Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

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

These On Writing And Words Life poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Life. These are the best examples of On Writing And Words Life poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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

Details | Free verse | |

Exposure: Part II

(cont'd)

"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.

-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


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?
I AM, THAT, I AM



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."

(cont'd)


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


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. 


Details | I do not know? | |

Raindrops

Raindrops
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
whatever
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
home

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


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


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.


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! "



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-2.php


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?”

Beautiful.
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. 
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?" 
                                 "Everything..."
                         "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…
Together
Silent

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









 



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


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


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


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…


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 ---


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


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


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

              MoonBee


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...


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 | 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 





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


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**



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 
expressions.


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 | Heroic Couplets | |

ABOMINATION

           ABOMINATION

Abomination is my name.
There is no passion I've not felt.
Yearning pens attempt at fame
Dare each relationship to melt.

There is no struggle that I scorn.
There is no flame without scorched taste.
When blaze-bloom fires are born--
My inner soul consumes the waste.

Now , Sweet-- bamboozle me with joy.
Affection tender has its place.
Loves tempting comforts, please employ--
Make me cherish your sweet face.


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,
profundity. 

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

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



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 | 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.


Details | Concrete | |

The Nose

 
                                                           
                                                            Though 
                                                          My 
                                                       Nose,
                                                    Small
                                                And
                                              Not
                                          Well 
                                        Formed,
                                     Still
                                  I like it
                               For I 
                           Can
                        Smell
                     You,
                  Very 
               Lovely
            Scent-
            Your
             Poetry, 
                 Perfume
                      For my soul!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Fallen Prince has Risen - Michael

Burning so bright
With new found life
Released from his ball and chain
Out of the dark
And into the light
Flying… on wings of freedom again.

As he writes his life
His soul ignites
In flames of wisdom and sight
Brilliantly claiming 
His God given right
As his truth kills the evil ‘Black Knight’.




Details | Rhyme | |

Inspiration gone

As i stare at this paper
empty
without words
it waits for me to write
so my feelings can be heard
inspiration came often
when we were together
words flowed freely
my pen
light as a feather

Fate has a reputation
of never being wrong
it takes destiny by the hand
and grips it forever strong
now this paper
which once was alive
quietly stares back at me
with dull loose leaf eyes
it mocks me
even dares me
to write words i couldn't speak for years
but, without you
the forecast calls for emptiness
with a good chance of tears

Inspiration comes from within
your smile always gave me my start
but these days my pen lay heavy
and so quietly broken
like a roadmap of your heart
for soulmates are rare
to let one go........even worse
now this pen and paper
who once were my companions
are now the very things i curse

So i put my pen down
and tuck the paper away for the night
and maybe tomorrow
just maybe
words i couldn't speak
i'll be able to write......



Details | Haiku | |

It is now

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


Details | Couplet | |

A Poet Looks At 4 AM

The night falls down around me in this poet's reverie.
Words stick to my moon-parched throat until I set them free.

Images of life and love are painted on my heart.
Stars outside my window have their knowledge to impart.

The world I travel forth in has experience to give.
My eyes have seen the glory of this place I choose to live.

And now the daylight beckons from the unforgiving skies.
My mind is full and restless as my pen to paper flies.

Night has flown away but still I'm left with thoughts profound.
This song of life I've written here is making such a sound.

Dawn has broken and I thank God for every given word.
I'm grateful for this chance I have to reach out and be heard.


Details | Rhyme | |

Tribute to a Polished Stone

It is so difficult to measure,
any metaphysical treasure.
One can only glean, 
Its riches of stream,
By absorbing it at one’s leisure.

I’m speaking of poetry that hovers,
Levitating between it’s covers,
just waiting to be read, 
nothing left to be said,
Literature for life and lovers.

Tribute to Elizabeth Wesley’s 
 new book …
“Polished Stones”
Author House publications.

     
     It has been a long, long time since I have read anything that 
has arrested my attention long enough for me to stop and smell 
the roses as has this book "Polished Stones" by Elizabeth Wesley.
 Thank you Elizabeth. 

tribute written by 
Robert A. Dufresne 
3/08/2012

















Details | Senryu | |

' Language Lesson Learned ... ' 59th Senryu

‘ Language Lesson Learned … ’   59th  Senryu



    I Don’t ‘ Speak ’ Evil
I Don’t ‘ Understand ’ Wicked
    Translation … Ended


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 | Free verse | |

Orgasm Of Sadness

images pour erratically
falling on eyelashes 
tears fueling my pen 
always the sadness 
finds me waiting 


wrenching emotion 
twisting my heart 
in a vice grip 
can't stop the images 
from driving me insane 


raped and murdered eyes 
pleading for children 
drowned beneath 
adult oppression 
and addiction 


it's the emptiness 
that I write 
a cursed 

social consciousness
that blinds


I don't write love 
for it lies 
can't find happiness 
to send to my pen 
for it lays behind 
my eyes 
a tired whore 
spent and overused 
with too much hype 


can't even pen security 
never found that either 
under blankets or kisses 
not even in hardened urges 
that deflate just as quickly 
conveying only want and need 


no I write of sadness 
I return there 
a drunk to cheap wine 
guzzling my addiction 
with lust 
it holds me safe 
for it is familiar 


I live it 
I see it 
it knows my name 
and I know its


we are intimate 
sadness and I 
a couple 
twisted together 

in some grotesque 
sexual position 
culiminating in orgasm 
with my depressed pen

 

 

 


Details | Rhyme | |

Homeless Words

I see beautiful words
homeless and needing a hand
I reach for my pad and pen
these times are tough
my choice of words are thin
Perhaps they choose me
tell me exactly what to say
These words we help
they also help us
they inspire us everyday


Details | Rhyme | |

My Favorite Devonshire

Aging with Flare
by Carolyn Devonshire

Retirement for some means a rocking chair
But I’m blasting forth on a contrail’s flare
      My 40-year career
     Swirls behind in Earth’s sphere
And I’m ready to take on any dare

Francine invited me to bungee jump
I’ll skydive with Gwen - might end up a clump
     There’ll be no rocking chair
     As I hang-glide through air
Thinking of age as a tiny speed bump



I love “Aging with Flare” because it goes against the stereotype of retiring and sitting around and relaxing. It’s about still having fun in life and about the life inside of us, and how life is whatever we make it to be.  Adding soup friends to the poem is a fun addition, along with humor - “ might end up a clump.” There’s risk, but the fun is worth it, because then we are truly living. The concluding line reinforces that mentality, along with the rocking chair symbolism. It makes me NOT want to be that person watching life, instead of living it. I want to be like Carolyn and make the most of my life.  


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 | Quatrain | |

Tried & Tested - into the sunset

I am so far out of my element
It almost seems unreal
When in truth, which I always seek to find
Pretence is all that I feel
In this, my second language
I aim to express the glistening skin
That hides the shallow graves of conscience
Trapped so deep within
The pottery I shape in craft
Though pedistilled and on display
A camouflage that’s merely drafted
words of wisdom most portray
And in the spirit of fairness
As a virtue which we all possess
Accept my resignation
For this sport has had its best 
I’m off to party hard and waste
My life as best as I know how
The animal within this chest
Needs freedom to survive for now
The playing game of words
is but a winding road that’s filled with stone
I’m parched in parts unheeded
As my cluttered soul heads home


Details | Free verse | |

Layers of the onion

Meaning, ever bending, never ending-ly open to changing it's mind and opinions,
by moving around words and pulling and pushing in different directions,
until everything changes, rearranges pages in history
just for the mystery to begin again
with new songs, new players and these layers and layers
of summits and new beginnings. 
Of openings back to where we came in.
New meanings are foaming and forming 
within the fatted belly of doing and screwing until done.
Come watch a new one get sprung.
A new shape to take place of the old, behold
and believe in your prayers.
They keep coming these layers and layers 
and faces of women and men.
Turn around just to begin again.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Road Walked Down Through the Years

This now, is who I truly am
as my pen takes liberty.
What now, I write is where I ‘ve been
so much there for all to see.

Good and bad, the in-betweens,
the road walked down through the years,
a panoramic display of scenes
from sunshine highs to darkened tears.

But I am not so unlike you,
you who would glance across this write.
The road you’ve walked that I never knew;
are similar roads not brought to light ?

Know me by the writes you read
and I’ll do the same for you.
Writing is our consuming need
as to ourselves we must stay true.


***Debra Guzzi,
      I was mindful of the syllable count in each line
      as we’ve discussed in the past, but I had to let my heart go on this one.
      (No reflection on your great teaching ability!!)


Details | Rhyme | |

Whenever A Poet Cries

A letter is hidden inside each tear
As the pain escapes our eyes
A poem is born inside our souls
Whenever a poet cries

Sometimes they're tears of sadness
Other times, tears of joy
They're filled with happy endings
Or words that can even destroy

A tear can look like a broken heart
Or maybe a gentle smile
It can even look like temptation
Tears that are meant to beguile

A tear can be a new born child
Or a loved one who has died
Ink will flow through a poet's veins
In the letters that we've cried

A letter is hidden inside each tear
In all the words we seek
A tear will give the letters a voice
Until the words begin to speak


Details | Free verse | |

Night Poem

It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light

Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come

To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.

The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.

Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest 
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.

Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
Arisen

To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.


So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.

With merriment's ink: 
A Kiss; 
A dance; 
A song etched deep: 
Art carved out of sky.

Title: Night Poem


Details | Free verse | |

I will not be late to work this morning

I will not be late to work today

I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS 
About sound
About war
Republicans
Democrats
Independents

I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of 
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Fence 
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase

I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert 
Ready to begin my lesson

I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment

What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and 
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the 
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles

I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work

I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and 
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving

I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and 
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic

It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything

This poem is over 
the work day begins



Details | Quatrain | |

High Hopes

Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true

I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black

Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life









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


Details | Haiku | |

' Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

           Understanding A
       Metaphysical Moment …
       … Nature’s Mysteries



                 This Haiku is for:
       The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))

                        MoonBee


Details | Rhyme | |

When Poets Bleed

When poets bleed they fill their quills
And write their words in red
The letters scream each time they're made
In the hope of being read

The page becomes a sounding board
A mirror to the soul
A reflection meant to bring them peace
To comfort or console

They choose their words so carefully
Not wasting a drop of blood
Writing words that lift them up
As tears begin to flood

They'll write with true conviction
Each time they start to weep
They write sometimes to clear their minds
Before they get to sleep

When poets bleed a word is born
Trying to appease their need
Shining a light to the whole wide world
And all who want to read


Details | Free verse | |

Words are like Weapons

Words are like weapons with bullets of lead
That pierce through your soul when angry and said.

When someone shoots his mouth off like a loose cannon,
You can’t help but get hurt as the mortar is landin’.

The thing about these wounds to the soul,
There’s no bleeding to stop from invisible holes.
Though, on the surface, there are no wounds to tend,
The damage is often deeper and harder to mend.

Masked by pride, courage or good old denial,
Make no mistake, this pain maims and defiles,
Reducing the toughest man’s heart to that of a child's.

So the next time you’re angry, don’t be absurd.
Lay down your weapons of hollow point words.
There is a better way to accomplish your goals
Without doing battle and wounding other's souls.


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 | Couplet | |

A CLASSIC SUMMER IN GREECE for fantasy contest

                                A CLASSIC SUMMER IN GREECE

               Viciousness and mystery erupt on arid soil.
               Summer heat and idle time can make the spirits boil.
               Languishing in stuffy rooms with very little sleep--
               Night time flickers of the light-- imagination leaps.
                  
               Heat that beckons times long past invade a fevered head—   
               Athena pleases lovers mid her goddess silken bed,
               Grecian legs march bravely –- prelude Olympian races--
               Soldiers dream they sail away to see exotic places.

               Heat waves shimmer landscape –men will do what they are told--
               Spearborn soldiers helmeted sing down a dusty road.
               Tho in mind they join their lovers whispering by the sea,
               Drink of mountain waters --rest their head on sweetheart’s knee

               Helen, when she sailed away –a wayward selfish wife
               Without a backward glance she risked the cost of human life--
               Was it the heat that made her crazed to do this foolish thing?
               A fit of summer boredom could create this witless fling.

               Autumn winds are blowing now-- Troy’s nights turn cool and fair--
               Does Paris try to ditch her --as naked Helen combs her hair--
               Does Hector tell his brother--get this woman out of here--
               Does Helen beg to stay-- and tell her lover not to fear?

               Heat can play the brain and make it dance a backward tune--
               Clarity as sun tricks down—repeats a former June,
               Perhaps there is a lesson learned from heat that sears the soul--
               Summertime romance will write us each a tragic role.

Victoria Anderson Throop ©
1/11/13


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Decoy

Words are just a decoy
An excuse to dance around the truth
Underestimated silence
Proves language is uncouth

Your gut will always tell you
What your heart tries to ignore
Most try their best to silence it
Stirring an internal war

Why deny yourself of happiness?
Why pretend logic is correct?
Why hide behind a curtain?
Why pretend our hearts select?

Ignorance is truly bliss
Too bad that's not our case
Lets take a risk and show our courage
Let our souls meet face to face.



Details | Rhyme | |

The Paper and the Tears

The paper will always listen
To what a teardrop has to say
We write with tears to free the soul
As we wipe the stains away

Heartaches are filled with heavy words
Tears make our heartaches light
Whenever we feel the weight of the world
The tears begin to write

The paper will never judge us
No matter who we are
Its only purpose, is to catch the tears
And heal our spirit's scar

Inside of every tear that falls
A broken heart is found
It must slowly stain the paper
Before it can make a sound

It's a necessary combination
These heartache souvenirs
A marriage made in heaven
The paper and the tears


Details | Rhyme | |

Thoughts Trapped In Ink

Thoughts trapped in ink, scar the paper's white form
As the poet gives way to her quill
Letters falling down, not making a sound
As they bend and bow to her will

She watches the words that's now taking shape
As the ink starts to flow from her veins
Her paper of white, hold the letters so tight
Making sure that its captive remains

Thoughts trapped in ink, now a whisper of life
Born from the lost poet's soul
Her words come alive as they blossom and thrive
Refusing to relinquish control

She relies on her muse as it shouts out commands
Telling her quill what to write
Her poem is finished, when her pain has diminished
As she writes 'til late in the night

Thoughts trapped in ink, are silent, yet loud
The only way thoughts can be heard
All has been said, when her poem is read
Her thoughts, becoming a word


Details | Rhyme | |

What Writing Did For Me

It's always been an outlet,
To help me deal with pain.
Had it not discovered me,
I would have gone insane.

It let me vent my feelings.
It helped me look inside.
It let me have emotions
I didn't have to hide.

I could put it all in words.
Release it, with a pen.
And If I wished, revisit it,
Every now and then.

If writing had not found me,
Who knows where I would be.
I never would've walked this path.
I just would not be me.


Details | Italian Sonnet | |

Greet the Sun

Shall raw and bleeding wounds gape wide for thee
and overcoat each new parchments’ page?
Are thee foul succubus seeking a sage
undead and living vicariously?

Shall another’s soul flow unbound to thee
like a courtesan released from her cage
each tomes rich with crimson text overlaid.
So alone, thee can dine veraciously?

Shall life come a courting as thy subject?
Nay, lance the ripe boil of lassitude.
Purge thy barren cloister genuflect.

Author thine own life thee are not destitute.
Expand into the world, let life project.
Arise, pale spirit and the sun exude.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Archeology And The Poet ... '

Dig Down Deep
Carefully Unearth
Artifacts Will Speak
Words of Worth

With Pick and Shovel
And Papyrus
If Block and Rubble,
Gently Brush

Treasures Buried
Deep In Soul
Heart-Stone Quarry
Hold Hidden Scrolls

To Royal Edicts
Read and Call
Hieroglyphics
On High Walls

In Expeditions
To Exposé
Show Gold Emotions
In Glass Display

From Pyramids
In Sealed Mystery
So The Poet Did …
… Archeology

To Preserve Words
of Antiquity
So That You Heard
and Shared, Discovery …


Details | Free verse | |

You're The Weak One

YOU’RE THE WEAK ONE


You’re the weak one, you’re a bully.  The weak one is definitely
not me.

The bully is always the weak one, but your weakness you can’t
seem to see.

So, I’m going to try to shed a little light on your weak and inappropriate ways.

Your weakness began on your first bullying day.

Your false sense of power is not strength at all; it is a cry for help desperately trying to break through.

I actually feel a little sorry for you.

Weak kids like you always seek to find other kids they can dominate.

Bullies do this with vicious words, inappropriate actions, and misguided hate. 

Is being a weak bully the banner you want to carry for the rest of your life?

Get rid of the bully banner forever; take up a banner that shows respect, 
understanding, and tolerance for others, and always hold that one very high.

	Al Johnson
 


Details | Couplet | |

Hiding in the Flow

Ask me not for which I write
I simply wish to share my plight

Searching for answers, one little clue
I don’t understand the things that I do

I reckon I lost it somewhere in a tear
Shed over someone that I hold dear

But how can I find it, where did it go?
I think its hiding somewhere in the flow

The flow seems as natural as it can be
My own special way of dealing with me

The thing about writing is that I love to learn
Somewhere along the way we all get our turn

Our turn is crucial and there’s no going back
I swear, I could get lost on a small oval track

I reckon that’s the thing I love about our site
I shall never get lost, not as long as I write

To me writing is not just joy it is also a key
That opens the door and then sets my soul free


Details | Free verse | |

Efflorescence

Momma says I've got a poet's heartache
that I dally 
among the gardens of malady
where briery thorns
nip at their own flimsy petals
and all the virile plants want to heal me,
but I'm saving myself
for some wild haired rose
who's only going to tear
my flowering heart........................apart

Daddy says I'm a rare bloom
with tender palms
and a golden stem,
in poetry I search for words
to bury my core within,
a tough little root
who beholds a mystical pen
that drips love for a man 
she believes exists 
somewhere between the lines
of her own making

But my loves,
I'm just a lonely pot
trying to fill blank space
with a poetic soil
so these veins will grow
into a substantial blossom
worth savoring
by thou gardeners
who give sun to thy soul
and a pause in time 
worth reflecting
off the ground
of God's jaw dropping scenery


Details | Free verse | |

Dealing the cards

Come on artists
lets play a game
its all different to me and i want you to see how i am different
and let me shine as you sign up another way 
as i prove to you my leadership of this new age wave

cards cards
give them new meanings
like you never knew you could 
and lets make the psychics pine through our words to figure out
what they are reading and believing

I wanna see your hearts and spades
dressed in tall grass or lemonaide
i wanna see your cups and wands
inbetween whispering winds and songs lead me there
i know you can come on 
come on 
come on be strong 
like a suit of clubs or diamonds
show me something
and then sprinkle your writings
and we'll make collectors out of all those we invite here
as they read and ponder the meanings of our literature

whats in your hand?
a royal flush a pair?
and as we deal the cards they stumble upon at this endless game 
of cribbage or poker
or tarock
or war who is winning and getting points?
what card means what to who and why

tell me artist as you write with your style on low and high
what makes what suit smile and fade shine and slide?
inside outside sphere of influence
be their collective the object of the psychics to crave?

blind leading the blind
and something they are after for days and days

a few cards your favorite cards play smart or dumb
shuffle the cards pick a game deal a hand
reveal what your playing and one day i'll tell you what we're playing what your 
cards mean
if nothing
to someone one day when the stumble your way
the mystery of nothing speaks something
and we rebuild the puzzle of cartomancy better and better this way

just inspire
once you know you can't
blind leadin gthe blind
so after you read this you can't
play along your uninvited
strike it off your list of things to do
round one is over now go find all who wrote
all who write all who have wriitten the masterpieces
of cards and see what they mean today and collect them for that is something no 
one else can do
until round two....


Details | Rhyme | |

I Shall Write Again

My heart is here, though my mind, it is not
Unfortunately, so distant am I from this shore
Still, poetry waves crest on the surface of my mind
Alas, I remain too busy to write by the score

Yet, I shall return to you again, once more

Look not at the emptiness of thought from my page
Rather, consume the potential, the words soon to see
For here, despite distant, I remain steadfast to write
For a poet is what I was truly meant to be

As my words and thoughts were not meant just for me


Details | Free verse | |

In the Shallows

           I bent over to touch my toes
               and the ground tore open like a backbone.

I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe 
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars, 
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.

Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees, 
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]

The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.  
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.

   I dared to taste oblivion,
       and the sky swallowed me. 

My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming, 
but inside out.

            I bent over to touch my toes,
              and my spine tore open;
            the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
          like the tines of forks.
            I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
              but I only found where I end.


Details | ABC | |

My Silly Little Love.

My silly little Love,
Is not to far away,
I think about you day by day by day,
My silly little Love,
Your what makes this heart stay a beat,
Pounding, Pounding,
My silly little Love,
You fill in all my blanks,
With out silents without questioning,
My silly little Love,
You sing to me,
And hit all the right tunes,
Makes me giggle,
Oh, How I Love you,
My Silly little Love,
You pull my hair back when it's in my face,
To notice I'm here, For the World to see me,
My silly Little Love,
Tough and strong,
Shows little emotion,
But I know what's going on,
Silly Little love,
You are the One.


Details | Concrete | |

Footprints


      oooo O
    (  I left ) 
    ) you  (
     (  my  )
      (note)          O oooo
                            (    on   )
                             )   a    (
                            (white)
                            (page)

  oooo O
(   for   )
) you  (
 (   to  )
 (read)           O oooo
                        (   ere   )
                         )  the  (
                        (waves)
                         (sip it.)

                                         Read…



Details | Light Poetry | |

' A Metaphysical Moment ...'

‘ A  Metaphysical  Moment ’

A Metaphysical Moment
Electrifying To The Touch
Breathless, Thru The Clouds
Can My Heart, Take So Much

… Can My Eyes Endure
All This Vision, I See
Can Voice, Even Speak
Over Roaring of This Sea

… Can Ear Even Listen
When I Am Flying So Free
Soaring, So True With You and
Metaphysical Moment and Me …

A Metaphysical Moment
Will I Ever Understand
This Mystery of Our Universe
The Mystery of Woman and Man …


(And I End This with an Haiku for
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno and
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))


Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

          Understanding A
      Metaphysical Moment …
      … Nature’s Mysteries


Metaphysical (definition) as an adjective:

Metaphysical of early 17th Century Poetry
Relating to the poetic style of John Donne,
George Herbert and other early 17th Century Poets
Who used consciously intellectual language
And elaborate metaphors that compared things


Details | Free verse | |

Reflection

Do you like me for my form
And my cosmetic moments
With their conceits and affectations,
Bejewelled with glittering gewgaws,
Hinting at the scents of summer,
All show but no substance,
Holding back the acrid stench of death?
For you ,my beauty is but word deep.

Perhaps you see in me your soulmate,
Reflecting what you inwardly believe,
Allowing you to remain in your comfort zone,
Safe from all challenge
And the barbs of pointed criticism.
Secure your world stands
As long as you do not look behind
Or beyond horizons that hold you bound.

Or are you just a voyeur
Sailing on the seas of sensation
Living your life vicariously
To avoid precariously
What you dare not,
Rather like the lady of Shalott,
Reading life through someone else's mirror
To save your soul?

Maybe you do look deeper
To see where we differ.
Confident in your own skin
You are ready for new terrain,
Awkward and stumbling though that may be.
You look before you leap
But forge fearlessly forward,
Willing to face all that lies ahead.

Be all that as it may,
I am but a poor poem,
Taking my existence 
from you, the reader.
That is my fate.
Begotten,not made,ugly by my creator,
Accepting myself for what I am,
Yet I am fully at your disposal or neglect.


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 | I do not know? | |

The Clown The Fool And Me

Many nights I've sat typing things for which none will ever read.
Burning midnight oil only to add to this mornings trash.
Then going about the act of pretending it's all good.

Wearing a mask of my own creation.
These long nights of endless confession to empty wall's.
Hollow thoughts from a bitter heart to scared to exist as himself.

The page lay beaten only to be erased.

the circus of life is a deception for after the show when the dust settles 
the magic gives way to truth.
Tempers flare  and thoose happy clowns appear to be just angry ordinary
people who hate and loath there so called friends.

Dream that it would have all been diffrent if not for this or that.
never taking blame just putting it on others like normal so called adults.

These long nights breed anger and that page takes  the punishment
and like a coward I look apon this act of pure thoughtless work.
And second guess myself wishing only for the approval of people who yearn only 
for the approval  of some one else.
Like hamster in a wheel never getting anywhere.

For who wants to be themself when you can be a watered down version of someone who 
wasnt good to start with.

I cant say the comforts of being a clone wouldnt be nice .
But I never did like things that were nice.
Never cared about being on a list  or kissing someone's rearend just 
to have them talk about me as soon as my back was turned.

Be yourself and cherish thoose who hate  for  the bitter and cruel amount to
nothing  and there only hope is to lure you down there same dead end life.

The clown tries in vain to make you laugh.
The fool doenst know or care if you laugh.
And me Im just the jerk adding to the mornings trash empty 
as the page that sit's befor him.


Details | Free verse | |

Why i'm a poetess

I'm just a kid, and life is a nightmare
I'm forced to be mature beyond my age
Using my writing as my therapy
Scrawling my thoughts across the page

Every couple days or so
a poem or two I write
I can't sleep while my thoughts process
So i scribble throughout the night

I give you all my thoughts and fears
this is the reason that i write
so that i can clear my head
giving me the strength i need to fight

In this book i write the things
that i cannot say to their face
but letting it all out on paper
helps me to keep my place

writing poems calms me down
and puts me back in control
I have been writing poems for a while no
since i was twelve years old

Writing puts things in perspective
shows me another point of view
it helps me work out what was done wrong
and shows me what i need to do

If you look closley at what I write
I think that you will find
That exposed on these many pages
is the darker side of my mind

Everything i feel, i write
my thoughts are a tangled mess
I write to clear my head and keep myself sane
thats why i'm a poetess


Details | Couplet | |

God's Concrete Poetry/Art

Man is an excellent work of God---
His visual poetry or art, out of mud.

Being one of God’s many creations;
Man must not forget his obligations.

Thou, man know God’s everywhere;
And yet, he does not bother to care.

Either man lives by God’s command,
Or, he will not live in a promise land.  

Man must take this into consideration,
If indeed his heart craves for salvation.


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Welsh rill

  old saw

scissored shades of Betsycoed
taste of yester youth's sweet tones
splashing sound of forest water
kissing shining sacred stones

Dreams of swirling druids dancing
in the faery water's rill
flash reflective thoughts of flight
The dragon tears yet spill

The druid hymn of waiting
for greed to die of want
a constant scream of tortured winds
belie the curse of can't

What matters ought to those who fought
and died that I be here
to stand beneath a blazing sky
and gaze upon the Western sea

moments of reflective thought
pondered on expressed and caught
to feed an ever growing need
To dig and rap and plant a seed
That blossoms in another mind
Repeated as the finest kind
to be forever sowing seed
To seed 
And time to spend with thee 



Details | Rhyme | |

Changes

Change is the only constant - we know this to be true,
Some of us wait them out - to see what will ensue.
Still others try to fight them, happy with the way things are,
A few fall into day dreams and wish upon a star.

Some changes are rather easy while others are quite hard,
Which ones must we live with - which ones can we discard?
Changes come throughout our life no matter where we go,
A few come fast and furious, yet others subtle and slow.

When changes come upon us decisions we must make,
All the while juggling priorities - them not to forsake.
The best that we can do while traveling down life's road,
Is to help our friends and family carry their precarious load.


Details | Fibonacci | |

Her Poet



If 
I 
Should be
Your poet,
In thy garden, let 
My muses, as I do now, spell 
For thee, the sweet honey of spring where I humbly come.  


Details | Free verse | |

Poa-tetry Soup (The Name Inspired)

Thoughts melt and distil under a green/blue flame,
Swirling down, separated out and mixed.
If you’ve seen it, it’s broken;
If you’ve heard it, it’s shredded;
If you’ve read it, it’s rewritten.
It's really quite unlikely to be fixed.

You’re cutting up holiday snaps
and pasting them onto card.
And you’re scrambling madly
to hide the mess on the floor
As your mum yells for cleanliness
From behind your bedroom door.
3001 puzzle pieces and you’re jamming them together,
No wonder your imagination is at the end of its tether.
You’ve got two pieces that are sun-kissed clouds
“What comes… what comes next?”
You’ve got two roots in the soil
“What comes… what comes next?”
Your mother is sitting in the hall
With a scarf tied round her neck,
Her back pressed up against the wall
As she deals the jigsaw deck.
3001 pieces in her hands,
Mixed with childhood drawings
And grains of sand.
She lays out seven in a line,
Which you place between the two and two.
“Oh, but that and that won’t rhyme!”
“Don’t you think that this one will just do?”
And your father’s disapproving in the kitchen,
“You don’t need no occult nonsense,
Or a system to order out your brain”
He just stands there “focussed”
Over a pot on a blue/green flame,
Subconsciously mumbling while stooped,
“Look here Son, look, I’m making poa-tery soup.”
But you would never tell him that,
Just like you’ll never be finished, ever.
No-one ever is
Even if they know they’re doing it or not.

My grandfather died last week,
The sourest stuck-in-a-rut-of-a-man
That you’re ever going to meet.
The diagnosing doctors were in for a treat.
They said that there was something wrong there,
Something wrong with his brain,
That there was something strange there
Fundamentally, main.
They said that he died - after scans - in a cubicle stall,
When his brain haemorrhaged and cracked open,
And jigsaw pieces piled up against the wall.


Details | Bio | |

The Musician-Poet

there is, indeed,a relationship
between music and poetry
creation! expression! release of things inside
If I had experienced neither, when I had died
And had to value the worth of my life,
And rate the influence my existence generated
for the general good, I'd be shy
How can I explain my worth, after I did die.. 

On this point I'd be proud,
Cause somehow I was so lucky,
To experience the joy of both
and did my best to leave a small mark
of my thoughts upon the earth
If but one word, one song,
one counterpoint jam, one painting
that I had done,
had meant something 
to someone, than in this regard,
I have won!


Details | Free verse | |

Afflatus

Cavemen thought only of self preservation and sex.
In someway evolution was faltered.
Man learned to measure:

You cannot hold an inch, or a mile,
you cannot see a pound, or a ton.
They are but measurements.
They do not exist but in our understanding 
our understanding of what they are.
You can hold a stick that is an inch long.
Yet, it is only a stick, and not an inch.
You can see a tree that is a mile away,
but it is a tree and not a mile.
A pound of butter is only butter and the pound 
is but the measurement of its weight and is invisible.

So is the same for innocence and evil ;
Measurements.
Innocence is love in ones heart for others
and how far a heart can stray from love is evil. 

Measurements of love.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Where Are The Words ? ... '

Where Are The Words …
I Am Looking For Words …
… That Will Give Meaning
To Meeting You, This Evening

And What Can I Say ? …
What I Long To Say …
Instead of, Good To See You Friend
And Oh, How Have You Been ?

