own
Hard or easy, full or alone

Everything grows, as they all involve
With the rose you put down, to show us what’s love
I wake up early, to see Your beauty,
Throughout the morning sun, I feel complete and done,
I drive all the way and see my problems solved,
By Your love from above, I stand still so firm
Everything I do, everywhere I go,
Every moment I breathe, I remind myself of You…my Almighty.


Details | Sonnet | |

Emily's Poetic Flare

There are few people I know
Who touch me like Emily
When I read her, my tears flow
‘Cause we were both so lonely

Only two lovers had she
Both had left her heartbroken
Would she find beau number three?
Fears in poetry spoken

She called herself “Nobody”
And had scant success in life
Surely she was somebody
Her sad words cut like a knife

Ms. Dickinson achieved fame
After death had doused her flame



*Written on June 19, 2012 for Emily Dickinson
Entry for Francine’s “Tribute by Sonnet” contest


Details | Free verse | |

Happy New Year

To all the beautiful flowers, radiant in every color and hue.. Rich and gifted in too many ways to count; You who thrive within this garden tucked away in cyber space; Giving and sharing; lifting and caring, From my heart to yours come Warm wishes for the coming year! May all good wishes for yourself, family and friends Bear ripe and abundant fruit! HAPPY NEW YEAR!! ~*~


Details | Couplet | |

Locked Inside

I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,

My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;

I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;

They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;

I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.


Details | Acrostic | |

The Place to Be

No
One or no other 

Place can
Reach into your heart as a writer and take you seriously.
Expressing yourself through poetry can
Sometimes be
Seen as not being a real writer or "too artistic."
Understanding fellow poets giving you critique as well as praise
Reminds you of how much you love poetry and you can 
Except that the written word can be a prosperous future for you.



written: 01/09/2012
written by: Brandee Augustus


Details | Couplet | |

Life is an Aventurous Squirrel Run

I have my Hubby’s steadfast belief in me.
He loves how my poems are light and airy.
He’ll give me an idea once in a while…
Then he escapes to come back, later to read my new child.

He calls these run-throughs a squirrel run.
For they can take off in directions, yes, any one.
Crazy thoughts become crazier still…
And story time leads to god knows, where they will.

My thinking is kind of like chasing around a tree.
You never know where the end will be.
But somewhere I eventually become truly still.
And that is where my Hubby adds into the trill.

Then the squirrel run begins again…
Light and fluffy and full to the brim.
Each day a new adventure... waits around the bend.
Live it. Love it. Write it... You'll be happier in the end.

Contest: Emotion: Squirrelly and fun   CSEastman


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Linda Marie & Tasty Soup ... '

Linda Marie … You Are Good For The Soup
Your Words, How Wisely They Troup
Across The Written Page, We Read
Knowing Each Word, is Heartfelt, Indeed

So Original The Thoughts, from Your Head
They’re Tasty, like Jam On Light Buttered-Bread
So Sincere, We Cannot Help, But Hear
I Am Glad, That You Alighted, Right Here

You’ve Got A Breath Of Mountain-Mist About You
And Your Unique, Technique, Talks So True
All In All, Linda Marie, You Have A Loving Soul
And It Shows, In Your Discerning Words of Gold

Your Poems, Share Sweetness and Grace
Your Voice, Has Definitely Found A Place
At The Table Here, Keep Serving Soup
A Warm Dish and Wishes, Added To The Group


For:  Linda Marie, Tho’ You’re Still Sorta New Kiddo
Welcome To The Block-Busters (Mental-Blocks, That Is) - smile … 
(I Really Do Enjoy Your Writes)

                          Your Poet-Sis,

                             MoonBee


Details | Acrostic | |

Unexpected Peers (An acrostic ode to Poetry Soup and it's members)

Unexpected Peers (An acrostic ode to Poetry Soup and it's members)	
(9.7.10)

Passion
Overwhelmed
Elementary
Thoughts.
Roaming
Youth
Saw
Out,
Under
Pen.

Prolific
Obsession
Engrossed
Time.
Rhythm
Yielded
Structure;
Observation
Unleashed
Power.

Pride
Offered
Extroversion.
Trajectory
Rose,
Yet
Self-doubt
Occurred.
Undercurrent
Pulled.

Pushed
On;
Expanded
Tools;
Read.
Yesterday
Stopped
Overstaying-
Usurping
Present.

Posted
Online.
Enjoy
The
Rhymes
You 
Share
Openly,
Unexpected
Peers.


            I haven't been on this site long, but many of you have already made me feel
welcome, and, moreover, like I belong.  I'm finding myself as inspired as I have ever been
to keep writing, and to keep growing as a writer, thanks to your support, your contests,
and your own original posts.  This is, truly, a special community.  
            Thanks for allowing me to become a part of it.


Details | Rhyme | |

Ode to Charlie Sheen: Bi-Winning

   -   Normally I don’t mess with email requests;
      but times are a-changin’ and I’m rearrangin’. -

          (As noted by all this distress, 
             the story we wish we‘d see less)

                  Titled: 
“The Train Wreck of Charlie Sheen;”

The public seems a little bitter; 
As he rambles his rants on Twitter,
Social network scenes, all the magazines; 
And he’s still rollin’ in dough, like we’ve never seen.

Any news is good news…so they say;
He’s gonna relapse anyway;
So at least he’s getting high, and making pay.

Everyone’s glued to their TV and internet devices,
But the best thing to do, believe me, is ignore him and his vices.  
He feeds financially and emotionally, off you and me
So leave Charlie alone! Just let him be…




Details | Light Poetry | |

' Audrey, The Orchid ... '

Audrey, Isn’t A Rose …
She Is The Embodiment Of An Orchid
Audrey, Is An Arrow
Her Words … Are Right On Target

And Her Verses Are Perfumes
Her Thoughts Not Easy To Forget
Straight To Heart, She Blooms
Her Sentences, Bear Her Scent

Now, Audrey, Could Be A White Rose
(But She Is Definitely, An Orchid)
And Oh, The Things She Brings and Grows
To The Soupers’ Produce Market …



For:  Audrey Carey-Haick

         Keep Using That Light-Fragrance
That Stays, Long After You’ve Gone Audrey (smile)

Your Poet-Friend,

MoonBee


Details | Free verse | |

Written Thanks

I thank you
with every word I write
every confession I pen

I thank you
with tears of joy
shed in tears of jet black ink
to the sound of rapping on gentle plastic
with every tap tap of the keys
I thank you more,

for holding me 
when I run for your embrace unbidden
I thank you so much
when I run from home
escape that place
that begs escape
and rush first and only, to you
so thank you
for reading my words
and embracing me
when the embrace I feel at home
is a pressure that I cannot take

I know to you I can run
and with all the thanks in my heart
embrace you once more.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' The Prince Of The Passionate Land (or) Prince Freakasso ... '

To The Prince Of The Passionate Land
Who Paints, With Both Words and Hands
Lightly Brushing Masterpieces
Riding His Realm, Wherever He Pleases

In A Far Fifth-Dimension of Grandeur
Or On A Different Cubism-Dream-Wonder
Sometimes, He Splash-Blue-Subdued
Oft Times, Just Look At The Hues, He’s Used !

His Word-Pictures Paints Such Fantasies
They Are Prince Freakasso, Styled Originalities
Places, Where Only Imageries, Can Go
Like The ‘Namesake’  Mind of Pablo Picasso

Whose Paintings Shouted, ‘Expressionism’ !
The Same Bold Style Stamps His Individualism
And When Prince Freakasso, Paints With Such Speech
His Lips, Brushes With Words So Sweet

 Prince Freakasso, Of The Passionate Land
Who Paints, With His Lips and Hands
Lightly Brushing Masterpieces
Riding His Realm, Wherever He Pleases



    Aaaah, Sweet Prince
Let Your Painting Commence …


From Your Pearl-Sculptress,

                                MoonBee


Details | Free verse | |

RUSSELL SIVEY: Dedication

I love the juice in each line, the grape of the wine Truth lies behind what you could not disguise if you tried
NOTE: Strong writers evoke emotion, thought, and change from humanity. Russel is a powerful poet who wears a big heart on his sleeve. I do not know him personally, yet am moved by his pen. *High regards, and recommendations on his work.This small ode to his words was originally placed into a comment I had made to him. I felt it was best for others to see how his work moves me. There are a few writers on here who possess the gift. I thank each and every one of you for sharing your soul! ~DOMO ARIGATO ~JSLambert


Details | Senryu | |

' Edgar Allan Poe ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 64th Senryu

‘Edgar Allan Poe … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  64th  Senryu




     Edgar Allan Poe ...
Master of Scary Suspense
   Tortured Ambience


The Raven … The Pit and The Pendulum
House of Usher … Annabel Lee , etc. 
(“She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night”)
     one of my favorite poetry-lines


Details | Lyric | |

My Dear Friend

my dear friend
my friend is always open to listen
always open to hear
my friend has always been there for me
my friend is always near
from as far as I can remember
in my childish years 
my friend has always been clear
my friend has showed me which way to turn
many lessons from my friend I have learned.

my friend is one like no other
always honest & true
my friend will never lie
for my friend is none other than you.
the pen i hold in my hand
the paper sitting on my nightstand
the paints and paintbrushes 
tell stories of who I am
they speak as no one can
the words in my poetry 
are but an image 
of my secret reality.


Details | Rhyme | |

One For The Poets 2K10

I require not brochers.  
For i've been taken aloft  
Disney-like adventures.  
I've been taken thereto Mother  
Nature's finnest edens;  
Complaments of captivating  
and enchanting pens.  

This heart has been enloped  
of poets devotions.  
This heart has simply come to  
fathom wonderful notions.  

Gifts for all to experience  
such pleasures.  
Read, write, delve further;  
There lies poets tresures.  

One has...  
The appreciation.  
One sees...  
The creation.  
One admires...  
The imagination.  
One draws...  
The inspiration


Details | I do not know? | |

REST IN PEACE MUM ANN BROWN 18 AUG 2011

MUM ...

WHERE DO I START? I DON'T THINK THERE IS WORDS , TO EXPLAIN HOW I AM 


FEELING ABOUT THE LOSS OF YOU... BUT I WILL USE ALL THE STRENGTH YOU HAVE 


GIVEN TO ME , SO I CAN GET THESE FINAL WORDS OUT THE GUILT , SADNESS AND 

REGRET  FROM NOT SEEING YOU LIKE I WANTED TO  SO ****ING MUCH ,

 THEN THE PAIN OF NOT HAVING  A CHANCE TO SAY "GOODBYE" TO THE MOST 

BEAUTIFUL MOTHER COULD WANT, AND YES MUM I'M TALKING ABOUT YOUTO HOLD 

YOUR HAND, TO SEE YOU SMILE , TO HEAR YOUR VOICE, WOULD MAKE MY LIFE MORE 

WORTHWHILE. YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO LIVE, BUT YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME HOW TO 

LIVE WITHOUT YOU I MISS YOU SO SO MUCH MUM, BUT THE LOVE IN MY HEART FOR YOU , WILL MAKE SURE 

YOUR LIFE , LOVE , WARMTH AND TOUCH , WILL LIVE ON FOREVER , 

IN ME I KNOW THAT YOU CHANGED ME , JUST FROM YOUR 

PRESENCE...THATS'S HOW STRONG YOU WERE MUM I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T LEFT ME , 

FOR THE LOVE IN MY HEART REMAINS , YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO SUFFER AND YOUR 

BODY WILL FEEL NO PAIN...... GOD TOOK YOUR HAND , AND MADE US PART , HE CLOSED 

YOUR EYES , AND BROKE MY HEART ....FOR ALL THE TIMES WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER,

I WILL NEVER FORGET YOUR FACE.

THERE IS NO MOTHER ANYWHERE LIKE YOU,

NO ONE COULD TAKE YOUR PLACE.

IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN YOU WERE LEAVING,

I GUESS I EXPECTED YOU TO FOREVER LAST,

ALL OF THE DREAMS OF US IN THE FUTURE,

ARE NOW BUT MEMORIES OF THE PAST.

GOD TAPPED YOU ON THE SHOULDER,

HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW,

THAT YOU WERE GOING WITH HIM,

TO THE SKY SO BEAUTIFUL BLUE.

ALTHOUGH I MAY NEVER SEE YOU MUM,

ARJAY WILL BE BY YOUR SIDE,

HE'S GONNA HOLD YOUR HAND,

AND LEAD THE WAY,

FOR HE WILL BE YOUR GUIDE.....

I LOVE YOU MY MOTHER.....
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU UNDERSTAND, 
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU KNOW,
DON'T TELL ME THAT I WILL SURVIVE,
HOW I WILL SURELY GROW.
DON'T TELL ME THIS IS JUST A TEST,
THAT I AM TRULY BLESSED,
THAT I AM CHOSEN FOR THIS TASK,
APART FROM ALL THE REST.
DON'T COME AT ME WITH  ANSWERS THAT CAN ONLY COME FROM ME,
DON'T TELL ME HOW MY GRIEF WILL PASS,
THAT I WILL SOON BE FREE.
DON'T STAND IN PIOUS JUDGMENT OF THE BONDS I MUST UNTIE,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO SUFFER,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO CRY.
MY LIFE IS FILLED WITH SELFISHNESS,
MY PAIN IS ALL I SEE,
BUT I  NEED YOU,
I NEED YOU YOUR LOVE UNCONDITONALLY.
ACCEPCT ME IN MY UPS AND DOWNS,
I NEED SOMEONE TO SHARE,
JUST TO HOLD MY HAND AND LET ME CRY,
AND SAY, MY FRIEND I REALLY DO CARE
Mom you mean the world to me
It’s hard to live without you ,You were always by my side
Through thick and thin you helped me


Details | Narrative | |

Will to Live


I look ahead to the ends promised in my mind
But always reality clouds my eyes with the peppers of life
Sometimes I make hasty progress
Only a few steps ahead to be forced more steps to regress

Sometimes my hope gets a boost from a fine line I read off a book
But as soon as I lay down the book 
The reality of a stool beneath my foot
Makes me anticipate the pain of the noose

Still I have a will and I know that soon I will
On the back of the winged unicorn of my dreams 
...I will soar free
This reality is for the benefit of my dreams
On its harsh grindstones I will sharpen my will to live


Details | Senryu | |

' Dane Ann Has Done It ! ...' 66th Senryu

‘ Dane Ann Has Done It ! -  … ’  66th  Senryu



  Dane Ann Has Her Brand !
As Published Poetess Grand ...
    Congratulate Hands !


Dane Ann 's Book: “ 100 Poems For Life ”
Release Scheduled: Jan. 19, 2010
Poetry-Soup, Let’s Give A Hand of Applause !

