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On Writing And Words Life Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Life

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Details | Free verse | |

Exposure: Part II


"Yes, then I am filled with hate," she replied.

"You need to let it go. I know....I used to be filled with cold hatred.
Let it go. People can violate your body,
but it doesn't mean your soul is also violated -
not always.
Your body is only on loan anyway.
The soul is truly yours."

We moved even further away from the music and lights,
until we eventually found ourselves outside.
The sleet had stopped falling,
and amongst a crowd of pigeons sitting on a wire,
a Raven was perched on a buzzing halogen lamp.

Clouds broke apart, exposing a crescent moon hanging from a winking star
like a Christmas ornament, or an earring of night herself.
Not fixed, but dangling,
always moving and changing.


"Breathe in deeply. Focus in on the star,
pretend that you are casting your eyes up to the moon like a fishing line.
Begin reeling in your mind."

"Seems like a silly game to me."

"Please try it."

The Raven was watching us from its perch.
I breathed in and out deeply,
opening up my lungs and heart to the sky.

I turned to her and asked, 
"Do you feel hate coming from the Raven perched over there?"

"No, not that I can tell."

"Remember. You can still become someone's Queen.
People can violate your body, but your soul can stay intact.
Even if you doubt it right now."

She pulled out some napkins from her purse,
handed them to me, and asked, "Will you write it down for me?"

-And so I did-

January 1st, 2012

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Free verse | |

Exposure: Part I

Today I conceived myself as a poet for the first time,
and not because of employable meter, rhyme, and flow -
I will leave such devices for the wordsmiths and Masters.

And not because I can write poetry....what I do,
should be labelled as something else entirely -
not as poetry.
I am an organic recorder, filing away bits and pieces of zeitgeist,
without rhyme or reason,
almost as if ghosts are guiding my hand across the paper,
and I really don't have much say in the matter.

I am a stranger in a crowded world,
a stranger amongst people I have known for years,
not quite fitting in anywhere, but being in all places at once.
I write the words down, they in turn speak to me.
A clear, mutual agreement -
the smell and feel of new paper,
the liquid, brashness of ink as it penetrates the virgin whiteness
of so many possible observations, opinions and stories.
The words know me intimately.
We aren't strangers.
The reality of vowels and consonants is where I truly fit.

I was moving through a crowd of familiar faces -
a familiar feeling of strangeness and alienation,
when I came across a Persian face I had never seen before.
A real stranger.
Not one I have known for years.
She mentioned not being into sex,
how she only wanted to talk about things she couldn't mention to friends -
her mind felt as if it was floating by the moon 
and she wasn't sure how to reel it back into her skull again.
I told her not to worry, sex isn't the only thing on my brain.
She said that sex was the only thing on her brain;
but in a different way.
She explained how she had been kidnapped in Iran,
imprisoned as a sex-slave, 
repeatedly raped by rich business men who wore wedding bands.
I asked if she was filled with hate.
She wasn't quite sure.

"What does hate feel like?"

"Well, it shouldn't be mistaken for rage, anger or frustration.
Those emotions are red hot to the touch.
Hate is a cold thing.
Like a Raven perched on the railing of a bridge,
sleet bouncing off its feathers,
not caring to fly away even though cars are barrelling past,
flinging up dirty, February slush.
There is nowhere left to fly to.
The trees are all cut down,
dumpsters have tight lids,
for some reason the fish are all belly-up in the river below,
dead from some mysterious reason.
Its stomach aching from hunger,
the Raven smells the reason for all of this death
emanate from the strange looking beasts walking and driving past.
It is all their fault -
they are the poison behind it all.
This is hate."


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Verse | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?

Copyright © humble b

Details | Couplet | |

My Pen Collection

As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder

Copyright © Michael Jordan

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 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
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
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…

Copyright © Ndaba Sibanda

Details | I do not know? | |


are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Rhyme | |

Frail Paper Etched With Words

Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.

But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.

And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.

So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | Free verse | |

A seed of poetry

Like water that flows in a river
Time will not stop and wait
It comes and then it goes
And now will soon be late
The sun will not rise
And forget to set
Today will not stay here forever

Time was born and passed away
While I was chasing dreams
I never dreamt of
Dreaming of things that were 
Not for me to dream about

I didn’t know at first 
That in my inside
There is a seed germinating
Deep in the roots of my heart 
Where veins and arteries
Carry blood in and out

The eyes of my eyes
Could not see
The ears of my ears
Could not hear
The tongue of my tongue
Could not taste
The nose of my nose 
Could not smell
The mind of my mind 
Was uncounscious
As this seed
Was patiently growing

It was watered by tears
That couldn’t fall off my eyes
When I cried
It was fertilized by my deep thoughts
That denied me time to rest
The pain I felt within
Was manure to it