… Such Polite Conversation
Is Safe Presentation
Nothing More … So Much Less
I Need Hunger- Honestness

Packed With A Passion
Full-Out Conflagration
Instead of A Shy, Dulcet Tone
I Wanna Torch-Talk You, To The Bone !

Use Words, To Sear You To Your Soul
Singe, Deep Inside Your Soul
Soft and Husky In Confessions
Words, That Demand Actions

Emotive, Elusive, Essential
Elocution of The Quintessential
Romanticism Expressed …
The Pleasure Of Your Face, Eagerness

In Bold Explorations, Evolved
From Virgin-Feelings of First Love
That Make It Seem … Like Last Night
Invoking Future Visions, So Bright !

Oh, Where Are The Words ? …
I Am At A Loss For Words …
So Many Things, I Want To Let You Know …
Instead of Just Saying … ‘ Hello ’…


              For:  Ismael Nieves 
Who Has Such A Passionate Style To His Poems
(and Also, The Little Joke of Big Words Between Us …
Hope You Enjoy This One Kiddo - Smile)


Details | Verse | |

Poetess

In breathing her scent, her decorous compliment,
Through words that arouse and inspire thought,
A sensual lament, her rhymes circumvent 
Mediocre, and genius is wrought.

In feeling her mind, her beauty so defined
By sentiments incisive and fabulously clear,
A sculpted design of promises divine
Aspects attract and endear.

In drinking her sight, her visual delight,
In gulps that sink fathoms and cry out for more,
A vision in flight, aesthetic and bright,
Artistry formed to adore.

In touching her dream, her breathtaking scheme,
At instants both vital and blindingly fresh,
A beauteous gleam in a subconscious stream,
A feminine poem made flesh. 


Details | Lyric | |

Let's Write A Poem

Here’s my plea: Let’s write a poem for the world to read;
And in it is a message that all can relate or heed;

Encourage others to pick a pen instead of a gun;
With this poem let people be taught to bond 

all spirits, whether in distress or in joy with a smile;
This poem we write be a reminder that life is fragile;

That peace is at hand, only if we want to achieve;
People will learn to greet enemies and they shall be received;

All of us can write, whether you’re white, black, or brown;
Just believe in what you can do; and not to aspire the crown

Of hate, if you dare tomorrow comes without tears,
Nor will there be worries of living in fears;

With this poem, people will burst not
In paroxysm of rage, but, be inspired to share a lot

Such as love, hope, or maybe, just give a friendly kiss;
You know, it’s easy to write a poem, than writing peace.


Details | Lyric | |

I Chose To Be A Poet

When I started my writings I didn’t know that much;
But, as I began to write, I learn to know so much.

Let’s say I knew a thing when I got featured, my poem;
I knew what rhyme is, but my heart has its own anthem.

Writing is not that easy, which made it hard to meet
All the poetic forms, if I always see, but a white sheet.

Yet, I knew that if I will try, I will lose nothing; I tried.
So I wrote this very short poem, a senryu thing: a bride.

That you took joy reading it, making me smile and proud;
The way I see myself now, I’m a poet, with a voice: loud.

If I chose to be a poet, sure I wouldn’t be in a losing end;
For a poet never lose, but certainly, wins a heart. A trend.

At least now, I know how and what to write. I learned.
I’ll be writing sonnet today, for yesterday it was tyburn.

You see, I learned a lot, through the help of my God;
And you, my love, His blessing to me when I was sad.




Details | Blank verse | |

Signature

A signature a day keeps the worries away
Without a signature, there would be so much delay
Banks are run, brokers have fun,
Work gets done on a signature
Votes are won, Rivals become one.
Responsibilities are shunned on a signature.
A signature is the weapon of tee witty man,
To prosecute and to protect is what it can.
With a signature, life and death can be interchanged.
With a signature, any compensation can be claimed.
Signatures can play a dirty game.
Especially, when two signatures look the same
a man with a signature stands first in the line
a man without has to play penalty and fine.
Today, your stars may have the shine
tomorrow; one signature may force you to resign.
Everything was your's till yesterday night,
Now with your signature, everything is mine.
A signature can turn a thief into a treasurer.
A signature can convert a creditor into a debtor
A signature is a loophole to every law
A signature can cover or convert any flaw
Donations are paid, students get grades,
Admissions are made on a signature
Nations get aid, Traitors get grade,
Orders are stayed on a signature.
After writing this poem, I practiced hard on my signature
because a signature is what discriminated a man from a creature.


Details | I do not know? | |

SOMEONE TO EMBRACE

She's one out of many always standing tall
 through it all
She holds her head up and speaks out without 
a doubt
I saw her spoke at a Velm's Hair Connction Convention 
in 2004 n voting
I said wow so pofound I think i'll stick around for a while
She was sharing to the world and to the young people
that staying ahead is the key and sucess to life
Who wants to live in strife
Expressing that knowledge is power
Especially in society today
Could we have known that a plane would have hit
those towers or did we under estimate our powers
To be alert and always on guard
That bad news had to really hit hard
So many lives had been torn apart
Do we really live and learn what we are taught
So many soldier's we've lost in these foughts
So to them we give a silent moment from our hearts
Jackie, what carrissama you have and a frind to know
So to you this is our love we show
There's many more years for us all to continue and grow


Details | I do not know? | |

Why I Really Write (2005)

I grew up where my opinion was a waste
Everything was chosen even my taste

Speaking my mind was seen as rude
Everything I said caused a feud

I speak my mind 
It helps me unwind

I'm honest and don't beat around the bush
But after every word I heard 'hush'!

To develop communication it needs to be fed
All these words should have been heard and not read

I was told that someone would cut off my tongue
I was very young

I could barely read or write but I had little choice
My pen and paper has become my voice


Details | Rhyme | |

In the Spire to Be Inspired

It's the taste of clouds
the purr of words
the whisk of wind
we thought we heard
It's everything
rolled up and sent
a package filled
with sugar mint
It's now and then
it's years gone by
It's every thought
which makes you cry
It's passionate
It's salt and stone
It's the moment I leave
and you're alone
It's "Call me now!"
It's "Leave me be!"
It's all of you 
and some of me
It's hands to hold
and songs to sing
It's our first kiss
It's everything


Details | Free verse | |

No Apologies

     Rumour has it
that you write

     There are many 
amateur critics ready

to put you down

    You don't have to 
apologize

     for your life style,
for your work

     for anything you do
    When the summer begins 
        to die

  Feel the winds of
 September in your bones

    Let your creativity 
grow like a late-blooming 
   flower

     Now you feel 
only the wind

     It doesn't judge 
you

     It frees your spirit 
from the stifiling heat
     Let the sound of 
trumpets
Reach your soul

Pick up a pen

  Tell them your hopes, 
wishes, dreams

Let the critics talk

You are the 
flowing river
of magic words


Details | Acrostic | |

Who Are You

 How dare you take advantage of me like that ,
Leaving me stranded with no way to go forward or back.
   Using the friendship that we had led me to believe,
That there was trust and honor between you and me .
   How you layed me aside and left me for dead ,
You have caused these hateful thoughts inside my head.
   Never could I have done this to any man , 
I can see you have no concious so I know you can.
  There just one thing I really want to say  about this ,
It's been a long time since I have made a clinched fist .
  You have no idea how much hurt you have caused,
It won't be me you'll have to face That's up to God
   But you will regret mistaking this kindness for weakness girl,
Bad Karma will surely consume you this is my word.
   Yes you were able to catch me completely off gaurd ,
Never again because now I know who you are .
TAC


Details | Verse | |

My Words

Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words


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 | Free verse | |

Untitled #187 / A whim

A whim produces this!


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

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


Details | Limerick | |

Cheaper To Keep Her (Divorce Club)

(Haiku)- * Motive, infidelity messing with the Queen Bee's Honey*

Queen Bee sits on throne,
Bumble and drone bees as one
Sample flowers dew

------------------------

(Limerick) - *Admission of guilt leads to compensation*

Indeed this is how the story unfolds,
Pete said, "It's a poor rat with only one hole"...
Love had taught a sad lesson;
Divorce court was now in session,
Judge rules favor, Pete's pockets full of holes...

----------------------------

(Couplet) - *Take vows seriously payback often belongs to Spouse - Queen Bee*

Love said, "Pete too late you've opened your peepers"....
"Man, you should know it was cheaper to please her"!






Submitted for P.D.'s Divorce Club Contest (Haiku-Limerick-Couplet)


Details | Free verse | |

My Love---a very special original Japanese poem

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Concrete | |

A Written Soldiers Fight

A supreme soldier walks truly alone in the depths of night
he is soft spoken from a life of being so hard that he was stoned until his eyes filled red bloodshot in his sight
he notices what he once thought to be? Was wrong and very far from right
So he asks God for forgiveness from his very own darkness that it may to like his Redemption be shone upon his lost light
He knows its no longer about the bullets in this battle for it is the words in his very own Mind that will matter most in this life among death upon a written soldier's fight.....


Details | I do not know? | |

SURPRISE ENDING

There was once a man.
He’d always wanted to write,
But his biggest failing was
That he wasn’t very bright.

Whenever he started 
On a story or a plot,
Before he could pen it
He simply forgot

What he had thought earlier
And he wasn’t very wise
So all he wanted was that
The end be a surprise.

And he made up plots and tales
Funny, sad and intense
But in the end he found that
None of them made any sense

For follow as he might all grammar
He could never be concise
And what is more, the ending
Was never a surprise.

Yet he cherished dreams
Of becoming famous and great
Of writing beautiful stories
Of defying his impending fate

But, for all his boldness
He could never roll the dice
And his stories never ended
In a nail-biting surprise.

He told his tales to children
He tried them on every friend
But they never gasped at 
The crucial part, the end.

He sent them off to editors
Of magazines of acclaim
But they all sent the stories back 
Saying the ending was all the same.

He tried to write a book too
But in the middle he got stuck
And he wasn’t very clever
So he simply cursed his luck

Then finally he gave up
And wallowed in self-despair
He felt life was being hard on him
He felt it wasn’t fair.

Then one of his friends suggested 
That if he really had to write
He needn’t just write stories
To prove his wit and might.

He could simply write a cookbook
Or an instruction manual too
Or a traveller’s guide to touring 
A place like Timbuktu

Now the man wasn’t very brilliant
But he could recognise good advice
When he saw it, so he took it
Though he wasn’t very wise

And he wrote a self-help book on
Coping with writer’s block
It became  a national bestseller
Every bookstore ran out of stock.

And he made pots of money
Because it was reprinted thrice
And he was always very glad
He took his friend’s advice

So now if you ask his opinion
He looks very condescending
And smiles, and says, “to write a book
Who needs a surprise ending?”


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Constructive - Criticism ... ' ( An Oxymoron - For All, But A Few)

‘ Constructive-Criticism … (An Oxymoron, For All But A Few) ’

Constructive-Criticism Is Good, It’s True
But, I’ve Only Seen It Used Properly, By A Few …
‘Cause, One Thing I Know, That I Have Seen
‘Some’ Use Criticism, Just To Be Mean …

Then, The Term Should Be:  Destructive-Criticism
‘Cause, They Ain’t Even Getting Paid! … To Spout Poison In ‘Em
I Know Then, They Want To Abuse, in Jealous-Individualism
So, Maybe, They Need An Enema, or Have An Embolism 

Coming Up (or while under Construction) I Was Told
And The Engineer-Advice, Was As Good As Gold
‘ If You Can’t Say Something Nice, Don’t Say Nothing’ At All’
So, I Don’t Bomb Somebody’s Building, Just To Watch Them Fall

Constructive-Criticism, Don’t Sic That Dog On Me
Take It and Go Bark-Up, Somebody Else’s Tree
Take A Look At Your Own, Before You Tell Me What’s Wrong
You Know What You Can Do With That … (and The Horse You Rode On)

And In The Words of ‘Tom Snyder’,  (The Idea I Relate):
“Just ‘Cause I Think Somebody’s Trying To Kill Me … Don’t Mean They Ain’t!”
And, If You Don’t Like My Building, There’s The Door, Walk Away
I Don’t Need You Cutting Down, My Structure of What I Say

And If Negative-Criticism, Is Under Construction ... That’s A Front !
When Have You Ever Heard of Something Negative, Building-Up ?
Maybe Somebody Dropped Them On Their Head As A Child
But That’s No Excuse To Criticize, Somebody Else, or Their Style

And that  ' True ', for A Few, I Meant at The Beginning
Here Are The Ones, I Accept Their Condescending:
GOD … Loved-Ones … Close Friends … (and Me)
‘Cause I Am My Own Worst-Critic, You See …

Constructive-Criticism, That’s an “””Oxymoron”””
And Look How That Word Is Spelt … Hon


(I Prefer The Term:  Commentator ( Cause I Love to Comment ! )
   ‘Cause I Want To Polish Your Metal, Without Leaving A Dent


Details | Light Poetry | |

' My 300 Spartans ... ' ( or My Scheherazade )


To Commemorate My 300th Poem Here On The Soup

300 Solomons
300 Beacons
300 Spartans
300 Martyrs

300 Tales Done
300 Threads Spun
300 Heartsongs
300 Touchstones

300 Scheherazade
Only 700 More, GOD
and Wherever YOU Beam Me
10,000 More, Gleam Me

 - - - - - - - - - -

… I Have Lost 200 Poems
But Here Are 300
Because I Open My Arms
To Inspiration Undaunted …

“ Pancakes, Preserves, Poached-Egg & Pork
Maple-Syrup, Milk and Sun-Motes In The Morn
Calling My Name, Just Like Flapjacks To A Fork
Psyche Is Picking Up Poems, Like Babies Just Born “

- - - - - - - - - -

A Childhood Poem Remembered …

           I See The Moon
      and The Moon Sees Me
       GOD Bless The Moon
         and GOD Bless Me

… and Long Live, The Love Of Poetry …

                                 The  MoonBee


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 | Tetractys | |

NUDE WORDS

NUDE WORDS

.   . ` ` ` .   .


Ink, you haunt my waking breath ~ with eyes closed in prayer, let’s meet in blanks of pages Here, I am lost in the mist of soul’s dance shaping nude words of warm heart~ digging flesh


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Self-Portrait of Life


As I draw my eyes I think about what I have seen, what I have witnessed, what I have turned my eyes away from with but a blind stare, and all those special moments I missed that done passed and gone, but above all I think about what I have yet to see when I die.
 As I draw my face and hair I think about I think about how the "Great One Above" has made me what color skin that I am and how he has shaped my attitude into what my life has become and what society and environment I was placed and grew up in around which culture or cultures I have become or unknowingly integrated.
 As I draw my ears I think about what I have heard, what I am still hearing and what I choose not to hear among the many noises surrounded within ones hearing, but above all I think about what death has sounded like not in just one but many different loud but yet still very silent noises around one.
 As I draw my body I think about what my body has endured, what it has failed to do so many times but also what it has finally conquered and still yet to conquer in a world of complete competition with sports so violent and unforgiving for winning does not forgive losers in a world striving to be winners.
 As I draw my hands I think about how they have created so much but also trying not to think about how much they too have destroyed. I think about how I can easily create bad more than the good like an addiction that cannot be stopped among an addicted world full of fiends waiting to get their fix….but above all as I draw these words of life I think about how the heck I am still here today writing about it…..how I am still here enduring it and how I am still here even to share it…Thank You “Great One Above”…..


Details | Haiku | |

hieroglyph

hieroglyph
a root of an immortelle 
life’s paradigm


- inspired by Brian Strand's Poetry Of The Noun Contest


Details | Ballad | |

The Forgotten Ones

Forgotten somewhere in the midst of steel and concrete. 
Bound by shackles and chains even in our sleep. 
Living like wolves preying amongst lost sheep. 
Concrete tears and pains so mindfully deep. 

Forgotten by those on the outside. 
We cant even run no where, we cant even hide. 
No choice left but to sit and fight. 
In here only the strong minded survive. 
Truth be told in here what is wrong is right. 

All most os us got is wasted M&^*&F*^&&ng time. 
We sit back and work out and write heartfelt rhymes. 
Not to be a victim of prey we all trying. 
Many stories are told, songs are written of truth over lying. 

We are gone for the moment but not truly forgotten so the hurt we must not show it.
 We are to old while we young to be crying in front of full grown men for this is a time we must out grow it.
 There aint no way out this hell hole and we all know it. 
Feelings of hopelessness surrounds te heart to the point where we can no longer control it.
 
In here there is only time no fun. 
Darkness fills night no light shone in here from the sun. 
Only by our own selves we may be out done. 
BECAUSE IN HERE IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE TRULY THE FORGOTTEN ONES....


Details | Concrete | |

Swimming in Poetry's Ocean

Im out swimming in the ocean 
looking like moss in this giant bubbly green potion 
Fading in the dark awoken 
in this life ship motion 
Sailing all the se7en seas literally in this poetic land of the soul called free
 we ain't free we locked out until we locked in like some G'z 
I just want something better 
yet Im still swimming in the sea....so things are even wetter 
I write life until death so what you read could be my last letter 


Details | Alliteration | |

The Unseen Miles

Yeah I can get so hyped up with life so high I'm so freaking verbally drunk like a psycho,
 Mind so wrong nothing in my vocabulary at that time in my mind can get right though,
 A piece of this hate cake in this corrupt dictionary I'm going to have to take a bite though,
 Whether the answer is written in hell yeah or heck no, 
Im going to shoot through your deer less body like a scoped out rifle, 
You just another liar if you say my words aint make your mind shake and awake with a stifle,
 Im shooting sideways, up, down, so much I get high low, 
I could be telling true lies when you see my fake gun ridden smiles, 
I might just shoot self in head because Im getting a little too suicidal, 
Im in need of God because I keep skipping planned revivals, 
Im reading the rhyme master Shakespeare I aint reading the Bible, 
Im playing with word bullets shiny as a burning star struggling for simple survival,
 I want people to tell the truth but cant help but keep telling themselves lies though,
 Hiidden demons in the book of lifes closet dont tell me how it is because I know,
 I too onced played with life like a toy plastic as Tyco, 
Im going to stand out in this world like the tower of Eifel, 
Im going to bring out all my freaking hidden poetic files, 
Im putting word ryhme puzzles together like floor tiles 
Im going to do it now not later gator or after while crocodile, 
I got little time in life left on the sun dial, 
I got but few years or even months left before I face my ultimate trial, 
But first Im going to have some fun into the night sun until I get riled, 
But family comes first I must start to think of my own seed, my very own child, 
I got to stop the ways of living stupid like Im out of hand so wild, 
I must drink from the fountain of life like the Egyptians do from the Nile, 
Pull my own way out this ****ing trash, this bull *****pile, 
I got to stay strong in the mean time because everything in life takes a little while,
 Sometimes I dont give a **** about nobody because it feels as if I have nothing to live for, but now I got a child I would die for
 So now I must keep living because if I die I know I would leave behind a child behind that I would cry for,
 I must walk that road less traveled like a car breaking down on the open road still trying to idle,
 Walking amongst greats is going to be my own personal hypo, 
I will walk strong in the days that I die in my last UNSEEN MILES......


Details | Ballad | |

Family First

I cant believe Im going to have my own family, something I never had; 
Its time to step up and be a real dad; 
Now I can remember the things that make me happy and forget the things that make me sad;
 Its time that I start doing good than the bad; 
I want for my child to see me as a role model; 
Its time I break my own chains to that alcoholic bottle; 
I want to be that someone who can be trusted to follow; 
I silently cry at night because the truth is hard to swallow; 
I jus hope I can make that change today not tomorrow; 
I got to change before I end up in an?early hearst; 
My art is my gift and alcohol is my curse, I must break my own alcoholic thirst;
 I must relieve my own selfishness tendencies before they burst; 
I got to stop making alcohol my only because its no longer just about me, because my very own family comes first


Details | Ghazal | |

How to love

My roots are trembling
through clay orgasm,
tumbling the landslide
that speaks every shake or so.
Leo roars and I await life,
Generic roving rumbles
reminding me of the world around,
but I never remember
how to cling to the ground.


Details | Ballad | |

Im Gone

Life as a lonely lost poet bred from dark cracks 
Lost soul living plain and simple among the people black and white 
Drug along with alcoholic among us distracts 
Lost values and principles around one many continue to lack 
Everyday simple facts, its like breathing through plastic sacks 
Slowly suffercating until the brain goes wack 
Once death comes my way I must keep it part of my past 
Aint no way God going to bring my little brother back 
I guess its a curse upon all those of us living like outlaw of an outcast 
How the **** will I ever truly outlast until I heal and break out my cast 
God cant you see Im tired of wearing this permanent mask 
I know my poetry has hidden answers if I look and read closer so I shouldnt have to ask
 Staying lost is a choice in the open road with no gas 
So as a lost poet through hardships now and in the future I will outgrow it 
The devil trying to get my soul and behold it 
but I know only this one man controls it 
Its too priceless for even my own greed to have sold it 
So as a lost poet I will climber higher than high if not then right below it 
Found in a world of lies with few truths as but another lost poet


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 | Free verse | |

Weathered Sandstone

Yosemite’s marvels
glaciers from the last Ice Age
sculpted Half Dome and El Capitan

alas, though I worship the almighty Hand,
I am but sand
     compressed by elements
          solidified by desert sun
               pounded by wind
                    made porous by rain
withstanding, I remain
sandstone

vessel capturing microscopic organisms
purifier for aquifers
tan, brown and red
camouflaged in Zion Park
filter for nature’s emotions
     heat’s scourge grows
          water’s passion flows
               sandstorm wind blows

yet I am not enraged
     only engraved
uninfected, merely reflective
     poetic words pouring from my cracks
          aged by time
               refined by nature’s whims

from dust I came
and dusty fate awaits
aging poet
weathered sandstone 


Details | Concrete | |

Poetry Piled Up

I am a native criminal artistic creative poet/
against all odds a convict of christ in society, I must not stay below it/ 
This is my time 2 shine people, da tattooed face over society I must out grow it/
 I show no love for those who show none for me/
 I just most recently been incarcerated so my objective is 2 remain free/
 But it hard for a mutha ****in strrugglin addict half breed/ 
I struggle wit my own DUALITY, because my whole life revolves around 2 BE OR NOT 2 BE/ Im a educated Hustler starting back from scratch once again/ 
**** my families help especially my soul called friendz/
 Prison I want to say NEVER AGAIN/ But Still Im a self made huslter/
 Still a type 2 give a **** mutha ****er/ 
I show respect and loyalty I live by the Code, I keep my eyes open, ears alert and mouth shut/
 I gots to give a ****/
 same thing everyday is where im stuck/ 
I live by the code of silence/A man of peace so its a last resort to violence/ 
this my poetry now I slowly pile it....


Details | Sonnet | |

'I Weave Ethereal'

From my own little girl time, I have been Like no other, I have lived in a dream What others seem to see, I have not seen My soul flows, like a rippling mountain stream From my life, into writing, I have taken My heart, so full, heavy with each new poem Each old sorrow, each one, I awaken My life is writing, poetry my home Now, in my adulthood, in the sweet dawn From the thunder of my soul, like a storm And with poetic pen, with joy, I have drawn Each new poem that takes of it's own form My nights are dreams and my days are trances And, I weave ethereal poetic dances Sonnet November 24, 2012


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 | Haiku | |

haiku fanatics

haiku fanatics stifling creativity laying down the law inflexible minds smothering self-expression toeing language lines simile is out personification too metaphor's a crime icicles are fine as long as they aren't crystal and they mustn't rhyme ripping haiku rules rebel verse must be contained I should be ashamed! wonder if Basho stuck rigidly to the rules observed tradition? haiku from the heart give metaphor wings to soar let the words fly free oops I do believe this is strictly senryu not haiku at all!
After reading all sides of the haiku debate about how it should be written and indeed beyond haiku and into the writing of poetry in general, I really only have this to say: life is not perfect and if art imitates life it stands to reason that poetry cannot be perfect either. I think the writing of poetry suffers from perfectionism and I find that the more I read about the rights and wrongs of writing, this technique and that technique, this form and that form, the more of an inhibitory effect it has upon my work. Life is constantly changing and evolving and therefore poetry should do the same. What is being published today at the cutting edge is mainly modern haiku and free verse with a definite shift towards more rawness and edginess and I welcome that. Life is not perfect and has very little rhyme or reason, so how can it possibly be captured in neat little stanzas and strict syllable counts? And so when writing haiku I will write my own version of it, what personally pleases me and what I'd like to read myself - I've ripped up my rule book. :-)


Details | Free verse | |

Poetic Robbery

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Verse | |

Scorn

HAD FUN WITH ENTERING THE DICTIONARY FUN CONTEST sponsored by Delliah Ventura!
THESE ARE THE WORDS THAT HAD TO BE IN THE POEM 

Abomination scorn Affection Passion Yearning
Struggle Attempt Cherish Relationship Flame
Taste Tender Inner soul Bloom Bamboozle

HERE IS MY ON THE SPOT CREATION!..enjoy :)
I was a woman scorn 
Unknowingly  cherished a relationship
where the flame was no longer existent;
where time flew by in the distance and I missed
everything in my life I intended 
because I was accepting a me that depended
on him
I made an attempt to bamboozle the truth
and convince myself that he wasn’t screwing Kim
Ultimately I faked passion and lustfully feigned for affection
since I’d been betrayed
So, I got down on my knees and  I prayed 
I began yearning for knowledge of my Inner soul
I began to taste freedom and feel whole
The healing began and my consciousness rose - fresh bloom
It was no longer a struggle to end an abomination that would 
prove to be a path of doom


Details | Rhyme | |

I am not SAD

I am not sad!


While most of my poems may be SAD
They reflect the experiences that I’ve HAD
I promise you I am not MAD
In fact most days I feel GLAD

Whenever I do feel DOWN
Or sadness is AROUND
When pain and fear are ABOUND
I write to release my inner FROWN

My writing is the skeleton KEY
To all things that make me - ME
It opens the door and sets me FREE
To document my life’s JOURNEY

I write today to tell you SO
Just in case you did not KNOW
My memories are clear and PLAIN
On my journey there’s both joy and PAIN

SOME OF IT I JUST CAN’T EXPLAIN
SOME ANSWERS I MAY NEVER ASSERTAIN


Happy memories are all I SEE
When I reflect on my girls and ME
They fill my heart with such JUBILEE
And now my life has UNITY 

Alaya and Saen adore me SO
I love them and this they KNOW
They repaired my heart and helped it GROW
In their eyes I see love’s GLOW

A love like theirs is INCOMPARABLE
This makes the pain of my past - BEARABLE
They fill my spirit with joy and GLEE
They are the reason I was meant to BE

Each and every day I PRAY
I look in the mirror and I SAY
Thank you lord for this DAY
Watch over my children as they PLAY
And please show me the WAY
To be a better person - TODAY

This eases the sadness in ME
So I can live and be HAPPY!

Lay


Details | Blank verse | |

Who I am Today

I got 2 memba who I once was, who I really am, what I really am, and who Im still yet TO BECOME. I got 2 memba where Im from 2 know how I got 2 where Im at 2 know where Im still GOING TO GO/ Despite bein a felon and convict and all the odds against me, I still got all the evens deep within me. Change is like a choice of contradicted concepts of my own convictions. My felonistic, forbidden, fatherless faith is not workin for me no more, actually it never did I just thought it did. I aint got 2 give it up or must give it up, or even have 2 give it up I first got 2 want 2 give it up. But I also must got 2 have 2 want 2 give it up within my own contradicted soul so that I may travel that road less traveled by my own people, not only where Im from but for all those trapped in this American inner racial mixed struggle where race and the color of YOUR SKIN DOES MATTER


Details | Free verse | |

I'VE CROSSED THAT BRIDGE BEFORE

Planning on crossing over
where footprints of night
are ne'er seen...
There fish are spawning
in clear blue stream ~
Surrounded by verdant green;
Nature begins speaking to me.
An antiquated chine-wood bridge
gracefully arches it back
with sturdy braids makes a path ~
That I may cross  to a place serene
Where nightingales and crickets sing
It's a place where I do my thinking
Unafraid to shed my skin ~
by dusk as honey bear I may roam,
by dawn take flight as an eagle
I may be found soaring toward home.
Upon opening mine eyes
I come to realize the colors of the skies
Yes, I've crossed that bridge before


Details | Rhyme | |

Blank Page

Too long have I been staring at this cruel blank page before me, My crazed, hysteric mind screaming and imploring I know there is a message that's dying to come out— I need to fill this confounded page without the slightest doubt! It's a simple predicament to manipulate, Into a mass of thought A futile attempt to insinuate, Weak hints are left with naught I sit here in silent desperation, What can fill this page? I slap myself in indignation, My eagerness becoming rage! Like roaches sporadically running from light My thoughts are but a haze The words I write just don't seem right, On this cruel blank page!


Details | Shape | |

O h i o

*OHIO*     O     O     OHIO     *OHIO*
 H     H      H     H         !         H     H
 I      I       I---- I         !          I      I
*OHIO*    O     O      OHIO    *OHIO*


Details | Free verse | |

Dripping Pages

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Crown of Sonnets | |

For My Unborn Seed and Girlfriend

Dam girl when Im locked up you set me free/ 
When Im not myself you set me free/ 
Im behind the lock and you got the key/
 Im blind with hate but you helpmy love see/ 
WhenIm lot and alone you take the lead/
 Without you I could have never planted my seed/ 
I hate to say it but you make me better/ 
You know I love you even without this letter/ 
When Im cold with sadness you my comfort warm sweater/
 I know I can be a bad boyfriend but Im going to be a better father/
 I might have wanted a son, but it really didnt matter because now you having my daughter/
 Im guess Im too stubborn girl with me why you even bother/
 my heart gets heart gets colder but for you it only gets hotter........


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 | Free verse | |

To The Beat of Jazz Poetry

From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul, 
Which they all just had to express

Some could not control
This powerful thing 
 Was so often put to the test

It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing 
Called the Harlem Renaissance 

That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth 
Possessing syncopated rhythms 
And chronic expression of surreal tunes 

That perfected blend of jazz-poetry 
Developed into what it is today. 
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes 

That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers 
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race 

Therefore, the mantra had begun to be 
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics 
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka

Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s 
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers 
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters 

Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats 
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
 
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing 
In which made many a heart sing 
As these icons did their thing

Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong


Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.



Details | Ballad | |

A Little Crazy

My poetry is normally thought provoking that its insane 
Word rhyming that can rip up the direct thought line in the brain 
Words so hard they concrete steel bars locking on the mind with chains 
Words bleeding that they mentally leave thought with stains 
Writing my life away before I die in a world with no change 
I take *****in poetry so serious its my only range of life written about our past experienced death pains
 We all going to die someday in someway so we best look for someway in this some kind of day before you lay your head down as you pray past this darkness looking at the sky gray so please Lord help me do something the people can face with the uttermost respect regardless of gender sex or race
 because someday we all going to go A Little Crazy in this crazy place.......