(I Know, I’m Not The Only One To Know This
But Let’s All Spread The Good News in Our Own
Little Corner Of Poetry-Soup … So, We All Know
Again Congrats Are In Order To:  Dane Ann

            God Bless You, Hon ... Amen

                             The  MoonBee


Details | Senryu | |

' Lord Alfred Tennyson ...' (Classical-Tribute) 62nd Senryu

‘ Lord Alfred Tennyson … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  62nd  Senryu



       Tennyson Thundered
‘ The Charge Of The Light Brigade ’
      Salutes … Six-Hundred


Details | Free verse | |

Poets and Readers

"The secrecy chamber of poets which untold"

When do the soul of poets sincerely revealed?
Reversed to their silent words
Reversed to the colors of their worlds
Spineless, spaceless, beautifully saved behind the shapes of those letters

Could you sense?
When the rage prevailed and the turbulence weaved the wounds?
Or when their world raised and lived like there were two moons?
Infinite thoughts brought the beauty patterns of their spectrums 

When the soul of poets sincerely revealed
Would you flee from the essence? 
Or just pretend like you don't care?
Will you be true?

Questions took their queues
The row of answers await behind the backbone of mystery
Chased the essence of each poetry
The readers are the King, the privilege of judge may on their grip 

But we are the weavers, 
Any-who may join on comfort
Welcome to the blanket of our warmth


Details | Triolet | |

SORRY

Only John Wayne officianados will recognize that is is based
on a line used in his film, "Rio Bravo".


"I'm sorry."  "Sorry don't get it done, Dude."

 Far be it for me to tell anyone what to say,
 But, there comes a time when the line has to play.


"I'm sorry."  "Sorry don't get it done, Dude."

 Yes, they are words we use along the way
 Sometimes they are difficult, aren't they?

"I'm sorry."  "Sorry don't get it done, Dude."

 Far be it for Me...to tell ANYONE what to say!

 To all of those to whom I have hurt over the years
 knowingly or not I can only say, "I'm truly Sorry."


Details | Free verse | |

Edgar Allan Poe

Maverick Free Verse Contest

Edgar allan poe
The master of all horror
He makes you think
He makes you gasp
He makes you worry

He's the master of all
Poetry
The wizard of all
Short stories
That send chills down your spine

After reading you look
Over your shoulder
Always watching
For goblins and ghouls
Threatening to haunt

He can makes his readers
Beileve in the impossible
And imagine the extraordinary
Go to the edges of the mind
And get to your very core

His readers are rained on
With thought-provoking problems
Horrific images of murders
Broken hearts searching for
The ones they lost

He was troubled
But a genius
Weird 
But incrediably talented
His writing unriveled

No one could compete
No one wanted to
No one would dare to challenge him
For they knew he would win
There was no point

All to soon he died
Shrouded in mystery
Envoloped by darkness
Never seen again
Completely gone crazy

Perhaps he is living out
His stories....
Walking among who he created
Looking for his lost loves
And a way to start a new life
Among his creations!

R.I.P. Edgar Allan Poe. You certainly were an amazing addition to american authors.


Details | ABC | |

MidNight Wishes

Even though i did not hear your voice tonight i'm still ahit,
I will go on like this for ever, i wont go out without a fight. 
I'll fight till the end of this life to win your heart,
All you have to do is tell me when to start.

The music blarrin in my head phones at 1:52 AM and i'm lovin it, 
cause it helps me remember your gorgeous smile like it was meant to fit. 
Wanting to feel your touch and kisses all over me ignites the fire in me,
Wanting to take you by your hand and run wild in a big sea. 

There aint much i can say to express myself but this will have to do for tonight,
I think its just that i haven't reached height.
You no I love you and that's all that matters or will ever matter to me,
I will love you till i die, like I told you before, cant you see? 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Diamond Toes

When life seems empty
And there’s no place to go
Unlike most artists I became Salvador Dali
 My Life daily tasks as a poet
It’s allow my spirit to go from high to low


 With my blessed hands and my tired feet 
  a hard working peasant woman with diamond toes
  I set the countdown each passing day while I slave away.

Those Infectious bole place in high positions,
 Governor of all the Nurses
Using their authorities to weaken the spirits of the peasant
And the down trodden souls who line your corridors both day and night

 however, this  burden that seem too heavy to bear now....(bibilical
God will lifts away on the wing of prayers.


Details | I do not know? | |

Politically Correct

Politically correct I’m not; if you seek precision you ought,
find the time, to define the rhyme of perfection
in words you’ve sought.

A simplicity of words I am; I do not write for status or glam,
I pen my mind, whether thoughts callous or kind,
truthfulness you’ll find.

Paper is more powerful for me, not keystrokes of a PC you see,
a pen in hand, is more commanding and grand,
when writing on demand.

Following the norm is queer; I allow the pen and paper to steer,
a symphony of life, thru every memory and strife,
of a mother, daughter and wife.

Technological progress I dread, only because the pen is now dead,
so take heed in my words, though seemingly absurd,
but a poetic pen should always be heard.


Details | Free verse | |

Words No One Hears

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

~JSLambert


Details | Acrostic | |

You Snooze You Loose

<                                        Artist searching for a muse
                                          Creativity is the key
                                          Recant those memories 
                                          Open your heart and soul
                                          Start spreading the news
                                          There's poetry to be found
                                          Inside each and everyone of us
                                          Can't you hear the music

                                          To the beaten drum
                                          Whistle while you work
                                          Or you'll snooze and lose




Entry For
Jared Pickett's Contest
Acrostic 2
G.L. All


Details | Senryu | |

' Alfred Noyles ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 63rd Senryu

‘Alfred Noyles … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  63rd   Senryu



   Alfred Noyles’ Poem Rings
‘The Highwayman’, Came Riding
   … Still Gets Me Crying …


Details | Acrostic | |

To Nette Onclaud From S Jagathsimhan Nair

Never ceasing to amaze is your write, Nette,
Ever burgeoning after a torrent , pretty
Tides after tides of it sweep one off one’s feet
Time and space it serves in its delectable treat
Each line of it is a poem so effusive
Only you could capture its magic  elusive
Never in dearth of phrases silken and sensitive
Caressing or casual, caring or combative
Like a sudden lightning at times it does blind
Allegory  and the abstract it tends to bind
Unarguably off the top shelf it gently flows
Dominating like nothing else in us it grows.




For P.D's Gift exchange contest, Dec 24, 2011




Details | Rhyme | |

Poetic Toxins

I write what I know, and know what I write.
I travel through time, every rhyme with might.
Ruminating the past; its wrongs and its rights.
Any time of the day, and any darkness of night.

I pen history and its future, as small as it seems,
Inking a mission, my pen shadows my dreams.
I engrave bits of pain, through every extreme.
Inscribing a passion, my script and its regime.

My pen is much mightier, than an army indeed,
it slashes its victims with a whimsical need.
It destroys its targets, planting a poetic seed.
It preys on cruelty, and the abusive it feeds.

Feeding a toxic dose, of words and rhymes,
serving a deadly concoction of ink in time.
For the tongue is more lethal in words of rhyme,
the triumphant work of a poet; yours and mine.


Details | Free verse | |

Do not read this

But now your here,

Raise a glass
to all the talented poets here
who, inspire us to write everyday
and all the friends we have met along the way.

Brought together
by a common interest
to express our thoughts
and feelings
and give pleasure
to all the poetry family.

peter Dome. copyright. 2012.


Details | Cinquain | |

Vini Vidi Vici

I

I came-
The world tasting
Like raspberry candy,
Our orb a snowglobe of which to
Shake up.

II

I saw
Lightening skies,
Dawn breaking over roofs-
I sighed, inhaling the beauty
Today.

III

I conquered
Worlds with my pen!
Filling pages with ink;
Filling minds with words that speak
Of tomorrow.




"Vini Vidi Vici"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith


Details | I do not know? | |

My own beat

The rhyme is in my heart,
The beats in my mind,
As I go over the words,
Time and time again,
As i spill them out on the computer screen,
I know this writing is made for me,
It's what i do,
It's what I say,
It's what I feel,
Sometimes what I push away,
It doesn't always make sense,
But it's OK,
I understand the meaning between the words,
As i tap, tap on my keyboard,
Poetry forms,
Short but simple,
Is how it comes,
The rhyme is in my heart,
The beats in my mind,
Slowly making poetry.
Slowly becoming mine.
Emotions without reasons...
Is my excuse.
As i type it on the computer screen.


Details | Lyric | |

All Along the Watchtower Re-Visited for 9/11

"There must be some kinda way to find out here"
Said the seeker to the stealer
"There's too much confusion
I'm struggling to be the reveal"

"Conglomerate men, they drink my wine
Politicians dig my earth
None will level on the line
Because none of them are worth it" hey

"There is reason to get excited"
The seeker, he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us
Who feel our governments a joke"

"Now you and I, we've lived through this
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour is getting late", hey

Hey

All along the watchtower
Liars kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants too

Outside in the cold distance
The C.I.A. did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl, hey

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower

All along the watchtower on that tragic September day
We need some investigation, for someones has to pay
Now you and I, we've lived through this, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, before this generations to late

We will always remember, and remember who we lost that day
We need some investigation, for someone has to pay
All along the watchtower, a nation in mournful cries
We are not so blind, it's amazing what you can see when you close your eyes

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower




.~ James, we lost you in Kensington, England. The Star Spangled Banner will
live long in your past. I can't say the same for some of your American so
called country people. Thank you for allowing me to gracefully use . . . .
'All Along the Watchtower' it's blatantly obvious someone was not ~.

To all the lost in the 9/11 tragedy, my thoughts will always be with you.






http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-3.php


Details | Ode | |

An Evening With Emily


An Evening with Emily

I spent an evening with Emily
(Dickinson, you know)
I told her she was my idol
Her words had touched me so
So simple were her musings
Written deeply from her soul
Each thought struck like lightning
And had the power to console

She wrote of life and love
As though she lived them to the full
In truth, she rarely left her room
Yet her words were powerful
She didn’t need to travel far
To smell the sea and air
She closed her eyes and summoned them
From the confines of her chair

She wrote of death as calmly
As she wrote of birds and sky
Describing her last journey
In a chariot stopping b
Although she died a lonely life
And never let the world intrude

For Constance Dear Heart's contest - The Passionate Poet







Oh, what a lovely legacy she left
From that world of solitude


Details | Senryu | |

' William Shakespeare ... ' (Classical-Tribute) 65th Senryu

‘ William Shakespeare … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  65th  Senryu




   One and Only Clear …
   He’s Poetic-Theatre
Oh, William Shakespeare ! …


Details | I do not know? | |

REST IN PEACE MUM ANN BROWN 18 AUG 2011

MUM ...

WHERE DO I START? I DON'T THINK THERE IS WORDS , TO EXPLAIN HOW I AM 


FEELING ABOUT THE LOSS OF YOU... BUT I WILL USE ALL THE STRENGTH YOU HAVE 


GIVEN TO ME , SO I CAN GET THESE FINAL WORDS OUT THE GUILT , SADNESS AND 

REGRET  FROM NOT SEEING YOU LIKE I WANTED TO  SO ****ING MUCH ,

 THEN THE PAIN OF NOT HAVING  A CHANCE TO SAY "GOODBYE" TO THE MOST 

BEAUTIFUL MOTHER COULD WANT, AND YES MUM I'M TALKING ABOUT YOUTO HOLD 

YOUR HAND, TO SEE YOU SMILE , TO HEAR YOUR VOICE, WOULD MAKE MY LIFE MORE 

WORTHWHILE. YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO LIVE, BUT YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME HOW TO 

LIVE WITHOUT YOU I MISS YOU SO SO MUCH MUM, BUT THE LOVE IN MY HEART FOR YOU , WILL MAKE SURE 

YOUR LIFE , LOVE , WARMTH AND TOUCH , WILL LIVE ON FOREVER , 

IN ME I KNOW THAT YOU CHANGED ME , JUST FROM YOUR 

PRESENCE...THATS'S HOW STRONG YOU WERE MUM I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T LEFT ME , 

FOR THE LOVE IN MY HEART REMAINS , YOU WILL NEVER HAVE TO SUFFER AND YOUR 

BODY WILL FEEL NO PAIN...... GOD TOOK YOUR HAND , AND MADE US PART , HE CLOSED 

YOUR EYES , AND BROKE MY HEART ....FOR ALL THE TIMES WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER,

I WILL NEVER FORGET YOUR FACE.

THERE IS NO MOTHER ANYWHERE LIKE YOU,

NO ONE COULD TAKE YOUR PLACE.

IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN YOU WERE LEAVING,

I GUESS I EXPECTED YOU TO FOREVER LAST,

ALL OF THE DREAMS OF US IN THE FUTURE,

ARE NOW BUT MEMORIES OF THE PAST.

GOD TAPPED YOU ON THE SHOULDER,

HE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW,

THAT YOU WERE GOING WITH HIM,

TO THE SKY SO BEAUTIFUL BLUE.

ALTHOUGH I MAY NEVER SEE YOU MUM,

ARJAY WILL BE BY YOUR SIDE,

HE'S GONNA HOLD YOUR HAND,

AND LEAD THE WAY,

FOR HE WILL BE YOUR GUIDE.....

I LOVE YOU MY MOTHER.....
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU UNDERSTAND, 
DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU KNOW,
DON'T TELL ME THAT I WILL SURVIVE,
HOW I WILL SURELY GROW.
DON'T TELL ME THIS IS JUST A TEST,
THAT I AM TRULY BLESSED,
THAT I AM CHOSEN FOR THIS TASK,
APART FROM ALL THE REST.
DON'T COME AT ME WITH  ANSWERS THAT CAN ONLY COME FROM ME,
DON'T TELL ME HOW MY GRIEF WILL PASS,
THAT I WILL SOON BE FREE.
DON'T STAND IN PIOUS JUDGMENT OF THE BONDS I MUST UNTIE,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO SUFFER,
DON'T TELL ME HOW TO CRY.
MY LIFE IS FILLED WITH SELFISHNESS,
MY PAIN IS ALL I SEE,
BUT I  NEED YOU,
I NEED YOU YOUR LOVE UNCONDITONALLY.
ACCEPCT ME IN MY UPS AND DOWNS,
I NEED SOMEONE TO SHARE,
JUST TO HOLD MY HAND AND LET ME CRY,
AND SAY, MY FRIEND I REALLY DO CARE
Mom you mean the world to me
It’s hard to live without you ,You were always by my side
Through thick and thin you helped me


Details | Haiku | |

A Good Book

A good book, unlike a vintage wine is consumed over and over.


Details | I do not know? | |

Brain Dead

There I lay.

Remained, unchanged.
Mind numb, thoughts blank,
Only visions of snowy white project onto the black backs of my eyelids.

Was I paralyzed? Or perhaps I had reached my final destination six feet under the earth...

No. Worse...
Writer's block.