And now it has grown
It has grown into a tree
it has grown into a green looking tree
A tree that sprouts colorful flowers
And I am hopeful
Hopeful to reap tasty fruits
Of this seed of poetry
Sown in me by God

Copyright © Pt. Bojosi Ditshwele

Details | Rhyme | |

My Chair of Support

My favourite chair
Said to me one night
Hey! Highlander
What you going to write
Is it going to be a fantasy
A Haiku or a Senyru
What ever comes from your thoughts
It's from the inner you
I have supported and rested 
While you have written your writes
From many an afternoon
Into the early morning light
You never get frustrated
You just sit and ponder
For you know there are words
They are just out yonder
This partnership we have
Will remain as close as ever
Until the end of our days
Will be the time to sever
We will continue to be
One and the same
I to support you
With poetry your aim

My entry into Matt Caliri's contest " Speak chair! Speak! "

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Rhyme | |

The Voice Of Despair

Triangles of half-open doors
Reveal all the truth that is hidden:
Just condoms and cans on the floor,
Black papers with verses, forbidden -
Unfinished remakes of the song,
Deprived of the right to speak loud
Of wicked intentions gone wrong -
Erasers have muffled the shout.

The only illusion-proof mind -
A poet, the voice of despair,
Sincere, the one of this kind
Throws verses far into the air
Right there, in a dirty old flat
Among once great talents, now rotten.
They all have deserved more than that,
But even their names are forgotten.

Copyright © Ria April Avalon

Details | Bio | |

Unwritten Conversations

He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with 
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says, 
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out

                “Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
                                 “Everything is beautiful, baby…”
                 “But what is beautiful to you?”

Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows, 
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything is beautiful. 

                      “Just write about that then..”
                                 "Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
                                  live it out.."
                      "What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies 
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and 
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
                                "Mmm, I suppose."
                        "What's real poetry to you?" 
                         "I don't understand."

I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…

                                     "This, baby, This is real Poetry.."


Copyright © Bella Cardenas

Details | Couplet | |

Our single soul

As the trials of life come and go
Accept there blessings into your soul

Let them become without a doubt
A model of what you're all about

Don't let them get you all depressed
All things in life need be addressed

Let your spirit be like the wind
Your unseen dearest friend

As I see the lines in my face
Each a reminder of certain place

Do I wish they would go away?
Or that my hair wasn't turning grey

I have no desire to regain youth
For I have learned to speak my truth

When I was young I was so lost
I let my soul pay the cost

Running hard against the grain
Using drugs to kill the pain

Now I feel each and every day
Use the Lord to take the pain away

Do what I can accepting what I get
Treasure blessings that come of it

Thank the Lord through the poems I pray
Use what I need give the rest away

I seem to be driven by a single goal
Can you feel my heart and soul?

I slice them open in hopes they will bleed
Something that someone might need

The single fear I know so well
The fear that my words will fail

So once again I face my fear
As I write I shed my tears

Because these words are spoken true
My heart belongs to all of you

And through it's love I hope to show
We all share a single soul

A soul that is bound by love
Given us by the Lord above

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Couplet | |

Without a Doubt

Without a doubt the sun will rise.
The gym rats all will exercise.
The candidates will tell their lies
‘Cause that’s what life’s about.

Without a doubt the dawn will break.
Someone will make a huge mistake.
There’ll be some sadness – hearts will ache;
Of sorrow, there’s no drought.

Without a doubt the day will end.
Someone will make a brand-new friend
While others find some rules to bend;
Both good and bad will sprout.

Without a doubt the moon will show,
Sky will darken, stars will glow.
From poets’ pencils, words will flow
For they can’t do without…

Copyright © ilene bauer

Details | Rhyme | |

Only A Poet

Write me a smile with your magic word
And write it nice and wide
Write me a whisper, that's never been heard
To show what you're feeling inside

Write me a tear, as it runs down your cheek
Each time that you need to cry
Write me strength, when you're feeling weak
Or love that will make me sigh

Write me the anger, when it doesn't go your way
Or contentment, each time that it does
Write me tomorrow, instead of today
Or maybe the way that it was

Write me your heartache, with all of your pain
When your heart's been broken in two
Then write me the pieces of you that remain
For I need to feel them too

Write me the morning and evening skies
Or maybe even noon or night
Whatever emotion your lonely heart cries
Like only a poet can write