Details | Concrete | |

I Write What I Say and Say What I Write until its Done

If I write a lie then my whole life has been like an entire lie/
I can't do what must be done if one doesn't give it a try/
Im living what I write until my breath of words in my body die/
You see my rhymes grounded until they finally set forth in flight/
Paragraphs blinded until words give them sight/
If I write what was wrong I can still make that mistake right/
Im trying to live in peace yet at times I won't live if I don't fight/

I shouldn't be thinking like two because I am only but one/
You see working on verses late into the night until the early morning sun/
I fight with sophisticated verses upon many losses until my spoken fight is finally won/
Lost into thoughts so deep until they no longer seem fun/
Thinking out the day worried every night that I sleep with a gun/
If I am not to your standards I dont give a **** if I am shunned/
Im doing what I do until the day that my purpose in life is finally done/


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 | Free verse | |

The Bookworm

Words Bound Together Thoughts Formed Between Lines Knowledge To Absorb Learns The Bookworm Wishes Expressed By Letters Ideas For All To Share Building Blocks For Peace Believes The Bookworm Fact or Fiction Penned Expressions of Desire Mystery Exposed, Secrets Veiled Hunted By The Bookworm


Details | Terzanelle | |

Memoirs of Legacy

"Memoirs of Legacy" in hopes of leaving written legacy behind words of inspiration with creative flare mellow moments fashion in sweet phrases to unwind. absorbing potent messages ingesting with great care phases of poetic art emerges to embrace words of inspiration with creative flare. lines of legacy infiltrate blank page to grace thoughts convey emotions elegant with rare beauty phases of poetic art emerges to embrace. writing instills a pleasure plight relinquishing mere duty a parallel synopsis of life and love and hope thoughts convey emotions elegant with rare beauty. exquisite remnants last in legacy as memoirs cope delighting readers who partake of finer arts a parallel synopsis of life and love and hope. the final goal of any writer is in touching hearts in hopes of leaving written legacy behind delighting readers who partake of finer arts mellow moments fashion in sweet phrases to unwind. *For Craig's Hope Contest. *Nov.12, 2012,


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?


Details | Limerick | |

Some Limericks...

She’s out there chasing a cricket

Through bush, through shrub & through thicket

Together they hop

Fugitive, cop

But when she gets it, she just wants to lick it!
 

A cat whose vet took his eye

Just cannot quite understand why

His eye’s been enucleated,

3-D vision reduciated,

So now, he keeps an eye out for an eye

 
Ya gotta keep limericks loose

Think green eggs, or perhaps Dr. Seuss

They’re structured, it’s true,

But they’re also a zoo

Whose tenants are all on the loose!


I frolic in fountains of words

Overflowing with serious absurds

Each poem I write

Wakes up and takes flight

Joining angels and faeries and birds

 
You ask that we write a good limerick

How to do so, I haven’t a glimmerick

So I struggle and frown

Teaching  poems to clown

So a smile on your lips will be shimmerick

 
A cat with a mouth full of mouse

Brought her feast right into my house

She played with her food

Who was not in the mood

To be a banquet of mouse in the house

 
The nightmares that shadow my sleep

Stampede the proverbial sheep

Right out of my mind

When I try to unwind

I find my appointment with sleep hard to keep

 
In her search for original truth

She met people unsavory and couth

She knitted and purled

But only unfurled

Yarns told by new age and old youth

 
Cat, suddenly pink,

Drinks her water from out of the sink

She looks so absurd

Since she’s been de-furred

I really don’t know what to think!

 
If one and one is two and two is four,

And there’s only two ways to go through  a door,

Then, is earth up or down?

And, where is down town?

These are questions we need to explore!

 
A was that is an is

Tried to mind my biz

But I sent it packing,

Its presence was lacking

And I don’t have time for such shiz!


A couple who lived in Los Lunas

Loved the wide desert sky’s crystal blueness

They’d stare at the air,

Over here, over there

And rejoice at the feeling of newness

 
A cat with a very fat gut

Found it easier to walk on his butt

He’d drag it around

Across carpet and ground

And use it to slam the doors shut

 
Said the Missus to her dear Mr. Otter,

“There’s something I think that you oughta

Do before we get old

To protect us from cold –

You oughta make the hot water hotter!”

 
The ghosts who live up in my attic

Make noises that sound much like static

I’ve tried to send them away,

But they’re here to stay,

Those staticky ghosts in my attic


Details | Lyric | |

From the Inkpot

Oh yes! Poetry is still alive and well,
And in these modern times a poet may tell
By picking up any near-by pen
To express the beauty felt with-in.
Of these often troubled times, 
A quiet place to compose rhymes 
Blocks out the chaos of the day,
And lets the beauty steal away.
Tranquil waves upon the shore makes silence fall
On dirty city streets where roaches crawl.
The lovely mountain mist roams unaware
Of the voggy, sultry, humid air.
The graceful movements as cotton clouds drift by
Alas, defers to ‘Time’ on a pedestal set high.
Yet moments stolen from a hectic day
Keeps poet’s hearts safe from the fray.

© 2012 Connie Marcum Wong


Details | I do not know? | |

Poets Riches

Poets ponder They cannot squander A stipend they do not receive For paid in thought Their piece of mind Are words formed and conceived A tale of sorts Depiction of life Even death, if they so choose Sometimes humor So often, strife Sometimes fake and sometimes true To live on poetry Getting paid for thoughts Is not within the poets reach That’s why they work Many various jobs Laborers, professionals and some, they teach Within their thoughts Their written words Lies the life for which they wish For there in mind Though pockets bare The poet knows, within, he’s rich As thought has value But not of dollar Intrinsic is what it shall always be The poet stands Not then with riches But pride in thought, his dignity


Details | Couplet | |

Where does the Time go

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


Details | Quatrain | |

Ode to Robert Frost





I think I may have walked with him
and talked  of life and simple things.
We mended walls together, and then
talked of poetry and what it brings..

He told me how his life unfolded
and how the words began to flow.
How promises that he made, he kept,
described the woods filled up with snow..

I stood with him that day in Washington
and so proudly held his aging hand,
as he spoke about the Gift Outright
and hopes for JFK in our troubled land...

This lovely dream of mine I cherish.
His words speak directly to my heart ;
Of common man and treasured places,
he was a quiet man, a man apart.....


Details | Clerihew | |

Not, yet

I dreamt myself as poet-frog
And good Fancy` Fairy
Would stoop to pick my verse…
But she didn`t come.


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 | Concrete | |

A Somebody Something

I was once trapped in the many past wrongs now days I'm doing what it takes for a better life in the very few rights.
 Im writing through these violent dark hard days while thinking life thoughts in the easy peaceful bright nights.
 I search for hope of something living in this despair of nothingness looking for a past future unknown in the mind's sight.
 I see what I see in my purpose of my own destiny. 
I'm walking incarcerated while my mind is running free. 
So I am told I will be a nobody like many who never amount to nothing 
I am told I got no where to hide after all that wasted running 
But as inmate I know when I get out I will be A SOMEBODY SOMETHING.


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 | Free verse | |

Roll Call

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION








Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple





My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.





Details | Imagism | |

The Red Symphony

A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.

They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief 
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf 
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.

From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare: 
Carnati - sausages  kept in special aromatic smoke 
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears 
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost; 
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail, 
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
                                                                              
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled 
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled 
 And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.

This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
 
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it  the pickles cucumbers jar.)


Details | Haiku | |

A Living Change

If I want it then I best go and get it
If I choose it then I best do it
If I want to go somewhere then why must I choose to hold oneself back
If I want change then why don't I try and make a change

I know Im a sinner and far from being a winner
I see my people eating good but me I usually miss breakfast and dinner
I keep looking for truth on the outside when infact I should be looking inner
I know I keep destroying my lungs and my liver

I know life can be crazy for this young man
I know if I want to be remebered I will have to take a certain indvidualized stand
I know I must do what I must and also do what I can 
I know this must be some sort of Gods plan

I go out writing with a bang
Im going to go married to this literature wearing a a diamond rang (ring)
Im going to write this *****until it gets sung until its finally sang
I do what I do to make some sort a life living change


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 | Acrostic | |

Lost In Thought

Now who would of thought the thoughts that would truly get the mind lost in fragile thought?
 So much on our known life, 
about unknown death when we laugh at others but at ourselves we really cry, 
in our very own hidden truth lies, 
amongst our own poeple who we defy, 
until we fight, 
for wrongs for personal rights, 
**** the darkness is what make us appreciate the light, 
I dont talk the talk nor do I walk the walk because I walk my talk while I swagger and swerve im my talks through these walks,
 Life can get so messy with death that its time for those of us here to grab the broom so God can mop,
 I live life to the fullest with what little I have because I dont have a lot, 
I live life shitty sometimes like almost everyone else like it or not, 
Im not special Im so unique Im individual with word talent I know I got, 
I know what I dont have so its important more knowledge among me is sought, 
I can be wrong half the time but can still make it 100% right I was self-taught among a young soul that seems to be bought,
 I got a bad limp but dont get me wrong I can still gallup through darkness while I jog lost in the early morning fog waiting to be patiently found in the midnight lounge where I trot,
 Truly lost so easily in profound hard thoughts litterally running from the cops waiting to duck and dodge from open gunshots,
 Bodies and shells drop where caskets are made among a dying crop, 
I can still make a splatter where there was just but a tiny dot, 
I used to have merely nothing now atleast I can truly say I have a safe spot, 
I was found looking for truth in lies lost in thought....


Details | Bio | |

Living for Something and Dying for Nothing

In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of lasting freedom you know what I mean.


Details | Dizain | |

Never Felt this Pretty

(09/05/2012)

My birthday skin of 80 year old soul It wrinkles here and there but I’m pretty Who would’ve thought I used to be a fool Had chased abstract things, had left me dizzy My first hubby said I was a witty But I kept on searching for compliments Stupidities were wrapped in arguments For my second, I never loved him sweet He did do worst things inside our moments Had enough after, I’ve stood on my feet A perfect skin for 80 year old me Did I say I feel pretty? I did, right? Aged skin, cracked bones, grey hair; a beauty me Blurry sight never fails my inner light Of my self, I had put up selfish fight It did come when I was 60, oh my! I thought before 70 I would've died Never thought of this as a bless before I stopped offer myself to random guy Respect my weak body for a year more
Sits on 8th Place for Cyndi Macmillan Contes 'My Birthday Suit'


Details | Concrete | |

A Writer Always Writing

As a writer always writing about my life everyday, I have to write this when I say that this is the only way that I know I know how to speak and write about "My" life before I "Die" in these reservation cold streets like many of my own people.
 I have hope for something better and bigger beyond our cold rez life streets here in money rich America.
 I'm trying not to be another victim or just another number and I'm especially not trying to become just another "Rest in Piece" or just another "In Loving Memory Of".
 I'm trying to leave something behind for my people but especially for my "yet to understand daugher", and this is the only way I know how to leave my very own one of a kind unique individual thoughts behind is through paper, but now what make's it even better now days for us is the "Internet", and my Internet crowd and across sea's internet crowd will listen to my words more than my "family" or "friends" ever will, and this is the only way I can truly be there for my family, my friends, my people and my daughter is in these words that I write, in this words in which I speak, and I have to be careful about what I write because it can help, but more often than not I can make them hurt, but I got to be careful about whom these words I write and speak about.
 I got to be more about helping than hurt as a True Lone Poet Speaking Life as "A Writer Always Writing".


Details | Epic | |

Yesterday I Lived Today I Died

I spread my broken down wings and fly 
So minded high when Im so dam low that I cry
Im living around hurtful people so much it makes me think suicide
You see the pain written line after line 
You can honestly see the tear drops fall down from the eyes
Pain so deep a sucker like me can always realize
Realize the pain inside a hearts truth so much  that it seems like a lie
Everyday is is certain do or die
When all is said and done atleast I can let me people know that I tried
So someone tell me something different on this crazy road in which I ride
Everywhere I run It still seems like an addict like me can't hide
I do what I do in forms written in rhyme
Living a young crazy life trying to get out a life a crime
I know that Im still young but it feels as if I am running out of time
I almost went out twice that should be a life changing sign
Yeah I like to laugh yet I wouldn't know what it would be if I wasn't crying
I keep crying when Im laughing that the feelings collide
All because yesterday I lived and today I died


Details | I do not know? | |

Pride

O, what is pride

That we holdeth onto it.


‘Tis as dew naked in the sunlight,

A beautified bouquet, fresh trim’d,

A flame flickering in the roaring rain..


A mere feeble flamboyance;

That withers as swiftly as breeze through our fingers..


O, what is pride

That we holdeth onto it.


-Titus Loh-
http://after-tim.blogspot.com


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 | Free verse | |

One Spark To Burn My Forest Down.

Cinder snaps
Lightning wings
You are this
and many things
Wrapping print
paper ink
Caught amongst
the lines, I think
Pomp and light
Candle wane
On the verge
but always sane
Liquid sugar
Sweet intake
Watching ripples
in your wake
Rainbow glow
Air to touch
Catch my ears
It's just too much
Marble mind
Cinder skin
Wishing you 
would let me in...


Details | Rhyme | |

Whiteness

An indispensable beauty in the eyes of our Beholder
In the heart of one's innocence radiates its power
It stands  to what is right and represents holiness
In this colorful world, the only thing which balances

It’s the most essential  tool  in the world of a writer
To be filled up with  his ideas and moods that conquer
Resembled  to a tabula rasa, describing a child’s mind
Where ceaseless quest of knowledge is forever designed






 






Written: Oct.  16,2012


Details | Free verse | |

My savior

It’s been years and I did nothing but watch the walls crack
I look everywhere and see a glimpse of things I missed
I try to go back to do things that was undone
But what’s in the past can never be undone
I’m so littler now
Stuck in the jail of my heart 
Broking to pieces 
Barely breathing
weeping bitterly for my savior 

I’m sorry for I left you for so long
I’m ashamed of holding you
You were the only one who gets me
You’ve always been here through my ups and downs
And I simply walked away from you
I always exploded all my feelings to you
You did nothing but listen 
Never judge me with a glance
I’ve hit you
Threw you
Broke you
You’ve always forgave me 
And came back 

You always knew what was really there
I didn’t need to show you for you to see
I spilled my heart to you 
Without even saying a word
You just simply knew
You helped me find my words 
To show the world 
As it is from my heart
For they need lots of words to understand 

With just a movement of my hand
You helped me draw my dreams my thoughts my unspoken words 
On these wet forgotten papers	
Gave it a new life 
A new story to share

I promise ill never leave you again 
Forgive me, My Pen My savior



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 | Acrostic | |

Everytime I Look Around The Corner

I live a life in a place where alcohol violence reigns supreme/ 
over a dying culture split in se7en groups of se7enty times se7en of rival teams/
 I hear my brothers hollers I hear my sisters screams/ 
I see people live among broken glass like that of many broken dreams/
 I sometimes wish I could not see what my two eyes sometimes see/ 
I cant act blind as if it were just a brush off my sleeve/
 The more I lose in life the more it seems the less I need/
 I try and overcome my own selfish greed/ 
I got a child on the way I now look at what kind of role model I'd be/ 
I was was incarcerated so I must not take for granted for the simple fact that Im free/
 But it hard with tattoos on my face in place where tattoos like mine seem a disgrace/
 Lord watch over me as I take last place in this life game race/ 
It not a matter of being first second or third Lord cuz all I need iz your grace/
 help me to better walk off this destructive road and slow my pace/ 
Just take me now if Im done with your purpose if thats the case/
Because I dont want to live like I got to look over my shoulder right around the corner....


Details | Couplet | |

Life Sans Soup

Ah, life would surely be tasteless without a ladle of Soup each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!

There is romantic verse, hot and spicy, to warm the cockles of the heart!
Inspirational and insightful poems from the poets' very souls to impart!

So delightful are the witty and humorous ditties that evoke a grin,
And so are the spiritual writes that warn us against the perils of sin!

We learn so much from the historical ballads written by our creative peers,
And read of the vicissitudes of life that bring the hardest of hearts to tears!

Others write of the brave deeds of soldiers that swell our breasts with pride.
Still, others write of the grandeur of God's Creation so great and wide!

'Tis so pleasing to read glowing tributes to others written from the soul!
We enjoy tales of cowboys, their saddle sores and favorite watering hole!

Poetry Soup offers splendid opportunities for budding poets and is first rate,
But the folks who ladle out the Soup to receptive minds are what make it great!

Ah, life would certainly not be complete without my Soup 'fix' each day!
Ah, the variety of delectable verse to choose from that bountiful buffet!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

Placed No. 3 in David Williams' "Life Without Soup" Contest - February 2012


Details | Alliteration | |

Downside of a Writer

They say Im a lover but I know I can also be a fighter/ 
Im living in darkness today knowing tomorrow ain't going to get any brighter/ 
Im so heavy in the pain I don't know when *****in life is going to get any lighter/
 My *****in life is all crooked and loose I don't think it's going to get any straighter or tighter/
 I just need to be useful and not happy is what I lost sight of/ 
Im a matchbook making matches light up because without me there ain't no striker/
 Im just a lost poet trying to find deep within this hard head as a true Writer.....


Details | Rhyme | |

SOUP Spoonin'

Online tonite
looks like 
a whole lotta' spoonin'
goin' on in the "Soup"

nosin' around the comment coral
I see love 
amongst the group

yessir'...
hot Soup!
stirred 
not shaken
marriage scent in the air
no fakin'

where it leads...
we shall see
I know some 
are dippin' crackers in the "Soup"
but Lawd' knows 
IT AIN'T ME!~


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part I

Gathering grey clouds
Whip crack of frothing thunder
Is this Africa?


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men

We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge

Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.

The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.


Details | Verse | |

The Poetic Blues

I think I self-sabotage unknowingly 
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;

I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant 
and my writing grew 
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it

As I wait to be inspired for the next poem, 
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM 
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used 

Or will this be the one that transcends the others  
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b, 
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul 
and I am free once they become spoken 
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest 
until the silence is broken

Drowning in the sea of proper delivery 
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose – 
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues

Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard 
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to  make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues


Details | Free verse | |

It The Everyday Struggle That Make The Man

It The Everyday Struggle That Make The Man


This struggle we live in,this world is or enemy and our friend we fight to see it beautiful.Have you ever heard "I've given up all hope and am ready to die to day"
I'm sorry but this is more this is not some joke have you no heart have you no thought on what someone other then you have to deal with.I want to see the smiling faces of everyone that a longing dream since the day i could walk,Dreams are meant to be kept close,hearts are meant to be keep open,life is meant to be filled to the fullest.How can you say forget it and go and prepare to be put 6 feet under? I'm taking on life building up this life to see a better future for those who think they have none.Who am I to say people are crazy when I myself am crazy.Who has never been grief sicken in't human to the least.I say to those out there it is an everyday struggle that make a boy into a man and a girl into a woman,but if there is love there then this is what should be said"it is beautiful to love but to love is to know how to grieve".


Details | Haiku | |

story teller

Tears flow
As the hero
dies slow
in my story


Details | Couplet | |

Writer's Block

You know what I hate about writer’s block,
How my creativity is hidden behind a lock;

Time ticks away as I stare at my screen,
My heart beating faster from the strain of caffeine;

The cursor flashing lulls me to doze,
Til a fly lands smack on the tip of my nose;

I swing at the fly and glance at the clock,
How did 10 AM turn into 5 O’clock;

I stand and I stretch and then walk away,
And say goodbye to another wasted day;

Maybe tomorrow will inspire my brain,
Or I could be slowly going insane…


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 | Alliteration | |

Alliteration

  
Putting words and “wards” in my words

I’m not wayward, but waying words into their ward

The world’s words are wayward

But my words are “rhyming” “way” “words”

My world, are full of words

But the world is full of wrongs

Yes! I’ll right the wrong by rhyming words

With writing rights, I’ll write right

My “right”, my ways, my words, my world,

Hmmm, “way words”,   	

Will change our world.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Novel Idea

I am tired of holding all those negative feelings inside
In the near future I will be penning my first novel
I have a spot destined as the main character that with pride
I will pen all those emotions that have  shovel

And you my friend if you want a spot as a character role
Just keep on fueling these bitter angry emotions that I hold
I will probably will give you the leading spot as the sole
Character that will have all the negative traits that I see in you so bold

I know that it will sell several million copies as the best 
Horror work that has ever been written
For you will be like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde at rest
And change into Dracula that was bitten

One stricken with schizophrenia or bi-polar at its worst
That is what I would write this character who is pushing my buttons
And causing all these angry repressions while smiling about to burst
Do you want to be this character that will be like Mrs. Robison's ___

(This is not an original idea for I have heard and seen it before
I do not know who to credit the idea to ..Since it is not being 
published, I guess it doesn't matter...)


Details | Didactic | |

That Word

            f.@+$

That word
What does it mean?
Is it to glean?
Or
To 
Cause a ravine or seam
Or
To tritely inflict 
The mean-
-ing
Of a theme

It seems 
To 
Me
That such a thing
Is small
And 
Has little
To bring
Or
To 
Ring
Yes, much less
To
Sing

Nothing to suggest
Or 
To cause 
To
Keep abreast
But
Overt
In it's
Suggest 
Of
What words 
One
Can’t bring
To mind’s crest
And thus
Attest
A 
Vagueness of wit

…at best.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Alternate Story

With every word, with every phrase,
You breathe, you come alive,
A tale of truth, mapped with reality,
Or a dream unlived for which you thrive,
You live through what is written,
Or you choose to hold your pens,
It doesn’t matter how it ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins,

Broken hour glasses of the War,
Acting as the mirror to see through the past,
The good is victorious, and is glorified,
And evil is evil, because in the battle they did not last,
With their blood, is inked the war diary,
So winner takes it all, and is called as ‘good’, hence,
As it doesn’t matter how the war ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

And then there is Romeo, falling in love
And Juliet waiting for him in the Balcony,
They kill Romeo, and justify the murder,
But love is charged for an unforgivable felony,
Died, the felons leave the stage,
But love lives irrespective of the skins
As it doesn’t matter how the life ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins

You pose the king of you story,
Or in their game, you are just a pawn,
Your story is written in this moment,
Larger than life; this moment is never gone,
So when they bury you as a ‘Sinner’,
Be the phoenix to rise from your sins,
As it doesn’t matter how the Story ends,
Because it’s the end where it all begins


Details | Haiku | |

Haiku 12

a breath of fresh air
words of a poet released
our poetry lives
"Carol Ann Brown 2011"
For: ^Rick Parise "Poetry On Poetry" contest Honorable Mention


Details | Alliteration | |

One Among Many part 1

Chapter 1 
As but only one young lost man in a great land I sometimes don’t want to see what I see in life but death causes me to look. I don’t want to hear the things I hear but have to admit the things here that I’ve heard. I don’t want to be guilty today it’s why I continue to strive past my past for innocence in the near future. I don’t want to feel what I feel but after another day in this dark place has gone by I can’t hide what I have painfully felt. As but one young man I wonder why I question others motives and still can’t see the answers to my own as if I know all the answers to life when I don’t even know the true cause of my own. I wonder why I am happier at times but more often than not why I continue to be sad. I look for ones in groups of twos and get lost in groups of threes, but don’t get even me started on the groups of fours. On the outside world I am lost yet inside myself I know I am found, I holler silently at night while I quietly pray during the day. As but only one young man I can only do what is best for self-first if I want to start making a difference for two. 
Sometimes life for one can be fun, but on the reservation more often than not it is boring and dull. On the reservation I found serenity and solitude in the hills but I also found old savages and young Satan’s in the towns. I see beauty and peace in Mother Nature but I also found violence and ugliness among my very own in the neighborhood. I see not what I see and I think not what I think for I feel what I see which leads me to think. I choose rather to just be rather than not be what other people want me to be. I see what I see because I haven’t really got a choice in what I will see, I’d rather choose to just say that I saw. Outside people can’t make one see what I already choose not to see for I see what I see rather if they want me to see things their way or not. I can’t feel what they feel unless they feel what I feel and live where I live and be where I am to know where I truly am from to understand the thoughts and feelings of not only a young native of struggle, but as a person worldwide no matter the skin color.


Details | Acrostic | |

Poetry Palace

Prepare your mind for this wondrous place.
Once an ILLUSION, now so much for real,
Exemplary CREATIVITY shows the pace.
Taking chosen words, that more than feel.
Rhymed or unrhymed, states a poetic case.
Yes, INFUSION of styles, seals the deal.

Power of the written word supports fortress.
Amends broken hearts of all EVENTUALLY,
Love flows from lines with little stress.
All the thoughts and feelings rise potentially.
Creating INEVITABLE beauty to possess,
Each new venue of poetic art lives inherently.


written by
Cecil Hickman

written for
Sponsor Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S. 
Contest Name "POETRY PALACE" 


Details | Clerihew | |

My constant mirror

My constant mirror from heaven, 
On earth and in the sea,
Only you can be;
But can you see yourself in my poetry? 


Details | Clerihew | |

We can swim beyond the storms

Unknown friend immerses 
In my fullerene verses,   
And finds four allotropes forms… 
We can swim beyond the storms.


Details | Cinquain | |

Late Night

Late night,
Streets are silent
Upstairs, my husband snores
In the light of my computer,
I write


Details | Rhyme | |

Imagination Found

I sit in a chair on the edge of the water and write...
A dreamer told me to Imagine and then you will have sight...
My pencil dances in a rhythm of letters that find a home...
They cover a blank wish with rhymes that are not alone...
Soon the pages are full of my life that has just begun...
And now a scroll of Imagination pours from a life not done...


Details | Senryu | |

' King David's 23rd Psalm ... ' (Classical - Tribute) 61st Senryu

‘ King David’s 23rd Psalm … ’ (Classical-Tribute)  61st  Senryu



The Brave Should Know Song:
King David’s ‘ 23rd Psalms ’
Makes Warriors Stay Strong


Details | Blank verse | |

Creative Hunger: Pacified.

You are my split nail.
Ragged.
I catch you on every pair of stockings that I wear.
You snag my lip a thousand times a day,
subconsciously drawing blood.
I should spare the time to trim your edges,
to calm your pleadings, to dull your voice,
and yet...
you are my sharpened edge,
my heightened response, my after-all~
(and here I thought you were my paper quill
flowing ink to swirling black in stone scented liquid on feathered paper air... 
absorb absorb
ah, absorb me...)
but hope upon hope comes to naught tonight
as you are but a fortune of pain
on the verge of exposé,
and I simply,
unequivocally,
have no time for you.


Details | Rhyme | |

Word Impression Poem 5: Benedicence

The art is fading,
Like the civility it shows.
Hard now to find those
Who understand the shading
One needs to give to common speech,
To convey benedicence
Through common sense,
And with all the forms of courtesy teach
A repartee' that clashes not like jagged, tumbling stones;
Reclaiming dignity over our tea and scones.


Details | Free verse | |

Poem of Cliches

To live by cliches
is a apparently a taboo.
But I won't deny

My -hopeless romantic- beliefs
in -true love-

or

My faith that humanity has
-more good than evil-

or

My philosophical perspective
that -you live and you learn-

or

My belief that
-time heals all wounds-

...cliches define our lives
-as we know it-

They are the simplest form
of explanation;
the -bottom lines-,
the -punch lines-,
of life.

"Be who you are" may be cliche,
as it is but 4 small words...
But there's no fluff, no complication.
Just the -naked truth-.


Details | Ballad | |

The Artist and The Poet

There aint no other way how to put it or how to say it,Im the Artist and the Poet/
 Through my created creations I show it/ Im gonna rize to the poetic mountain top before you even know it/
 This my poetry and self-made concrete art only I control it/ So all ya critics out there behold it/
 I was gone for a minute locked up and locked down trapped inside concrete/ 
I was at work the whole time my poetic skills only got better they did not sleep/
 Now I arize through shackles and chains I now know true defeat/ 
Im here to stay Im the artist keeper the true se7en poet of keep/ 
I will do what I gotta to be poetically remembered the day I go se7en feet deep/
 But for now my life upon ya'll I lyrically creep/ 
My thoughts are one of a kind they cannot be replicated/ 
Im so relevant now fifty years from now I still wont be outdated/ 
Its your coice you can love it or you can hate it/ Go ahead haters debate it/ 
Still Im the Artist and the Poet thats my motto statement/ 
A whole empire of poetry and artwork since lockdown I have painfully with pleasure created/ NEVER AGAIN WILL MY ART AND POETRY BE UNDERRATED/
 I was nothing before all the time spent in concrete and confinement/ 
Now Im truly poetic with artistic assignments/ Anything I draw I can also rhyme it/
 There are more to my tattoos each one has a story and a meaning behind it/ 
I knew there was hope in poetic art I just had to find it/ 
All I got to say now is "F@#k ya'll who wanna Doubt me/ 
F&%k all dat shyt you judge me like Im on American Idol when you dont even know shyt bout me/
 Your vision of life is blurry and your death thoughts seem to be a lil cloudy/ 
I am a Poetistic Diamond in the rough it was God it wasnt you who found me/ 
Now I know more people from around the way gon crowd me/ where money and trouble again will surround me/
 I was a lost gem on lockdown waiting to shine, waiting to poetyically explode/ 
A natural born poet carving out my own road/ Living by my own F%$#%ckin poetic codes/
 I can't be rhymefest free when I get lost in that poetic mode/ 
My Time is almost here/ I been waiting for this momnet all f&&%&ing year/ 
I cant believe I made through many concrete shed tears and many unheard of outside fears/
 My freedom day is near I will not blow it/ 
This my time now homie I control it/ Im concretely the smartest writer even if you aint know it/
 MAKE WAY PEOPLE FOR THE SE7EN KING ARTIST AND POET


Details | Heroic Couplets | |

TO DANTE ALIGHIERI

TO DANTE ALIGHIERI                                                      

As a student I found passion
Not in jocks, which was the fashion—

but in Dante and his time
his haunting tale in perfect rhyme
what a mind--- what a brain

modern guys just complain

Dante my first major crush
You set the bar to make me trust
That truth and beauty do exist
Bequeathed my heart's poor pen persist

Betrothed as a child Florentian's law
You loved a woman that you saw
By chance in public on the street
You were lightning on your feet

Wonder of a man you were--
All your life with thoughts of her
mad love for Bea-- romance afar
This love bizarre survived a war 

Your published work sings just of her
Your wedded life seems like a blur--
Maintained your children's adoration
through long years of separation

Oh, most daunting was your child
Adoring you through days most wild
And when you lost your wealth and fame
She took nun vow's and donned Bea's name

And through amazing life and verse
You’ve taught me nothing can be worse
Than losing dignity and heart---

All valiant souls survive fresh starts.