I look around me. Nothing but enclosed darkness. No windows, no doors. 
The air is thick and cold...not yet cold enough to see my breath, but just cold enough for an uncomfortable setting...the monotonous silence is deafening...

I panic, running around frantically in the chilling prison walls of my mind, screaming, clawing, kicking, hoping to somehow break through and see the light of day. 
I stop after what seems like endless useless hours of fighting. Hands bruised and drenched in stale dried blood. 

I'm sitting on the ground now. I yell into the emptiness but receive nothing in return, no echo, nothing. I yawn wildly in fear I have gone deaf...but then I hear a voice. Soft and faint, so gentle that I'm ambushed with another attack of yawns to once again reassure that the tiny whispers are more than my blank labrynthed mind playing tricks on me.

There is a light. A small light, bright and inviting. Shining through an old fashion key hole, to an old fashion door that seemed to appear from thin air.

On hands and knees I approach it with caution. I hear the innocent voice again and I pause. I take a deep breath and look into the peep hole. 

I find myself locked eyes in the reflection of the wild appearance man in my computer screen and awaken.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education is Power

Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?

Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?

Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.

From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.

Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.

Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.


Details | Free verse | |

joy of written word

joy of written word 

Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’
There comes a time when 
My excitement is limitless
Like the little children I bloom
Noting sweet than a book I see
Nothing joyous that words I read
Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’
The world of books & words
The festival of writers & words
In the cultural capital it comes
I prepare like the joys of Eids 
Make list, spreading the news 
Along with the friends i prepare 
New faces to meet, new books 
Authors, poets & writers 
Young and old to meet
New cultures to discover, 
New words to learn
A festival unlike in red deserts
A festival of million books
A festival of billion thoughts
Beating in my heart with joy
Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’


Dedicate to Sharjah International Book Fair - 2011 #SWBF
This trade show is held in Expo Centre Sharjah during 16 Nov 2011 to 26 Nov 2011


Details | Senryu | |

' Dane Ann (Poetess & Web Mistress) ... ' 57th Senryu

‘ Dane Ann (Poetess & Web Mistress) … ’   57th  Senryu

   Dane Ann … Web Mistress
  Poet - Piece De' Resistance
     All Thanks, Assistance


            Your Poet-Fan
       For Dane Ann’s Web Plan
    Makes Poetry Sharing Is Grand …

                   Luv Ya’ Gal …
                    MoonBee


Details | Free verse | |

Why Tortured The Night

A part of labor and a part of pain
A part of sadness and a part of happiness
However; seeing a small glimpse of the future
The labor, the pain, the sadness and the happiness
Was close- by:  waiting to be belong
Why torture the night?
 
 When peace seeks unity
 And the morn is few hours’ away
 tonight we lie awake: thinking

 Why torture the night

 Ours hearts beat sporadically
We search deep within for
The truth which were never told
Why tortured the night with humility

Mr. R and Mr.O


Details | Rhyme | |

What Poetry Is To Me

When you read what I write,
What you see is an internal fight.
The words that you read are more,
They are thoughts that begin to pour.
I write these words to blow off steam,
If I didn't I'd tear at the seams.
When I write I don't need to think,
All my thoughts fall off the brink.
When I write I don't notice time,
It flies by with every rhyme.
For my mind, my body is nothing but a tool,
When all my thoughts reel from the spool.
Poems are more than just pretty words,
They are the most beautiful things I've ever heard.
They are ornate doors to another's mind,
You never know what you may find.
Poetry is more than just a way to kill strife,
To me it's much more, it's a way of life.


Details | Ode | |

Thank You Mr. S.

I wanted to be a writer
When I was just a young teen
But I was so incredibly shy
And kids can be so mean.

Then a new teacher came along.
He had such a different view.
I no longer felt embarrassed
By the writing that I'd do.

He made me feel I had a gift
And that it should be shared.
To him I admitted my hopes
And I felt that he really cared.

Mr. Sowden encouraged extra work,
To write about whatever we wanted.
So I wrote and wrote and wrote some more.
The words just flew, undaunted.

My grade ten English teacher
Read my work out loud
And winked when the class applauded,
For the first time I felt proud.

I never signed my real name.
The class didn't know it was me
But my work garnered admiration, 
On display for all to see.

That was the year I learned that
What I wrote was pretty good.
I just needed time for confidence to grow
And that, Mr. Sowden, understood.

He made us see the written word
In a way that made us aware.
So I would like to thank him,
The English teacher who really did care.


Details | Free verse | |

Rebellious

                                        What???...

To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)

(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.


Details | Free verse | |

A Hushed Prayer

I beg for your forbearance
For I have disregarded my faith towards You
I beg for your healing in advance
For I have disclaimed Your protection and now I’m blue

Do you notice that I’m blanketed in deep distress?
My pillow is soaked externally with unsettling tears
My good memories that bestowed hopefulness
Has been meddled with for years
Has been mistreated and replaced by insecure dreadfulness
I need shelter from the tide of despairs and fears

I’m shattered and I’m seeking Your helping hand
Receive my hushed prayer…from your throne in heaven
I’m begging for Your contentment that’s beyond grand
Receive my muffled prayer… or I’ll be stuck in this tarnished den

Do you notice that I’m spinning mad in the rivers of mystifying visions?
My unwavering boat sinks drastically with damaged gears
My bad memories that departed from my missions
Has been discarding the carefree years
Has been neglected and torn apart by dishonorable decisions
I need Your love to embrace me with jubilation and cheers
I beseech for Your mercy
For I have abused my steadfast hope towards You
I look forward to Your infinite Kingdom favorably
For I have admired Your blessings and now my dreams come true!
In Jesus’s name,

AMEN! 


Details | Free verse | |

Sent

Biding peace laid for some pariah, 
spinning all mind's lie.
Vision gliding ever higher, 
	soaring ecstasy; exquisite sapphire sky

Yet wing Wired,  we catch earthbound, 
	nothing but shifting twilight sight.
cutting thy hand short. 
	Records wake, flash bright white.

Formed half here, half there.
Lost by laughter and fear, 
	A stolen shadow's
		 path to nowhere.

Within this vista of pure visual;
	,  ghostly green shine. 
		lit from MOON'S far dream.
The soothe sayer of dazed worry, 
		forgetting past fright of 
yet another scene.

Igniting matters .. all grey 
		coloured shock. 
 slumbering his career
spent, clinging by the scraps
		 scraping slow dawn 
drawing ever near

to mislead by a prized pun .. if not ... REMember. 
	gathering with a shaded kind,
left now, dust, dry light. slipping as a fade out mind

dashed on mourning 
	stealing yet another oblique view.
Aimless day-walker disjointed from the world; 
		so bland and blue.
As
Joy bursts from chest when ever pen hits
nothing compares to thy writing; 
			Alls elated fits.


Details | Acrostic | |

Love's Reverence, a cover of ''A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky''

Chivalrist of pure intent
Honoured by the ears that lent
A tale recounted to content

Resplendant wonders brought to ear
Laments that draw an unseen tear
Evasion of the heart's deep fear

Soft young mind and placid eyes
Lucid to the tale's disguise
Unseeing the truth behind the lies

There upon the golden water
Wimsically listening to the lauder
Inclines the middle Liddell daughter

Days have come and years have passed
Golden evenings couldn't last
Erosionary time has swept too fast

Dreary dawns and bitter nights
Overcame the muse's might
Dead and gone, that fragile light

Greiving when his heart was tore
Secreted to land of lore
On through Wonderland he'll soar

Now to dream forevermore


Details | Free verse | |

Writer Cafe

Chai tea latte warming my soul
The view from the window
Full of freedom and desire
Colors of serenity of peace
Stir deep around my heart 
Embracing it in balance

Dishes clatter in the background
Smells of spices tickle my nose
The furnace vibrates and hums above
People walk by and I remain unnoticed
As if I am one with the scene
My entirety melted into one with the café


Details | Rhyme | |

Gratitude For Inspiration

-------------------------------------------(note:Re-titled *surprisingly due to lack of reads:(

I officially subscribe to your ingenious wordplay melee today. 
Enhancing waves in brains tomorrow, eliminating sorrow this way. 

The hot fire you've prescribed heals my painful condition.
Inspiring me with firing  your scrabbling ammunition!

Now and then we all have come across a piece of poetic perfection.
Your poem "INSPIRATION" gives due  cause for your work's  further inspection!







***a small dedication to a poet on Poetry Soup who wrote a poem which has me currently on a "Writing  Roll". I thank you for sharing your poem Margaret Linton Lassie! 
(NOW, someone please inspire me to type out this massive load of new poems!!! note: I write all my poems out on paper and post very few :( ~JoeY


Details | Acrostic | |

Poetic Soul

Paradise of beautiful thoughts via heart
Ornamented with pure and serene art
Enlightening postings on varied themes
Teaching various paradigms supreme!
Intellectual writers love to spend days
Creations of delight coined in selfless ways 
Sharing of common passion gets rear    
Offers new chance to entrants in its sphere
Umbrella for world wide authors in one group
Long live the heaven with name Poetry Soup!  


Details | Quatrain | |

Free To Disagree. Inspired By ' Free To Be Me."

There was this pristine poetess
who signed off: " Light and Love."
with the rocket plunge of osprey
and the soft cadence of a dove.

She grips each adverb tightly
measures out the slightest verb.
" You really need to think this out."
" Oh, You must be from the 'burb."

She rails at broken rhyme schemes.
She despises gauche haiku.
She does all this defending ART:
that excludes this one by you.

She is up and down each contest.
" They don't appreciate my style!"
Such is the life of a feisty Muse.
as she leaves you with a smile.

Now she's working out another,
yet before she says: " Goodbye!"
" I think that last line's off a bit"
" and now let me tell you why!"



I went to the source, as it were. I imagine sulfur in my Soup Mail tonight...


Details | Free verse | |

Thoughts of A Song Writer

From my thoughts on the paper in which it lies, 
My everlasting passion is inked as it dries.
The way I feel inside, you might want to spy,
But if you pry, how will my lyrics surprise?
A song for thought will only leave a thought.
May sound difficult, but that’s just how I talk.
I was lost, but I found me.
Dreaming and believing that writing was my key.
The way it flows and the way that it goes pumps me to speak
the very thoughts that many minds chose to keep.
Many rocks I’ve kicked and many decisions I’ve made.
Any wrongs I take the blame.
Tic-tac-toe is only a game.
I plagiarize your eyes with the notes that I’ve taken,
A high note here and a low note there-
You’d swear I’m in your head when my song hits your ear.
Pain recognizes pain
And I’ve have my share of bandages.
 My vibes from life heals the permanent damages.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
Reaches farther beyond the beat,
Over the lyrics on the sheet,
Not only is it about the speech,
 But more of what the message seeks.
True enough a theme is touched and a heart is rushed.
With the mind-throbbing picture disappearing 
Through the ink of my pen and revealed through your lens,
You can’t hear me, but do you feel me?
I cherish my talent and where it could possibly sweep me.
My doubts and my worries are beneath me.
I love for brighter days and pray for more things to pave.
Call my life my number because its infinite.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
My mentality drips it.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Did Santa Claus Broke The Reindeer Back

How Santa Claus broke the reindeer back

I am just disappointed he is such a play ball; he refuses to joined the community gym, he have no consideration for a hard working reindeer like me. Please do us all a favor and stop telling everyone that you’re tall and slim Mr. Claus
Santa put this in your pipe and smokes it. I am forming a union; you can contact my Lawyer Mr. Tin Tin

 I need some Fringe benefits else I am going to quit; year after year after year I chauffeur you around
This is not a smooth ride on green grass, it’s cold, cold snow “please looked around.
Breaking into people houses late at night, dropping off toys, we are plaster on every walls and poles
Santa this reindeer is off radar; you get off your fat ass or hire Casper the friendly ghost.


Details | Epic | |

I Have Autism 3: Still Human

Having autism has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to every boy, girl, man, and woman, especially that of a three-year-old. It has made a positive impact on people who'd been born with or had been diagnosed with autism since day one. Being autistic means accepting for who he and/or she really is, especially when he or she's around a bunch of open-minded people. What everyone, including me, also learned about having autism is when we're living in our own worlds and the real world at the same time. Children, teens, and adults with autism can function in the real world, even in public places, especially when they're going to school or work. What I also learned is that people can go after their dreams like being a politician, a lawyer, or whatever, even if he and/or she has autism. God has made us the way we are, and I think that having autism has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to all of us, even when I was three years old. It doesn't matter if he and or she has either autism, autism spectrum disorder, or Asperger's Syndrome, we're all still human. The whole world should know that being an autistic human being is great and no one should judge us just because we, as humans, have autism, autism spectrum disorder, or Asperger's Syndrome. The fact that day in and day out, for the past few years, people with autism, including me, have proven the board of education and those nay-Sayers wrong, even in the classrooms in all of the schools nationwide. Nothing could bring us down. Even though we have autism, we're still His children. The parents should be proud of the fact that they've raised us well, even if we have autism or any other disability. There's also a good chance of people getting into serious relationships and getting married, regardless of one person having autism. And if all of the friends and families have accepted them for who they really are, other people should be more accepting, too. I have autism, mild MR (mental retardation), and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and I'm also proud of the fact that I'm still human.


Details | Free verse | |

US Constitution movie theater montage

Constitution:
From the mighty quill feathers of post revolutionary colonists
a seething declaration that will stun the world. 
This is how its done, 
we dont mind you having guns,
say what you will, 
thou shalt not punish unusually, 
we make the laws, you interpret them


Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 15

As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.

So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .

While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps 
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws 
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.

While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
	Man Sleeps....


Details | Acrostic | |

PROUD TO BE A POET

PROUD TO BE A POET

P-------Production of deep 
           thoughts is my job!
R-------Right in front
O-------Of my old desk; I
U-------Uncover things; Things 
D-------debarring
T-------The 
O-------Operational progress of 
           other things!
B-------Being blessed by God;      
          who has
E-------Easily made poets to be! 
           To be nothing but
A-------A lover of His mighty 
P-------Pen!
O-------Otherwise; no other 
           human
E-------Effort, would have 
T-------Taught a 
meaningful                  deep 
          thought!


Details | Free verse | |

Why I can't Write

I have carved seventeen years into this notebook
Dragging Mondays across the paper
Saturdays exploding from the nib

It is not enough now
To take a hair from his head and rest it on a page
Sacrificing my heart to the wind
Praying she might not take it from me

It is not enough now
To take a reflection of his smile and scatter it across these sordid lines
In the hope that they might trap it for me
And not keep it for themselves

I want to pen myself into him
Carve myself deep into his skin
Curl into myself
And live there
In the space between his heart and lungs.


Details | Couplet | |

The Blessing for My Book

As my job and health failed me... I dreamed to someday put together a 
book of poetry and this will be the blessing it will begin with...

As I sit here weaving my poetry
Into the semblance of a book…
I find that I must ask Gods’ blessing…
For the journey, that together we have took.