Copyright © Larry Belt

Details | Couplet | |

In Poetry

For whatever reason we write
Bright of day dark of night

The salty taste of a single tear
The love of one we hold so dear

The ever-changing cycle of seasons
Friends lost for various reasons

The ups, downs, highs and lows
The oh my God here she goes

The, I love her and she loves him
The shadow with an evil grin

The load that is too great to bear
Those who do and do not care

I have pondered the reason why
Poets share the tears they cry

Poets share their brightest days
Poets share their darkest ways

Poets offer their hearts and souls
All their failures and all their goals

Poets just like you and I
Feathers falling from the sky

Floating softly to the ground
We take our voice and write it down

Write it down for the world to see
The answers are found in poetry

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Free verse | |

My Own Pen

Sometimes when I’m alone --
                          I start to think ---
Had I not been an addict ---
                          What could I have been?
           What kind of life could I have given my children?
Of course these are questions not yet answered ---
                          A work in progress so to speak
Not a day goes by ---
                      That I don’t think about doing a shot ---
              To release myself from this pain, shame and guilt
           Because when I’m high I don’t think about any of that
I think only of myself ---
                         What I want and how I’m going to get it
I thank the Lord ---
                   For delivering me ---
                             From that way of thinking ---
I thank him for the gift ---
                           That gives me the chance ---
                                            To reach out to others ---
Almost every poem I write --- 
Comes from the bottom of my heart ---
                     And the very depths of my soul ---
Very seldom do I allow myself 
               The pleasures of writing a simple poem --
        That doesn’t carry with it a very profound message
See, I’m just like Jake and Elwood Blue’s
                   --- I am on a mission from God ---
God has transformed me into a poet teacher
The only way I can make any sense out of my life
Is by doing what I’m doing right now
                        Which of course is ---
                               Nothing less than ---
                   ---Owning up to my own mistakes ---
                             For the world to see
Thus allowing me to answer
                             --- The responsibility of my own pen ---

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Couplet | |

The wreck

The last few weeks have been real hard
You see the "dealer of life" deals the cards
As the trials and blessings come and go
It's true we must reap what we sow
At times the trials are many and the blessings are few
Just let the light of your soul shine on through
Yesterday I walked to the bridge over the creek
By the time I got there I was tired and weak
As I sat on the bridge taking a break
Questioning "how much more can I take"
A speeding drunk driver lost control
I watched it unfold nice and slow
Sometimes the blessings are clear to see
They crashed into the rail right next to me
My guardian angel said soft as could be
I'll never give up on you don't give up on me
These last few weeks I have felt rather low
With a deep down emptiness up in my soul
So regardless of the pain or length of the fight
I reckon it's once again time for me to write
For my pen is the tool that I use to see
The power of the Lord working in me

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Senryu | |

' The Power of A Poet ... ' 32nd Senryu

‘The Power Of A Poet’      32nd  Senryu

        Look How Devoted
       The Power of A Poet
    See How Words Spoke It

This Poem is My Tribute to:

Carolyn Devonshire (The Dove)
and James (The Highlander) Fraser
for your Powerful collaboration on:

      Mother Nature's Revenge

        It Was Truly Awesome


Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Quatrain | |

100 Shards of Pen

Erase a word
Mundane and wrought
Smoldering fire
Of indifferent thought

Pluck a phrase
Wild and untamed
Primordial howl
Of random flame

Sing a verse
Naked and free
Poetic gale
Of crashing seas

Tell a tale
Endearing and true
Passionate prose
Of life’s muse

Ask a heartbeat
Women and men
Who feels
100 shards of pen

Copyright © Xavier Keough

Details | Quatrain | |

The Lonely Poet

Paste on your passion smile
Crisp all your words
as you settle yourself 
to be self-consumed, heard
Whisper sweet nothings
which only you know
Don't stop the banter,
the words or the flow
You've reached the summit
of the loneliest point
You're king of the vacancy
best in the joint
Write all your poems
on the back of your hand
and read them at supper
of cream pie and sand
Your siblings will stand up
and whisper applause
You've felt all emotion
and ridden all stars
They bid you good-bye
for you're out of their league
and to think you just wanted
to be heard, succeed...

Copyright © Tatyana Carney

Details | Free verse | |

My Sudoku Life

And I walk
across numerical figments
speaking hyperbole dialect to their imaginations.

Numb, blocky gaps
whisper invitation to secret club.

Enticing my stature
to belong
to become exponent’s side-kick.

So they can welcome me with open arms.

Coating my digits with inoperable tumors
double-knotted in hot pink laced bow
and baby-breath scent.

They even left a Walmart Rollback smiley face sticker
with crack residue on right cheek
and a comic-style bubble caption, “welcome home puppet”.


This is exactly how Mother 1 told me it would be.

Kinda like marriage,
but less detail-oriented.

But, I could never fit in.

For I am neither positive
nor negative
about their (cult) ural ways.

Timing would always be off.

An arm from the clock that suffered a stroke at Midnight…

They’d never understand,
how they’d alter this unevenly, odd numerical figment.

For they’ll just calculate,
my sum with rusty protractor.