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 | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part VI

Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea


Details | Rhyme | |

adjust

something we said so many times before
a crack in the door
a bit of a poet in all of us
red dust
sunset can’t catch
little bits o’memories
tickles under the tongue
a go-out and get you-one. . . of those
strip the rags off the rappers and sell them off for clothes
make math, in the mathematicians’ presuppose
fire sell it off to celeritas
one more big blink in the big goggles
golden fish missing in the adjustment of pince-nez
had to turn out that way
when all we did was
adjust


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 | Lyric | |

The Paper In My Lap

Ashley Plotczyk
Inspired

I write, inspired by my heart 
my thoughts only able to be expressed 
through my poems
The best time for me to write
is when I am emotional 
The paper serves as my relief 
It takes my struggle away from me
I love to write when no one else is around me
My thoughts only heard by me 
but read by others once I have mellowed down 
I enjoy sitting down
being only surrounded by silence
This is the time I take for myself
I take the pen and I write until I've found the right words
The only words that can soothe my uneasiness 
from my busy life and hectic mind 
My favorite place to write is anywhere I am able to write 
at that moment that I have the urge to release my feelings 
Like my busy life, I do not wait around to write
I write poetry everyday and I will not always be in the same places 
But my mind will always know how to trade places with the paper in my lap


Details | Alliteration | |

One Among Many part 2

I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better. 
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
 I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
 I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.


Details | Abecedarian | |

POETS ON POETRY

Andre Gide, "Therefore" is a word the poet must ideally not know 
Bob Dylan, it’s not easy to define poetry – nothing over which to crow
Carl Sandburg, poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance 
David Carradine, if you cannot be a poet, be the poem and prance 
Edgar Allan Poe, poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words
Franz Grillparzer, prose talks and poetry sings, all in different chords
Gilbert K. Chesterton, all slang is metaphor; all metaphor is poetry – tinkers!  
Honore de Balzac, poems don’t survive, those written by water drinkers
Ian Hamilton Finlay, concrete poetry was a particular way of using language 
John Ruskin, to see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion all in one usage
Khalil Gibran, poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder and a lexicon 
Lord Byron, Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! Shine on!
Muriel Rukeyser, poetry sources are in the spirit seeking completeness     
Novalis, poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason – a bleakness 
Oscar Wilde, all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling (that opinion reeks!)
Plutarch, painting is silent poetry and poetry is painting that speaks 
Quintilian, we must form our minds by reading deep rather than wide
Robert Frost, poetry without rules is like a tennis match with a net aside
Samuel Johnson, poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth, the root  
T. S. Eliot, genuine, heartfelt poetry can communicate before it is understood 
Ulloor, one of the triumvirate poets of Kerala, South India; championing history
Voltaire, one merit of poetry: it says more and in fewer words than any story
William Hazlitt, poetry is all that is worth remembering in life and its forebodes
Xenophon, the sweetest of all sounds is praise and poetry sings the odes
Yevgeny  Yevtushenko, poetry is like a bird, it ignores all manmade frontiers  
Zona Gale, I don't know a better preparation for life than a love of poetry (no airs)

  


NOT FOR THE CONTEST ~ Su


Details | I do not know? | |

When I Write

In my life there are many things I crave.
Passion is one of the biggest cravings I have,
Because with passion comes many other cravings;
Love, Happiness, Friendship.
These are only the passion for emotions though.
Reading, Singing, Dancing.
Now these are passions for doing things..
But none of these passions compare to my passion for writing.

When I write everything else in my life goes blank.
My worries disappear.
My stress fade to nothing.
When I write my heart beats faster.
My mind races into a million ideas.
My soul flutters like a butterflies wings.

Writing may not be my only passion in life,
But it definitely is my only true passion.
My passion for writing goes beyond anything else in life.
If I could not write down my feelings, 
They would tear me apart from the inside out.
My world would come tumbling down.
Without writing my life would be nothing.


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 | Rhyme | |

Set To Sea

"Set To Sea"                  

No more rain that taste like tears...
Took my sorrows that I buried in years...
Placed them in a bottle and sent them to sea...
Hoping the tide will carry them far away from me...
Maybe to an island where other bottles hold the same..
A place where pain and sorrow is never a game...
Now the rain is just a cool reminder of a different time...
A refreshing drop of water that tastes only of happy signs.  
So let it rain, I will lay under it and let it awake and inspire me...
So I can write and play and never dread the rain and thank the sea...
A little more insight to how I love and how I blow off steam....
I play with words and love others to read and follow my dreams...

by Michael J Falotico


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry: For The Words, Are All Around Me

The secret syllables
and words
surround me
in a morning fog
I absorb them through
the places I wonder
ideas I ponder
they flow into my blood
veins
as they spill from my rose
lips
like shameless water
they sweep into me
like the wind behind my bare knees
they whisper into my ears
within the summers breeze
they creep u on me
like a bottle feeling
emerged from being
cloaked deep within
the search for a pen
and paper, feverishly
begins
into the depths of my soul
the intensity
is hard to control
like a wave, the words
tumble over me
overwhelmingly
grainy sands distort
my messages vision
as I struggle to write
how I remembered the piece
would begin
it feels like a rush
of electric
creativity
lightning bolts of
wisdom
jolt through my body
shooting from me
stories of grief, and struggles
things I share to help
others
not to repeat
of loss and love
like a bottled sermon
thrown from above
the words hit me


Details | Free verse | |

An Inferno of Words

One pen sparks a heatwave. His brazen words engulf and sway the frigid heart to rise like an inferno on an indestructible day. Shyly, I warm myself near the flame seeking his energy to kindle a blaze of hidden desire glowing beneath pale skin. I ask one pen to evoke passion within, heart and soul. His smoldering words unfold to ignite the coldest heart and rise as inspiration, no lethargy or docility in mind. The intense heat, I find burning from his torch arouses my sluggard mentality on an indelible day. Words can be the fire to light our path. One pen sparks a heatwave.


Details | Free verse | |

The Pristine Society

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

~JSLambert
© 2011 JSL


Details | Free verse | |

Shameless Self-Promotion

Here they go again.
anything to win,
indulging
in shameless 
self-promotion.
layin’ it on thick, 
	makin’ sure it sticks,
		slappin’ it on like lotion.

“click my stuff,
and I’ll click yours too.
wanna feel like the best 
even though 
it ain’t true?”

back n’ forth complements
are so self defeating.
inflating other’s heads for praise 
is a blatant way
of cheating.

“do unto others”
but don’t lie, 
to boost their ego.
misleading them 
to raise their hopes 
should clearly be illegal.

no need to read 
a word
of their work
while scratching their backs 
bare.
skimmin’ 
	skippin’ 
		scannin’…
all’s fair
in tactical 
warfare.

poets thought to be adored 
while chewin’ truth’s gristle.
before you swallow,
broke a tooth that hurt
like a damn 
lit 
missile. 

feeding on lines 
with hidden agendas 
is worse
than bein’ ignored.
cuz’ when you find 
copy n’ pasted comments, 
your hopes 
are sadly floored.

how about 
reading and endorsing work
you actually enjoy,
instead of 
feedin’ folks a line of crap 
laced with praise 
and “atta-boys!”


Details | I do not know? | |

That Place

A birth ends, another begins.

All is remembered, all is forgotten.


From struggle to splendour, from feeble to forever.

All is remembered, all is forgotten.


Will we learn today

From all whom have, the path, lay.

Will we turn the clocks of yesterday

And have it another way.


To learn to forget,

To learn to remember.

To strive only for That Place,

Where all is remembered, all is forgotten.



(In memory of R. R., 1986-2009)


Details | Verse | |

Constructive Criticism

Poetry is subjective and can be written how you like;
There are many different ways in which to write.

You can put it down as prose or create some double rows,
Triangles, squares etc. are alright.

I had feedback yesterday from a person with no name;
I guess most of you have had some too.

He said my poetry’s bad, archaic and awfully RANK;
But I don’t write for him, I write for some of you.

Constructive criticism is welcomed by us all
To help us each achieve a higher goal.

To knock for knockings sake is very bad indeed
It makes a normal person less than whole!

If you have something to say, make sure you give a rock
To the person whom you wish to criticise.

Give them helpful hints; you’ll find that the response
Will illuminate from their ever grateful eyes!


Details | Epigram | |

Briefcase

Your briefcase sits
beside the water can
(long dry memento of ivy,
coleus, and more exotic plants,
which perished under your patient,
watchful care.)
Not good at growing greenery,
On paper you construct
Imaginary jungles, weep watery tears
When they wither
Beneath your critical eye.


Details | Couplet | |

Yesterday and Today

There was a day when your air was my only taste..
A time in life where only two hearts raced..

There was a day when I only saw what was in front of me..
A portion of life where so many visions I didn't see..

Then came a day when blinders fell and the view became clear..
A bright light through the rain that dried an old not forgotten tear..

Now I stand today in a world that I designed from dreams and memories..
A place where pages I flip through are now my life in poetic stories..


Details | Imagism | |

Embrace

They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light
While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill
Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night, 
The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill.

Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood,
Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet,
Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood;
Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet.

Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass; 
Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time
They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme 
Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.


Details | Rhyme | |

Dancing Sheep

When the pen has lost its way
When ideas and ink run dry
Leave the desk and turn away
Take what wings you have and fly
Leave facts and figures on the page
Free your dreams from fettered sleep
And let them take you from the stage
To floating fields and dancing sheep.

For all we are is never told
Nor ever measured by the eye
Mostly unseen we just grow old
And no one sees us passing by
We are the tethered fantasy
Most of the time we do not care
For most of what the others see
Is only what we choose to wear

But in the mind's eye's overview
We see the parts, the acts we play
We know the scripts we follow through
Just waiting for the perfect day
And maybe, one untroubled night,
We'll quietly wish upon a star
And in that moment's grip, we might,
Have just a glimpse of who we are.


Details | Free verse | |

Hateful expressions....

"I should have killed her!" he said as he pulled the ladybug from his chili,
"She would have suffered less than drowning in a man's dinner"

"What a faggot!!!" she said, marveling at the current bundle of willow I was trussing up,
"In fact it's nicer than the faggots my grandfather used to tie up!!"

"God, how I hate him..... i just wish he would die!!!" he said in pure misery,
"That Jack Frost attacks my arthritis every year...with glee!"

"Man, I just wish they'd wipe that ENTIRE race off the planet!!"
"I'll never enter the Boston Marathon again..... they robbed me of my ribbon!!"

"If you ever leave me, I'll hunt you down and DESTROY you!!!"
He was serious. He would have to stamp out any errant ember from his "secret" habit,
As the barn was the only place for a clandestine smoke

"Wow!!!! That's the biggest, shiniest cock I've ever seen!!", he admired out-loud,
Knowing that fighting these magnificent birds was wrong...

All of which are demonstrative of CONTEXT, CONTEXT, CONTEXT......
Even "hateful" expressions can be something other than!
Can we take it too far?? Have we?? Should we??

Wear your heart on your sleeve, but for God's sake
Grow a few more layers of skin, so we all can be our own censors!!!!


Details | Free verse | |

Final Fantasy

words travel miles
in herds 
dripping waterfalls of tears 
filled with irrational excuses 
conveying untold sorrow 

scurvy of soul 
multicolored by disease 
intangible to touch 
but tasted in depths 
of forlorn poetry 
floating on pages 
of background laughter 

definitions abstract 
among defined emotions
searching superior shadows 
for elusive daylight
finding only 
prompted screams 
in every line

sweetly sour phrases
rich in texture 
yet void of hope 
dwell in margins

horrid percentages
conveying a poet's 
blunted blindness 
to forced cheerfulness

concluded distress 
written in indelible ink 
on minds and hearts 

penned with perception 
that suicide is never
painless

only a poet's 
final fantasy...



Details | Lyric | |

Summer Morn

The future lies unwritten on
the blankest, blankest page.
I’m born today and, safe to say,
on track to boundless age.

At anchor in a harbor on
the leeward side of time,
engaged in making love to verse,
in making beauty rhyme--

the heart has placed before the eyes
what Gods of hope have borne,
a well of sweet serenity--
and love like summer morn.


Details | Haiku | |

I noticed that everyone likes my random poems more then my serious ones so here's another one!

poka-dots and stripes
black blue red purple and green
these are my favorites


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 | Lyric | |

Phantom

i don't wanna sit here 
in the garden, without you 
i don't want to be here 
falling apart, waiting for you 
cause i'm sick and tired 
of existing here, without you dear 
hanging onto nothing, hoping for something 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be 

i'm not gonna stand here 
all evening, without a clue 
i'm not gonna be here 
sweetheart, bleeding just for you 
cause i'm sick and tired 
of burning here, without you dear 
hanging onto nothing, hoping for something 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be 

you're not adam, 
more like the snake 
you're the phantom, 
that haunts me 
you can't be adam 
more like the snake 
you're the phantom, 
ripping my heart away 

we're not adam and eve 
oh why can't you see 
how much i need you 
so hard to believe 
yet cannot conceive 
how much i love you 
i won't say sorry 
doesn't mean a damn thing 
cause you don't love me 
we can never be


Details | Couplet | |

Flying With The Birds

If I were to believe in you, would you believe in me?
If everything that I promised you actually came to be

If I were a beautiful rainbow, a reflection in the sky
Formed by the rays of light as your tears you cried

Sweetheart I am just a simple man with a complex plight
My blessing is you’re here with me, as this quest I fight

Sweetheart you know I’m a warrior, though I live like a ghost
I fight and write living my plight, inside the belly of the host

From shore to shore, a forever war, that will never end
Just today I got the word the host has taken another friend

Another soul another goal of course another wasted life
God I am a lucky man to have become one with my wife

Pains insane it shreds my brain and tears my heart into
I’m left here asking myself, “Was there anything I could do”

I have to write a eulogy though I just don’t know what to say
Here is a soul, another hole, for someone who lost his way 

Sobriety is really great but at times it is truly rather hard
You watch them take another friend and plant him in the yard

Another smoke, another joke another party has reached its end
Here I sit in a spiritual pit feeling totally lost about my friend

I hope someday someone reads what I say, takes another course
Pass on doing that shot, love it or not, death upon the black tar horse

So I shall write my Eulogy falling to pieces about my friend
Who made fun of the man I turned out to be, until the very end

But that’s ok it was just his way, right up until the day he died
The one true light shinning bright, lives inside of you and I

So will all of you join with me let your spirits pen my words
About a beautiful soul, who found his goal, flying with the birds


------------------------------------------------------------------
Very few people in this life that I love enough to let make fun
of the changes I made in my life. Addiction (The Host) took 6
friends in 2007, 5 in 2008 and this is the first in 2009. He didn't
overdose he was shot a couple of days ago in Chico, Ca during
a home invasion robbery over his heroin debt. I used to always
pay his debts when it reached this point with bags of Meth. This
time I couldn't go there for him and now he is dead. This is my
life, my gift and my curse. God Bless you all, mj


Details | Questionku | |

People-verses

People-verses
If written by God,
Why lost rhyme, measure?


Details | Questionku | |

Words

Words, like weapons,
possess fearful strength.
Do you use them wisely?


Details | Free verse | |

Adrift

I awaken to something awry, I float as a 
Wanderer between the plains of day and night
Amidst the clouds and winding streets. 
An outward compass points opposite the right
Yet, an inner voice shall be my guide

The moon shines in the sky so bright
And the sun awaits it chance to break day
What feet shall travel this road tonight?
Where there is no room for the hearts of the faint
Hurry calls the callous compass, do not stray…

However, the inner voice tells me, Not today
For the route the compass must take 
Seems easy enough, for the fool to follow`
But the long winding road journeys 
Towards brighter tomorrows

No longer adrift — it is the Way of Truth
That this once wandering soul now follows…



Details | Verse | |

Blood Wars

(Chance Operations)

Twenty long contemptuous years;
A myriad of monarchies 
Bargained wickedly …
Bloody warriors ~
In crimson swells;
Soured proprietary wealth…




Details | Free verse | |

Inspiration: our Daily Bread of Life

Inspiration is all around me.  It swirles in the midst of darkness and deceit.  
Blinded by dry tears...the deliverers of this blessed word find me when I know not what to look for or where...
I and my kind walk in circles looking for and end to pain, deceit, betrayal, unlove, uncareing.  We are looking...but not invane.  

When the circles we walk in seem endless take heart and know that it is not a downward spiral...  Keep looking and you will see...  
     (C)....Catherine Buchner    2012
















Details | Couplet | |

My Running Pen

The inked flowed down my paper...
As the rain danced, the words fluttered...

Meanings changed but the letters remain...
While my pen pulls them back to the orginal stain...

I then drop a tear to break up the chill that came...
Scribbled down dreams that played and keeps me sane...

The thoughts regroup and spill out a famliar sound...
Then the paper dries and a new poem is found...


Details | Free verse | |

Lasting Freedom

In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of LASTIN FREEDOM you know what I mean.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to A Healthy Prisoner

Just breathe in the clarity
Clarity of the whole
Whole or negativity
Negativity eating your soul

Head for tomorrow
Tomorrow always waits
Waits for enlightenment
Enlightenment heals mistakes

You are where you’ve put yourself
Your “SELF” now reminds you of shame
Shame brought on by acting out thoughts
Thoughts a conscious shouldn't retain

Give yourself an apology
An Apology you deserve to have
Have some faith in your timing
Timing bleeds wisdom in man 

Bless your self and live righteous
Righteous spirits rise above 
Above all if you are kind
Kind souls conquer hate with love

Poetry brings torment to a halt
Halt all your never-ending thoughts
Thoughts are forbidden evil hiding
Hiding light inside divine spots

So please write down your own deep thoughts
Thoughts penned will conquer your inside trap
Trap your life up in your cell  all alone
Alone you shall stay smelling your crap~



please don't be offended by the last line~ 
I felt it was necessary to get my point across~


Details | Quatrain | |

Poetry On Poetry

In the deep of the night you'll find me thus
adrift in a sea of hand painted words.
Floating on empty till they fill me up
to a place where I can soar with the birds.

Skyward I travel and take in the sights.
Downward I spiral till nearly I fall.
Words are like angel's wings born in my soul.
With a pen in hand I feel ten feet tall.

When life brings me pain or fills me with joy
can't help but wrap my emotions in rhyme.
So goes the flow,the whimsical pattern.
All is remembered and given it's time.

This is my story now laid out in verse;
pages before me so ragged but pure.
Dream woven downpour streams into my heart.
Life's the affliction,poetry's the cure.



for contest"Poetry about poetry"
written Wednesday January 9th, 2013


Details | Narrative | |

The Song Of David

Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"

At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf  
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what  is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"

"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.  

"If the blind could see you, 
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"

"Life I live is simple indeed, 
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king? 
What flies would harm the young flocks?"

The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood 
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.


Details | Lyric | |

Roses & Thorns

im all alone and thats the way it should be
because no one was good enough to try and tame me
so sit back and relax and enjoy the fall
the truth really hurts you never loved me at all

you say you love me 
but i saw past your lies
and let me tell you somethin' baby 
i'm not fallin' for you this time

roses around my hand 
and thorns around my feet
who would have known 
you were wrapped around me

but you tore me to shreds 
and i thank God for that
because if you never hurt me 
i wouldnt ever get you back 

so here i go without you
somewhere you can never reach me
and you can rest assure
im not takin' you with me

to this happi place
that makes me numb
where revenge will get you
its so good to be home

because the roses left me bleedin'
maybe that was a sign
that you would turn on me
and walk straight out of my life

you say you love me 
but i saw past your lies
and let me tell you somethin' baby 
i'm not fallin' for you this time

there's no ring around my finger
and thats ok
because im unobtainable
and thats the way it should be


Details | Free verse | |

My Thing

Writing is my thing. My drug of choice. My bling bling.
I fall in love with the similies and mentions of passion while wrapping my body in 
sentences.
Creating complicated rhythms and making them simples as instances
Every line a differenet emphasis
Commas, explinations and periods
Sometimes rhyming and sometimes not
Stopping to puff so my thoughts can lock
Feeding hungry souls starved from starvation
Creating new creations
Making people feel the sensation as I build up to mind elevation

The quest for knowledge is not a game
Spoken movements teach about the pain
I write to ease the pain
Rhythms run deep

Deep underneath clouded visions of unspoken truth lies a message
a message...a message that should be taught accurately to the youth
About the struggle of a people that was misued
abused, refused, confused, raped, beaten down
uneducated
portrayed as clowns, coons, niggers, fools
Modern day niggas and goons
Wake up!! Did you hear the news?
You are responsible for you!
Imagine how it would be tho
If we were uninterrupted and brought overseas yo
Uprooted from a line of royalty kings and queens
Africa unite is all we'd sing
Rhythms run deeper into the seams of my being

I write to ease the pain of the oppressed
I write to celebrate their success
I write to educate the rest
The message..The message..The message is very clear
No time time to waste
The time is NOW
It's here!


Details | Free verse | |

The Beauty in the Mirror

In this reflective stare
Mind numbing thoughts
Of what is now
Of what once was.

Years gone by
With a blink of an eye
Torn between
Here and there
To learn to go forward
One must learn to fall back.

Chasing dreams
Lines framing time

Chasing rainbows
With no end in sight

Chasing butterflies 
Fantasies delight


Details | I do not know? | |

Light child

A child is born
all loving, forgiving, honest,
a special child of the light,
eyes wide open, awake,
the wolves are happy,
to feast at the table of its suffering.
Feed it just enough love to survive,
milk it of its light, little by little
suckling its love, its forgiveness,
a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world.

The child becomes a young adult...
control, conformity, submission,
overwhelming expectations,
no freedom, no love, no peace,
a barrage of others suffering,
cant get it off me, out of my head!
out of my heart, it hurts!
Its all too much! 
Why do they all hurt me?
Why are they not honest like me?
How can they be so mean to me?
What is wrong with me?
I just want a taste of love, 
to remind me why I am alive!!





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 | Monoku | |

Bone Dry Without Him

.

Went to the creek for inspiration, bone dry
                                                          where is the spring?



One Amazing Line
Contest entry for Constance La France's latest contest
Written by:
Sara Kendrick
December 6, 2010


Details | Than-Bauk | |

Wisely Growing

Take unknown road For your ode will Then bode, wisely.
___________________________ For: Dr. Ram Mehta's contest: "Than-Bauk"


Details | Free verse | |

I am Alive

As long as I have my mind,
a hand to write with or a voice to speak with,
I am alive!


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 | Free verse | |

Bipolar

What’s big to me may be small for you
But when you hurt I hurt too
So many different phases I’ve been through
Withdrawal & self-indulgence just to name a few
I dodge sleep to note this nonsense to both me and you
My desperate attempt at understanding 
Has only led to more questions
I remember when medication numbed me well enough to stay quiet
Nonchalant 
A zombie!
All last night I cried and cried
And
You slept while I died all the more inside
I don’t have all the answers
One thing I know is
Dreaming and fantasizing 
In these worlds I find solace 
Seeing and realizing
It hurts…
It hurts…
People have been so unfair –
But then again 
What is fair?
So many questions…
Once upon a time,
I’ve put down my pen 
And 
Followed doctors and drugs
Their drugs, my drugs
Just stop judging me and fix me!
I’ve put down the drugs
Picked up a pen
And this is the reason other people say I’m doing well?
What’s real?
I can’t tell
Is it what you tell me or what I tell me?
Drugs have concealed me
Silenced me…
Taught me that I don’t have to feel just see
And shake my head
Now I can both feel 
And
Shake my head
I can verbalize 
Sure
But I’d rather not talk just write
I can write and write just to get it out on paper
But
It’s still in my mind
I’m not fixed
Still I cry and cry
While you sleep
So which am I supposed to choose?
Solace or the truth?


Details | Couplet | |

Hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion

Kids are playing with strange blue graffiti
So, they wrote several times: ”Neffertiti” …

And drew the most beautiful queen`s head.
The whole history of Egypt written in red, 

With sacred hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion:
The Pharaons` destiny dandles a dewy dandelion…


Details | I do not know? | |

Unashamed Self-Promotion

:-)


Greetings, good and kind fellow Soup-ers!

'Tis wonderful, I say,
to be a Soup-er, so if I may,

I humbly request you to lay down your pen dipped in fine ink,
and visit my blog which can be found at the following link:

http://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/ 

Now if this blatant self-promoting of mine seems rude,
I ask for your generous forgiveness, dear fellow Soup-er,

And wish you a day, that is peaceful, kind, and just plain super!

So cheers from the scribbler for now,
and as I take leave, my fellow Soup-ers,
I, in courtesy, to you all, do bow!


:-)





Details | Free verse | |

a casual stare

I strayed beyond 
a casual stare
as the children danced in 
corrugated cloth,
to the erstwhile rhythms of 
sexual apprehension,  
played upon a 
ha’penny harp,

the Delphic truth 
of first bled lust 
lay wistfully amused,
callously cosseted by 
phallic throngs of
vulgar hair and undue vanity,

I surveyed their fervent lips;
each without a valid tongue, 


Details | Free verse | |

The Words, His World

He used
to seek solace,
in the turbulence
found within 
his own
distraught soul.

With 
those words,
it brought him 
close to 
the brim of 
yet another low.

In a state 
of denial and 
self-deceit,
where
peace 
could be found.

And where
the lies
glorified truth,
the pain
satisfied
the fears. 

But soon
he realized,
that a poet
fails to exist
in 
his world.

As his mind
is an utopia,
and his words
conceal
the
hidden tears. 


Details | I do not know? | |

Song: I hear America singing (My version)

I hear America singing,
The girl next door sings her life with great aria,
As she gets the new Lexus she always wanted,
While...
The boy in my dreams sings his sorrow,
As they bury his mom's coffin...

Have you heard their songs?

Your turn will come, my child,
Your turn will come.

Little Timmy down the ally sings warmth and comfort,
As his mom holds him tight from the bitter cold,
While...
Little Angelica sings anger,
As her parents do not grant her wish,
A big pony for her birthday!

Have you heard their songs?

Your turn will come, my child,
Your turn will come, my child.

I have heard their songs,
I am the song they sing,
Will you come and hear their songs, too?


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 | Kimo | |

Cacophony

Cacophony

Why cast true words in this cacophony
Of free speech era prophets
Here words sink, never sync.

Form: Kimo/3 lines of 10, 7, 6 syllables.


Details | Rhyme | |

When Love Hurts

When love hurts, God heals
When love hurts, God feels
Your pain too as you do now
Pray and He'll show you how
When love so hurts, how to deal
The deep pain is oh so very real
God'll cry too for your tears and
It's true about footprints in sand
Reach out and He holds your hand
In kind your mind will feel His love
Hurting'll subside from God's glove 
I know of true hurting, how it feels
Accepting a hand of cards He deals
Painful nights crying, I've had many
But God's blessings, I've had plenty
That I will have better days ahead, I
Know and no longer have need to cry
When life itself hurt I questioned why
But I survived and my faith didn't die
For yesteryear's hurts, it will subside
The tears still come once in a while
But the love memories, I can smile
For God's so in His glorious Kingdom
For Kingdom come, thy will be done
And done will the pain be, away it'll
Go, like wood off a creative whittle
Beautiful to see, as days coming be
God cures all hurt, just wait and see
My mother, dad, brother, baby too
And for me, cried like baby boo hoo
But I wiped away the tears and have
Been blessed like a cow and her calf
Help do words of praying and writing
More than once, had vision - sighting
Not just in dreams, but for really real
I was in such pain, it was just surreal
Once it was Mother/Son, Mary/Jesus?
Through Him I pray for me, bejezzus


Details | Couplet | |

It's Time I was Moving On

Sad news today, February 6th in our year 2011
To "The Great Gig in the Sky" sell out in Heaven

My favourite blues rock guitarist, Mr Irish Gary Moore
Joins the "Midnight Blues, "Too Tired" no more will he tour

At fourteen years of age he received his first guitar
Like many budding rockers aspirations to be a rock star

The Beatles, Elvis Presley and the amazing Albert King
Heavily influenced this left hander, who made his right hand sing

As he grew past his teens, the genre he'd enter would mean
The likes of John Mayall's Bluesbreakers and Hendrix, now he's seen

Blues Rock it was to be, when Peter Green caught his ear
If you grew up with this maestro, you'll know his career

It started way back, way back in 1969
Skid Row, from Dublin he joined, as the music industry would find

This is where his association began, with Lynott, bassist extraordinaire
Many nights sharing the blues, this two Irishmen would share

His solo career just grew and grew, then into Thin Lizzy he would blend
Sharing the Black Rose stage with Phil his Irish friend

The blues became his life, with two Albert's who'd share his stage
Guesting with his 'Midnight Blues Band' many a jam they would engage

I now close my humble tribute, for he'll always be in my heart
On this day in Estepona, Spain, my hero in final depart












http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/music-5.php


Details | Free verse | |

Drunken Pen

My electronic pen as drunk as a blind bat rattles along the virtual pages of my computer trying to make sense of its staggering direction, not knowing which word will next come out of its nib, mainly keeping a balance, endeavoring not to topple over, or to make scrawling blotches on its whitened board.  
It is interesting that one can surmise the demise of a pen, by checking the balance of ink life that remains. However if the pen is drunk it will display uneven levels of ink life as it rocks and staggers across fallen white leafs destined to change color.  Many a writer has become an idea dwarf. Hence, what is called writer’s block, sets in.  I have found myself down that street a few times and have exercised my drunken pen’s syndrome option to its fullest.  Nothing quite like it though, as this form of writing makes no sense to the closed minded reader, but a satisfactory opt out when the writer’s mind is blocked, to resort to using their drunken pen.


Details | Free verse | |

One Heart, One Pen (Why I Write)

People ask me a lot why do I write
Well...Pain is Lyrics am I right
It constricts my heart ever so tight
I try to break the hold with all my might
But the pain is 2 strong
In this mindframe I belong
No friends in my life I remain alone
I was born the same as I will forever be gone
Beginning in my preteens I felt constant oppostion
Looking in the mirror every morning I saw no recognition
Tempted to have my head in the clouds
Which way do I go, drugs or alcohol 
Will it make my conscience proud
It will feel good I told myself, but I saw doubt
I need an outlet, I need a way out
So after the death of my bestfriend
Going on the path to destruction had to end
So in 8th grade english Mrs. Mackowich told us to write a couplet
I felt the urge to "up it"
But I had too much to say
My poetic testimony took the pain away
October 3 2004 was my first write dedicated to my friend's memory
I had my class feeling sympathy, but why do I feel like I'm the enemy
That one death was the weapon to tackle my self-doubt
My depressing
Me stressing
Hopelessness
Self-hate in my heart thrived
My new drug has finally arrived!
So I write everyday, every way
To get away mind-wise
My emotions are disguised
The pen will be my pipe
The ink is my nicotione
Instead of putting it to my lips
I put it to the page
How could I think so deeply at such a young age
I can't stop its addicting
My thoughts are forever flipping
And they ask me why I write
It's obvious I feel spite
After reading people assume I want to be a rapper
Such dogmatic fools why would I participate in such "crapper"
It doesn't matter If I'm black
I'm human and that's that
Rappers write from the mind
I write from the heart
Straight from the middle like a game of darts
I'm the Robert Frost of rap
The Jay-Z of poetry
The Edgar Allen Poe of lyrics
The Kanye West of english
All embodied in one to the end
All I need is One Heart 
All I need is One Pen

If you can't tell that I'm the most unique Afican American of my age you are without 
perspective. If you are not rich and powerful people feel as if what you say is meaningless.I 
speak to people of all corners of humanity with my feelings and thoughts.While my 
bestfriends were partying and doing crime when i was growing up in my teen years, I was in 
my room reading harry potter, playing Playstation, and writing poetry.This is my life and 
talent. The legacy I chose to imprint. This is my ode to poetry.