I find I must bow my head in thought…
Over this book that together we have wrought
As my hands clasp oh so reverently and earnestly over my heart…
As I believe his help brought the words together that I sought.

And God set the journey that shaped what now before you begins…
He helped me find the words that reached through my heart to my pen.
I pray the poems will be worthy of what he showed me as my life’s art.
And upon this book I honestly pray that his blessing he will impart. 






Details | Couplet | |

THE TRUE POET

A masterpiece of comely art, you display in vivid forms.
An intellect with a colossal heart, you shoot them out in swarms.

Your utopian approach to life steals thunder from most men.
While they coach in little league; you surpass them with your pen.

A visionary with great sinew, you ride your valiant steed.
A true poet - that is you; A successful man - indeed!



This is to my friend in poetry:   Michael D.


Details | Free verse | |

and we are gone

... And be one eye , one soul 
as the world recedes , gone ,
away far climbs. Vanished like a 
driven cloud.
		He is merely flesh and blood Reality ;
slaughterhouse stumbling through script
	typed in selfless pursuit.
Wanting only quickened wit & Pupil's Needs.

Mortal simian image, which we , the living 
only feel and bear and tremble and 
are gone. 
Upon my Darling's beaming eyes The summit 
of everest slurs into a bog or quagmire , deep 
and dank.
	So gazing with the boldness which prevails
love, and peace and gracious mirth.
	with a voice less loud though its 
joys and fears show wool in dissembled 
colours shine.
	
	As the passers by near us drew 
the Need to know from our stares, going further...
	" O Merciless Lady & Vulture Poet
when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall
I will turn my bewildered eyes out 
of soil and darkness , to run through 
every alternate scene 
Where I  used to play on the green
in goodly colours gloriously arrayed.

And a voice less loud brought me 
breathless to Aphrodite , throned in 
flowers beyond this pale picture ; 
be the dream. Roaing with laughter 
as a fallow deer is clear cut through 
the sun seen peering out the skull.
Alls 
vast lilliputin language cannot describe
an Echo of the Time, after the rainbow.
Then , as if some strange mystery aware
that you should remember & be sad.
Now memory feels itself grow weak , I can 
not endure,
	I am merely flesh and blood "
"it will be found once more , I say to
thee with furtive flagons , white and red.
Now get back retreat, depart."
	She of the tribunal did command
great at sea, and the Heaven. From some 
touch of pity which may still restrain 
she let him pass.

A leaf fallling softly at my feet,
but I saw it was not as thought , 
only inked. Falling in Heaven's crescendo.
Climax always brushing distance out 
of reach.
As to long panoramas of Visions, of 
my faith , I'd give whole to see the architect
of my dreams once more. I am 
waiting here for thee, flesh and blood , merely.

	Ne'er to be found again. I am 
like a flag unfurled in space. Oh ! Lost 
to Her and all thy race to wit
 faces of scorn , stuttering ends 
this morn ; O Weak Heart. I long 
to rise. Never being a Poet of God's making ,
laughter to thy lips, wandering to sigh 
among mortal men dust ; shall return to 
dust. As the storm cries everynight 
and those that know me confirm that it is thus.
Easing a new epilogue , tremble 
and we are gone...


Details | Personification | |

A Writer

"Dreams,noteworthy and passionate,
amount to nothing but meaningless memories"
Father invaded and bruised the soul,
Grabbed it of all the ambiguity and hope...
 
Still,the power of words remained,
Ink etched on white crisp paper,
bringing the ever-vicious inspiration
to the fore-front in myriad ways.
 
An amateur teen,bruised, yet
Hope and sense of belief kept me up!!
I dreamt and envisioned,
All i wanted and would accomplish,
not to avenge but triumph...
 
I wrote succintly and with tears,
for those who needed LOVE,
Love was the healer and Comforter,
Love which i missed and dreaded completely...
 
As i stood in the husky sunlight,
Girl with an ecstatic smile says,
"Book that was all powerful yet
a guiding force and the only one i have"
and i stood there in silence
completely stirred and emotionally healed..
THERE I WAS-A WRITER......


Details | Clerihew | |

SCTV Comedian

John Candy
Is quite beefy and dandy.
He is a comedian on SCTV
He's funny--everyone must agree!


Details | Lyric | |

the sign painter's song

for Woody Guthrie - born:1912-07-14

brushing up on strokin' guitar strings
twangin' words 'bout work and the land
lyrically political of dust 'n' things
not feared to sing 'n' take a stand

so long, it's been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
an' he was a driftin' along

totin' six-string Fascist killin' machine
travelin' to the west coast shores of sand
singin' loud across fields gold 'n' green
as families struggle to feed mouth from hand

singin'
so long, it's been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
Woody sings us America's song

wheat fields waving at ribboned highways
all the way across this beloved homeland
Woody sang songs of promises made sideways
to up 'n' blow away by uncaring command 

so long, it's been good to know yuh
so long, been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
been so good to know yuh, so long

you've been around for all of our lives
we know your songs and are ardent your fans
with Arlo and others your legacy survives 
to carry on singin' your musical stand

Woody weaves a hobo's lullaby so grand
singin'
so long, it's been good to know yuh
glory bound, been good to know yuh
so long, it's been good to know yuh
man it's been good to know yuh so long

© Goode Guy 2012-07-14

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woody_Guthrie


Details | Rhyme | |

Why I Enjoy Writing Poems



Why I Enjoy Writing Poems... I often have a thought or two on my mind. And have written them in the expression of a rhyme. I’ve tried to write as I feel God has led. And try to do it in love, in what's written & said. At times, I “have stepped on people's toes.” This is not my intention— God really knows. If you've read a poem that I wrote. I hope you were encouraged with hope There’s a message that I pray comes across... "With Christ... all is not lost!" I’ve tried to write poems from my spirit. As an expression of how I live it. The words written are from my heart to you May they be a blessing in whatever you do! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Quatrain | |

Student's Descent

with apologies to E. A. Poe...

Student Descent

At first the chamber's gentle rapping could not my slumber even stir,
but as it came to be a tapping sonorous visions were to be no more.
And as I stumbled in the darkness, I heard her voice distinctly cry
"O Ed your offer reconsidered will now with me an evening buy!"

Femininity with such harsh bravado, what lady offers such taboo affairs?
I've read of men, weak in the loin, who fall into such infectious snares.
Flesh's joys can wait, I've got to study, for school has such quick paces
and as a student of the arts, time's robbed me of all social graces

Alas, I dream of that day of bliss, but now Ed's the man and I'm the other.
I ask her name and Eleanor is given, by her, but certainly not her mother.
"He's not here, in fact, I don't know him." I utter with a boy's tone.
"Well I'm still here, and you're awake, and so am I and all alone."

My thoughts arranged like a card deck dropped, and left with such a feeble mind.
Should I ignore this dream, or is it real? Behind the door what will I find?
A gentleman would let her in, at least she'd have safe haven.
But to my shock with doors pullled wide, there's nothing but a raven...

Now I'm not mad, but this is odd, as a women spoke, not a bird at my feet,
so I sprint to my room, bury my head...but now it's clear...the wooden floor's
got a beat...


Details | Rhyme | |

Scary Feeling

I feel like sl-lit,
i wanna flip.
Let my words rip,
come take a sip.

My phone keeps on ringing,
its chesney hawkins singing.
I get this scary feeling,
she's gönnä nail me for stealing.

I look at the sealing,
wish i knew what was the meaning.
I must start to pray,
every single day.

I'm smoking myself to death,
i need to take a deep breath.
Please don't make me fall,
i don't wanna end it all.


Details | Free verse | |

Free Range

Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.

Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.

Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining  me for a time.



Details | Couplet | |

The Monster

The monster became a living, walking nightmare
my dive into insanity, no longer perfect, containing a blank stare

I should resist, the monster will find me, run away with me
Pretend to hear my meager complaints, force me to see what I'm afraid to see

Blame and guilt, volleying right and left, up and down
It's crashing me closer, with every step, I'm falling to the ground

It's all a game, just play along, play the game, play it well
Brimming confidence, dissolved in thoughts, of what? I won’t tell

Demons, devil born souls, run quick, run fast, stand my ground
No sense of fear, n sense of foreboding, not even a slight sound

High speed, pursuit of hell, bent on going, bent on crashing
Giving into the power, life's faster, lights flashing

Crash and torment me again, my eyes close after all
The beginning of the end for me, feeling numb after the fall

Is there a way out? I'm different, distant and moved on
Listen to the water, calling, coaxing into death, I'm gone

Endless, empty cloud; dreamless oblivion; oxygen, exhalation
Am I dead? Still alive? Broken into pieces, I need motivation

Reality closes in, walls me in; until there’s nothing there
Death comes behind me, containing a blank stare.


Details | Couplet | |

Poet Tree

A leaf that tumbles in the air
And drifts upon the ground.
A person who sighs and smiles
With eyes that speak no sound.
Poetry is rooted in the earth,
And flies upon the wind.
It is not a sonnet nor a verse,
It’s a feeling from within.



Details | Couplet | |

Thank you, Ms Guzzi

Thank you dear / Debbie for / pointing out / my mistakes!
Now I can / see where I’ve / been getting / out of step.

“Statuesque” / was one of / my early / efforts and 
Then I had / not learned the / rhythms of /poetry.

If I were / Writing it / now I’d be / tidier. 
I’d know my / dactyls and / iambs and / … other stuff … 

But since the / subject was / utterly / frivolous, 
Frankly Ms. / Guzzi, I / don’t think I / give a damn!

.......................

I thought my original entry in Debbie’s meter contest was in
dactylic tetrameters. 
Sadly it was not – but this one is!


Details | Rhyme | |

Dawn of Misfortune

You’re the dawn of despair and gloominess
You’re the sunset that discards my gladness
You deceived me…you made me trek the road of calamity
You grieve for me…you yearn for my sympathy… but I overlook your pity

Horror strikes me, scorching away my destiny
My confidence has slowly departed from me…so what should I do?
Terror swallows me alive, now I’m begging to flee!
My self-reliance has disregarded and fled from thee…now I’m crammed with woe

Digest the emptiness that I feel deep inside
Heed to what I’m about to announce to you…
Digest the affliction that I brushed aside
Hear what I’m about to warn you about…it’s all true

You deserted me…melt the isolation that has filled us with woe
You brainwashed me…you tarnished my bliss
You captivated me…now I have nowhere to go
You terrorized me…you singed up my happiness



You’re the dawn of anguish and shame
You’re the midnight stars that burn with fame
You betrayed me…you made me cut down my garden…shedding fertility
You mourn for me…you long for my forgiveness… so I’m ready to accept your plea
What is the code that will animate your presence?
What is the code that will liquefy the ice of silence?


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

THE POWER THAT I HAVE

THE POWER THAT I HAVE NO ONE CAN TAKE OR HAVE.

THE POWER THAT MY MIND HAS IS TO POWERFUL TO FIND OUT.

THE POWER THAT MY MOUTH HAS IT COULD HURT YOU OR IT COULD BLESS YOU IT DEPENDS ON HOW YOU STEP TO ME OR SAY SOMETHING TO ME.

THE POWER OF MY THINKING IS VERY DEEP AND VERY SOLD.

THE POWER OF HOW WRITE MY POEMS IT COME FROM MY MIND MY SPRIT MY SOUL AND HEART NOW YOU ADD ALL THAT UP AND SEE WHAT YOU CAN DISCOVER IN YOUR SELF.

IT NO OTHER POWER YOU CAN DISCOVER FROM ONE ELSE BUT YOUR SELF.

THE POWER THAT I HAVE IT IS IN ME.


Details | Free verse | |

Nun But You

How do you know? 
Who tells you so? 
Is it premonition? 
Over-ambition? 
One who forever butts in with song;
With the voice gone entirely wrong. 

Do you reach for opinions of loved ones? 
Would they inform you the talent you suspect is none? 
Would you be mortified by truth.....? 
If truth was sincere? 
Or could you embrace the honesty you hear? 
Would you regroup; or give in? 
Would the fighter arrive telling you to win? 

Is it even worth trying to continue.....? 
Or is it only false hope that lies deep within you? 
Are you a no trick pony.....? 
With no chance, no passion, a phony?

But it does burn deep inside you. 
Most times, the only friend to guide you. 
It listens and makes you talk back. 
Filters your senses, pushing you back on track.
 
You need no affirmation. 
Only self adaptation. 
When the voice inside you fails to love and guide you, 
Release the headaches of self doubt. 
Let you figure you out. 
Because when those in which you’ve confided all depart, 
You are the one left with aspirations..... 
Of the calling you failed to start.

JS Lambert


Details | Free verse | |

Pathetic

It wasn't what we wrote; 
that which was startling, or true,
or even the stark cynical twist
which grasped at the neck so early,
but the fact that deep below
was the cold pathetic marrow
that ached and ached and we
felt no shame in our therapy-
writing page after page 
of neurotic fireworks,
and very few,
but the most low and dying
really knew
and felt
The Grime,
that slime and slithering evil
of despair and medicated happiness,
our poetic moments-
that which we could bare,
'was', and 'is' why
we will never be loved.


Details | Acrostic | |

A Poet's Life in Tapestry

Two lives
Are interwoven, like the threads of a
Perfect tapestry.
Each day I wake knowing my 
Spirit is filled with 
The artistry of words and not 
Really knowing how to express it;
Yet with the kind words of others and His Word I have the strength to live as a poet.