This Zero, into a fraction...

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes

Details | Rhyme | |

A Palindrome Tale

A Palindrome Tale

I’ve got a tale to tell you of travel, love and lust
The travel, it was joyful, my love life was a bust
I met a girl in Tulsa, next day my diary read
A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; “Dammit, I’m mad” I said
So I went off to Europe to see the Mona Lisa
I thought it was in Italy; but as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
A Delia saw I was ailed; I’m a fool; aloof am I
When she offered me spaghetti, I said “I prefer pi”
And then I found Naomi – Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? I can not lie.  I headed back to home
And then I met this Madam; as mad as Adam, she
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live; God saw I was dog tired
Live not on evil they did say; Then my luck expired
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison where I dwelt
Ned, I am a maiden; not a banana baton had I felt

Mdailey	3/31/12

A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; 
Dammit, I’m mad 
as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
Delia saw I was ailed 
I’m a fool; aloof am I
I prefer pi
Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? 
mad as Adam
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live
God saw I was  dog
Live not on evil 
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison 
Ned, I am a maiden
not a banana baton 

Copyright © mike dailey

Details | Lyric | |

I Am What I Am

My head slightly bent over a table of happiness.

My feet, sod with white lilacs, dance merrily 
to a moon stroke music of twilight night.

My finger-tips childishly sip 
the sweat of quill, like red wine of Mother Earth 
that runs down the skin of my heart.

Down in the chores of primal things 
I have been to the bowl aquarium, mostly at nights 
where I breathed and twitched with the fish, trying 
to catch the warm winks of stars. Ahh, 

I know all about human arts, although I 
dabble in the language of my adopted father; still
I know how to sketch 
in my own words a lovely butterfly, fluttering 
awhile in the night to say hello

and to kiss me, 
ere on a fluffy pillow 
of dreams 
I close my eyes. My name is nothing special, 
but honestly I am what I am… a poetry dancer, dancing 
with emotions for my fictitious lover.

Author’s note:  I wrote it in response to “The Invitation to Write”, by Gather 
Essentials: Writing Challenge, based on Carl Sandburg’s poem “Who Am I?”

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet Trochee

A poet beams his spotlight
On words dark and light.
It’s for us to decipher
Words seen through his sight.

He knows dangers in this world
Always will exist.
Instead of swords, he wields words
Giving us his best.

**This poem was written in Andrea Dietrich's wonderful invented 
poetry form The 7/5 Trochee with Rhyme Scheme a/b/c/b**

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Blank verse | |

Her eyes are carried on a light wind

My attention span is short. Yet, my pen’s is still shorter
It looks absent only after a few words… a few lines
Though ink in its intestines and subject to furnishing hands
It never finishes what it begins. At least, what I want it to finish
So, I hold it’s face with both hands, as we share eyes
“Write, will you. Do not stop until I give consent.”
“Ok” she says, “I will focus”…as her eyes are carried on a light wind 
I presume that’s why my poetry is never more than a few lines… a few 

Copyright © Mark Pringle

Details | Epigram | |

Sensationalism or Journalism

(Another childhood or teen years poem.)

Newsprint small talk
in Mediocrity's lead pot
rustles and gossips while,
splashed spectacularly across
the speckled page of
Society's intellect,
a murder making column one
hides the hushed massacre
of minds.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Diamante | |

A Poet Never Faultiers

I drank my words from the cup of evil lately not holy water
Like many I sit in my dungeon of doom on earth trying not to my addictions faultier
I'm sitting knee deep in the shitted down reservation sewer street water 
Im looking for wisdom daily with sinners with calls that I shouldn't be trying to call her
I know I be looking for a life filled with silver and gold when I know Im living in copper
I know I got a crazy  coming my way so I best get on trying to stop her
I remember the first time I was in love with lust when I first saw her
I know without the water in my life I would scream silent as I would quietly holler 
I know I been like a bunny moving around in life that sometimes people call me a hopper
I know I been kicking it in the field so much that people tell me I should start playing soccer
I should be more of an actor of actions and less more of a talkitive talker
I know I got what I got so I will be a poet that will never ever faulteir

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill

Details | Concrete | |

The Nose

                                  I like it
                               For I 
                      For my soul!

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago

Details | I do not know? | |

Blood upon Pages

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

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Free verse | |

Flinging Poems Into Wind

We seine them up
like dust
in pollen-stained hands,
briefly weight them,
balancing them in minds,
determining worth,

And like those before,
we toss them absently
into wind—
winnowing maple seeds—
whirling them from us—
as we shape lives,
change destinies.

they seem to flit
to nothingness,
like us—
pale night insects
opal moons,
infestations of night
thickly settling
on the liquid glass
of our tongues.

Copyright © Glen Enloe