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 | I do not know? | |

Who is the poet

Who is the poet?
the one who writes?
the clever use of words or rythm?
I say it is none of these
It is a deeper perception of life
An expression of emotions
reaching deeper than most 
make the reader feel something
make me cry, make me happy
hurt me, make me ponder
share it with me, let me burden it
maybe i feel it too 
show me how i feel
share it together
we are all alone
until we feel it together
in that moment art is born
a unity of hearts
reaching out and feeling it 
we are one for a moment
the pain, the love, the lonliness
we all just want others to feel us
we are not alone when we feel it together


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 | Haiku | |

WRITER'S BLOCK

Quill still as the sky
motionless arms akimbo
severe writer's block.


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 | 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 | Free verse | |

Words No One Hears

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

~JSLambert


Details | Free verse | |

Bubbling

"Good" poetry is like alchemy:
You dig as deep as you can,
Rising above the weariness.
You don't even need to see 
Times troubled miracles
To notice everything 
Bubbling over.

And look how everything's just bubbling over,
                                                                 Bubbling,
                                                                      Bubbling,
                                                                                           Over.
                                                                            Bubbling,


Details | Quatrain | |

Need Time Management

I started a class for kids recently.
It’s fulfilling, but takes up so much time.
I’ve work ‘til five, and class ‘til eight, roughly.
If I’m to sleep, nothing is left for rhyme.

If I choose poetry instead of dreams,
I’m unable to write verse the next day.
It’s as difficult a fix as it seems.
In the end, my mind’s forfeit to decay.


Details | Lyric | |

A Lost Language

Dancing under moonlight
Haunting through the day
Angels turn to darkness
When the sun does not remain

Invisible and hopeless
The tones in which we speak
Our language can’t describe it
And now our vision’s bleak

A thousand fall at daybreak
A thousand more at dusk
The silence will not comfort
This mirror caked in rust

Dangerous and frightened
All that’s left to see
People fight for nothing
People try to flee

Dancing through this wasteland
Haunting brighter skies
Reminders of our weakness
Reminders of our lies

Visibly we’re broken
But suddenly we speak
The gift of wisdom shines down
The brightness lets us breathe

Dancing into sunlight
Caught within the day
The angels recall caring
Because the darkness never stays


Details | Narrative | |

HUGE THANK YOU

To Everyone on PoetrySoup.com...You have all blessed me with your kind words of 
encouragement.  It has been such a treasure to have found this website and all of you.  I am 
a firm believer that things are meant to be and there is a reason for everything that happens 
to us.  It may not be what we expect or want, yet the plan is bigger and better then we could 
ever imagine.  As I'm sure you can tell by my poems that my life hasn't been exactly what I 
dreamt it would ever be.  I thank the Good Lord everyday for my two teenage, beautiful 
children (although there are days... LOL).  

I'm going through an extremely rough patch right now so it has been so exciting to see that 
my "Letting Go" poem has made it through the 1st round of the contest.  It is because of all 
of you that I continue to write - it shows me that it definitely helps getting everything off my 
chest and on paper.  

Thank you again for ALL of YOUR support and love and may you all have a blessed 2010 and 
a VERY Merry Christmas!!!!

Luv,
Kelly


Details | Free verse | |

And the Voice Said-----

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

JS Lambert


Details | Epic | |

Sinful Saint

Yeah I walk around life waitng for death/ 
I live in constant despair looking to be blessed/ 
Lies over truth around here always seem to infect/ 
The more sin I get in life the more saintly I seems less/ 
Im trapped in same dark place ;looking for a lighter quest 
I try and live a life full of goodness still trapped in badness I am yet to confess/
 I try and hold onto what seems like something but theres nothing really but family left/
 I know I am not he best, nor am I like the rest/ 
I know I can master checkers but still downed in chess/. 
I got to clean up my act because my life is a mess/ 

I patiently sit back while I ponder life for death and I wait/ 
I might as well look for something simple because I never find nothing great/ 
I struggle to stay under love and over my own hate/ 
I try and be real with others when to my own self I stay fake/ 
I feel life obstacles jolt my ambition like a chain that never breaks/ 
I want less more in life yet as a daily sinner I continue to both physically and mentally take/
 I try and change my dark ways but still struggle at the fact that it might be too late/
 I usaully catch myself complaining when infact I should be thankful for whats on my plate/
 I usually hang onto the past and get scared of the future when I should worry about today/
 I going to be that better man for my child because that sinner no longer in my heart I aint/
 Sometimes in life we all struggle until we strive, but until then Im trapped between a young lost SINFUL SAINT........


Details | Enclosed Rhyme | |

Broken yet Bound

Yeah I know my life may be broken but yet my purpose in my life is still bound/ 
Im picked up by Jesus everytime Im lower than dirt burriend alive underneath the ground/ I look for signs, I look for meanings, I try and hear something great but cant hear no sounds/ 
I look like S&^t, I look like a clown/ 
I know life aint no joke, aint no game because a lot people I seen last decade and last year are no longer around./
 I was lost in lies until I found truth, I was lost in prison until appreciating freedom in me was found./
 IM know I still got purpose for broken life that is bound...........


Details | I do not know? | |

The Way That I Flow

Inanimate emotion, of insufficient funds,
A stanza full of metaphors, and metaphorical puns
Living life holding a pen, an eraser is the only one to forgive,
A combination of lyrical rhymes, but where does it end?

Or does it end? Maybe the end is where it begins,
a vicious cycle, it's uncontrollable, like death dephying winds, 
Where death and lying wins, and life on this planet doesn't exist,
So our imaginations are forced to pretend, that the elements around us are our friends

But I see things differently, I'm just a pathetic, 
Prophetic kid, living in a notebook, trying to comprehend,
How to stay poetic, but it isn't what it seems
It's strange how closely my nightmares relate to my dreams

I've never done anything right, my whole life I've been living wrong,
Writing has always been my solution, it's a never ending hall
I'm externally torn, internally my soul has been reborn
My waredrobe is new, I got rid of the clothes that I wore

I'm untouchable, I'm nothing though, and I'll tell my story through
The Way That I Flow


Details | I do not know? | |

The story of a Muse

The story of a Muse

A beautiful woman that loved him,
she listened to him, in awe of his genius,
she inspired him, encouraged him, 
to do his best work, she validated for him,
that his thoughts and ideas were otherworldly,
She knew his mind and heart must be heard,
His art could change the world, 
and took on the job of pulling this gift out of him,
she lassoed the tornado that was his soul, 
and directed it, into the brush or pen, 
A symbiotic relationship, of male and female,
at their best, a guided purpose.

It seems as if she always left him in the end, 
A mystical woman with more artists to inspire,
left him crying and wounded, 
to do his crazy works after his genius expired,
no direction, haphazard, psychotic, suicidal
used up, emotions undirected, lost, death. 
but a life of value, influential, inspirational, an immortal,

I do not know where i got this impression,
this story of the muse.

Its not fair, 
all my muse's, 
dont care about my work, 
they only care about how i can help them, 
They listen long enough to find what i am looking for,
Put on the mask, the liar face, manipulative,
just long enough to get what they want, 
or realize that i wont give it to them. 
Try to buy my soul with their sex or money.

My naivety, my love, my hope, my trust, 
used against me, for their selfish motives.
Purity pretended, love mimicked, smile a lie. 

Is the muse a lie, is this why the artists go crazy?
Is the suffering evoked by an evil women inspirational?

I have seen men like me, with experiences like me.
Too wounded to love, to trust, to try again. 
Settle for a weak woman, one that wont hurt them. 

Men, i have always considered cowards
They cant look me in the eyes.

As i am beat down by love, i see their temptation.
Chasing the muse, waiting for her, mistaken mimics,

Dont tell me the muse doesnt exist........... 






Details | Free verse | |

CONTINUED CONTEMPLATION

The clichéd cavalier 
clings to his 
carbon copy life with 
constrained complexity 
and settles 
for conventionality. 

Miss originality 
and Master clarity 
dismantle, reconstruct 
withered concepts 
within a cul-de-sac 
of ubiquitous creativity 
by alienating themselves 
from main-stream 
cultural orthodoxies. 

Our imagination: 
a perverse configuration 
of disparate thoughts 
that congeal into 
an incomprehensible concoction 
of cerebral combinations 
which reconfigure, 
inexplicable, 
to creatively convey some 
innovative originality 
and clarity 
into a world 
which continues 
to advocate constrained 
and conformist ideologies. 



Details | Acrostic | |

A Soul Called Soul

I’m trapped in the American struggle/ 
Surrounded in the alcoholic drug addicted jungle/ 
In my soul called soul I seem to unknowingly look for trouble/ 
Yeah am I the only one to truly see our invisible chaotic bubble? / 
Am I the only one to truly live in while I realize the hidden pains in our own ghetto living rubble? /
 I see in what I still saw of the pains at the same time I hear the alcoholic mumbles/
 Like a burnt cracker over a uncooked cookie I still see the culture crumble/ 
I see the staggering, I see the swerving and I see thy own stumbles/ 
Still yet I am crawling out the dirt like an ant spreading my wings in the sky like the bees bumble/
 It’s when I knew I was a soul called soul/ 
In my soul called soul I am in the super bowl/ 
Seven hundred seventy-seven now I can’t let thy football fumble/ 
I am not going to let thy ring leader lead me in the circus no more, I am no longer an elephant Dumbo/ I’m here to stay not to go/ I been down that same road too many times before/
 I know what it’s like at the bottom, I hit it straight rock ,yeah I been that low/
 now pains of my life I outgrow/it’s when I knew I was a soul called soul 
In my soul called soul/ I hang on not to my enemies nor my friends but my own inner foes/
 I got no true friends, I got no true bros/ I got no true women, I got no hoes/ 
I don’t even know if I will even make it to be thirty-four/ 
I worry about alcoholic danger in the hood every time I walk out my front door/ 
I thank God I’m not rich and thank him for the experience of being dirt poor/ 
I thank him for the fact that I no longer have to steal from the local store/ 
I thank him for the simple fact that I can do simple everyday chores/ 
I remember a time when I was in a prison cell where even death itself felt like a bore/
 until one day something great pick me up off the prison floor……..that was a time when I know I was a soul called SOUL/
 I know my truck of life was ready to take it’s damage when it can still pull its own toll/
 I knew my boat of life was ready to go against high winds with a broken bow/ 
I knew I was ready when I can go against waves 100 feet high go under and still row/
 if not then I make the surf board roll/ The storms comes like shadow hidden in the skies undergrowth/ I’m not only floating I’m also flying through them both/
 I am no longer empty with darkness I am filled with light shone/ 
I am no longer alone, I am force of many through word flow/ 
I am a prophet among my own/ words put together like no other only I condone/ 
I say it in a unique tone/ 
I’m going to make it past the internet and cell phones/ 
I am the one, I am by a higher power chose/ 
These problems in life I will outgrow/ 
I will overcome being just another SOUL CALLED SOUL….


Details | Free verse | |

A Blank Sheet of Paper

A Blank Sheet of Paper
A blank sheet of paper
lies on the table.
It's a reminder
of a life uncertain.
As I take a seat, 
I can't find a thing to write.

A blank sheet of paper
appears in my notebook.
It's a reminder of what we once had.
As I look back, 
I don't know what to write.

A blank sheet of paper
is placed in front of me.
It's a reminder
of what we soon will have.
As I think of you, 
the paper will soon be filled.

A blank sheet of paper
sat on the table.
It was a reminder
of what we had together.
As I remember you, 
I find plenty to write.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' The Pied Piper Poem ... '

… Was He A Fiend
Or A Friend ?
Where Did He Take
The Children ?

With Gaiety
He Played !
What Childhood
Dreams-Displayed ?

In Each
Cherry-Cheeked Head …
That Followed
Unafraid

… Only Poor Little
Crippled Tom
Sadly, Got Left Behind
At Home

Whose Honest Parents
Were Only Ones Nice
To Pied Piper
And Willing To Pay Price

… and So, Kindly He
Left Their Son
But Took All
 The Other Ones …

Was He A Fiend
Or A Friend ?
They Should Have Paid
 At First, When …

… But Pied Piper Played
His Payback Tune
And Danced Hamlin’s Hearts
…and Raw-Deal To Doom


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 | Personification | |

The Candide Within

“This is the best of all possible worlds I hear, and you’re the master of your life”,
But when you count the closed shut doors, and look around you for a window,
Turn a rubik’s cube around and play with empty running rivers.
Mere stupidities and bottles with clichés will smear, right across the empty floor,
Tremble stupid kid! For cold, is just your empty sensation of fear.
This life is a wondrous gift, you’ll say; a challenge for the mighty heroes.
The good Pangloss in blood and flesh could not resist his own ideas.
You run and jump on sharp and blunt spears, to catch a glimpse of certitude.
But gravity, a law of nature, will keep you still in mortar shoes.
“Men have somehow corrupted Nature”, and I corrupt myself with dreams 
But what is hope but a glorious strength, embedded in genetic attributes,
Like aids attacking healthy cells, will disappear. And let it go Candide!
You die a hundred times a year and fear, fear, fear another death, another life,
The grand pillars of values and potent righteousness, 
You dare to believe in their existence. 
It’s like the God you trust, but cannot see and cannot feel.
But do not be shaken, have no fear for this is just your own free will,
Oh Cunegonde of mine, you’re near, and every time I look you disappear!
Sometimes you search the absolutes of universe and wonder where,
Does God exist and what He’s doing when Cunegonde is flagged and raped?
Stumble on the rocky path on orators and chaste priests,
With tongue so sweet and gloried preachings,
But what they do in solitude with sharpen knifes in backs of infants?
Close your eyes oh sweet Candide, and dream away with no restraint,
And watch how all your hemispheres will tremble soaked in darks and lights.
If not your head can imagine life without a shadow or a tear,
You are corrupt Candide oh dear, but this is the best of all possible lives.
You kill even the ones you love the most, nothing is holy anymore.
Just the promise of Pangloss and the dream of Cunegonde.
Merge your coding to save a dear, stop on red, and do not litter!
For your punishment ‘s not in Hell, it is indeed the life you bare.
Pace yourself! In the New World, like a Columbus you’ll try to steer,
Your arms and legs but not your head, for it is damned for it is barren.
There is no sun, or air out here. You strive for breath in empty chores,
At least you have your Cunegonde I hear, but she is just another whore.
Who cursed her love for seven years, but plow your garden cher Candide!
For this is the best of all possible worlds.


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 | Free verse | |

The Same Reservation Road

I walk through the reservation valley of alcoholic death/ 
I fear no darkness among my own for the light breathes life on its own through my every breath/ I can no longer fit in for I need to stand out above the rest/
 I can no longer follow, I got to be the host of my own because Im tired of being the guest/
 
I want to be the writer I dont want to be the reader/ 
I want to be the artist with the brush, I want to create I want to finally be my own leader/
 I want to be able to follow society's rules because I am tired of being a cheater/
 I want to be the supplier because Im tired of being the seeker/ 

I guess life is what I make it/ Forgive less as much as I still continue to forsake it/
 My life is just a jolt but at times I feel death shake it/ Grab my emotions by the reins and straight earthquake it/ I try and fix my problems until someone comes by and breaks it/
 but this is my time because Im still young so this young opportunity in life I must Take it.
 
I got to hold my head held high from being low/ 
I got to stay lost until I find my own being my purpose of another young lost soul/
 I cannot stop because Im too tired of staying stuck I must stay on go/ 
This my life now I know it my story waiting to be patiently told/ 
This my life now I got to let it un fold/ Let it slowly but surely grow/ 
Im just a hidden bomb waiting for my poetry to blow/ 
EVERYTHING I DID OR DO IN LIFE NOW IS SOMETHING I CHOSE? 
I GOTTA CHANGE BECAUSE I JUST CANT KEEP WALKING THE SAME RESERVATION ROAD.


Details | Free verse | |

Lines To Music

Note the difference
in tone
a song, a poem
the flute denotes 
subtle sway
the piano plays
and the harpsichord.
Cymbals clean
and sweet.
Note the joyous mood
and the dancing fools
the children’s laughter.
Note the change
as the magicians rearrange
the cord, the bridge
the end.
Note.


Details | Sedoka | |

My Treasure Trove

Floating on thick air Bringing life to my words Hidden in my treasure trove Seeds are deep inside Poetry that I’ve written Is alive with every breath… …Guidance of the heart Holding my greatest asset Poetry is my treasure Wields the sword of life Sharing those feelings therein Emotions conjure desire
Russell Sivey Entrant into Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.'s "TREASURE TROVE" contest 2/26/2012


Details | Haiku | |

don't shout at the stars


don’t shout at the stars
the words of wisdom-
they’ll teach you


Details | Rhyme | |

Beyond Words

Flowing words that show a story well
Rhyme a delight to see upon a veil.
Poetry soothes the soul, tells of feelings.
Lines in metaphors, inspirational dealings,
Verse that is free, describes virtual history.
Acrostics can deliver any kind of mystery.
Poetry more graceful than a flowing brush,
Creates pictures and forms in breaking hush,
Haiku surrenders nature’s beauty so short.
Senryu captures humanities truth and tort.
Paint captures sight; poetry feels the scene.
Writers develop spirits, feelings felt and seen.
Sculptors captivate realism, fantasy supreme.
Poets bring joy, sadness, life, love, in a dream.
Whether rhyming or not, a good poet shows.
Few or many lines they create properly flows.
Poetry rings out in emotions of various forms.
Lines of any verse go way beyond the norms.


Details | Diminished Hexaverse | |

Net

 It came to me seeing
How I enjoy poetry
Why not just type poetry
In the search engine box
Click, see what I might find
I'm here three years later

Interwoven wires
All around the world
Different people
Countries, languages
Customs, religions

I stood on net
The net covered
Feet, legs, waist then
Entered my heart

Became part 
Of life, holds
Attention

Addict
Trapped in

Net 

Poetry pronounced poe/try

Sponsor: David Williams
Contest: True Diminishing Hexaverse


Details | Free verse | |

A Genesis mimesis part 2

Adam from and by his side Eve blessed to replenish                                                             to rule over the things moving land air and sea giving meat to all                                       the green herb the fruit bearing seed after His kind it was good										             Blessed Poet potentate and man saw everything good on the sixth page    											heavens and earth finished with multitude to dwell ending his work on seventh page										blessed set apart this day for the gracious Host rested even now men search                          for metaphors similes to fill pages poems and prose words of worth                                                 to artfully describe creation life imitates life after His kind                                                   even in a fallen world after satans pride Eve being naive Adam listening to her voice                                            rather than God's the Poet maker Jesus in similitude                                                           yet He is without sin humbled Himself being born like we                                                              the true light came to heal creation walked again on the water                                                        for all to believe the Lamb's blood shed thy sin be forgiven thee                                          the Lord of the sabbath still plowing the way the Seed died and rose again 	                                             					God said bringing forth much fruit watering with words                                                             blessed are the poets of love saved justified 									redeemed resting in promised words from above                                                                  waiting to fly away to greener pastures 									          	a new heaven and new earth we look forward                                                                     to our Maker's life within the Poet's breath


Details | Free verse | |

Dim the Lights to Encore.

I'm not unhappy with occurrences there in
where moving there upon the silent floor
in undercurrents rippling, marble still
I find your voice as never found before

I'm not uneasy as we dance this dance
where silence reigns the air in static still
as all the sleepers break in dreams at once
You hold me here but not against my will

I'm not unwilling now to take a chance
to blow confusion's wrist a solid kiss
and silently insure the moment's pass
if you would grant me solitude in this

I'm not uncertain as the curtains close
wherein we find ourselves behind the stage
as often what takes place behind the scenes
will pique an interest longing to engage~


Details | I do not know? | |

Poetry Soup

poetry soup nourishes the soul delivering smooth and creamy fodder in a community bowl for all to share i am a crouton


Details | Quatrain | |

SUCCESS AT LAST

I used to harbor lofty dreams 
Of winning wealth and fame.
I vainly dreamed about a time
When the world would know my name.

But time and those rejection slips
Have tempered my wild dreams.
The ceaseless grind of passing years
Has mellowed me, it seems.

So now I breathe, create, and write
Simply because I must.
No longer do I crave those things
For which I used to lust.


Details | Free verse | |

'I left you behind'


I can still see those words “her work is too similar, too monotonous” your words stung that day - I felt like giving up, Didn’t want to put my thoughts and feelings out there again, but then I realized you are stealing my joy you are walking all over my soul I picked up my pen and continued writing from my heart I moved on and I left you behind Inspired by MJF’s “I'm more then what you thought contest” Written by Wilma Neels
©110320121121


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 | I do not know? | |

Passion Fruit Juice

where oh where does my passion lay? in a shoebox, under the staircase? i’ve been looking all day, i’m getting too tired to play. i guess it’s better off this way, to be missing eternally, than to have been found and broken, a curse that bounds when spoken, these days i hardly mention your name. most dreams are fairytales, i need to pretend if i want to achieve. i’m numb, like i’ve had a lobotomy. i am living in honesty or i am not living at all, my passions been pressed into the page - transformed from a natural beauty into something useful.


Details | Rhyme | |

If You Had but One Last Poem to Pen

If you knew that you’d be leaving soon
And had but one last poem to write;
What might you pen as you begin 
To say your final, farewell good night?

Would it be addressed to those who’ve blessed 
Your world with all good things?
To someone close you love the most
Or perhaps, a song of spring?

Of changing winds that swirl and spin
From cradle to the grave;
If you had but one last poem to pen
What would you want to say?

Would thankfulness surround you
For every breath you’ve ever breathed?
Or will you write before losing sight 
Of past regrets and shattered dreams?

Will your pages be filled with all the thrills
Of memories made with laughter?
Or will sadness remain despite all the gains
Of riches you’ve chased after?

And I wonder will the darkness fill
Our minds with somber sojourns;
Or will instead we find we’re led
To God’s gigantic, love-filled ocean?
 
If we have but one last poem to write
Before leaving Earth’s atmosphere;
What will we say that just might stay
In the hearts of those still here? 


Details | Free verse | |

Quodliberterianism

Quodlibertarians excel at obacerating
And are skilled in the art of obganiating
They drive people nuts,
No ifs, ands or buts,
Even their perscrutation seems nothing less than excoriating!

TRANSLATION:

The Art of Arguing About Anything

People who argue about any subject excel at contradicting
And are skilled in the art of irritating people with constant reiteration
They drive people nuts,
No ifs, ands or buts,
Even their thorough search and diligent inquiry seem nothing less than condemning!
 


Details | Free verse | |

Planet Hopping

as quickly as i thought
I decided to write
making my words be a beacon 
for the soul within
screaming for the chance to 
make its presence felt
quietly the world nods
acknowledging my attempt of fame
i'm as big as Saturn
but as far as Pluto
how soon will i get to Earth....or even Mars?
(smile)


Details | Rhyme | |

Unfinish

A Dark Identity

Days into nights... time without time
Normalities of everyday life beckons to remain
Shadows with lights.... to find to define
I am he who goes by without a name

The world is only up to date
And I’ve decided no more to follow
Bearing time to finally relate
Yet a self I’m to find to wallow

He who walks without an identity... walks alone
And he who walks alone needs be proud
Yet walking forever without finding a home
Have I that heaven beyond the clouds?

I cannot see either far or near
I cannot be to be neither nor
I’m listening... I cannot hear
I’m at peace... I’m at war

I did not know... am I suppose to?
I know I’m alive... is that enough?
Yet, rather not to know than knew
For knowledge shall never last

A mystery if not yet to be
That one mysterious hope to be searching for
I have dreams but what did I see?
I have no one... not one I can call

A darken need shall heed not words
For the dark shall rise as light
The fade will be a promise to be heard
For shadows are without night

And I started to listen distractedly
Hearing for what my eyes cannot see
A hallucinatory moment ever constantly
As I began to believe that of what cannot be

The instant my eyes close
My mind drew as suppose
Sketching a stand alone amid a world once seen
Of ranging fires to have had believed as a dream
And there I was... a lone figure enveloped in darkness
With crossing flames alight yet from a distance as useless
Left as I was before... I am to return as I am
Reliving once more this beginning with never the end
Thus did I continue my path away from the bloodshed
Carefully as one had hoped where a darker darkness be led
No more do I wonder what transported me here
To only know for certain I am riddled of constant fear

“Fear is a fire
To temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
To quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”

And there it was... words barely a whisper
Where it came from... no longer matters
For the intended vigor were already cast upon
Serving me with renewed purpose for a sense to belong
Before long, beyond doubts... my callings were clear
The source from where it first began was indeed here
Almost startled, I looked around knowing I’m blinded to see
Too dark as it was, had it not been a lighted green to be
And there it was... a single light beyond the almighty dark
That one greenish light to aid one’s lonesome heart
Rather peculiar for I haven’t notice it before
And naturally I am to walk towards the green grandeur
Flickering and wavy as I drew closer to my destination
Seeing finally for what appears to be the least of expectations
Astonishingly, it was a lantern where within was the sighted fire
And simply the fiery green alone ignites ever on in dire
Levitated in midair, it stands rigid with its haunting presence
With an aura more deserving then welcoming of essence
So mesmerized I was... I wanted to behold
That of warmth for perhaps deliverance from cold
A dare if not, if only, if I must
A flame to embrace, a curiosity to engulf
And surely... I lifted my hand with only a wanting touch
Surely but unknowingly... the flame itself is to parch
Sparkles of green eludes and transcends about
As well an aria, an ancient tune goes aloud
To only see to believe, perhaps my life to perceive
Yet the question being... what did I achieve?
Smoke arises... wavering, quivering, settling...
My time... misgiving, misguiding and misleading
And there he was... rather it be
A human?... isn’t to be I see

“A dark wanderer, perhaps a lone wanderer alone
Regardless... a stranger afar returning home
Have you the teachings bequeath upon you?
From a once being of a knight who knew
For he alone stands unnerve by another
Serving a purpose to hold true forever
The resemblance I see forth leaves me incertitude
Both as mortals... though only he remains in servitude
Yet... my appointment upon you is clear
I am to you drawn as you to me when you hear
Nevertheless, far too long were you of absence
And once more I am in honor to be in your presence
It never is clear what the heavens contrive
For this unsung war... humanities were birth to strive
Every one mortal given birth were forged for war
To ensure the survival of humanities and of peace to befall
For many years this bloodshed wages in dire
Almost as certainly, the spirits of men responsively tire
No more are there ideas nor hopes they are to see
Battling on for pure survival remains what leads them be
Your return however, will perhaps set the tides in our favor
Though I know not the intention, I do not disregard altogether
Do not let the reasons why you have returned cloud your mind
I ask of you rather to remember who you once were to define
The land of The Ancients is never a quest for truth to seek
Purely for good to triumph over evil is the only idea you will need
Prepare yourself well stranger, for good will always be in disguise
Treachery and deception as often will never in itself be a lie
The unforgiving way is still a long one I’m afraid
However well is Heaven to plan... evil as always will await
And until out time will once more cross between us
I assure you... your time in this world will outlast”


Details | Alliteration | |

No Title

My bed is anxious,waiting for my snores Today's going to bed, tomorrow's a few steps ahead I wonder why I took "the" pen I feel like putting them down What? My thoughts What am I inking? Nothing! Exactly! Just wanna scratch my itchy paper with my juicy ink Singers? Go sing... Comedians? Go do comedy... Others? What's your "itchy paper?" Have you applied your "ink?" Be good at what you do Love what you do Practice... Go scratch it!


Details | Lyric | |

Time Well Spent

My thoughts, not like what can be written on paper -
A paper so thin that you can see through,
onion paper, yes,
are not worth citing still,
they are just empty words, like yours
or others that resemble someone like you.
No need to feel "oh, so insulting"
just think on matters more convincing -
like the matters of retirement,
or ending some beloved engagement,
where of course, you and I mattered not
enough to be heard by someone just like us,
where tears are waters enough to fill
all the wells in Yorkshire, or the seven seas.
So what exactly are my thoughts, as if they spoke of 
volumes or of super heroes
that would revive the emptiness that is living.
Refuse me, please, you have your own
decisions and contentions to displace,
but all the words we speak are
windows to the human race.
Even yours.
So though you fret in lonely silence now
alone with laptop gleaming,
or sitting in a library while
someone more important breathes behind you
for her turn -
Remember, we are all sitting in front of some
media-bleeding device, be it our mouths, our radios
laptops, or campfires.
Think on what I've said here in deep reflection,
if you think your own thoughts are important enough
to prove that mine are as well.
What do you think, when alone with your thoughts ~
Are they real?
Or do they speak the level-headed cruelties of
politicians and spokespeople for some soft-drink?
Truly, I say to you all ~
Breathe in.


Details | Free verse | |

Heart of a Writer

Belief that there's always a reason
Whether understood or not
Lost words among pages
Forcing memories to fade

To hold onto what was 
Reliving emotions once felt
Love wrapped beneath fingers
Caressing writers creation

Lessons still to be learnt
Taught by those who teach
A writer who writes
While pure passion speaks


Details | Sonnet | |

Romance Novel

A snow bound silence descends now
upon my hallowed home,
the traffic's gone, the streets unplowed
and I'm engrossed in tomes.

A ribald tale of myst'ry roils
the knights have charged the breech
the bard sings tall tales of old
of maiden's love's unleashed.

The pendants mark the battles course
as Saxons face the Celts
unarmored men fought Saxon's, Norse
in naught but paint and pelts.

And so it was, and so it is
as men live or die for a kiss.


Details | Ballad | |

Better Than Grace

how can we pretend that everything is okay
when the world is soon to turn to grey
I've took this life and its treasures in vane
when you'd easily trade with me any day

you're amazing better than grace
so amazing just can't turn the page
amazing can't find the strength
to gaze at your face and not look away
look what we've done, coming undone
slowly fading away, so amazing
better than grace

you say they gave you less than six months
never thought it could hurt this much
I'd give anything just to save you
oh what can i do, just say because

you're amazing better than grace
so amazing just can't turn the page
amazing can't find the strength
to gaze at your face and not look away
look what we've done, coming undone
slowly fading away, so amazing
better than grace

with every breath we take, just another test today
don't walk away before it's too late
we should all be ashamed of ourselves because

he's amazing better than grace
so amazing just can't turn the page
amazing can't find the strength
to gaze at your face and not look away
look what we've done, coming undone
slowly fading away, so amazing
better than grace


Details | Free verse | |

Mating the Soul.