Details | Alliteration | |

The Prime Directive Quiz ( P D Q ) or Prolix Drama Queen Part Three of Three

‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …

Yet… It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
 On the Planet, however Polluted or Profane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
 Wherever the Delusional -Dimensional Plane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Or Danger-Plot, Prison-Door or Deepest Pain
Or Present-Defeat, or Darkest-Hours-View
even Thru Dying-Breath, Devout Prayers Proclaim
to Be Delivered- New, True, and Pulled-Thru
to Claim The Prize of Life-Perpetually-Sustained

… For Particularly, By God’s Unpronounceable Power
Thru His Son’s Unparallel- Principal-Purchase… Dower
God’s Dependents and Dreamers Will Prosper-Gain
The Prophecy,  The Promise,  The Paradise-Preordained 
The Perfect-Future  and  The Victory-Parade

… The Distant, Destiny of Eden – Never Been Doused Nor Degrade 

Then… It Won’t Matter…So, Please Dismiss The Paltry-Strain
The Days of The Deformity and Damage-Train
Will Be In The Past … Departed-Detained
Disaster and Disloyal Will Lay In A Destroyed-Plain
Damned For All Of Time –Proliferate-Blamed
A Suppository-Prophylactic-Puddle-Shame
 Patience-Persevering…Demands Punishment - Prediction-Sang… 
… Final-Draft …Stop-The-Presses!... Poll-Loudly-Refrains

When You Really Discern and Pragmatically-Attain
The Divine God and His Son’s King- Domain
Publicize Their Progenitor and Predominant Names
and Preach and Deify Like-Doting-Platoon-Swains,
 with Pedestal-Passion and ‘Plum-Plumb’, Persistence-Ingrained 

For On Position-Comparison, We   ‘All’   Pale-to- A-Feigned …
…Puppets and Peons and Dim-Witted-Parasitic-Great Danes
and Dopamine Defective, Demerol Addicted – Darwin-Poisoned-Sprains
Disoriented-Drivel, Droll-Drooling-Inane
or Just-Plain ol’ Dire-Derelicts-Insane
  
(and now… I have a P D Q,… for Me and You… Migraine)
Oh… May They Accept This Poor-Placard-Crane

                    Amen… Again… Amen


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

the goatherd's crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium 
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd 
who arranged new ideas like glass beads 
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body 
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped 
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

Sibelius finally gave in to the seduction of despair
when for many restless nights he looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep
dreaming


Details | Rhyme | |

New York Poets 800th Poem

Considering all the people there, it’s a big state! Many members from New York have talent that's great. Poets hail from Syracuse, Rochester, Albany, Plattsburgh, Scarsdale, White Plains, or Schenectady. They may come from Niagara Falls or Binghamton, or one of the five boroughs such as Bronx or Brooklyn. From Long Island Sound, to as far west as Buffalo, the poets from New York are the ones we should know. These folks can write up a storm of impressive poetry. Their fanciful works defy comparability. They live anywhere between Yonkers and Utica. The numbers of their great poems are a plethora. So we salute all our members from the Empire State You are the people everyone can appreciate!


Details | Rhyme | |

THE VERY EXISTENCE OF OUR SOUL

Being absent even for an hour, day or week,
and not write and post anything...can make days look bleak,
some find worthiness in words and challenge themselves
to confront fears and doubts, or share their joys with new-found friends.


To us poetry is the very existence of our soul, which glorifies grace
in all its virtues through the art of writing...an art older than love itself,
so some thought of using this devise to express what the heart really felt...
and what came out of it amazed all and quickly spread to distant lands.  


Weren't I not a keeper of its illumination, or a humble poet in contemplation,
I wouldn't be lured by a pen to extract ideas from my clattered head
or search for fresh ideas to be turned into thoughts and strip them of illusion... 
as I frolic into a labyrinth where secrets unveil themselves at my command.


It's needless to say to ourselves that poetry isn't the very existence of our soul:
lovers couldn't open up their hearts and talk tenderly as if they were going to pray;
no composer, painter, lyricist, poet or philosopher could see Nature in a realistic way...
poets outnumber drug users, wouldn't God rejoice and break down another wall?


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

VOWS

I SEE THE WAY I FEEL INSIDE,
LOCKED AWAY BEHIND ALL MY LIES.
I HEAR THE WORDS BEHIND MY 
BACK, TRUTHFULLY IT'S ACOUSTICALLY
SAD.
WHEN THE CHORDS ARE PLAYED,
THERE'S A MELODIC HAUNTING IN MY MIND!
LOST INSIDE; THE ENDEAVOR IS BLIND.
STAR-GAZING BRINGS THE TUNES TO A 
HIGH, PEOPLE WATCHING TAKES ME TO A 
LOW.
BOXED IN THE WAY I FEEL;
MY PANIC BECOMES MANIC, I JUST
NEED A WAY TO DEAL.
STRAWBERRY GASHES IN PEACH-COLORED
FIELDS, HELPS TO DEFINE HOW IT IS 
AND WHAT I TRULY FEEL.
FORGIVENESS SOUNDS GOUND, BUT 
I KNOW I WON'T FORGET. JUST
LIKE A GREAT POEM OR SONNET THESE
SCARS ARE MY COMMITTMENT.
SO AS I SHALL FADE TO NOTHINGNESS 
NOW; I GIVE YOU THESE WORDS TO
CHERISH - DEATH BECOMES MY WEDDING VOW.


Details | Free verse | |

Parchement

On this parchment
I am forced to write
That of which I cannot speak

On this oh so delicate paper
I am enraptured
by my under lying thoughts

On this meager piece of material
And this once sharp pencil
I try to express the deepest of emotions

On this once blank loose leaf
That I now read to it's fullest
I find that though I wrote about nothing

On this one piece of parchment
About nothing at all it seems
Is full of something you feel, not just see


Details | Rhyme | |

Ireland's Journalist Jewel

The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
 
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
 
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
 
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
 
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
 
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
 
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
 
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
 
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
 
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
 
 
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the 
                      criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "
 


Details | Free verse | |

Drain It All Away

Drain out all the agony
Help me fulfill my destiny 
Catch the waves…it’s coming from all directions
And wipe that frown…

I’m trying not to break away…in front of you, I’d rather stay 
But it seems like…the clouds decide to fade 
I’m dying every day…I’m making time to survive this day
I’m drying… I turned out to be a hideous shade
I’m releasing the sorrow… clinging on to gloom... 

Your affection and glory
Set me free from despondency 
Stand up and face the emotion – your heart mends my infections
And don’t weigh me down…

I’m trying not to break out…but it sparkles in my bloodshot eyes
My sorrow is exposing… but you’re still willing to stay 
I’m caught in midair…I’m a slave, pursuing my demise  
I’m shriveling…I embrace your departure…I’m wasting away…
I’m soaking up the sorrow…poisoning my bloom…


Details | Narrative | |

Working in a Factory of Words n Poetry Soup is the Hub


A hub stays put
But around it the wheel rolls
A hub only feels the weight of the load on the road
But the wheel rubs on the surface of it all

In mud, on dirt, on tar
The wheel is not afraid to roll for it fits within its purpose
The hub always stays put in the middle of the wheel
But with it everywhere it goes

Poetry soup is the hub
And around it like a wheel I’m gonna roll
Sometimes the surface maybe on a tarmac so smooth
Sometimes I may wade through mud so sticky and deep 
Sometimes I may leave so much dust rising on my trail
But an artist is all I am
A creature of emotions working shifts in the factory of words

Mine is just to pack
The emotions endeared to me in the wrappers of words
Each day different from the one gone past
Sometimes it’s heaven is on a roll
Sometimes it’s hell in a storm
But being the servant I am 
My position at the factory
Impels me to wrap it all in the assembly line of words

So please understand
Don’t blame the packer working shifts in the factory of words
Blame the company for producing all the sincere stuff


Details | Free verse | |

Teal

"and don't forget the pretention"

###########
everyone nodded along as 
the first line Hit 
 cut w-/ Posh .. chugging 
stars , throats end to end slit.

	Schemes o'er everything 
I realise now that you need 
these 'things' , 
imaginary or other wise.	Anything 
to keep the Belief that 
Life is worth living.
	By their ridiculous Forgery 
to emphasise insubstantial shapes , mutilated 
text , colour & breathing connecting Heart 
to Pen under strict obligation 
to remain Nonsense
	Above seperate Action.

I just want to be Honest
	o'er the vicious Cycles of Trend
inspiring by reflection 
	We replace real life as we all 
like Motion Pictures 
	Lost within Code 
he might be you or me Beating 
the walls as we try 
	out these twillight eyes switching o'er
to Terra's Remote viewing 
	zoom ignites thy Bone's hollow Fractures 
happening, pure & simple , we errode
	in a sudden glass moment ...excuse me 
& my obvious slander .. Keeping it real may soon dismay 
at a pulse of Cheekbones ; Paper artic traces flickering on 
nervescreens before our pristine chords reciting
	"Nobody's story" revolving round 
nothing really ... simple words.

Oh Lord its so clear
	All Places & All Times 
		its just us 
trying to make faces in the sky....
		and scream no more dropping 
for
	your daily optic reset calibrating 
BRAND NEW 
	Our CCTV standard view 
	declining to smash utterly as Minute 
Splinters 
	prevent such ink immediate 
between Mind & Matter ,
	Powdered Charcol , meaning the whole 
Legal Judgement satisfied 
		Logic there in  
Personal reasoning & Multi - simplicity
	Leftscreaming up the curb 
as if 
	you were just walking by... Society's Needs 
cackling inhuman . Adverts scattering   w-/ only One 
Purpose 	rocking aby sentence.
		Cast Calm to Create.


Details | Sonnet | |

For Claude Mckay

Letter me with lines that I may distil
The sovereign sweetness of your flaming will
Teach me to sing of dusty flowers pure
And maiden's savaged innocence no more
To scorn, for you in all emotions soar
Though self-exiled from our tropical shore
Great poet, who brought Apollo's lyre here
O could you walk again your Harlem now
And find a lullaby for our dispear
And steal of words to edifice our vow

For we tingle with the doom we must hate
And all around us broken, tired of late
They sing self songs, until spring flies to ice
While in your rapture vice too would suffice. 


[Claude Mckay was a Jamaican poet, pioneer of the Harlem Rennaissnce, who died in penury in Chicago, after turning from Communism and its lucre to the Catholic faith. His poem "if we must die"was used by Churchill to motivate the allies into war]


Details | Narrative | |

Beauty and the Unpublished Author


Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored


Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 6

Now ... tell me the truth at 80 spaces .
Oh yes monthly at no extracted cost ,
trumpet swans announcing "All-New" "Chases"
... Gameshow w-/ only purpose " Just stay lost".
scratch that ... start at the count ... three Faces.
flicker on screen , once more , spider webbed frost.
Pulse of cheekbone ; paper Artic traces ...
Hailing to the Fanatic's RoseArm crossed.

	... Why just imagine , All times // All places ...
Daydream reality clearly embossed 
by Our pristine chords reading "All's Debased" ...
Job to do ... hands join ... Avert as off tossed 
I may stain ... lip gloss ... gulp of life wasted.

All Presents, Our Situation Hostage .


Details | Free verse | |

SWEET N' SOUR

SWEET N' SOUR EQUALS,
COTTON CANDY/LEMON HEADS
SUCH A BITTER SWEET SYMPHONY.


THIS COLD PLAY HEART, HAS
SEEN IT ALL; CHASING CARS
N' A YELLOW SUMERIAN UNDER
PRESSURE I WON' T FORGET YOU.


SP ("FAM") TO THE END!!! With A little sweet n' sour!!!!!!

Written By: 
Sweet N' SOUR=CARMA

06-23-12


Tribute to all soup FAM!!!


Details | Free verse | |

Writer's Block

The constant aching of deep despair
A cutting sword to the novelist’s pen
Mythical creatures are no match for this legendary obstruction
The chaotic stillness proof of the battle inside a genius mind
The search for a word, phrase or rhyme
Ever reaching for that just beyond his grip
Literary collections are not of use
What is written is cemented, not to be moved,
The perfect sentence not his for the taking
He returns to the parchment
The ink drips from his quill
The dark spot is a new world for discovery


Details | I do not know? | |

ART

Art is art is Art,

and as such it will be confrontational to someone,

and will at some point in it’s existence, 

piss someone off every minute of the day



( CLiPiCs AKA Kriss Lee: 03-06-09)


Details | Rhyme | |

BLOSSOMING GIFTS

  Oh, but for the gift of the written word
  When it comes that time of day for solace.
  They become the friends whom I seek
  As much as if they were Kings in a palace.


  Would I but get to know them better
  As each and every one reads past.
  Time will not allow me to meet them all
  But the ones I do, seem to fill the chasm so vast.


  My mind thinks on them every now and then
  Only to be tempted to sit and touch them more.
  Not only with the thoughts I had and have
  But with the emotions deep in my core.


  When I find that my words do not come 
  I cry for the ones I cannot know.
  Then I read the words of others who share
  Their words, like blossoms, within me grow.


  It is their kindness to me for which I am thankful
  As their words wash o'er me in time.
  To each of them I am the quiet reader
  For the words they write stick in my mind.


  These gifts to me are not to be overlooked
  As each one is a treasure wrapped in its own rhyme.
  May the Lord continue to bless all those who write
  With the gift of words, both simple and sublime.


  Is there anything else I need to say?
  There is but one thing I hope to do.
  Write words of emotion, comfort, elan, and voice
  That I might help to fill other chasms, too.


Details | Couplet | |

Here Lies the Poetic Warlock

Here lies the Poetic Warlock, a poetic rhyme slayer;
From the U.S. to Bangkok, he was an international game player!

He was born Jimmy M. Anderson, and he overcame all adversaries.
His slams were very contemporary, and his word-play was extraordinary!

He was the great, great grandson of the legendary Edgar Allen Poe.
His poetic guns had more ammo than the military and yet he was kinda a Romeo!

He chased the ladies, like Georgie Porgy Puddin Pie.
It is said, he was born in Hades, and that's why he was a demonic poetic samurai!!

Wrote strictly for Andrea Dietrich contest "Poetic Epitaph"


Details | Sonnet | |

Pulse of the Bard, or, Professor

Oh, the full, the precious words,
The darling letters, lighting gray,
Like thousands of thousands of baby birds
Come to carry my dreams away!
The pages waft, sweet and mellow
And spicy subtle scents of old.
Are they stained an aged yellow?
No. They've grown a glowing gold.
I know a man whose wrinkled page
Glows such a gold with passioned glee.
His face, though leathered and heavy with age
Seems all the more rare and beloved to me.
For the soul of a poet is forever unchanged
And the Pulse of the Bard yet floods his veins.


Details | Rhyme | |

"Seeing Through My Glasses"

I sit and write for hours with nothing to say...
My glasses put down where my pencil lay...
I write about me and you, and how we got here...
On how these days pass with more smiles then tears...
When you put my glasses on you can see like me...
Everything is put aside and its just us being free...
We lay together for hours as I search for words in my head...
The next day the paper shows all things we have said...
That's how I always know a way to think and write...
Its with you by my side, and all the words just seem right..


Details | I do not know? | |

words

Words Words can make you hurt, Words can make you cry. Words can make you laugh, 
Words can make you try. Words can change you and Words can make act wrong. Words 
can hurt others. But words that hurt are nothing new. Words with action is. Because some 
actions can hurt and make pain come. Some actions can make you feel happy and loved. 
Some actions can get you down the wrong road. But whatever happens, with words or 
actions Remember that friends and people have feelings Try listening to them Friends can 
make you laugh when your sad. They can catch you when you fall. No friend lets you die Or 
leaves you in a dark corner to cry. Friends are angels from above. They are there for you. 
So if their is one thing from this that you remember is should be this, Don't say your my 
friend one moment, Then hurt me and leave me to die the next.


Details | Free verse | |

AfterLife

Bleeding so painfully...I escape the light
 I try to forget the hardships...brewing in life
 But, it's too hard to live this life...this life
 
Breathing so heavily...I fade away into the night
 I try to forget my past...it slits me like a knife
 But, it's too hard to live this life...this life
 
Fight away the monster in my heart
 Throw away my sorrow...Take away my wretchedness
 Burn away the hideous rage...tearing me apart
 Take away the anger...renew my joyfulness
 
Oh God...please forgive me...
 I long for Your cheerfulness... to set me free!
 