Uncommon me 
with rhetoric and fancy shoes.

Uncommon me
for what else do I have to lose?

Uncommon zeal
and half an ounce of courage too-

Uncommon me
and certainly, uncommon you.


(for Johnette)


Details | I do not know? | |

Angry immortal

You dont need no friends
all they will do is hurt you
let them all go, why hold them up?
the family are so far behind,
they will never understand
we are so alone, in this life,
women want what you can give
i wont trade money for sex
or even a bit of attention
or a commitment of ownership
a culture of prostitution...

The poor people steal from you
the rich will rape you
not selling my rear for interest..
and the middle are just stupid
addicted to the drugs, the propaganda

I am the artist, the expressionist, the prophet,
alone, with one mission, 
where are my pleasures?
cursed to teach this selfish culture
pathetic humans, suffering
too stupid to give anything
complaining, whining, frustrated,

They are about to destroy themselves
a collective suicide of selfishness

The other immortals tell me to have hope,
to love them, to teach them,
They arent my friends, so busy 
teaching, and giving to the vampires. 

The christians love war and murder of others
They worship, punishment, hatred, and money
the buddhists wont stand up for themselves and fight,
the middle road is lost.
The muslims are too busy oppressing women
and praying for heaven
The jews know nothing of love, only greed

They tell me i should feel special
i have so much to teach and give,

Jesus taught them forgiveness
helping the poor, loving all people
they crucified him!

The afterlife is so wonderful, they say,
if you teach love and forgiveness.

I am in this life now,
and all i find is tricksters, liers and decievers
I am tired of being alone, 
The body is male, and only half of itself. 
addiction to female energy
no control, clairvoyance gone
the suicidal idiots have something right

I am cursed to sit here and learn compassion,
patience, how to inspire them
teach them to love, and give to others, 
all in the hope that they wont destroy themselves

Why cant i give up on hope?
they are pathetic, i am tired,
of the abuse, and anger, i evoke.

They hate me, unless i pretend,
smile the big smile, 
and pat them on their back for selfishness.
They love you then, 
I do not worship their god, of self-worship.
I wish i could, maybe i would be rich. 

living off of the blood, sweat and tears of others
how nice that would be, to relax, no responsibilty
to give or love anyone except my family.  

I am sure i will feel better tomorrow


Details | Blank verse | |

Lost Poet

Life as a lonely lost poet bred from dark cracks 
Lost soul living plain and simple among the people black and white 
Drug along with alcoholic among us distracts 
Lost values and principles around one many continue to lack 
Everyday simple facts, its like breathing through plastic sacks 
Slowly suffercating until the brain goes wack 
Once death comes my way I must keep it part of my past 
Aint no way God going to bring my little brother back 
I guess its a curse upon all those of us living like outlaw of an outcast 
How the **** will I ever truly outlast until I heal and break out my cast 
God cant you see Im tired of wearing this permanent mask 
I know my poetry has hidden answers if I look and read closer so I shouldnt have to ask
 Staying lost is a choice in the open road with no gas 
So as a lost poet through hardships now and in the future I will outgrow it 
The devil trying to get my soul and behold it 
but I know only this one man controls it 
Its too priceless for even my own greed to have sold it 
So as a lost poet I will climber higher than high if not then right below it 
Found in a world of lies with few truths as but another lost poet


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry for Poetry

You are the world which coping me
The chamber of my sanity
The big safety box of my true stories
Place where I could lean and dwell beyond the life series

I believed in God and His mercy was giving me some clue
On my fragility prayers, He led me on you
You are the best gift of my life which I cannot compare
The true recovery was earned by the silent of my share

Pieces by pieces  pilled up on your verses
Unorganized as if it was collided and barely in worthless
You keep your line as you want me to complete the puzzles
You give the blank page while I give you some variant tussles

You give me freedom on my bitter sweet
You let me spill out all the wastes of those filth
I owe you my half life, I owe you my sanity
Thank you for keeping my color and be the wisdom as a poetry


Details | Rhyme | |

The Song

When does a poem become a song?
Does the music make it real?
A melody makes us sing along
But the words are from the quill

Without the words the music's blind
It can't see where to go
For the words are how a song's defined
And the music's just for show

Wrapped in notes and chords to tease
It's meant to entertain
But it always takes the words to please
Or the music's played in vain

The words are there to touch the heart
Or the music might be missed
For it only plays a minute part
If the words did not exist

Some has said that poetry's dead
But they couldn't be more wrong
For the poet sees the music's fed
Or there couldn't be a song


Note: This will be my last poem I post for a while...it's time to move on to other things.....Whisk


Details | Free verse | |

Come Fluttering Words

"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
Fly though my dreams and whisk me away to a “Nederland”
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air with delightful surprises.
And butterflies dance through the trees where fairy dust makes magic.
Take my heart to the beautiful memories of childhood.
Where imagination flourishes and laughter chases the breeze.
Mend my sorrows with your soothing; vanquish pain with your sweet lexis. 
Carry my soul to the heavens where family love waits true.
Flutter my heart with generous gentleness, with understanding.
Send my soul drifting across the lands where friends hear and foes are forgiven.
Embrace my mind that I may share each part of me through you.
Caress my lips that only sweetness may pass through them.
And teach me all wisdom that I may love purely with no ire.
I have heard your fluttering when my soul wanted to cry in anger.
Your soothing brought solace to my unconsciousness, quietly.
I saw your flickering when my eyes were closed to the needs of others.
Your compassion brought knowledge to my awareness.
I felt your trembling when my heart was overwhelmed.
Your wisdom washed away my worries, wisely, willfully.
"Come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
For in your fluttering, comes tranquility, love, understanding,
…And friendships are preserved, forever.

© July 26, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: What is she thinking . . . 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~


Details | Narrative | |

CURRUPTION

Debauched, extortionate and inconstant 
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent 
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical, 
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."


Details | Limerick | |

Another Time, Another Place

I'm for all people and their faith
It's for them and not others to deface
     They'll have their moment to preach
     On poetry sites the words teach
And leave for another time, another place







http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/religion-or-not.php


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part II

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.


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 | Free verse | |

Just writing without stopping

Random Free Write: 

Just flowing - writing
and not stopping to think
or even to lift my pen
I kept going and the words seemed to have no end
Understanding that the process is a simple one
Love everyone and 
stear free of the wicked one

I'm not sure if it was winter or spring
But, I gave way to all the flaws and  imperfections
and realized that this is me
The change came when I saw fit
and not when someone else decides

It's not hard to forgive
And even easier to forget
Does that not reflect love and also what it begets?
Except too many hold grudges and even
pretend to be angry beyond whats necessary
Caught up in someone elses problem
and not dealing with their own is a hard burden to carry
Let it go
stop negativity where it begins

Cut people short if you have to
because this is your life you have to live
Be on the lookout for those looking to devour you
Pray for those who do ill sh@! to you
Respond in a way that makes them realize they love you
and hope it inspires change

Still maintain dignity and move on to something new
Growing, building up treasures for a place greater than
you can even dream to go
It's the simple things that help make life flow
I could go on and on with this practice flow
Writing and stoping to think or lift my pen
This is one of those poems that didn't make it to the waste bin.


Details | Fibonacci | |

Adding Lines

Let
Me
Try this
A new way
To express our thoughts-
Share our mathematical hearts

My
Left
Breast aches
Cancer cries
My Life proves worthwhile
As chemotherapy invades

Can’t 
Wait
To share
With students
Poetry in math
Lessons from the pain and healing


Details | Burlesque | |

"Lust County Fair"

Standing in line, I saw you over there.
Purchasing your ticket to the "Lust County Fair."

Your lips were locking at the County kissing booth..
Looking more like "exchanging of the tongues" than just a smooch.

On the ferris wheel, your hands where all over her.
You could be "her father" you old ugly buzzard.

In the "petting farm", I see your fittin' right in..
Amongst the other swines and swindlers bathing in their sins.

I hope you feel justified with your so-called young date.
I would not give you the time of day even with a "mail in rebate!"

You came over, pounding and kicking away at my door.
Seething with anger, no rain checks this time bud; it's over!


Details | Free verse | |

Of Words

So much is placed
 in the written word,
 of life, dreams, fantasy 
and gibberish.
 
We read such written 
words daily, but do we 
take the time to understand
 them and the mind of the
 writer behind them?
 
From childhood we are
 taught to express through
 our words, yet so much
 is not understood.
 
The mind is complex,
 it never rests until the
 end when words will
 no more transcend.
 
When the writer has gone,
 will his words left behind be 
of life, dreams, fantasy 
or gibberish? We leave you
 to decide!


Details | I do not know? | |

SHOULD U WOULD U COULD U i could but i wont

I could write about love, but love never lasts. I could write about memories, but memories are our past.
I could write about my dreams, but my words would not seem true, I could write just another simple poem, but i don't want to write of you.
I could write about moments, but moments always pass, I could write about life, but life is just too fast.
I could write about children, but i couldn't contain their youth, I could write about the homeless, but i'd rather build a roof.
I could write about alot of things that life it-self contains, but the fact that i'm writing at all, is the poem that remains.


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 | 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 | 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 | Blank verse | |

Writing Under Pressure

 Im sitting here writing under pressure/ my life is optomistic even though it getting lesser/ Im sitting here writing for tomorrow if this should be my death letter/
 I know I aint the best but I could be doing better/
 Im softer that a bunny but I can get froggy hard skinned like leather/ 
Im standing out in this cold written breeze with no sweater/
 Im swimming through oceans and flying through storms no matter the weather/ 
Im shooting up a dosage of true lies like Im the only drama setter/ 
I've been filled with wisdom of worth ever since I met her/ 
I cant be beat by knowledge only if I let her......ever since that day of fate I've been Writing Under Pressure....


Details | Free verse | |

"From Ground to the Hill"

A boy who had no compass.
Who just watched and observed.

Fallen many times, but just got back
up and wiped the tears.

The roads now appear a little clearer.
The directions not written but desire
paves the way.

Now a man on his hill, where the view
clear and blue.

As long as my pen has ink and my pad 
is blank.

My travels through life shall flourish and 
hold me safe.






"Switch Contest" by John Heck


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 | Cinquain | |

Bible

Bible
Holy Scriptures
Uplifting man’s spirits
Different versions, same contents
Bible


Details | Couplet | |

Life Is The Reason I Write

Like pages of a journal simply waiting to be filled
my life is shouting out with a voice that can't be stilled.

I see it in the falling leaves,the burst of neon skies.
I feel it with each breath of spring,with every bird that flies.

Of winter's frozen landscape or summer's sands glistening
I need to call out with my rhymes to see who might be listening.

When hearts are shattered,minds are broken,love is lost or found
my words can sing of joy or solace without making a sound.

The fields of wonder in my life are growing with each phrase.
I write of my experience,of now and other days.

I'm moved to paint my pages with each stroke of circumstance;
share the book of my life hoping you'll give it a glance.




for contest"WHO,WHAT,WHERE"


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 | Chant Royal | |

Back In Denial

Yeah Im feeling a lil too native tonight like Im on da rez like a youngster drunk and suicidal
 Poppin pills like Im poppin at my own people like they my culturalistic rivals 
I'm dying slowly like my culture yet Im still reading the about God and the Holy Bible
 I almost died not once but twice thats why I strive for survival 
Im a lil mad at God ever since he took my lil brother but I shall get over it in a lil while
 Im more greatful ever since he gave back life with my first child 
Living life up to this point in my life has now been worth the while 
time ticking away everyday on da rez like the sun dial 
so no time to waste any longer in this tribulation of another life to death trial
 I shall bring back all my lost long life culture files 
I am like a new trend people Im litterally making my own clothes with the Rez Life 7 style
 I shall overcome bull*****even if at times it gets me a lil riled 
Breaking through hangovers like out the stomach comes last nights bile 
Im litterally building onto whats left in my trash pile 
I aint going to stop until I have my legs crushed during the last mile 
I hit jumps in my car through life as it idles 
This is just but another life lived in gratitude I cant lie though 
It shouldnt matter too much in the end because I will be high Bro 
Insanely flying in the sky like an acrobatic physco 
Shooting through leather problems like a twelve gauge rifle 
so much it makes my own heart with a quick fix stifle 
Im gonna make it through my haters doubts with a quick glance as I smile 
I will bring back hope not to theirs or yours but my own before I end up back in denial


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetic History

Anticipation precedes the prize
Splendor warrants the wait
A marriage made through Heaven's eyes
There's no such thing as fate

The poets of old reap their reward
Through the pages in history
Left behind by their own accord
For poets like you and me

Who will be the next master poet
To leave their words behind
Whoever it is may never know it
Unless life treats them kind

There will never be another Poe,
Dickinson, Frost or Keats
But somewhere someone's words will show
That another poet competes

The more we write the more we learn
These words are always true
Just keep on writing and you may earn
A place in history too


Details | Quatrain | |

Image Surrounded By Words

I have sketched your image on my paper Then words came out to surround your presence The words wafted higher than the image Went and moved around catching air currents Beauty surrounded my drawing with ease A heart was enveloped there inside her But it was words that described her being That’s what brought her life, it was the answer So this image, consumed by many words I fling this image into the high sky Its beauty caresses those around it Words brighten all their lives, so they can fly Absorbed are more words from seasoned poets Listening to their lives as it goes on Flying by the highest point it ignites Sending ash to my feet just like the dawn I hold the remains inside of my hand Just by magic it goes back to true form Beautiful girl on a page of paper With many words now on it to transform It peeks my mind to see all these poems Created by the flying of this show And its corresponding words to then see We are all poets, just that some don’t know
Entrant into Michael J. Falotico's "Boomerrang contest....send a poem for a ride" contest 1/21/2013


Details | Free verse | |

The Minstrels, The Lovers, and the Mad

the minstrels
the lovers
and the mad

dare to explore
where others fear
to tread

we wish on falling
stars
not knowing where they
land

a million miles to
Babylon
a journey
unknown

paradise awaits
those who dare
to walk
alone


Details | Narrative | |

Title Taken

The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattos  in 
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies lowand the truth a sober mind brings 
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title 
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its 
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's 
 You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.


Details | Ballad | |

Hidden Deep Within

I'm back to my writing, 
I'm back to my thinking, 
I dont know why I keep fighting, 
I don't know why I keep drinking, 

I always think I'm too spiritually weak, 
when I choose to ****ing smoke, 
but even ever more when I take that next drink, 
killing myself ain't no ****ing joke. 
Soon I will be six feet deep, 
I'm down in the reservation gutter finally broke, 
words said softly but nothing meaningful ever spoke. 

I'm back to my writing, 
I'm back to my thinking, 
I dont know why I keep fighting, 
I don't know why I keep drinking, 

Tell me something different Lord! 
Tell me why I grew up so ****ing poor! 
Tell me why I spent time sitting in prison crying to you on a concrete floor! 
Tell me why I can't have what I want in this life in what I truly do adore! 
Tell me why I am doing this when I can be doing that because this *****I'm doing now is a bore!
 
I'm back to my writing, 
I'm back to my thinking, 
I dont know why I keep fighting, 
I don't know why I keep drinking, 

I know the answers I ask are hidden deep within, 
I just have to look past my sins, 
I guess I can be an outlaw of just another outcast laughing at the world with a silent grin,
 I know I can be no hearted in the land of OZ I'm the mother fuking man of tin, 
I know if I would I would do all this *****all over again. 
I used to be the one at the end of the trail with just another loss but this my time to win.
 I know the answers I ask are all hidden deep within.


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...


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 | Rispetto | |

Confession of a Poet

In the latest hours, the moon shines very bright Igniting the lower fields with its mercy A poem comes to fruition in this light All can read, as it’s shared with love completely I confess, this poem was from my calm heart To shine as the cool moon, listen to each part Field is open to my mind of mystery My ideas shine onto all that are mighty
Entrant into Anne Currin's "Confessions of a Poetry Souper" contest 2/2/2013


Details | Rhyme | |

Nothing Left to Say

Nothing Left to Say

Dr. James E. Martin
©February, 2013

What do you say when it has all been said?
What of those musings running through your head?
Is there reason for concern?
Is there something for one to learn?

Surely this is not the first time this has occurred,
Many have undoubtedly these questions heard.
Some need to simply let it go
Instead of great wisdom trying to show.

For others however give thought a little longer.
The original thought just may appear stronger.
If indeed this proves the case
Then certainly these thoughts do not erase.



Details | Villanelle | |

Failed Villanelle

Memories swirl down rivers like foam
My thoughts are sewing up the seams,
And life like leaves melts into silent loam.

Wolf hearts like ours know only how to roam,
Lone souls, breaker tossed, cling to the beam,
Of a thing, in a dream, called home.

Build a tomb, a gilt and effervescent dome,
To remind yourself with the gleam,
That life like leaves melts into silent loam.

Fate is fluid, not scratched in an ancient tome,
We dream, carried down the Styx’s stream,
Of a thing, in a dream, called home.

Forget for now that you’re alone,
There is no joy in such a theme,
Life like leaves melts into silent loam,
Like a thing, in a dream, called home.


Details | Free verse | |

Words

Words can only be spoken
But then again they can be written.
But when written they have less or more meaning

When spoken, they are ignored.
So, when one wants others to stop
And listen they sit and write.

But no one can understand the feeling!
For when they spoke it the feeling it was meant to be
People took one look and dissed it
Saying it just them being attention hungry.

One is in pain
One is in joy
No one really cares
They want them to shut up.

When when gone those words
They haunt all who refuse to listen
Those who brush it off
Those who just walk away.

Then those once so called annoying words
Not written, become more important
And easily forgotten.


Details | Rhyme | |

NO FUNNIER LAUGHTER

No funnier laughter
sounds like this laughter...
when its pitch vibrates as sound;
I may giggle at times, but I'm always kind!


Who will tackle me and make me laugh louder than clowns 
by telling me those jokes you heard somewhere?
Were they told by travelers roaming cities and towns,
or were they written down on some rough paper?


Oh, humor you make life sumptuously grand...
when all one needs is the company of some friend!
Sit down and let's tell each other stories that satisfy our literary itch;
let's unearth stories of the famous and the infamous, of the humble and the rich! 


No funnier laughter
is heard around the entire globe;
you may hurt your ear's lobe...
when I laugh harder than Cher!


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 | 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 | |

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 | Questionku | |

Dying poem

Written at dawn,
The word became verse.
Can we dye as poem?


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 | Rhyme | |

The World Needs Stupid Poems About Sheep

There's many speeches made upon the battlefield of life
And much advice both wise and otherwise
There's words to spur us on to overcome all sorts of strife
Some honest truths and some just hopeful lies.

The pep talk to build up the team so they go out and win;
The mantras found in simple battle cries;
The politics of power delivered with an extra spin;
The prophets' words reduced to sermon size;

The burning words of hatred that can send a man to kill
To light the fire that must be quenched with blood;
The prophecies long written that the blind seek to fulfil;
The word that lifts the fallen from the mud.

The lovers speak in whispers in the darkness of the night
And plight to each their troth in sickly verse
And the righteous lift up their voice to praise God, good and right
And hide the fact that they do something worse.

But if there is humanity and sanity to keep
The world needs stupid poems about sheep.


Details | Senryu | |

Life of a Poet


          A lone cloud floats free..
      A steady breeze sits behind..
          Lends a hand not seen..

                                                                 A childs lost youth..
                                                              Dances to older music..
                                                            Writes of years to come..

            A man stands alone..
      His life and past not far from..
              Each Poem ,a day..

                                                                  I now write of life..
                                                            To where it has taken me..
                                                                And where I am now..


Details | ABC | |

Dear Lord (by kimmy holmes my daughter)

Dear Lord 
please receive me
i've been stumblin around
deceivin me
i wan't heaven now
how do I get that?
do I stop eatin meat
stop being me
How do I get to Heaven?
I NEEDS my mama
I need my Sons
My SUNS
I'm lyin
dyin
before everyones eyes


Details | Bio | |

They Called Him Tiny Tim

Yeah they called him Tiny Tim....so dam tiny he fitted through the basketball rim
 everytime they were out yeah he was hiding in 
yeah, while they were out he was holding back from enjoyin the young life of sin 
 but he cared little none for the drugz, the liquor or the shiny gin 
all he wanted was someone to care, someone to show him atleast a grin 
He was soo dam small people started calling him Nemo without the broken smaller fin
 while his peers were out making dough off dope he was out collecting cans of tin
 Light shone upon others dreams while upon his hopes the light remained dim 
He was hated on because the size and weight of his body, not the color of his skin
 half breed yeah he was as he played ball they laughed at how he came to their chin
 he was just a young boy living in a world of hateful men 
But he cared not cuz he would get the **** back up and try again 
they told him he would never BE 
that he would never succeed 
he would never be apart of something or anything 
but with a stroke of luck he doing something 
no more hiding and no more ****ing running 
People see his attitude and life now aint it stunning 
His life shooting off cant you see Tiny Tim with a Bazooka Gunning 
But now He living for something and dying for nothing 
he made it through high school while most his haters were frontin 
staying in school payed off now his life career is out on sidewalks jumping 
while he sees his past peers life out in the ghetto life with drugs and alcohol dumping
 He was gone for a minute lockdown but make way TINY TIM IS COMING


Details | Narrative | |

Oh, Pepe (Vignette)

Too enthralled by his works done
Last farewell been said and made
Mockingbirds and sparrows came
Las vivas and the sound of guns-
He faced the 7 o’clock morn sun




Note:

Dr. Jose P. Rizal- poet/author of  "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.



Details | Rhyme | |

Pride

it's  all heaven now
it's going down

once was lost
now it's found

walking the line
running out of time

living the life
writing the rhymes

some words go unspoken
but the actions speak loud

once you were weak
now you are proud


Details | Rhyme | |

ANOTHER CHALLENGE TO PURSUE LIFE AND FATE

It's the desire to do better with a fresh lead
and with success on mind, not thinking of failure:
I find that doorway to escape and dream,
but remaining anonymous is no adventure.


Without impromptu or consciousness,
I wake up to a sunrise which coruscates...
becoming brighter by blinding my sight,
then I become beauty-incarnate and sigh. 


Laying down with the head up on the fresh grass,
I accept another challenge to pursue life and fate...
not seeking a gloomy, clandestine place to face
ignoble fear in a cosmos which was created to elate.


Follow me and experience what makes me wake up and be as happy as a cuckoo,
touch the fragile corolla of daisies and inhale their aroma as dreamers tend to do,
and looking straight up, observe the awesome Universe so vast, beautiful and blue...
won't you take another challenge to pursue life and fate without clashing with a clue?


Details | Free verse | |

A Genesis mimesis Part 1

the Poet maker said and it was so let there be prose forward turns the page       										        	 ancient song from light to breath it was good to divide light from dark    											     	 to recite the day the night the verse of the day expands the page  												visible words separate the waterways waters above held in Heaven's store                                  									evening and morning end of page two Below turning droplets collect for the seas            										it was so land appeared a birth of earth let it bring forth the grass the herb  												 full with seed of life after His kind the tree progeny with life within it was good also               ends page three Sowing the lights midst the heaven the sign of the times standard          let it be dividing rule the greater for day lesser for night He made the stars also giving light seen upon earth agreeing evening morning still good fourth page Poet's words flow optimistically like water seas fill abundantly with the living word sky filled flocks of winged fruitfully multiply for God said let them be blessed evening and morning of the fifth page  The kines after His kind the things that crept with the pen of the ready writer man in His image with this breath


Details | Free verse | |

How Poetry Affected My Life

When I was fifteen Many years ago I was in a car accident Which left my right arm paralyzed I began to get so depressed I was below anyone’s imagination I was in pain Then I finally discovered something Poetry was in my blood I wrote and wrote and wrote Creating many therapeutic poems It saved my life And many occasions after that I wrote to save my heart And to keep it going Even after terrible break-ups And new beginnings I wrote about the sunrises And the sunsets I discovered I have a talent Of expressing myself Through poetic words I fell in love with poetry It became such an integral part of my life Not did I just have poetry But poetry had me I began to write for other people as well And saw how it impacted their lives I saw that I was actually good At writing So I continued for many years And I’m still Living in its light
Entered Michael J. Falotico's ""How Poetry has become You" contest" 3/4/2013


Details | Rhyme | |

Inspiration

It comes almost as quickly as it goes.
But I know that if you feed it, it grows.
It is a brilliant spark.
A flash of light in the dark.
Nothing that I can see, touch, or hear.
Perhaps it has always been there.
Waiting to be brought into the light.
Waiting for wings to take flight...
Ready and ripe, to be cultivated.
Just willing to be motivated.
There waiting for me to breathe the life into it.
Prepared and ready inside of my own intuit.
Calling it to life, setting it into motion.
Created from a spark of my emotion.
Molded by my own creation.
Brought to life out of my imagination.
Blossoming is the seed I have sown,
Now it takes on a life of its own,
And it burns with light from my fire,
To go forth into the wide world and inspire.


Sarah Comstock
12/12/10


Details | Couplet | |

NIGHT STILL HAS DREAMS FOR AN UNHAPPY DREAMER

Night still has dreams for an unhappy dreamer...
they aren't scary as in youth to make him shiver.


Don't wake him, allow him to dream of a diverse verse...  
closely following his tiny star to the end of the Universe. 


When his dozing eyes slowly close, he enters a totally different world...
feeling only peace, not hearing those winters' winds so fierce and cold. 


Night still has dreams for an unhappy dreamer...
he lives clinging to hope, seeing reality clearer.


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 | Cinquain | |

Appreciation

grateful
is a thankful
attitude.  it's often
not made a necessity.  that's
shameful.


Details | Free verse | |

Swan Song

The shaman in Siberian snows,
Singing and dying
And flying;
The Gnostic in life creating lines
Of song, of death,
Learning to heart his poetry,
To sing
With his last breath;
Pythagorus’s sacred password verse
Easing his transition
To heaven
From earth;
All know the deep wisdom
Of the mystic swan
Who sings as her soul takes flight
Towards the Love,
Towards the Light.

By the power of song,
By lines of love,
By pure poetry and profound enchantment,
We embrace the joyful journey
To the world
Of Spirit


Details | Free verse | |

Crazy, Hazy, Lazy Days

It’s summertime 
and Janis wails through the speakers.
I sit at my picnic table, 
papers scattered, 
and I chase perfect words
like I used to chase butterflies.

My kids splash through the scene, 
armed with Super Soakers.
Their antics threaten to jar 
the few words I managed 
to land on the page.
  
They jump in the pool -
giggles come up for air 
in a million bubbles.

I trade my pen
for a popsicle,
join them poolside,
and succumb to 
easy living and
the sweltering  rhythms of
“SUMMERTIME.”


Details | Haiku | |

Three

------------------------

cracks reminding us 
a calender hangs silence 
by all irony.

---------------------------

Practice for the blind 
circulation shutting down
shall twist towards plot

-------------------------

Running for their skin,
civilised sugar paper , 
for response alone.

------------------------------


Details | Rhyme | |

DEDICATION TO WORDS

Dedicated to writing words
when a long day endures;
it's my escape from stark reality...
in them I find depth and immensity!


Writing words has lured me into the glamorous literary realm,
making me choose loneliness; have I made the wisest choice
by exposing truth and not dying vainly for a long-life dream? 
Does life have a specific purpose without a strong voice?


At times I may seem distant, lost, moody and deafened by noise and sound...
letting brash fantasy take over, not wondering if it is really worth 
devoting an entire life to writing words when many pleasures abound? 
It can't be explained by me: it's more complicated than the mystery of birth!      





Details | Verse | |

Chaos

Rushing here, there and everywhere,
A mind that leaps canyons and space
Ricocheting, bouncing on rock walls,
Dislocation with turbulent pace.
Scuffing up dust and then zinging,
Off at wild tangents or angles,
Darting, exploding like fireworks,
Neurological barbed wire tangles.
And sometimes, sometimes crave tearing
At the flesh beneath tingling skin,
To rip this man-suit off the mainframe
And extinguish the chaos within.


Details | Epic | |

A New Collection to the Eye Forest

Crackling blood lies in these forest grounds
Grass growing by its lively effect…
Growing a grimace to the environment    
As the predators hung her on the branches,
carving her left eye on the oak tree
and carving her right eye on the olive tree

They grow livelier…
sucking up the carrions from off the ground
Drowning the vines that try to 
suffocate and remove them for life
left to be in history…unceasingly forgotten 

Now the forest has industrialized into an Eye Forest
Eyes protruding…extorting on the tree trunks
Liquefied by anguish…they had wished to escape
Their pupils punctured by arrows of death 
They grow more affectionate towards the lively soul… 
watching people suffer in indignity and disproof
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
 
Hunted by the worst predator out there
in the deepest of the forest

The eyes seem to stare into your own
Locked with your frightening vibes 
Feeling your dangling fears and pain 
Weeping them insane…
there is no one out there to be blamed,
even in the deepest of the forest

Oh you carrion heart, soul and body
you are accepted to the collection
and grow insanely and look into a world of reflection

You are one of those who lie in the midst of obscurity 
JUST wait till the day of Resurrection... 

Oh you carrion soul and body 
Surviving through the shadows of the forest, 
roaming along the compacted forest, 
moping about in displeasure 
because without a doubt 
you are a magnificent collection 
to the eye generation 
to look upon a cheerless, remorseful life,
Given away by the predator

They soon diminish the evidence…
Here’s that living evidence! Hidden proof!
You’re left for dead after all

Allow them to spread one of your eyes
on this tantalizing tree
Let them do their job as a hunter
Your awareness is diminished

Allow yourself to not be startled 
Lose yourself,
and later on, you’ll break free of pain and fear


Details | I do not know? | |

'the twitch'

This is the story of ‘the twitch’.  
We have all had it:  
   That bit of movement before we sleep.  
We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us 
before we fell out of bed.
   It was even younger than that for us.  
   It was sometimes confused with a kick --  from our mothers’ tummies  to the swaddle of 
blanket.  
   As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . ‘the twitch’.
   It is thought that we started with 
a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins 
of, or, 
sounds of the aria that Mozart’d 
into our echoes of the day --  a marriage of concept and conceptual.  
   It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us ‘round the curve 
of nerve 
for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first 
punch – given/taken.
The part of ‘the twitch’ 
that is worthy of noting now is that 
   it has never wanted to be caught:  
   It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that 
   it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay 
with Dr. Seuss and Disney books.  A teenage indifference took us away from 
   it.
We all fall asleep. . . as we’ve always done.  
The story of ‘the twitch’ begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers
   it touched.
Brings  us a little closer to the edge of our beds.