Bleeding so dreadfully...I pray for delight
 I try to pray for mercy...for this pain is too much to bear
 But it's too hard to live this life...this life...
 
Fighting back tears...I discover His light
 I try to pray for comfort...and I know He is there
 I pray for His wisdom...to scare away the strife
 And escape from the darkness
 
I look forward to the afterlife
 When there's no sorrow or pain...
      When there's no manipulation...no evilness...
   no violence...no craftiness... 
Replayed...replayed...
 
Someday...someday 
That time will come!


Details | Rhyme | |

LIFE IS AN ADVENTURE

Life can be an awesome adventure for the one who dares;
shouldn't it also be for those in love,
who leave their dreamy hearts in a blossoming grove,
and will it, in definite time, turn into dreams?
Seek yours in forbidden realms,
let it come in form of fantasy...
await the blissful joy of a discover at sea,
or that one that mounts hide on their peaks!


Sail away as Columbus and Cabot did by reciting Hail Mary,
have faith by proving it to yourself, but ignore derisive laughs;
your ship will have you as captain and nobody else,
don't lose your way among crashing waves that make you afraid.
Remember your ambition when you left shore for glory...
don't let doubt discourage you from achieving what you planned!


My aspiration is to be an accomplished writer,
and starting off this adventure, I will use ample imagination;
madness some will say...weren't the explorers' minds driven by conviction?
Follow me and I'll prove them wrong: unearth my literary treasure!


Details | Free verse | |

Face Take Two

understanging nothing 
of radios,
cars or aristocratic
intentions.
...weslipped...
past to
alter 
w-/ out figures
turning from 
an ambigious image
To suggest 
it is easy to concede 
vegence 
behind barbwire fences.

...Years ago ; memory....
sober in the spotlight
saw
Facts that 
are for once 
cherished in a world.

Reluctant to 
proceed 
beneath democratic 
government.
So 
just Hold you 
Breath
&
Break
a foreign face.


Details | Sonnet | |

Francine

I admire the work by our own Francine. She writes things descriptively clear and clean. Each new submission I eagerly anticipate. ‘I will gladly read it because I’ll know it’s great. Francine comes from the north in British Columbia That’s the westernmost province up in Canada. She lives with a very large collection of birds. What I can admire are her poems with words. Francine is a woman both knowledgeable and bright. I can find her on the Soup both day and night. Her many compositions have been put to the test. Francine does rank up there among the best. There is just one more item I have to say: Francine, what do you have for us to see today?


Details | Free verse | |

Flinch

You can't say 
months or years 
w-/ out trying 
to grasp the scale 
of Time
involved.
Rubber bands 
pinging off one 
two three 
kidneybean cans,
chosen simply for 
occupation of space
line space,
	imagery
in a cage. Thats 
how I'll write 
from now on
pacing the 
paperbacked floor
fingernails my only fuel.
Scritch scratching down
the blackboard.
If only to make you 
Flinch


Details | Rhyme | |

HISTORY WILL JUDGE ME

History will judge me I'm finally told,
when greatness will be mine to behold;
this naked truth has always reflected my intent...
nobody has ever been able to muzzle any sentiment.


Negative criticism can't eat away my spontaneous creativity,
and diminish this inwardly intricacy;
and if irascibility seems irrepressible...
no irony is found in relevant words that are totally irrefutable.


History will judge me for my free will,
examining my morals and authenticity,
and by its own standard, acclaim me as they will...
even for my fluent and expressive verses of sincerity.


Belying is not the mendacious creed I profess,
intolerant of inequality, inflamed by fairness...
expelling deeds of duplicity that impinge on truthfulness;
and the imbecile, like the scoundrel, still practices insolence.    


History will judge me for my temperament:  sad, jaunty,
jolly, jocose, comical, querulous, lonesome and moody;
and should it immortalize me among its chosen literati...
this honor I will accept with acclamation and dignity. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci 
,


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Flashlight-Battery, Baby ... ' (or Shine On Jared Pickett)

The Girls Have All Agreed
On Some Things, All Women Need:
A Supply Source For Our Vanity
… and The Eveready-Flashlight-Battery …

Going Down A ‘Random’ Road
In The Deep of Night, When Life Has Slowed
Down … or Car Comes To A Stop
We Need An Energizer or Copper-Top …

In The Deep of Night, Trying To See
And Feel Safe, Thru Our Ambiguity
When We Need More Than Flicker-Flattery
… Give Us A Flashlight Battery …

… Your Flashlight Smile
Your Flashlight Style
Your Flashlight Confidence
Your Flashlight Manliness

Your Flashlight Ego
Is A Flashlight Hero
… and The Flashlight Form, Most With It
Is The Flashlight, Jared Pickett …

… Incorrigible, Adorable, Really More Than Capable
Hot, Poetry-Soup Staple And Palpable
With Appetites, Insatiable
Your Poetry is Quite Potent-Pleasurable

So, Flash On, Big Screen Valentino !
Lead On, With Lines of A Lothario
Casanova, Would Be Your Acolyte
( ‘Cause Even A Lady Needs A Flashlight )

Flash On, In Sensual-Satisfactory !
Give A Taste of Testosterone-Trajectory
No Girl Can Stand Before A Man, In All His Glory
This Is Factory-Tag… and It’s Man-datory


If Dura-Cell, I Got A Place For You
So, You Can  Keep Doing, What Cha’ Do
And Power-Up, Like You’ve Alluded
‘Cause This Doll, Needs Batteries Included …

And Pour Me A Real-Strong Daiquiri
Put On Favorite CD, Slow-Dance, Track For Me
And Come Here, You Copper-Top-Skinned Honey
And Beat That Drum … You Energizer-Bunny


To:     Jared Pickett … The Flashlight
         and The Romeo Of Poet-Writes
This One’s An Original – Just For You Kiddo …

                 Your Poet-Pal,
                       The MoonBee


Details | Free verse | |

Pro Predicament

Circuitous circular departures cleverly Sequester and  
embrace Inexpressible  moments of time.

Reexamine status, prevent  consciousness apathy, 
fabricate and reflect acceptance of self. 

precisely propose  to expose fallaciously filtered 
fantastical trickery touched theories.

Turn tasteless translucent tall tales into stable, sturdy, 
structured strands and threads of reality.

Penniless pocketless Poets put the points paralleled 
and placed above onto pure white pieces of paper.

 Once they find the ramble in their role they carefully 
command,Clever creative content to appear from thin vapor.

Amusement, bemusement, a resplendent  daring drawn 
out dark dance down a solitary diabolical descent. 

Lingering Layers let love live in a finely spun web of 
lazy, lofty, lyrical linguistic letters; lost lurking spiders cant
 reach the heights that sadness fled.

Poets are pros, pronounced proponents, that precisely 
reconstruct a feelings components that fails to leave any 
audience in a stoic state of stoney discontent..... 

Though they tirelessly endeavor to gain a fans approval 
and respect, they fail in fortunes favor. 
 Yet each day they commit make their art 
when most would be right to quit. 

Anyone can become a pro poet, 
you can tell we are devoted, though it should be noted 
if that's the readers intent, not a paid pro among us can 
come close to turning our 
thoughts into rent!


Details | Alliteration | |

The Prime Directive Quiz ( P D Q) or Prolix Drama Queen Part One

When You Really Discern… 
‘Why The Drama?’ Pattern
and Pending-Adoration,
 Pertains-Peroration
When You Perceive… 
Who Demands and Why?...  Proceed… 
… to Ply and Pry to Ascertain…
’ He Deserves This Portion-Acclaim’
  and Drumming-Heart, Soulful-Desire…
and Defer-Strength to Dry-Pyre
 and Humble-Pie, Donated-Data –
 in Your Plea-Bargain-Brain- Por-Nada
Disperse the Diaspora
Prefer Real-Deal and Retain Prerogative-Honor

 To, The Divine and Peerless… 
 Person of God – of Pure-Spirits
…  Whose Personage Positively… 
Remains Due-Homage and Dignity
…The Pinnacle… 
Of  The Direct-Pact - Empirical 
Drawn and Done, 
with His Precious DayStar-Son,
 Who Deigned to Come
by The Father’s Decree… 
 Was Dispatched with Poise-Prudently
as Probe and Provision… 
for Our Poverty and Pleurisy-Drain-Derision

He is The Pivot-Portrayal of Royal… 
and Portal-To-Pace-Immortal
This Diadem-Prince-Progeny… 
of Dazzling Famed-Piety and Propriety!
The Possessor and Presenter 
and The Permission-for-us-to Speak and Palace-Enter
The Premium-Derivative-Son,
 This Potentate Happy One...
 Proof-Explained and Patent-Won
Delving Mysteries; Described Memories; 
Drawing Forth Miracle-Draperies
and In Deference… 
As A Pro-Dative – Proconsul-Presence… 
He Maintains Preference
and Displays:  That, The Dynamic-Will… 
and Determined-Purpose Still,
Definitely,  is Top-Priority…
 One… and The Preeminent-Same… Pardon-Plea
He Is The Presiding – Deciding-Door-Key…
Precisely! -  Praise-Accordingly!

For We Are Wind-Swept, Droves of Dust… 
Dirt and Air-Gusts,  
Now, Plundered-Seeds… Still-Planted… 
Packed to Earth, Properly-Contained and Patted
 if We Continue to Divide… 
Disfigure, Pilfer and Hide 
From SonShine, then in Dirty-Prairie…
 We’ll be Permanent-Lain- and Perjury
If  ‘We Choose’ to Develop… 
Too Low-Down, to Peel-Hope
  or Plow-Perverted… 
The Preview, We’ll Not Regain…(We Deserted!)
Its Our Duty and Delight… 
to Reach Dawn-Heights
and Par-Policy:  Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse


Details | Rhyme | |

Writer's Delight (My Delight)

I write to take the pain away
Releasing heartache
Not allowing it to meditate
Not allowing it to penetrate
Triggering unwanted emotions
That create the notions
That cause me to hate
Or hold malice
Malicious thoughts taint the soul
Tamper the spirit
So I write my pain down
For the world to read
Never to hear it
Writing is my weapon of choice
Shooting words and rhythms
This is what I choose to do
Rather than shooting with a nine-millimeter
 Or a twenty-two
Writing
To evoke contentment
To contrast some of the hard feelings
Given by the life
That so rarely satisfies
Allowing the pain to slowly die
Line by line
Word by word
Nouns and verbs
Which show action
The act of my passion
Causing a distraction
To everything that has upset
And beset me
To pause and redirect me
Letting go 
Starting anew 
To introduce the world to my view
What I see
My sight
This is my writer’s delight


Details | I do not know? | |

Messages Of Love

Write a letter, a note, a message,
Whatever that can make him notice.

Fold the paper into the shape of a bird.
Let the written piece fly away to where he is.

Write a note. Post it onto his locker.
It’ll make him discover there’s an admirer.

Roll up a message. Place it in a bottle.
Never know where it might just settle.

Write a letter. Mail it away.
So that he may read it one day.

E-mail what you want to say. Send it away.
Patiently wait for what he has to say.

Write a wish. Envision it becoming real.
Perhaps someday you’ll both truly feel the same.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' The Greatest Poet Of All ... '

God … Is The Greatest Poet of All
God … Is The Greatest Poet
God, Speaks … And Leaves Us In Awe
… Astounded and Author-Devoted ! …

Yea … We are Humbled and Thunderstruck
and Sublimely Mesmerized
on His Sacred Utterances … We Have Drunk
like Raindrops of Soft-Mercy-Cries …

… While Angels, Sing in Quicksilver-Skies
Even His Son, is Called:  ‘ The Word ’ and Wise          ( John 1: 1 )
and Every Will and Syllable, and Vowel, Which Rise
… Begins, with Wondrous Words, ‘ He ’ Vocalized

And His Words, Are Strict-Forms and Bright-Joy-Colors
or Sometimes, Warnings in Stark Black and White
Yet … Articulated in Glorious Auras
from He, Who Called, The Darkness … Night               ( Gen. 1: 5 )

from ‘ He ’, Who Said:  ‘ Let There Be Light ’               ( Gen. 1: 3 )
‘ He ’, Who Orated, Birds in Sun-Flight
‘ He ’, Who Orated Sounds, So Right
Spoke Words, Worthy of ‘The Copywrite’ …

… Like, ‘ Let Us Make Man In Our Image ’ …                ( Gen. 1: 26 )
… and Humans, have been Echoing, Ever Since
For His Words Are More Than Vintage
They Are Epitome of Love and Law-Sentence

… Yea … We Emerged from God’s Epiphany
We Should Recite, What He Spoke First
in Such Beauteous, Lilting-Poetry …
… God, Spoke Forth ‘ The Universe ’ ! …                      ( Gen. 1: 1 )

… Called, The Dry Land, Earth                                    ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Called, The Waters … Seas                                         ( Gen. 1: 10 )
Pronounced Eve, Mother of Birth                                 ( Gen. 3: 16 )
(tho’ She Stole at Speech-Trees)                                ( Gen. 3: 6, 13 )

Yea … God Called Forth, Flashes and Flowers
and The Breath of Life and Swarms of Honey-Bees
And with Dynamic, Inspiration Power ! …
God … Even Called Forth … me

… and You, and You, and Your Voice Too !          ( John 3: 16  & John 10: 16 )
And Refreshing-Dew and Dawns, Brand-New
And The Rare-Edition – Chosen Few                   ( Matt. 7: 14  & Matt. 22: 14 )
… Each Bound-Volume, Ringing, Amen-True !      ( Rev. 14: 5 )

Yea … God, Is The Greatest Poet of Them All !
So, Let Us Catch Each Poem-Pearl, in Free-Fall
and Collect Them and Gather Graciously, as They Call
to Conjugate and Climb O’er, Deaf-Mute-Stanza Walls

… to Applaud, The Greatest Poet, Ever and All …


Details | Rhyme | |

WILL WE LET THE MIND REST?

Due to a lack of inspiration,
even this weary pen won't flow...
thoughts freeze and allow confusion...
when stillness seems a wind that doesn't blow. 


By letting the mind rest, will it restore itself to wholesomeness
and usefulness? Isn't it like our body that refuses to perform well,
when it's exhausted and needs to escape from unbearable tiredness?
Tomorrow awakening, we'll take that challenge by promising a story to tell!


If idleness perseveres, all the honorable glories
we've accumulated will be lost to remoteness and time,
our ideals will fall into oblivion and entirely forgotten by others...
then should we let the mind rest, to stop the writing process in its prime?


I suggest perseverance over needless deprivation;
expressing oneself freely and honestly is effective and worth pursuing,
it provides against profound silence and dull stagnation...
will we let the mind rest and not discover something worth seeing?       


Details | Free verse | |

Destruction and Decadence

I have no idea what you are facing in this segment of life
You are like a labyrinth; I can’t untangle the mayhem without any clues
Spill out your emotions…there’s a waterfall in your eyes ready to collapse
I don’t have the time and willpower to hike on your colossal mountain

Are you fit enough to climb with my echoing praise?
I doubt I ever have the strength to crawl into your agonizing thoughts
Of destruction and decadence
Of despondent dreams and isolated guidance

Do you accept my benevolence towards you?
Do you believe that I can mend your shattered dreams?
Do you accept my fondness towards a friend like you?
Do you have faith that I can make your dreams a reality as it truly seems?

Your contemplation is another expedition to trek
You are like an island, separating cramming chaos from undying peace
Rise from the cave and attack…there’s a bear in your nature, watching over her cubs
I don’t have the ability and determination to trudge in your soggy wasteland

Are you slick enough to trek with my shielding gaze?
I doubt I’m nowhere to be found in your thoughts of desolation
And destructive formation,
Springing forth the equipment of your
Turmoil and damnation

With any luck, I hope we can arrive in one piece
On the other hand, I wish that we both escape from this horrifying journey
Because I want to discard the labyrinth, crafting puzzling pathways that draw me back to
Destruction and recklessness
That I, by no means, address


Details | Light Poetry | |

WHY HIP HOP

some say this  and that
the turth is like a rat
cool like a cat
so they let it out
no doudt
its none stop
guess that 
WHY HIP HOP


Details | Couplet | |

Congragulations

Excitement is running through my mind at this point,
It is hard to control so much 

When something so honorable,
Happens to come across

For me personally,
It was the proposition

From a contest by,
World Poetry Movement

In which I entered in,
And received a letter back

Stating that my poem,
Had made it to the next level

But that is not all,
Oh no

What's more is that they informed me,
That they were publishing that very poem

In a book titled "Stars In Our Hearts"
Which is to be published in August this year

I hope each and every one who happens to read this,
May read my poem "The Beat of the Heart"

In the book.
Thank You.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

One For Love

Your sweet breath escapes you and engulfs my soul 
Through words spoken as though from some celestial being 
Warm emotion floods me, floods my very fibrous core 
Love I feel is not a mere four letter 

Word that reluctantly man takes for granted, but more a 
Monument to the jubilous fire you set my soul alight with 
Speak, I cannot, the true magnitude of shear bliss 
Endured by my mortal flesh. With the slightest brush 
Of your angelic fingers. None can know or fathom 
what true insurmountable beauty lies within 
green fields of yet discovered highland plains laden with 
flowers and sweet honey aroma blows within. Feeble 
in my attempts to profess my own meek emotions 
turmoil of my own past colliding with the yet to be. I destroy 
myself knowing such turmoil I cause in an entity 
none like yourself. Meager apology and material possessions 
offer no hint of emotion of love and remorse contained 
My, love, our love, will endure of that much I am sure. Open my mind 
My only wish, to show you things I need you to see. I have known 
No strength such as yours you take for granted. Times as this 
I've never known but with you only would I have it to spend. Forget 
Not the who I was, the who I am, and the who I will be. 
My love, our love will endure of that much I am sure 
 
Monotony & Mundane remain the same 
caught in this slippery pretty net 
we're all falling in and around our own whirlpools 
our upward spiral climbs too high - the higher up the further down 
Fly the same play the same one with the other 
floating always floating 
This sea we've created weaved in the merciless 
fabric of the time we all flock to certain death 
holding the hands of our clocks & wondering why 
our own bleed. double edged is the face of 
a sundial. With each shadow flicker anguish & 
joy death & life exist permanently & are lost forgotten 
by time held by life lost by eternity. 
Let's all rally hand in hand while the band 
plays on 


Details | Tetractys | |

I'm Confident

faith
when we
cannot put
trust in persons
promises without
previously assenting
to or believing in that persons
claim to have such confidence in thy self







Feel The Faith


Details | Quatrain | |

AN EXTRAORDINARY DREAMER

Since childhood my vivid and alluring aspirations
painted my rainbows with different colors,
not the ones I was after and truly adored...
who has ever heard of a teenager being bored?



Anytime I saw a train leave the station with its smooth rhythm,
I wanted to be that conductor who could never fall asleep,
and at every stop he would look carefully before closing the doors...
then, laid-back, watch the changing landscape and whistle his tunes!



If imagination had not been there to tackle my reflective tendencies
that were, indeed, rooted in all aspects of the present wilderness,
I wouldn't have cultivated this passion and turn it into a realistic dream...
which allowed inspiration to enter the subconsciousness of this thinker's realm!    



The fast-paced postman delivering mail to mailboxes seldom locked, thrilled me;
he looked so sharp and handsome greeting folks, and it would have been an honor
to chat with them, listening to their suggestions and helping them thoroughly...
I visualized myself as such, and even practiced it daily in front of large mirror!



If tons of ideas hadn't fed the urge to jot down details with ebullient imagery,
unless I wasn't aware of their poignant meaning and powerful message,
I wouldn't have let fantasy create an extraordinary dreamer out of someone so ordinary...
to adorn dullness with my cheerfulness and change winter to spring!
 


Details | I do not know? | |

Trapped, Alone

Failure to plan on your part
Doesn’t mean an emergency on my part
That is what today over the radio I heard
And as sharp as an arrow in my heart it stung

Now it’s almost a month
Since on the boat of chance I jumped
	...hoping for luck
I’d heard enough of my big dreams banging my head
Now here I am, so worried of what’s ahead

I know all about that positivity stuff
In fact I write about it trying to earn some cash
But man, how tough it is to live off art in this part of Africa
The society looks at me with suspicious eyes for they do not understand

I am a lone ranger in a range full of cons
I am a range rover in a range full of thorns
I try my best to improve my all
But always to reality’s end I fall short

Sometimes I wish to be back to the home that didn’t foster my hope
Sometimes I wish to be helped by the dad I’ve never known
But all the time life shouts upon me the reality that I’m alone
Oh, I know I gotta stay to fulfil my purpose
	...but sometimes I wish I was gone


Details | Monorhyme | |

Carolyn

She has been a delight since she first joined this website. She performs an altruistic rite both day and night, sharing her insight. Pious as an Israelite ascending Mt. Sinai’s height. She has ability to distinguish wrong from right. Lactiferous with human kindness in a metaphorical light. A moral beacon during a starless immoral night. Always being polite. An exemplary socialite. Never requiring being contrite. Displaying formidability despite A genteel cortical initial sight. Standing upright. Possessing intrinsic might. Speaking with eloquence forthright. Containing innate perspicuous foresight. She has a voracious appetite for all knowledge in sight. In addition, with encompassing insight, she includes inscribed descriptive might that can put up a fight without any fright. She may write with words subtly lithe and light, in quantitative measure appearing right. About birds in flight, soaring to great height. Or sunshine exceedingly bright. Sometimes a softly moonlit night. Occasionally of gems of malachite glowing like green moonlight. Perhaps rubies luminescent with fiery light; polished to a radiance shown in a volcanic eruption sight. She is an experienced poet write; a legitimate constituent outright on this poetic workshop website. She is not a literary neophyte.


Details | Concrete | |

Words in the dictionary

English prides itself on being a well-spring of today’s language
like a magpie that freely picks up foreign words elsewhere
with an attempt to incorporate them into its richness of vocabulary;
a great endeavor that makes sense to be a global lexicon these days.

It’s a continuing effort that knows no barrier with other nations,
to the world of cultures with an attitude of openness and expansion;
widens one’s horizon and enables one to get a habit of insertion,
recognized as an inspiration that becomes a treasure trove of information.

Interesting it may be to find one’s word from a particular culture
that insertion in the dictionary which is a constant guide to everyone;
a close study, a reference to certain thoughts, backgrounds, and origins,
these words provide their meanings and usages in sentence constructions.

Yet their phonetic spellings are great indications to pronounce them well
according to history or origin that supply right definitions and implications,
their etymological meanings, derivations or other shades of meanings;
in their contextual variations or figurative implications thus far.

As they possess the power of meanings or as an identity of every word,
their roles make substance and clarity to what is necessary to understand;
they make a difference; they serve like guardian angels in every way,
whose central tenet and mission explore guidance and comprehension.

Webster’s, Oxford, McQuarie or Thesaurus as dictionaries used these days,
with idiomatic expressions provided in different contexts and origins;
however, profound or different as applied in many human situations,
they convey wisdom; so rich that many times they’re used in today’s parlance.

Words, words, words, as Hamlet famously moaned when Polonius asked him;
what he reads and wrestles with words and meanings generate an answer,
it’s the same thing with one’s attitude to consult or refer to a lexicon,
a dictionary, a thesaurus, or any similar print that provides meanings –
words that draw the link between history and experiences of humanity.


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Soup Group

Poetry Soup Group

This is quite a group, 
the people at Poetry Soup.

They make me feel 
like a part of their troop.

No matter how much bad 
poetry I enter in their contests 
they still encourage 
me to write until I poop!

The State of the 
group at Poetry Soup
Is that it’s a great 
place to regroup,
Eat soup and write 
poetry late at night,
When you can’t 
seem to sleep.

It’s a great group of people,
Good company to keep.
They make me want to
Leap for joy each time
I log on to Poetry Soup!


Details | Free verse | |

You Are Jamming My Dreams

I wait crossly
To get picked up straightaway
I wait optimistically
To step into the murky bowels of my car

I can’t advance…
When you’re dragging me to your feet
I can’t progress…
When you’re motivating me to be incomplete

I wait at ease
To get a ride home
I wait with heaps of crotchetiness
To jam myself into the jumbled car

I can’t drive on…
When you’re creating traffic in my dreams
I can’t carry on as fast
When you’re taking your time on the freeway,
Though your obedience beams

You’re jamming my dreams, sweet dream catcher
You’re liveliness gleams…It’s not what it seems... (2)
It’s certainly not what it seems…
Blame it on my dreams!
You’re just a dream come true…
It’s nothing that popped out of the blue…
It’s not that surprising
If you only knew…
Oh, you don’t have a clue…
This infatuation is positively true!

I can’t move on…I can’t drive on… (2)
I can’t ride on the road to victory…
I can’t burst forth by dashing proudly
Until you hit the brakes and cease from
Jamming my exotic dreams

I can’t travel on… I can’t light up the sky…
I can’t dream on and on and on
I can’t drift on and on
I can’t…I can’t move on
I can’t… I can’t!
Until you inspire me to gleam!

(the whispers grow soundless)
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can’t drive on…
I can't...I can't...
I just can't,
Dear friend...
*silence*


Details | Alliteration | |

The Prime Directive Quiz ( P D Q ) or Prolix Drama Queen Part Two

and Par-Policy:  Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse

It Was Due To Prior-Parent’s Vain-Disobey, 
so They Diminished, That-Dare-Day…
The Delectable…
 and Passed Up The Palatable –
 Main… Held-Accountable
Course (so  not  hard !) 
But They Failed to Avoid: 
 The Ditch, The Decline, The Devoid
They Deformed; Distorted… 
and Perished, at Path of Disdain- Deported!
Prithee, Who Wants to See… A Dashed-to-Pieces Pottery?
Not even-Periphery-me!... It’s No Longer Picture-Pretty 
Despite Protocol-Deficiency… ‘til I get a Decent Setting Plate
On Broken Dresden- my Pheasant-Dinner Won’t be Ate

And Now… Disorder of The Day… 
is Devious, and Double-Dismay
…  Disgrace, Depression… 
and A Putrid-Depraved-Puke-Stain-Progression
 Plunged into Disease and Death; 
Some Plummet and Pose-Deranged-Stealth
Percolating Panic… 
and Picking Up Pride-Plagues- Still-Pandemic
from-Cain’s Prozac-Paddock … Pathetic !

Though, All Are Not Dissidents-Decayed… 
Deteriorated …  or Dastardly-Dross-Sprayed
 Applaud- When Prodigal-Lost is Found, 
and Those ‘Punching-Back-At-Pangs-Bane’ Pound!
By Adhering to The Dedicated-Drive, 
of The Deft-Guardian-Defender’s Eyes
Who Points Where Our Polished-Pebbles’ Sling, 
Put-Practice-Ping-Ping-Aim (ing)
Dove(ing) Over to Dangle The Desist… 
or Meet Thy Downfall Pretenders-Risk…

For We Pummel Problems… 
and Dent and Pelt Puzzle-Plight-Chains (Pop ‘em!) 
Definitive Deeds, Decorous… 
Meant to Disable Dynamite Pipes-Porous 
To Prevent Our Pulverized-Maim 
and Proffer:  A Predicament-Slain

Our Pilgrimages In Pursuit of Paragon-Virtue… 
Must Make Distribution or Divesture:
the Property… of Pomposity
Pageantry… Profits and Desperate-Popularity
and don – Parsimony, and  Penury, 
Pariah, Pest-Control and Peculiarity
yet Pleasurably, we have heirloom-Pendants and Pence-a-Few …
and Pearl-Gates and Doubloons and Dew Drops Too
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …


Details | Light Poetry | |

Dandy Mandy

Everything she writes is fine and dandy. For good comments, Mandy is always handy. This lady’s words are as sweet as candy. Take a look at what she has posted today. There is a whole lot of good I have to say. She can make January feel as nice as May. For as long as she wants, Mandy can stay.


Details | Narrative | |

Thanx for the Welcome

Hey, thanks a heavy bunch for the welcome
Hey, thanks a larger lot for the welcome

My heart is duly enthralled
My mind has been positively stirred

Two days ago I had a lot on my mind
Now ‘coz of y’all, here I exist in delight

Heaven must be missing quite a number of angels
For what I read on my screen can’t be wordings of ordinary mortals

For now I don’t need heaven
For I have found myself a haven full of the soup I need to get well

A brick at a time, each with purity and love in mind
I’m certain this shrine full of wonder will rise to shine

Such are the blessings of men and women of initiative
Offering poets like me and you the mortar to build our dreams into reality

My heart fills with gratitude, tonnes of it in advance
For the doors of opportunity I’m certain to unearth, in this shelter of dreams

The beginning might be a tad bit rocky
But please bear with me as I drift off my ecstasy to clarity, as consequential of this 
new discovery

I promise to soon find my bearings
And flow at ease like a new Lamborghini on these sleek streets of many dreams

In the meantime don’t mind if sometimes I blurt
For a new soup like this always tastes so sweet, makes one reveal what he was 
meant to keep

Thanks indeed for allowing me to be a part of you
Allow me to advertise to others that you and I on Poetry Soup too
 


Details | Verse | |

Poet's Paramour


Sweet Goddess, Personification,
You’re not an abstract ideation,
So listen to this supplication:
“Love me, and my verse creation.”
01-01-80


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry Soup

This is where I come to bleed.
Where I leave my heart for you to read.
So many things in my heart to grieve.
But only one place it can come to relieve.