Details | I do not know? | |

Poet Love

Never fall in love with a Poet
for they are blackholes of the broken hearted 
Set on a treacherous sea blindfolded
to distracted by butterflies to properly set up a captain's log

Never fall in love with a poet our emotions burrow themselves deeper than a naked mole rat

Exposed, Vulnerable

Just like that time in biology class dissecting the rigamortis set frog
JUST LIKE LOVE
Paralyzed
Nailed on all four appendiges

For what???
Love?
Love is sometimes a Lie that we tell ourselves so we feel comforted.
The fairytale we read to children
The moralistic ones where the princess is a vision
and the Prince is an amorous gentleman
Walking hand in hand in the sunset immortalized
as one of the biggest lies
But what of love??
Real love the kind that drives you to a sickness
So nauseating you lose yourself in the process

Only simply to be there for them......... to eleviate any of their suffering

What of the tears???
That LOVE seems to squeeze out of your once sprite like Disposition
Like a worn out mop
that drips milky white left over mess
Lackluster like a dying fern, you have lost your glow
Resulting from the aftermath that your hurricane love 
Dissapated 

What of loneliness....

Love

Makes your fingers at night notice how alone they feel
Like a drug, you go through withdrawels 
You try to intertwine your left hand with your right
You know it will never be the same

Your Queen sized bed feels as if it has grown
to the size of Antartica
Where your insides grow so frostbitten from your bitterness
and you fear that you are so far gone and isolated
No one will hear your whispers

What of loves, loving distrust
Lies and Broken promises seem to defeat a person sometimes from honest confessions
Because distrust is like a math problem. 
Sometimes my friends, you have to discover what type of equation is their male partner.


But love is more like the Infinity symbol.
In that 2 bonded circles flow
LIke simultaneous toilets being flushed in Australia
Circling around sucking water into the pipes back into the earth

Love is the Infinity symbol because nothing can be Charted in Infinity
Understood or even Wanted
LOVE IS TEMPEST like a TSUNAMI TREMBLE

Love is kind but scarring. You never know if you have found your penguin dance partner that 
will always stay beside you

Or

Ensare you faster than a venus fly trap.
Ripping you apart like a Praying Mantis

This is why you should never fall for a poet

We know Love,

and sometimes the horror of it.


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

No Title of Write

I apologize, for all writes.
At least once, I broke someone’s rights.
That’s why freedom of press.
Nothing written, make lonely nights.
Words written will always start fights.
Be aware, don’t suppress.


Written for
Sponsor Barbara Gorelick 
Contest Name APOLOGY ACCEPTED 


Details | Terzanelle | |

My Pen

Words are lying on the tip of my pen Just waiting to be let out, and set free I hold my pen close, for it is open Letting in my feelings in, so you see Massive power of words that are released Just waiting to be let out, and set free There is no way my pen could seem deceased The words gather inside setting me free Massive power of words that are released I begin to write, the words flow freely Now they form sentences, purely written The words gather inside setting me free Finally reached the point I’ve been smitten Open heart, with mighty words, enjoy life Now they form sentences, purely written Another day writing of daily strife Words are lying on the tip of my pen Open heart, with mighty words, enjoy life I hold my pen close, for it is open
Russell Sivey


Details | Free verse | |

My Eternal

everywhere but the nape of my neck fills with goosebumps
his deathly kiss is cold, but Intense
i know what is soon to come, but I cannot feel Afraid
that would only hasten My emanate bloody death
my skin is pierced and my spine has a surge of electricity shocking my system
i collapse into his Viscous grasp

the world has never been this Auroral 
My heart has never felt darker
is an eternity in hell worth an almost infinite life of extraordinary feats to be overcome?
i know my Power is great
but now I weaken with thirst

i am not better
i am simply a slave to blood now
i could write for infinity, but i'd Rather Earn my way into hell
starting with the death of my maker


Details | Verse | |

My Style

So many people ask my why
my lines are so hypnotic
and why my eyes cry for the world

I learned a lesson as a little girl
Music took the pain away
in a way that I never really understood
But somewhere I found my rhythm
and it felt good

I learned to enjoy the breeze
I learned to smile when mama would sing
I copied her vibe
but when my vibe came to me
The words would resignate as a song
but when I opened my mouth 
it became poetry
I claim full responsibility of this gift

When the sun rises and the moon resides
I thank the Creator for this shift
Melodies became attached to my DNA
in such a way that the process
where jazz, blue and hip hop relate;
poetic tendencies were relative to my mind state
Music is my soul
But poetry is the gate


Details | I do not know? | |

CRITERIA OF THE JEWISH CANON 11022011


In the several centuries 
Before the coming of Christ
The Jews in Palestine re-examined 
Eliminated some of the books 

From existing collection
As not in harmony with the Law of Moses as 
Of doubtful inspiration
The Pharisees set up four criteria 

Which their sacred 
Books had to pass 
In order to be included 
In the revised Jewish Canon

(1)	They had to be in harmony with the Pentateuch (Torah or Law)

(2)	They had to be written before the time of Ezra

(3)	They had to be written in Hebrew

(4)	They had to have been written in Palestine


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 | Free verse | |

Poetic

sitting
 in the corner
 of a pub
 
I write vows
 and eulogies
 I speak
 of the dead
 visiting
 the departed
 
speaking of love
 waxing of life
 on the breath
 of a baby 

I take minutes
 of hours
 I wrap my hands
 in cheesecloth
 
stained with black
 my fingernails
 have loosened
 from their beds
 
life passes through
 my pen, surging
 and ebbing
 with each tragedy
 or celebration 

I read lips
 hear tones
 watching from afar
 the faces
 
but unable
 to touch
 the life in them


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 | Couplet | |

THE BOOK LOVER

                                     THE BOOK LOVER

                        Some women pine for silks and pearls
                        Some shop away their hours
                        But I’ve a book-hound in my blood
                        Preferring books to flowers

                        Each page I touch With loving hand
                        I trace the print snug there
                        The whitest page grants me delight
                        The yellow brings despair

                        The old bookshops on dusty streets
                        Are storehouses of dreams
                        They guard the dancing continents
                        And trolls that bridge the streams

                         And for each story hidden there
                         Mid pages silken glories
                         An offering of bouncing tales
                         replace bland bedtime stories

                        And on this paper
                        Fine or rough
                        my fingers gently roam
                        Safely in these books I find my place--
                        And build myself a home.

Victoria Anderson-Throop
Juja, Kenya


Details | Senryu | |

' Write: Because You Love To Write ... ' 58th Senryu

‘ Write:  Because You Love To Write … ’   58th  Senryu



    Read:  For More Insight
Write:  Because You Love To Write
     Speak:  Invite … Unite


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 | Blank verse | |

Standing in the Darkness yet again

Once again trapped in the darkness with worded guns still trapped, 
Im just trying to make a statement that will make it on this American map, 
Im getting old as I only live this youth once so I best live it searching for light in darkness of black,
 Years gone by a lost youth going away time lost that I wont ever get back, 
So it best I get back on the track......... 
Now iz a tyme for flames hope I spark this, 
Poetry like mine many will come from places near and far and embark in this, 
I will literally be the found ancient lost seen lockness..... 
Lord please guide this soul as I am standing in the darkness......yet again....


Details | Free verse | |

Obituary

I wrote an obituary to share my thoughts, the words about a loved one's life and passing. In mourning, I will bury the flesh and remember the existence of a life, to honor and cherish the soul, worldly achievements and love in our hearts. Sadly, all condensed to a paragraph on a page, a short tour of the memories family and friends hold dear. Out of the words, we reflect on the light of a life, one drop in a ray of eternal light. Each letter, a moment, a breath, we must buy. A part of me died, too, and life goes on. I feel the earth...it will still orbit the sun. Days turn to years. Yes, life goes on. I have a child now, a boy, my loved one will never meet on this earth. Perhaps, on this journey, our boat will take us to the otherside where we will all meet one day. Your love lives, I wrote in memoriam. I will always carry your love, a radiance lit within my heart, displayed like the finest, priceless art. For The Word Games Contest (Catie Lindsey)


Details | Elegy | |

Elegy for Mihalyi Csikzentmihalyi 2011

Mihaly was a saint of sorts;

he improved, with his search for understanding,

the lives of so many yearning writers;

the lame in spirit heard his Zen like words.

He could not have imagined the journey

From Hungary to Zurich to Chicago

A glimpsed mandala led to the heart of the impossible image

How did he learn to trust the flow?

The Rhine flowing down to the North Sea

May start as some minute spring

At the confluence of the gravity of water and earth.

And those then who have cast their nets into that sea

May bring in treasures not found in the business of cities.

At the first sighting,the image seemed hazy

Then the words began to flow like current through a wire.

Like a river cutting slowly through rocks of marble,

like an unknown sage from the Himalyan Alps

who had kissed the lips of his muse more than once

As she floated like a ghost, no,more like music

Tracing concentric spheres into the air

Till the universe was singing.

What was most human was his appetite,his love.

Touch the hem of his garment,follow your flow

Cut your path through the hard darkness until you find

The sunlit sea you were made to swim in

like a fish in its own sphere


Details | Lyric | |

The Hard Place


The Hard Place…

I’m regressing for a time again
Looking for the rhyme again
A familiar scene, and I’m in between the rock
And the hard place…

I’m wearing smiles to cover the frowns
I’m in despair though I play the role of the clown
Here’s what I mean, I’m in between the rock
And the hard place…

I’m turning my head, can’t bear the sights I see
My tearing eyes all red, and it’s such a blur to me
A collision course,
And in the middle of the road is where I stand
Caught between the rock
And the hard place…


Details | Free verse | |

Suddenly Fragile

Suddely when it gets tough to breathe and so it seems
that no one hears your call,
"Whisper" and fate will lift you up from your downward fall. 
Even though you don't know who I am,
there is a piece of solid ground where we both undoubtedly stand.
Then suddenly and fragile in a carefully constructed plan,
in a world where life evolves,
fate will often guide your hand.
Real or imaginary and the most important of all,
destiny has a chance to make the last call.
Truth tells us a story of a fragile life that fades away.
Maybe tomorrow or maybe even today.
But you will change the color of the big wide open sky,
and put all of your fears far, far behind.
Holding your head up high,
you take the ride of your life,
in a rough sea of waves.
You grip the very guiding words of the very truly wise.
There is suddenly a fragile moment in all the world of time,
where we all lose grip of a strong hold rope,
but fate will very well be there to often give us hope.
Every now and then, the solid ground we walk everyday,
becomes as fragile as the sand along the shoreway.
Fate will lead a path and light a spot for us to stand.
When your hands can no longer hold a pen,
to write what your heart speaks within,
shout forever unto the wind,
and your words will be carried miles and miles by your friends.
Then suddenly and fragile as dreams may be,
painting pictures in your mind,
there is forever fate that will grant your wish one last time.


Details | Rhyme | |

Writing the Future

Take my hand and ride along
as I write you, this love song.
An endless day with endless passion,
you know this is your hearts own fashion.
To scream out loud with blissful joy,
this love I hold will not annoy.
Just marry me and you will see
the happy scribbles ill let you be.

Love is that of endless dream
with a most unconventional theme.
A story line to last forever
if the plot keeps us together.
But I am he who writes the tale
and I know my heart has yet to fail.
So with this pen ill erase the past
and rewrite present to make us last.

Like tulips on a warm spring day
you are just as sweet as words can say.
To wrap you up in sheets of gold
ill change it all for me to hold
your body tightly next to mine.
And on this day ill be just fine.
Ill close the book and take a seat
next to you, my works complete.


Details | Free verse | |

The Problem With Poetry , or, Harvesting the Pea Patch

I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:

Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud

Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under

Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale

Poetry is practical,  prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause

Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful

Poetry’s a  mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible

Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster

It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock, 
Poetry promulgates poems! 

Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist

Poetry perpetually propagates poems

And that 

is the problem 

with poetry…


Phew!!!


Details | I do not know? | |

Buried By Haiku

I'm here
amongst the huge pile of haiku.
Can you see me? 
I hope you do.

I've been buried here
and I don't know what to do.
Each time I post a poem..
it gets buried by haiku! ! 


Details | Free verse | |

hopscotch

knobby-knee’d, toes that stop 
bend and pick up 
penny, marble, rock 
outside chalk 
on concrete, begging, for me to turn around 
for one more try 


Details | Free verse | |

A Banal Instruction

‘Tis said we should do what we think is right,
Listen to the voice of Conscience,
The small voice that whispers from the soul,
Call it gut,
Call it instinct,
Call it self,
I call mine Muse.

Too long the pen has lingered,
Toying with procrastination and self-pity,
While my dear Muse watched her beauty fade,
A poet neglecting the creative rites

The blank screen coldly stares,
No thoughts interact on the page,
‘Click’
Facebook seems so inviting,
Yet there it is, looking at me,
The much needed boot to the idle b’hind,
‘Life is short, make the most of it,’
Put your butt in the chair and write.





Form: Freeverse


Details | Narrative | |

Whiskey Wishes

from this barstool i have sat waitting for some moment 
of insiperation to come to me 
But the only thing that that comes to me is
a bartender with another drink.

And in empty reflection lost in a jukebox's song
played by a lonley heart shooting pool.
I cant recall where the spark went.
maybe it fell to floor like the ash from a cigarette.

the page waits at home like a wife waitting in worry as her husban is off doing God knows  
what  so worried only wishing he'd return.
And when he does the fear fades and the anger kicks in.

The bottle doesnt hold a key but it does know me well.
I kiss it's fiery lips and cant resist it's charm.
so I sit with it passing hours in a dance that will end in
nothing but another wasted night  and a bitter morning taken
out apon my  mind.

In a swirl of hungover thoughts id leave half written pages.
To soon find themselves collecting with my ever growing arsenal  of 
drunken rants.
All ending bitter and cold.

But when the whiskey hits I'll make such great plans 
that will never be.   
I'll write that epic that will keep in the minds 
other writers.
And in the warm arms of women who wanna love a 
trainwreck just to say they've known what it's like.

Whiskey wishes are like sparks from a much larger fire.
the sparks fly off into the midnight sky.
only to fade befor are very eye.


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 | I do not know? | |

My Crazy Neighbour

Sitting after I finished my studies
Started thinking 
Looking at the closed window facing me
I wanted to write
Do I write about Life or Politics?
The drops started hitting the window
The echo made me think

I decided to write about my studies
A way of thinking
But the darkness outside that I see,
And the drops fight 
Do I write anyway or fear politics?
I looked at my pens, maybe they know
I sipped some of my drink


I see the light and thunder and light dies
I ceased drinking
Maybe after all, the problem is me
People out there fight
But is fighting and killing, politics?
A feel something moving, wants to grow
How do I think?



Why my neighbour does shout? He cries.
I started thinking
"If I respected him, he would have respected me"
This savage wants to fight
I shouted, shut up I don't fight lunatics.
He saw the picture in fact I know
The picture, I think.


I draw his daughter. You bastard, he cries
I started winking
The picture offended him, I know. See
I draw what I please, my right
My freedom. Why do my hand panics?
You Stink

He entered furious pulled my shirt
Told me he will show my real sex by pulling my skirt
My hands were alert
But damn the one who is wrong is the one hurt
 

I am writing now my hands trembling
Why did I start it since I can't end it?


Details | Rhyme | |

Morning Motivation

Here and there life is everywhere 

Listen the noise what the birds are making there

Just open your visions and set the missions

Feel near as happiness here


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #337 / You are invited

Man, what great dialogue is this?
He speaks directly to me.
And I am speaking to him.
All lines of communication must remain open!
You are invited.


Details | I do not know? | |

Why I Write


…Emptiness tightens its shackles,

…

imprisoning me.

…

Jagged shrapnel,
piercing my heart,

…

my emotions trickle away,

yet hope refuses to flee.

…

I write, to feel again.

…

Something, anything.

…

I write,

to be free.

…

I write to feel again.

…

something, anything.

I write to be.


Details | I do not know? | |

Life As A "Poet"

No matter how much
Or how high we push on
In our quest to touch
GOD's sky we ask why
Were we made in the
Image and Likeness of
His Heavenly Highness
Yet sold to the Devil for these 
Measely prices our
Souls stolen through
Intricately planned
Niceness heists
Running around in pure
Darkness GOD
"Cut On The Lights"
Give the blind sight
Take away misery's plight
And help us fight
These demons that inhabit and possess
You told us we were blessed
But where is the salvation and the rest
All we go through is "pressure" with no end,
Poured together, now we blend
Rats in mazes with no end
Rat traps with no cheese
A hard life no ease
Angels on our shoulder
Replaced with another devil and 3 boulders
Desires to kneel and pray 
For angel wings but
All that emerges from
Our hearts are prayers
For us to live as Evil Kings
Give us evil things
Soul destruction and powerful pistols
Life's goal now is power & riches
No spirit
We look through the looking glass at delusions of grandeur
The devil shows us malice and calls it caesar's palace
Calls it the road to happiness
Road to satisfaction, man's body is his benefaction
Physical rot and mental subtraction, abstraction and retraction
Blood cells manipulate in science labs to produce 
Paradigms
Test tube babies
We're all test tubes babies
Surrounded by glass
Trapped in slow moving ice
Rolling our lives
Like slow moving dice
Trife pushed out of our sphere into slavery
Cold hard mask of bravery
White man's emotional treachery
Human debauchery...

Lyndell Cadasse & Daryl Dujon
The Slaves Of Poetry




Details | Blank verse | |

CARNIVÀL

I got
        CRAZY words!

Y’all should see ‘em –
         They’s a
         N’Awleens jumpin’ jazz
festival

    wit’ stilt-walkin’, trash-talkin’
                   jugglers
   ‘n’ flamin’ side-show
  sword swallowers

(Voodoo princess in the corner –
   Doncha think y’oughtta warn ‘er?)

They’s ju-ju in the air
  & frantic dancin’ lewd &
   bawdy
         high-life thugs

Well – they jist ain’t
    in control 
    of they senses

  an’ they sho’ ain’t in control
    of the fences --

Those 

have been

   s t a m p e d e d

I got CRAZY,
   words make hocus-pocus pie
    wit’ jumbalaya ‘n’ sweet paella
      ‘n’ eggplant parmesan --

I think 
   I’ll eat them words –
      I’m sho’ they taste
   Deeeee-lishshsh-ussss

‘n’ they ain’t too bad
    digested ‘n’ re-
    gurgitated, neither!

Yeah! Taste them words
  Wit’ yo’ ears,
   Wit’ yo’ eyes
Wit’ da pre-rational room
In yo’ mind
‘n’ dance, dance to they samba –

Starlit night time
    Drunken, shoutin’ revelers
Aswirl in a frenzy
    Of passion ‘n’ despair

Skirts ‘n’ voices
        Flappin’ in the stompin,
Stomped-up dust storm

I

Got crazy –

                                     WORD!


Details | Fibonacci | |

Word Power

Words
That
Do show
Emotion
Those that show actions
Are truly powerful to all,
One word that is widely abused shows no taste at all.
One word is foul, shows lack of education, no use in public, word of no power.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

Metered summer days quick-dry the fresh mirage
 so just because, we'd ring the bell,
 and opened every door no matter where we'd been!
 Except for in my den
 but, things all ended up well;
 I'm the sincere poet.
 
Magic muse that abuses my every suffering
 leave me be in silence, from my cell;
 be honest, tell me should I "post"?
 I'm really, just the host;
 be too dark, and your poems may not sell;
 I'm the tortured poet.
 
Chairs of stanzas quietly grinning
 be seated, and we'll change to the channel,
 it's all in how I read it!
 I'm trying to conserve my spit;
 I'm reading just as fast as a gazelle;
 I am the puppet poet.
 
Treating paper and ink as oxygen,
 shuffling sheets during the changing of the well.
 I can't imagine what they'd think
 did he have too much to drink?
 he was truly great before he finally, fell;
 I'm the retired poet.
 
Memories housed in dissarray, posthumously
 be patient for I have a tale to tell,
 deciphering will take time
 don't say now, I should have, rhyme
 your hunger, I cannot seem to quell;
 I'm the dead poet.


Details | Epic | |

Friendship 101

Friendship is the state of both people being the best of friends. Friendship also means      that one person is to protect the another person (man and/or woman) from all kinds of danger, even being taken advantage of. There's always a difference between two people being just friends and both best friends (a boy and a girl) falling in love with each other, especially when they've known each other since they were babies or elementary school. Building friendships mean that he and/or she has built the bridges that will never break  or burn unless they'd betrayed each other by having affairs with their boyfriends/girlfriends, selling them out to the the wrong crowd (including the devil), and that kind of stuff. It seems that without each other, they're nothing. Both people, including those from either elementary school, middle school, high school, or college really need each other, especially when they will have found out that their spouses or lovers have been cheating on them with somebody else. The greatest thing everybody should learn about friendships is that all friends are there for each other every single day. And the other greatest thing about friendships is that they've got each others' backs, especially when they're falling on hard times like facing reality, dealing with being decades old, that kind of stuff. Let's hope that all friendships don't end in pain, sadness, and suffering. And if these people continue to stay the best of friends for years and years, even through out all of the school reunions, things will always be the same. I hope all friendships stay stronger than ever forever.


Details | Rhyme | |

My Life Is An Open Book, but

My life is an open book, not that it's all that interesting really.
It just doesn't concern me what the world may think about me.
One can ask me anything at all about yours truly
and I'd answer all about myself very freely and honestly,
but there may be times when I may come off as a hypocrite.
One might ask me a question whereupon I'll appear very evasive.
" It's too lengthy and too complicated to talk about it,"
is not an uncommon response that I sometimes reply with.
Most likely you've touched on a subject that has brought back to me
very tragic, sorrowful, painful memories.
I've been through all that crap once and once was more than enough for me.
To answer your question would force me to relive it again and that I will not appease,
but I never end my reply with, "I don't want to talk about it."
I end with, "l'lI let you know one day if you happen to be truly interested,"
if you're still then interested you will receive an email from me as quick as a wink.
Subject: In Reference To Your Question. Message: Click On This Link >.
One of the benefits I receive from writing poetry
is that my words are posted on the Internet for all to read,
so whenever anyone asks me a question that may disturb me
and stir up all my dormant feelings within me from tragedy,
I answer their question by providing them a link to my poetry
that touches on the subject that the individual had asked of me.
Their question gets answered hopefully
and I didn't have to relive another episode of my life's tragedy
by having to explain it all again vocally.
However, once again I declare that my life is an open book.
It's posted all over the Internet and the world is free to have a look.


Details | Free verse | |

The Journey

From time immemorial your story began
A hundred, a thousand, a million years and more
Your story past written a character just one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Each story unique while pieces the same
Today, tomorrow, millennia expended and gone
Your story continues passed first to no last
The tale of you bleeds into all

Through love and hate, laughter and death
Minutes and seconds grew to decades and days
The story being written you wrote each day
The tale of you bleeds into all

Memories endure through dream and remembrance
Yesterday is gone but tomorrow you live on
Your story yet written a character more than one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Your stories the fires shall never consume
A past, a future, a present goes on
The story you wrote lives forever in your love
The tale of you bleeds into all


Details | Free verse | |

Touch of the Soul

I alone stand vigil over the memories of my past;
I alone feel the weight of them,
feel what it is to be
the man that past has created.
 
I stand, alone, beneath the stars and the moon,
contemplating all, as I ever have done;
it is only now that I've accepted
that's who I am meant to be;
the writer, the poet –
I stand with the rest of the dreamers.
 
I sit, alone, among the instruments of music,
playing on and on throughout my life;
music flows into and through my soul,
and I am now and will always be,
the musician and the bard –
I sit with the rest of the drummers.
 
I travel, alone, with the remembrances of love,
searching always for that one true other;
it is only now that I've accepted that even
without one such, I can live;
the romantic, the sentimental –
I travel with the rest of the passionate.
 
I escape, alone, in the pages of a good story,
reading for ever and anon;
books speak to me, engage me,
entertain me, release me;
the storyteller and the listener –
I escape with the rest of the readers.
 
I will fight, never alone, next to my brothers
and sisters in arms;
it is with all of myself that I've accepted
my duty, and who I will always be;
the soldier, the guardian –
I will fight with the rest of the Marines.

I dance, run, walk, laugh, alone, in the rain,
let loose my being in the deluge;
the storm's fury and glory
somehow become my own;
the drenched, the soaked –
I do all of this with the rest of the rain lovers.
 
It is only now that I've accepted
that I have become
who I was meant to be;
who I want myself to be.
 
I alone know what it is to be
myself, Andrew James Sprouse,
scion of the sea and of the past,
of the word and the sword.
 
But I do not alone know what it is to feel alive;
to be exactly who you are,
who you're meant to be.
I do not alone know the truth of pain.
 
None of us stands truly and utterly alone.
Every single one of us walks, arm in arm,
with those who share your experiences,
your beliefs, your thoughts and your lives.
 
But you, alone, know what makes your heart free,
what makes your fire ignite and your essence true;
you alone know the visage and touch of your soul.


Details | Haiku | |

A READER'S WORK IS NEVER DONE

A READER'S WORK IS NEVER DONE    haiku

       gut words raw
   kin of sleepless nights
    should move hands



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 | Free verse | |

Dreams of Children, Realities of Men

As children, we all dream,
tales of magic, of mystery,
and our own imagined destinies;
we dream of future prowess, of our own fantastic wyrds –
of our glorious, important place in the cosmos.

Whether those dreams are of firemen, police,
soldiers, artists, scientists,
writers, musicians, or something that isn't there,
like superheroes or the princes and princesses of old,
we all want to be something greater, even in youth.

I, too, dreamt these childhood dreams
of glory and legend, enchantment and song;
I too felt their pull,
heeded their call and let imagination sweep me away –
for a time.

Eventually we move on from the past,
accepting its existence, its wonder, sometimes its pain,
its place in who we have since become –
and so did I, from the fanciful paths of yesterday
to the more grounded ones of today and tomorrow.

Or so I thought.

For, of late, and a litte while before,
I have been tending a magic all my own;
not the magic I'd envisioned, the kind of fire and ice,
light and fury –
the kind of word and verse.

Now I voice my thoughts in phrase and letter,
birthing a new, separate being;
a being of explanation, of concepts and sensation,
with a life all its own, on the page and in my heart –
parts of me, grown in my mind and given form as poetry.

And now I've discovered, it's this kind of magic I prefer –
the dreams of the past truly can't compare
to the realities of today;
not when I can take the barest thought, slightest inspiration,
and change it into something so much more.

Not when I've become not only myself, but a vessel,
a repository for idyllic words to come coursing through –
for my muse inhabits my mind, beside me,
forever changing my outlook and my output;
yes, that's my kind of magic.


Details | Questionku | |

Living verse

That verse still lives.
We forgot His Words
Aren`t we the real verses ?


Details | Free verse | |

No Enlightened Poet am I Proclaimed

No enlightened poet am I proclaimed,
Rhyming high-flown philosophies in poesy,

(Instead, I only scratch out my words
In verses of winds and scents of spring--

Of the shades of the light crowning wintertime clouds,
Sing the grace of the wings in a homecoming sky.)

For I am no more a poet than you,
And you, with your verses, no more than I.

(And so I write of the white blush of moon
Not referencing love, neither lost nor found

And rhyme the rhythm of the lapping sea
With the throb of the heart in the desert heat.)

For what more, oh poets, are poems than beauty?

(Write: The ethereal river spills sheens iridescent
Beneath the expanse of the heavenly lights)

And what more than beauty is life?

(Breathing perfumes and sparkles of nectars and grass 
Spelling effervescence within the infinite hues.)


Details | Didactic | |

The Closer I Get To You

The closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see;
The closer I get to You, Lord, the more like You I'll be-
My wants, my hopes, my dreams will be in accordance with Thine-
For I no longer am happy to be less than You would have me be;
Because I'm Yours, Lord and You are living in me-
So the closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see.

The more of myself I give to You, the less of myself I own;
The more of myself I give to You, the more You sit on my heart's throne-
My thoughts, my words, my deeds become Yours to do as You will;
The closer I get to you, Lord, the better inside I feel-
Your Holy Spirit now leads me because now I'm doing you will-
So the closer I get to You, Lord, the more You become so real.

The closer I get to You, Lord, the less of myself I see;
Until one day I'm totally all You would have me be-
 Wholly and truly complete  in Thee.


Details | Lyric | |

Between and About

Twixt And between
Never quite there
But never will I stop.
I work and ponder
Forever moving 
Searching around and about.

There are times I wonder, where I really am?
Will I ever achieve my goals?
And what are the goals I’m searching for?
Are they really what I want?
Do I know which way to go?
Or should I start all over and begin again?

We’re all here at times in our lives…
Till every thing will finally become clear.
Then, some how I’ll be there again:
Twixt and between
Never quite there…
Here I go again.

Fluff Contest: This poem is definately full of fluff.


Details | Rhyme | |

Poets Break Easy Or Not At All

Poets  break easy or not at all                                                                                                        When the spirit of life begins to  call                                                                                                                        The heart to burst with ecstasy                                                                                                               The mind to flame with mutiny                                                                                                                  The soul to shine and magnifiy                                                                                                   With words that sometimes dignify                                                                                                                                       The why and wherefore of our route                                                                                             Before our glint of life goes out


Details | Rhyme | |

Doesnt make sense

I think ill make something new!
Something somewhat different with the words i spew!
Something about lost love to be found.
That will end up driven right into the ground. 
Or in a box called lost but not found.
Or make something about death so hollow and sad.
So sad it will move the hardest prison grad.
Graduet.
Get it?
But anyways maybe not.
Maybe ill write a story of a baller getting shot.
But yeah ill probly not.
Whats on your mind though?
Have you got the time to find the time then let it go.
Just grab a notebook and let it flow.
Its like riding on a breeze nice and slow.
Like flying a kind real low. 
Its easy unless its not simple.
Like when you use big words to sound obedient.
Which only rymes with words like expedient.
I dont even know what that means, i just threw it into the ingredients.
Sounds like a word thats rather deviant.
I like to build my poems like a subservient structure. 
Im loosing it so bad my brains about to rupture. 
This write sucks it doesnt make any sense.
Hence.
The reason im on the damn fence.
Becuase nothing i seem to do.
Seems to make sense.