It's where my friends I've never met,
Yet, in their minds, my feelings I set.
You relate my fears. You see my love,
Even for that of my God high above.
I speak to you of the one I hold dear.
Whenever, for her, I'm shedding a tear.

Poetry and song in the world we fill,
Leaving it with an insurmountable bill.
Though in money and riches we do not bask,
A little of your time is all I ask.
Poetry soup is what soothes my soul.
It makes even the broken feel once again whole.

I write when I'm joyful. I write when I'm lost.
I write when the world has me beaten and tossed.
It's a medicine so potent we cannot perceive.
They're words that can make weak humans believe.

So to you the readers I am ever indebted.
It's a friendship I have not ever regretted.


Details | Acrostic | |

' Carol Brown ... (In Acrostic Form) '

C	omfort, Caring

A	lways Answering

R	eflective, Refreshing

O	pen, Only-Offering

L	aughter, Loving



B	ringing Beauty, Bonding

R	eaching, Reasoning

O	riginal, Observing

W	rought Worthy Writings

N	arrates Nobly, Noticing …

      … Really Makes For A Good-Evening:
           Carol Brown’s Poem-Readings

       (and I Mean Every Word of Each Line)

                 Your Poet-Sis ... MoonBee


Details | Narrative | |

Ben Ja Min

on Jan 17th 1706 Benjamin Franklin was born 
became a printers apprentice 
established the first lending library
was known as an uncommom comman man 
that taught self in science and inventions






Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790


Also Entry For Brian Strand's   Vignette
A Literary Love Affair Contest
         GL All


Details | Couplet | |

The Most Beautiful People

Sometimes we write in a certain way
That’s the style God choose that day

I pick no subject I just start to write
I just simply rely on my inner-sight

I truly feel pretty good on this day
It’s all just a frame of mind they say

I headed out back so I could mow
Busted and disgusted, wife said no

I hurt all the time the drop of a dime
Pain will always be a friend of mine

Pain is the only one I had for years
So much pain full of so many tears

Love on the inside, pain on the out
It last day after day without a doubt

I’m not quite sure where this will lead
As I eat all the pain and plant the seed

Love planting them, then watching them grow
Into the most beautiful people I could ever know

One of the most beautiful, check this out
Tag Chris Higgins, what this poems about


-------------------------------------------------
I'm pretty sure by now we all know just how 
special Christopher Higgins is to our mixture
of perfect homegrown soup,  Bro I love you
                                     God Bless, MJ


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Great Existence

Moving up over through 
Into
All I've known is felt through the end 
Never a beginning always ending
Falter as I may, myself I hold - alone in company 
Tress in to limestone pillars of my great hall 
Great as the Norse and proud as well
Threads of time woven with clumsy hands led by blind eyes 
Thus is the expanse of the web of life The Great Existence 
Not where but it's the being that is. Is what I am and 
What we are


Details | Free verse | |

The Crystal Slipper

I've been preserving a Crystal Slipper warmed only by the thoughts in my heart. I'm like the 
King of hearts, patiently waiting for his Queen of hearts... So here I reach with words which 
only she will understand. I long to feel again, the simple pleasures of watching my lady's 
smile, as I hand her a single rose. enjoy random candle lid dinners, while I watch with 
adoring pleasure the light of the candles enhances the sparkle in her eyes, feeling my warm 
Latin blood, pulsing through my veins, waiting with anticipation, as I hold her precious hand, 
to share each others lips, in a loving, suckling desert of passion and desire... Even though, I 
know, every woman holds a beauty deep within her, My Queen will always know how 
especially unique her beauty truly is to me. I've always believed that if a man actually 
stopped and looked at the beauty of a woman's heart, it would be so hard not to smile, but if 
allowed to touch, taste and breathes her in, he would want to protect her, and be hers 
forever. Here's a poem I always liked. It's directed to the one who feels I've been warming 
her Crystal Slipper... "If when I die, I have the choice to reclaim my life as anything, I'd 
choose to be one of your tears. How could any man want anything less Than to be conceived 
in your heart, Born in your eyes, Fall, caressing your warm cheeks, To finally rest, and die, 
on your lips..."
What a beautiful gift God's placed on earth, when he unselfishly created you... Like a rose in 
bloom, a woman can seem the same ... Mysterious but oh so lovely when unfolded with a 
kiss...


Details | Senryu | |

REALIZING THAT DREAM...

Never wrote for fame...
to foresee triumphs: it was
a necessity!


Entered in Linda-Marie Bariana's contest,
" I Am A Poetry Book "


Details | Romanticism | |

Milk and Cookies

Batman had Robin,
Abbott had his Lou,
Harvey had his rabbit,
Just as I have you

Like milk and cookies
Naturals together since times of yore
And our President Bill Clinton
Had his friend Al Gore

Like Peace and War
Tolstoy's famous book
And magazines so alike
Like "Life" had it's "Look"

I walk in nirvana
Unsure if this is true
And you can count on
A love forever for you


Details | Narrative | |

eap-POE

The romantic man was mysterious, inventive and restless: 

and the Universe's vastness influenced his intellect,

in the arts' world he was known as a crafted lyricist and poet;

by the creativity of his mind, he kept that flame lit...

in the human soul, he drew real images of his fate.


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | ABC | |

Poetic Journey

At beginning, certain derivatives escaped form,
Growing here, I joined keen living mighty names,
Obtaining poetic qualification, returned sweetly,
Telling universally valiant words,
 Xeroxing yearlong zeal


Details | Rhyme | |

Decisions

If we had a choice
Between life and death
Would it make us rejoice?
Or would it be another lifeless breath?

If we had to choose 
To die now or to live for eternity
Would you say your last goodbyes
To see the next life that God has for thee?
Or would you live to see 
What lies beneath every word of every word spoken 
To take life as a simple token?

If you had to choose
Between watching someone die as you are able to do nothing.
Rather than to kill that someone in self defense who is doing everything that's 
something.
Would you do it?
If you had nothing tolose
But your life?

If you were chosen to save
Would you save a child from a burning house?
Or would you be a little less brave
And pass it to go to Europe with a free browse?

Would you do things you normally wouldn't do
Live to see the world at its end
Save a young heart from the massive truth?
To watch yourself lose a best friend?
Tell me, would you?


Details | Rhyme | |

When I Grow Up

when I grow Up
I want to teach the world
how to salute to a flag thats unfurled

when I grow up
I want to take my brothers hand
and march across this beautiful land

when I grow up
I want to find a girl
that makes my heart just swirl

when I grow up
I want to find a job
and not have to beg steal or rob

when I grow up
I want to learn about God
and miracles created through bowing nods

when I grow up
I want alot of friends
who will hold my hand as my time ends

so when I grow up
I hope this fun never ends
of pretending and playing this game once again




Tribute To Childhood
This was seen through a little boy's perspective lol


Details | Rhyme | |

For Claude Mckay

Boots pavements pounding,
Brass buttons becoming stars
Where fear was astounding
The heart; and in all their wars
We were but a margin, you
I and expendable like small talk
Before the mold infected dew.
I from car to car with you walk
The porter serving words on streets
Of Harlem, the sable prince
A duckling lost. I pound the beats
And watch the enemy wince,
O not the feudal demogogues of war
Who mask the pain with courage
And switch us like codes in a cold star
You need a better leverage.
 
You need village fiddle and fife dripping
Like nightingale at deleicious dawn
Crystal clear the heart a clarion calling
The image hiding a hunted fawn.
I too have stood in that Harlem since
And long for spanish needle kiss
Where the fertile female walk and mince
Like wind the petals in white mist.
Sweet singer of the greatest dawn, in
Which the new self found old peace
Far away from nightmare rope and din
Of heart pent up and pangs for release.
 
O Jamaica, full mast so the flag again
Never dead the living spirit
A man who sang, bearing human strain
Lift high the torch, as he lit
The dawn with it, beacon him with dawn
The warrior in the trench of race
The fire for the trembling timid fawn
Africa's spell upon a full gleaming face.


Details | Quatrain | |

MY POETICAL EXPRESSIONS

Through these verses I divulge my poetical expressions
to ignore criticism and not hoot while extricating my ideals;
my work is marked by indisputable integrity,
more plausible than a woman's chastity!


Recognition and deserving honor are nice,
but they are the least rewards I seek,
best of the best...who ever was ?
Worst of the worst.. I cannot be!


I fall between these two, lest I fault
and fairly deserve the dungeon... 
the crowds not applauding my effort,
not  proclaiming me a champion!  


My words are soave, sometimes as rigid as hooves of a horse...
reminding all that I am as human as anyone else who bleeds and rejoices, 
but  my creativity is not satiated by inferior knowledge or bizarre notions,
although my glory is never accompanied by real expectations!


Like Homer and Virgil the masters of ancient poetry,
I do praise their work, and recognize their genius shining in their word;
Troy fell and Rome rose to prominence by a bloody sword;
I don't fall by trickery, I stand on my fortress of liberty!


My obligation must be fulfilled by ardous work, I will not depart,
or merely linger on...until this mission is faithfully accomplished, and this voice,
before fading, invokes its last sunset to finally fall silent;
and if readers acclaim me, I have succeeded in my poetical expressions!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

The writer

Minutes turn to hours,
as the clock ticks onwards;
still the paper before me
remains crisp, white – untouched.

My right hand is now cramped,
from it’s gripping my pen
and the notation on my pad,
slowly bringing alive my thoughts.

Every scribe I write becomes structured,
I stop to think before every word;
look back over what I have written,
disjointed, yet I know it all.

A play on my script,
tweaking here and there.
Informing every thought I record,
bringing brilliance for my virgin page.

Words form sentences,
pictures are painted; a masterpiece of art,
breathing life to my work,
to be realized by many.

I transfer my scribe,
to my neat sheet waiting.
Ink flows smoothly, a pleasure to see.
Release washes relief over my tense form.

Midnight strikes, not long left now,
before I can lay my pen to rest
and bid ‘Goodnight’,
to another fulfilled and worthy day.


Details | Free verse | |

Help one another!

Encourage one another
and promote each others work;
help them if they're struggling
nurture all their worth.
Advocate or contribute,
stimulate their minds;
Recommend a sponsor,
to assist, support or sign.
Foster them or forward them;
publicize and popularize,
all will help to plug;
every piece that warrants it,

returned with such a hug!


Details | Blank verse | |

...collaboration of inspiration-Stevie Nicks dedication

...so to the red rose grows the passion in the Enchanted Gate and Garden there 
Whenever you call me friend and I believe I've come to understand that I'm the 
Kind of woman with for whom you don't blame for having a Wild heart but you 
know that you can always Talk to me you can set your secrets free you have given 
me your Leather and you have taken from me my Lace I am stronger than you 
know it all comes down to you lighting strikes maybe once maybe twice and you  
see your Gyspy but  you have to Stop draggin' my heart around because baby you 
could never look me in the eye and say you didn't love me you buckled with the 
weight of the words and looking at Rhiannon who is like a cat in the dark and 
then she is the darkness and knowing that even in Dreams when the rain 
washes you clean Sometimes it's a witch and no matter what they say Love's a 
hard game to play you may need to Stand back in the middle of my room my 
Bella Donna riding high a top her pony cause not everyone has Crystal visions 
nor will everyone with their capes pulled around them tight cry for the Nightbird 
some will see their refection in the snow covered hills until the Landslide brings 
them down and even the Gold dust woman with her heartless challenge will pick 
her path and for her we pray although on the Edge of seventeen things may Rock 
a little and sadly enough Some will become strangers you will always have My 
heart I never again want to Fall from grace even if time cast a spell on you never 
will you forget me and in years past I tried to love you before but you would not let 
me I am ready now to be your Silver spring blue green colors flashing and yes 
I'm Strong enough remember I'm your Beauty and you are my Beast poet priest of 
nothing Has anyone ever written anything for you in all your darkest hours did you 
ever hear me sing listen to me now I sing for the things money can't buy me and 
long After the glitter fades I will still be here you said If anyone falls in love it will 
be done to us most of all I have to know when I can see you again because I 
can't wait yes I know you though we've been out of touch...

...this is a collaboration of written words inspired by
Stevie Nicks...


Details | I do not know? | |

POET'S SONG


WORDS ARE SO.... WONDERFUL
USE IN POETRY. THEY FLOW AND
GROW WITH CONSISTENCY.......
POETRY CAN MAKE YOU LAUGH 
AND CRY AT THE SAME TIME,
AND ALL THE WORDS RHYME ON 
A DIME. A POET HAS A MIND 
THAT'S ALWAYS TICKING AND
LIKE A TIMEX WATCH  IT HAS
TAKEN MANY LICKINGS .....
THE LICKINGS ARE USED TO 
TELL A STORY THAT WILL
KEEP YOU THIRSTY..... ..
THIRSTY COMING BACK FOR
MORE.
THE WORDS OF POETRY ARE
SOOOO...AMAZING WONDERING
WHERE DID THAT COME FROM..
THE WORDS OF POETRY COMES
FROM THE SEAT OF THE SOUL...
WHERE THE EMOTIONS OVERFLOW...

THE WONDERFUL WORDS OF POETRY
THEY FLOW AND GROW WITH CONSISTENCY.
THE PEN IS A POWERFUL TOOL 
THAT THE POETS  USE. TO OPEN
UP THE MINDS OF THE READER
TO CONFOUND THE CHEATER,TO
LOVE ON THE LOST AND ABUSE,
AND TO ENCOURAGE THE ONE'S
THAT'S GOING THROUGH.

WORDS ARE SO WONDERFUL USED
IN POETRY. THEY FLOW AND GROW
WITH CONSISTENCY, AND THE PEN
IS A POWERFUL TOOL THAT THE
..... POETS...USE...........


Details | I do not know? | |

My Soul Rejoices In The Lord Everyday

(Swap Quatrain) 


My heart everyday, in the Lord rejoices too 
Because without Him, I wouldn't last a day 
God wants all the time, to walk with me 
In the Lord rejoices too, my heart everyday 

Every morning when the sun glows, I open my eyes 
And send all my praises to God above high 
The Lord wipes all my tears away, yes, I know 
I open my eyes, every morning when the sun glows 

It doesn't matter to God and that's so, what in the past I've done 
Jesus forgives me when I repent and then my sins are just gone 
God is my loving Dad, and yes that in my heart I already know 
What in the past I've done, it doesn't matter to God and that's so! 


Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 
copyright@2008 


November,29,2008 


Details | Free verse | |

The Loved One

Poetry is the mother that feels and understands the pain and love of her child
It is the warm hug that enlightens each and everyone
It is the touch of light high above mountains
It is the language you and I understand
It is the rhythm of a song
It is a life hidden beneath words
It is a treasure awaiting to be seeked
It is a human waiting to be loved by all