Details | Personification | |

THE BREATH OF LIFE

A GREAT THING GIVEN FROM OUR FATHER WAS,
A WORLD WITH BLUE SKYIES,BLUE OCEANS, ANIMALS, TREES, SUNLIGHT, FOOD, PEACE,
JOY, BEAUTY,
HARMONIOUSLY LIVING TOGETHER ; IN PERFECT COMPANIONSHIP.
GOD THE FATHER DIDN'T STOP THERE, HE GAVE US
THE ULTIMATE GREATEST GIFT ANYONE
COULD EVER GIVE; WHEN HE ; BLEW THE BREATHE OF LIFE INTO ADAM'S NOSTRILS.
GOD DIDN'T STOP THERE THOUGH, HE PROVIDED ADAM WITH A GARDEN OF GLORIOUS
BEAUTY AND PERFECTION.
SHORTLY AFTER THE LORD GOD ASK ADAM "WHAT IS WRONG ADAM"? ADAM REPLIED I
FEEL LONELY, I WISH I HAD A COMPANION". 
QUIETLY GOD THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT ADAM
HAD SAID; AND PUSHING HIS FEELINGS ASIDE,
HE PUT ADAM INTO A DEEP SLEEP
AND MADE A COMPANION FOR HIM.
FLESH OF MY FLESH, BONE OF MY BONE,
AND THEN GOD TOOK A RIB FROM ADAM AND GAVE IT TO EVE.
AFTERWARDS GOD SAT ADAM AND EVE DOWN AND EXPLAINED
TO THEM THAT ONLY ONE THING
THEY WERE FORBIDDIN TO DO AND THAT WAS TO EAT FRUIT
FROM THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL; 
FOR THEY WOULD SURLY DIE.


Details | Blank verse | |

A Thin Smile

I sat down to write a happy song
But the words won't come
And neither will the tears.


Details | Verse | |

In Appreciation...

My words, 
Cannon fodder, 
Rushed 
Into a no man's land, 
Dying china ducks, shot down 
And sprayed into the weeping wind; 
Redundant, no meaning in the face 
Of all your caring deeds and grace. 

In all 
This creation, 
How 
Did I survive intact 
If not for your sweet mercy? 
The culture of a loving creed; 
Unconditional, supported by your ministry, 
By all the kindness given me. 

No gift, 
Material thing, 
Would 
Settle such a debt, 
Incurred upon my lonely soul, 
Such debit I am proud to own; 
Remittance, I could never pay 
From now until my dying day. 

These words, 
Inadequate, 
Written 
By some ghosted pen, 
Are all I have to give to you, 
Mere ink and paper sentiment; 
In truth, a lowly platitude 
Of my eternal gratitude...


Details | Free verse | |

Chasing a dream

I can taste its rewards like freshly made pancakes 

In this type of field I am like the butter fizzing in the pan
 
But I refuse to melt away. I refuse to give up my chance. 
 
Even though at times it may seem hard to seek, 

I'll never let it get away from me. I'll mark it down on

the calender like it's my anniversary. 

I can feel it bubbling inside me 

like the formation of a pancake in a pan.
 
And the images they run through my head

like an unborn child's sonogram. 

I toss my dreams up into the sky with a
 
invisible magical Spatula and wait for victory. 

Because just like these cakes that are about to 

be devoured I know I've got it in me.


Details | I do not know? | |

Willow Tree

Who do you feel like today?
Do you even remember my name? 
 It's been 8 years since then,
Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead?

 I wonder if you've changed,
if you regret your biggest mistake.
 Do you feel the sorrow i feel?
Is this pain the only thing that feels real?

 I feel no sorrow now,
I only feel hatered for the world somehow,
 How could you rape your granddaughters?
And Forget your own son, My father?!

 How could you do this to me?
The only way how i feel now is to bleed.
 I put no effort, no feeling, no thought,
In the war, 
 This battle in my heart
 
 How do you feel like today?
Is it easier to know that your safe?
 Outta jail they let you out,
Why so you can pay your road to hell?

 So i plant me a willow tree,
right above the grass,
 below the leaves.

 I lay here below this willow tree,
My only friend beside of me,
 The memories still remain, 
Alone,
 But it's better off this way


Details | I do not know? | |

I Am

I am
a writer with a will.
I am 
a shadow without the sun.
I am 
a bird without wings.
My mind
is a novel,
my heart;
a love song. 
My passion
is free,
My freedom 
is me.


Details | Free verse | |

Rejection

Rejection letter
after rejectin letter.
I can't take it any more.
they give you a line of 
nonsense
and expect you to believe it
then return your work
unopened.

Rejection!

Why publicize if failure
is what they dish out?
I hate all of them
and self publishing means
more work for me.

And rejection?

To hell with it
i wont stop writing because
some publishing house
never looked at my work.
I'll keep writing
loving
reading
drinking
smoking
and in the end
when I am dead

Mabe they'll accept me...


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 | I do not know? | |

WHAT IS HOME?

WHAT IS HOME?

ROLLING HILLS ARE HOME TO ME,
PLAYING CHESS WITH FRIENDS,
DANCING ON THE WEEKEND,
WALKING IN THE WIND,
BLOWING BUBBLES.

(Reflect)

BUBBLES BLOWING WIND,
THE “IN” WALKING WEEKEND,
THE “ON” DANCING FRIENDS
WITH CHESS PLAYING ME. 
TO HOME ARE HILLS ROLLING?


Details | Bio | |

the real me, after too much reflecting-


a
spare part-- 
simple and plain.



Details | I do not know? | |

UNINSPIRED

I aspired to be inspired,  
So I labored all the day. 
No inspiration--just perspiration,  
I guess I'd better use the spray


Details | Free verse | |

Transpiration

The lamps malignant overhead transpire
steel to stars, and I
floating over silver highway, am 
transpiring dreams
to cars, expectations
passing fast into the horizon.

Tell me, do these dreams die?

Does that which seems so living,
fold over settling 
into smoke,
or become a supernova,
a host
of a new neuroses-
the black mouth of poems.


Details | ABC | |

Verbally Twisted

My vocabulary might be a little bent and dented but its mostly twisted, 
a self-made dictionary with a little dark thought and white light in life and craziness itself mixed in it,
 I get up in the morn ready to take the day on after just one egg on a pancake biscuit,
 I got the recipe for verbal insanity just give me the egg beater and with this vocabulary I'll mix in it,
 break the word batter down like a plumber leaking water until I re fix it, 
I got one of kind writing style its too unique for any typical fool to ****en miss it,
 I got the entertainment on writing just ask me for one and I wont sell it I'll just give you a free Se7en King ticket,
 I get your mind thought high so high in the sky lifted, 
I can give a two flying ****s if my haters say I aint got talent because these words they self so freaking gifted,
 I make poems shake like earthquakes fools cant you see how my words already got your mind shifted,
 This poem is my girl I kiss it, 
This poem is just like my weed i roll up and ****ing hit it, 
This word written *****is so addictive, 
Drugs and alcohol so self-conflictive, 
now how can this king ever, ever quit it, 
These words are dying I better get some gas for this verbal car like weed everyday I better get it,
 I live the life of a young Shakespeare I write like I cant ever regret it, 
I put this poetry *****on the line with my own life dont think I wont bet it? 
So **** you, they, them, her and even me, yeah there I done said it, 
letting go of poetic gun shells firing poetic unleaded, 
shooting cowardice poets like paper shredded, 
where many young lost crooked souls go unfed den, 
watch where your two feet may be treading, 
you got to watch your surrounding so much they circle around the same setting, 
**** Life until death say's otherwise, 
I'm just kind of crazy like that I'm just a little TWISTZTED.... TWISTIFIED...


Details | Rhyme | |

STARTING TROUBLE

I remember the day, when I wrote my first verse!
Writing a poem was not at all a matter of business for me,
And it wasn’t a colossal chore when my master asked me to write one;
But, in veracity I have ever written none.

Pondering on great poetic legends and their near and dears…
Their prodigious thoughts crammed my wits-
Then my proceedings seemed as if they are gliding higher than the clouds-
I’m all set and clear nearly for hours.

Then my sister scoffed at me, brother mocked with her,
Granny chuckled, grandpa giggled and of course there was a silencer!
Amazed, to get appraisal even before I moved further;
After all those are initiatives for an up-and-coming writer.

I astounded that I too got critics, but it made me to go on;
Puzzled to find out what they actually mean;
But it made me to climb that unclimbed mountain;
And fasten my mission.

Then with loads of coolness, I took my wand
To wave her magical spell for my deed;
Everything went impeccably organized
Until I got a doubt how to get it started… …


Details | I do not know? | |

Tragic Birth

Awake to this fastness,
drunkenly greet the new morn;
discover such gladness
of loss amongst rows of corn;
rejoice in this madness,
not like you' ve yet to be born;
gaze to fullest darkness,
shudder without any scorn;
exclaim it's vast blackness,
until all you've known's been torn;
then, slouch through the sadness, 
and share that for which you mourn.


Details | I do not know? | |

Stress

I am giving up
The stress is past the point of throwing up
Every day the same routine
The repetition has become obscene
My hands are blistered, sore and torn
While my face looks old a worn
If my nerves are bent any more
I will snap at the middle and break at the core
Just a little break
To relieve me from more than  can take
A rest for the weary is all I ask
A little relief from this stressful task


Details | Free verse | |

Confused Yet

Confused Yet

A New Take on an old story.

Just a piece nonsense I hope you will enjoy

Pull up and chair and sit on the floor
I'm going to tell you a story you're never seen before
Late one night in the early morning
I stood outside the house while sitting in my bedroom
I shouted at the top of my lungs while whispering to my friend
Who was sitting beside me as I stood in the hall
That thunder was loud and the clouds were black
As sun shone bright from a clear blue sky
Ask me on qeustions and I'll tell you now lie
Just ask the blind man he saw it too. 




Details | Limerick | |

My Passion - Poetry

I love poetry with a passion, so much That I write it every day as such I really get into it The very thought of it As if I’m writing without a crutch I write a poem with great expression Writing all about my extreme passion For writing a poem I have to show’em I can write about anything of a fashion
Russell Sivey Entrant into ???'s "My Passion" contest 2/26/2012


Details | Rhyme | |

Poetrys golden day

I don’t want to be busy as a bee
I want to enjoy and take it easy

I won’t work hard to get rich
I fly in dream like a witch

And go to places where no one can go
And see many things that no one can show

My mind is rich in everyway
If I remain poor it’s okay

I play with the words like Pele
To bring poetry’s golden day


Details | Rhyme | |

Golden Words

Writing in twelve lines frustration Bitter pill I swallow Wanting to write but obstruction Bummer but not wallow Minor problem or great crushing If God wants will allow Could be I am one that's rushing Wait on the Lord just bow Displeasure my disgruntlement But Lord my age is old Wait for acknowledgement Then words penned will be gold
When I waited on the Lord, He renewed my strength.. In honor of Brian Strand Contest:Rhyme, max twelve lines Click on "About This Poem" Written by: Sara Kendrick


Details | Lyric | |

Censorship In The Arts

Frozen and left for dead
 I can speak no words
 nor shake my head
 only the sky 
moves on
 above me
 
© Christine A Kysely All Rights Reserved
 (December 12th, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
 


Details | Free verse | |

Babylon

Words hold the meaning that we assign them
Ever since the fall of the tower .....


Babylon
Ancient land of mysteries solved
and shared
Where collective mind 
cast away the shadow of doubt.

Creative thought 
held siege by the Jealous Gods of war
and retribution
Zeus
Appolo
Yeshua


A hundred times, babylon fell
to the Kassites, the Assyrians, 
She fell 
and was re-built by Nebuchadnezzar   
The hanging gardens, of Eden
her fruit of art and music
flowed through deserts
with the sweet wine of Bacchus
intoxicating all in her pleasure. 

In the aftermath of the great feast
they awoke to find
The Persian army stationed amidst them
having walked through the river
and under the walls.  
Order reform, separation. 
corruption deterioration
Dust to dust.
till
Alexander the Great
wooed her alive again.. 
Babylon
dancing through gardens, libraries, 
markets, travel and trade
musicians, poets and playwrights 
came again to sing praises of her beauty.
With his death 
she fell
pawed apart by the feuding decay of his bureaucrats.
Babylon, death and rebirth..

Now she lies beneath the sands, 
beneath the waters of the Euphrates 
A camel ride south of Bagdad
where the tanks and shells of many lands
shake the ancient tower down.

Hammurabi’s code still stands
shattered into a million languages.

Right is right
and Law is Law.


Details | Blank verse | |

Breaking Down Our Culture

Slowly one’s life like my rich ancient culture slowly breaks down/ 
All parts of my traditional sculpture peace taken down/
 I’m a twenty-first century reservation war camp inmate I don’t know why I keep getting the shake down/
 I was once filled with change until I experienced the greed and money of the American influenced reservation hate now/
 Life young was once but no longer great now/ 
I wanted to at least finish school or college or get a real job but it seems like it’s almost too late now/
 With certainty I’m going to leave my hood but now people are telling me to stay now/ Jail keeps getting me but prison is not too far away to stay out/
 Life’s road is to uncertainty is paved out/
 Before me a path righteousness of opportunity laid out/
 Like fast food , I’m surely on my way out/ Life’s ready for me now I better take out/ 
Fresh ready for a dip in the ocean’s lake out/ 
I’m mustn’t give in no more because where I’m from has taught me to make it a must that I take now/
 Dreams are made every day but more often than not dreams continue to break now/
 Life is a piece of steak it’s no longer a cake now/
 Leaves scattered throughout my life I better grab the rake now/
 I better hold my own because I know my soul called friends but especially family can still betray now/ 
This is my life, this is my destiny, this is my fate now/ 
I got to be more real with my life I got to stop trying to be fake now/
 Because In the end where I’m from it all slowly like my culture, like my life around here ……its breaking down.


Details | ABC | |

Street Soldier

My baseball cap is my helmet and my Nike's are my boots, 
My country is my hood and my colors on my flag are niether red white or blue, 
My weapon of choice is my two hands, 
sometimes it can be whatever when I am threatened with a great fall from my stand,
 I have no general or soldiers but I have family and above all I got heart. 
My battlegrounds remain in my own home and sometimes even in the local Wal-Mart.
 Every inch of my hood is up for friendly fire, 
Violence remains apart of life around here searching for peace is far from desire,
 Everyday remains but another day someone will die, 
but more importantly is that another mother, brother, sister or father will cry.
 But I am a street soldier so I am prepared for anothers or worse yet my own demise,
 And as a street soldier I must keep the battle in check, no not with what I see with my two eyes, but what war is really going on inside the mind,
 My battles dont come from without but from within......I am a street soldier fighting through time.....


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 | I do not know? | |

Poetry Means Life Means Poetry (Palindrome)

Poetry 
Means life
Sharing always
Moving and touching others, inspiringly
Delicately, emotion spilled
Passion 
Spilled emotion, delicately
Inspiringly, others touching and moving  
Always sharing
Life means 
Poetry


Details | I do not know? | |

Whisper of a pencil

In slumber from last words
Awakening from the deep sleep
My pencil fall in love with blade
Told one day to blade
Chop off withered skin 
Make me afresh with life
Sharp, strong and hard
To face the book of life
Rewrite the words of life
With joy, with aspiring hopes
Erase the blank patches 
Of unknown and write
New story to life
I want to be in hands
Of one who can
Change my and His (her)
Destiny



Details | Free verse | |

Minding Shakespeare


True love(r) never dies, they say;
pun is more of a fun rhyme to sway.
As for whom this giggling heart
bleeds the most? Know, I always 
carry mine with me, ‘til I become pond water;
and hidden not in my eyes, often awake for love, 
as they easily show blushes of my thoughts,
ramping over the wall of judgment.
Alone I’ll not be and so is this dearest one; 
darkness though life brings... 
Among the sonnets, the 15th, my soul.
Too many secrets concealed, 
even as I speak, to death a name’s been willed!


Details | Free verse | |

Swan Song

I was sixteen when the finch stopped singing.
The sweet melody suddenly transformed 
as if it was cracked like a broken bell.
I couldn’t hear the sweet song anymore.

My father bottled my ink in dirty jars.
He locked my pens in the darkest corner
of the birch box cut from a tree outside.
Maybe it was where the bird sang to me

He told me to go outside like other boys.

But I didn’t seem to listen.
I could still hear a finch singing.


Details | Rhyme | |

Finality, And Beyond

Finality, And Beyond The person who wrote this book is dead Though he never really lived Beyond the written and the read And every word WAS a lie I think I knew him once I think I knew him well I think he killed himself But he didn’t go to hell He was delivered from it And he thought that he could tell Everyone to be okay But it didn’t sell So he decided, without change He could no longer dwell Around the ones that he loved And bid them fare-thee-well The person who wrote this book was never alive Though he’s not really dead The road of life has been along for the drive As he stares over the wheel with a foot made of lead


Details | Free verse | |

Fruitless Ink

My pen was once filled
with all the possibilities
of seed,
enlightenment,
even therapeutic denial

but now it's though she's wordless
from all those verses
malady sucked from her bones
when marrow was too thin
and hope was a loveless man
who left via the white horse

My theory is: 
heart truly believed
poems were the wings to soul's freedom,
but I suppose it was only a metaphor
and poetry 
never really grows it's own skeleton
or feathers
or can even soar for that matter

(yet somehow, it flew away from me) 


Details | Haiku | |

Dive Deep For Large Fish

dive deep for large fish

surface waters hold minnows

trophies are in-depth

 

 

(February 9, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved


Details | Ode | |

as quiet as he ever was

tightrope typography; 
the arbitrary doyens of 
fallacious complexion… 
perpetually soaked 
in gin perked rum… 
inelegantly smeared 
across glass bled eyes… 
purely out of interest… 

the bluish flaccid
moonlit regatta;
whistled and sold…
whistled and cleansed…
privy to atonal acronyms 
and consummated progress…
as quiet as he ever was…
purely out of interest… 
 


Details | Blank verse | |

I Need To Be Freed

I wake up in the morn to sleep 
Yeah I look above the surface but Im in the dirt way too deep
I like things expensive yet I prefer the cheap
Im living in coldness surrounded by the heat
I rest my body while I stay running at the feet 
I know the God is my keeper yet the devil trying to play for sake's keep
I shall find what in time what I seek
Looking blind at the sky with nothing to really see
My body is starving yet my mind state I'd rather feed
Help me Lord Because this lost soul hope is what I need
I am on lockdown in the minds eye Lord I need to be freed


Details | Free verse | |

DROWNING

                                              DROWNING

                         Delicious words stream through the mind
                                       Drowning, drowning
                            Wicked thoughts must be confined
                                       Drowning, drowning
                            Grab one or two and just hold on
                                       Drowning , drowning
                               Turn those words into a song
                                       Drowning, drowning
                                                     In
                                                  Love



                                   
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
12/01/12  Juja, Kenya  Africa


Details | Light Poetry | |

MY SOUL, I SEE

Dawn ! It breaks! A new born day
I hope there is a change in any sort of way
The sun it peaks through the puffy white clouds
As I sit and visualize - to see clearly
That my day I cherish ever so dearly
Deep in my hear - I hope I see imagery
Flattering through my brain! In my eyes
And promises I keep - I try to reach the skies
Yet indeed! Through the night I dream
And awake I see true colors of reality
That running through my soul - I gleam
With feelings towards my responsibility
A new day truly challenging it may then seem
I can never find the happiness deep inside me
It' all about you! Complicating my day
Dysfunctional  - you sure did shine
Today I challenge myself to overcome you
I see the beauty in my soul - permeates
It's deep inside - and beauteous thoughts
This in my deep set heart , still then creates
The words that come to mind - reflect
Down on my personality , it is the key
I'm breaking with the crack of dawn, a mood
You're a disadvantage in my heart
My skills I portray , my mind it may smooth
And my pen - strokes like that of the brush
As I put my mind to the test and color with hue
My art I put in words each born new day
Yet I still reach very few - must it be
That the darkness of the clouds shined down on me
As the sun peaks through, I'll cherish each thought
My mind thinks clearly and yet not distraught
I color my world with the pen, remembering when
I dreamed, I dream each born new day
And imagery, I see this in my mind today.
Words they intrigue me, pun ? Do I see?
I'm working with the sun in my eyes, with me.
We are both at our peak,  Then I speak!


Details | Free verse | |

Dilemma in Plural

My problem with this one is
I don't know which
dilemma to pick.

Is it the one that goes
if I choose Thanksgiving dinner with in-laws in Texas
will parents in Georgia and Arkansas feel real offended?

Or how 'bout the one
about callin' in sick when you're not but admittin' that
won't give you time off you want and probably need?

My hair looks like a triple cross among
Lady Gaga, Mitt Romney and Mick Jagger but I've only 
forty bucks 'til next Friday and the cats really need to be fed.

Cobwebs in the corners disturb but take
time to remove when I could be
occupying.

Gonna stop now 'cause
dilemma is tough enough
but quadrilemma is blowing my mind!


Details | Free verse | |

Confessions of a Poetry Souper

So, I write,
Sometimes I do it for me 
At times it's out of spite
I should just let it be 
Instead internal fight

It's hard to match these words
And rhyme them every time
Sometimes it for the birds
I know it has to rhyme.
I feel like such a nerd.

Emotions,memories flood
Inside my inner soul,
They grow and then they bud,
Completed now I'm whole,
Have not created a dud.

I try to tell a truth
Share a fact or two
Like when I lost a tooth
Is what I need to do,
Mustn't lose my couth.

I like the words to play
And sound and syllables dance
There is a certain way
It's not achieved by chance.
Someday it might pay.

Until that day does come
I try and do my best.
Make them all for fun
To share with all the rest
Enjoy I hope for some.

    



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 | Rhyme | |

My Poetic Beginning

Poetry
Irritating, Difficult
Is what I first thought
Before I got writing
I would rather have not

Even looked at a poem
What's there to see
With stanzas and rhyming
Before I saw it was me

I started off writing
Songs with a swing
Nothing thinking of songs
As poems you sing

Then one day I got bored
And was writing a song
The rhythm and words
Of the poem belonged

Not to the music
But to be spoken strong
Not with guitar, bass, or drums
That is how my poems begun.


Details | Rhyme | |

Paid With A Smile

I don't write for fame or fortune
Or even to set myself free
I don't even care if it's good or bad
I write of the things I see

I look with a different pair of eyes
A different point of view
For that's what poetry is all about
Showing what I see to you

It's all about letting someone see
Things in a brand new way
"That's something I've never thought about"
I strive to hear them say

Sometimes it can even change their minds
By something they've read or heard
Wouldn't it be great to change the world
Through the power of a single word?

I really don't care about the money
For that's just not my style
Instead of all the fame and fortune
I'd rather be paid with a smile


Details | I do not know? | |

Caught Up In The Rock And Roll Game


Don’t get caught up in the game 
Don’t get caught up in the fame
It will drive you insane
It’s only you to blame 
When you get caught up in the game*Refrain: 


Because you walk through the crowd
They all know your name
The road twists and twists
 With a surprise each turn
Try to stay above it all or you’ll soon learn
 That the eyes looking in are hungry for your blood
Don’t mistake it for the love
Cause they all want a piece 
Of the music, rhythm, and soul
They love the Rock n Roll
Then there’s the girl who writes the rhymes  
Loves the love and soon you’ll find
Her spirit is so real and her sex appeal
I know you feel 
The fire that burns from the words she writes to you
It’s a powerful heat that makes your heart feel new
She loves the melody you put in her soul
It warms her heart, it makes her whole
Her spirit soars so high 
When you look into her eyes
The fire is so hot between the girl and this rock n roll guy               

Don’t get caught up in the game
Don’t get caught up in the fame
It will drive you insane
It’s only you to blame
When you get caught up in the game


Details | Ballad | |

Books

Books are a way of learning a trade
Books tell us stories, poetry, and plays

Books entertain our vast minds to the fullest
Books are in my opinion the coolest!

Books describe people of the past
Books are abundant at home and in class

Books bring home dragons and ghouls
Books aren’t apart of uneducated fools

Books represent a means to an end
Books are there when you haven’t a friend 

Books are hard and soft sometimes
Books are in brail to educate the blind

Books will be here and with me forever
Books without you doesn’t bring us together


Details | Free verse | |

Mixed Feelings

You wanna know why I read?
I read because books are my escape.
I read because the friends I have in books are so much truer than the friends I have in real life.
I read because in books I am as breathtakingly beautiful as the heroine in the story and not a one-hundred-thirty-three pound white girl with a black girl’s ass. 
I read because the stories are either so good, I can try to wish myself into them
Or they’re so horrid they make my life look like a fairytale.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because the parents in books don’t yell at me for failing a test that I stayed up until 1 in the morning studying for
Or tell me I’m getting cellulite when its clear that I already hate the way I look.
I read because the little brothers and little sisters in books are adorably hilarious where mine are annoyingly bothersome.
I read because when my nose is in a good book, my mind is where that book is, not in the reality that is my life.
I read because the boys in books are more kind to me than the boys in my classes at school.
You wanna know why I read?
I read because I love to read.
But you wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because reading is shameful in the world I live in.
I don’t read because reading is something tedious, a chore you do simply to make the grade in English.
I don’t read because the stories in books remind me just how much my life sucks.
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every page I turn is another homework assignment not turned in, another failing grade to show my parents.
I don’t read because every time I read I want a snack to munch on, and every time that snack is a chocolate bar I think to myself “You fat, ugly girl, you don’t need that chocolate, you know what they say: a moment on the lips a lifetime on the hips.”
I don’t read because what boy wants a girl whose prince charming is not ever going to show up on her front porch with a dozen roses and a devastatingly handsome smile?
You wanna know why I don’t read?
I don’t read because every time I finish a book that was a new obsession, I have to find one just like it and there never is one.
I don’t read because when the hero dies, so does a piece of my heart.
I don’t read because every book I read just reminds me that I’m the freak brainiac of my class, and that’s all anyone sees when they look at me.
I don’t read because the perfect characters in books make me hate my imperfect self.
I don’t read because I hate to read.


Details | Quatrain | |

Quadragenarious

Alluring are all these things in life in 
which one may become fond in 
adoring
Calling upon all to climb up on their 
own stage; free will regardless of 
the age
When it comes to receiving nothing 
in life grants you knowledge more 
than does reading
Engage in life to gain experience this 
sets up a phase, be your own sage

Those of you who can come to 
understand now is the time climb 
up out of the sand
Tuning into one’s own inner yang, 
requires one to hear the bells when 
the ring
Believing that you sit in his right 
hand one comes to realize that life 
is grand
It all depends on the choice of 
words which you cling they display 
the song you sing

The Creator always comes to your 
aide, no matter your individual 
grade
A clue to each and every perversion 
exist inside all culprits arson
The sound of the first grenade is the 
signal to the enemy; begin the raid
The soul is the intent to blacken in 
the words discharged by these evil 
dragons

In there attempt to acquire all 
things delicious they embrace the 
devious
If one does want to recognize their 
spin, all you have to is see how they 
grin
Why they stay so furious, their will 
belongs to all things they find 
desirous
Failing to see their despicable yin
leads all down the path of 
committing sin

There will be way far too few able to 
pay the bill on the last day it is due
After relentless tearing your soul 
will continue its everlasting searing
After you realize that there has been 
a coup you will not all be able to sue
Tortured and tormented you are 
now filet and sauteed burning 
without ending 


*****  For the "Word Game 
Contest" sponsored by Catie 
Lindsey****


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 | Free verse | |

and there will be days

and there will be days
that not many will count along with me
and all the clouds that follow
will neither blow, nor not borrow
near what i did not wish to furrow
for longer than that shadow
might wish to shine 'long near me
it is more than an early, easy
sun to set
and dawn on
my simple mindset
oh. . . there will be days
that we've yet. . . to met
and only traces left behind
for what we already know
we never forget


Details | Free verse | |

Not Done With You Yet

Waiting for a response
Stumbling upon it for months
Fiddling with decaying words
Unlocking birdcages,
Letting go of birds
Will I ever be let go
By troublesome guilt, 
Fluttering and squealing with joy?
Waiting for an entrance
I try to break through it for years
But I'm shattered by denied words
I'm trying to find a path to go through
But...I'm trapped by the thought of you


Details | Rhyme | |

folly

i filled my me with lit-ra-ture
epic songs and pretty words
  the most important thing i learned
was all the thoughts i'd never heard


Details | Senryu | |

' Generous Words ... ' 18th Senryu

‘ Generous Words … ’   18th Senryu



      Love … is A Give-Word
   God … is A Generous Word
       Forgive … Says It All


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 | Epic | |

Fate

Fate is always decided by other people, including the judge and/or by God. Fate will also have conspired against those who've not been considerate to others, not working together as a team, or whatever. There's such thing as redemption and second chances and stuff.  Fate works two ways: one by punishment, the other by love and companionship. What's so great about fate is that everybody's destiny is decided and what will happen to the those who've done all the deeds, good or bad. It seems that when two people ( a man and a woman) don't want to see each other again after just one day, fate will have other plans for them, especially those who aren't married or dating as of right now. everybody knows that the condemnation or love will have sealed everybody's fate. especially that of the future. And speaking about the future, that will have already been decided and fate will always be there, no matter where they go. Another meaning of fate is when the three goddesses will have decided the fate of a human being, whether it's good or bad. Fate also has affected the lives of every human being. Even when the outcome of the end comes around in the near future, fate is always there. That's why there's a difference between fate and destiny. It also seems to me that every event occurred will have sealed our fate, even when we pass on. And if fate and destiny were to stay for a long time, we'll know what the future will be like for us human beings.


Details | Epigram | |

Untitled #295 / Spell, pt. 2

I hope you dodged that last spell,
else you be vexed for twenty years.


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 | Tyburn | |

Sincerity

Acting
Feeling
Wording
Singing
Not fake acting feeling from my part
But, true wording singing of my heart 




Details | Rhyme | |

The Sun's Rays

The sun’s devouring rays
Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe
It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze
Its auras are above nature’s designating exteriors
Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth’s inhabitants, deserving my praise

It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds
The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds

The sun’s appalling flames
Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth’s accord
It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims
Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward!

It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls 
The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls 

The sun's unattainable rays 
Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done
Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays
Embracing ambitious love like a father and son  


Details | Rhyme royal | |

READING POETRY ON A RAINY DAY for contest

                                              READING POETRY ON A RAINY DAY


                                             On the page, the white declines,

                                            Love of phrase enlivens night--

                                             Images patrol my mind,

                                             Words become the key to sight.


                                             Vanished is my world by schedules set.

                                             Conquered by the Poet’s words--

                                             Persons vibrant this way met

                                             While my true life flies with wayward birds.


                                             Time and passion are contained

                                             Graced within the page in hand--

                                             Bathed in sun while garden rained--

                                             Wander I from sea to land.


                                            What more glorious can life be

                                            Astonished with the gift of flight--

                                           Transforms a bookworm lass like me--

                                           Sword in hand --   blood lust to fight?


Victoria Anderson-Throop  2013


Details | Rhyme | |

poetry to me

               (9/5/12)

What is poetry to me- it is words of beauty-words of life
Words of love, pain and sacrifice.
Words of showing and growing and needing and feeding
Words of hope and despairs, wanting and cares.

Poetry takes you into the minds of mankind
From days of old to the present time.
Poetry takes you on trips that you’ve never been before
And opens up every door.

Poetry becomes a longing , a want , a desire, a need
On which your mind must feed.
It becomes a life within itself
And takes you to the heavens and down to hell.

Poetry becomes a flaming desire
And only writing can put out this fire.
I call it my passion while others say it’s my obsession
Yet ! No matter what they may think or say
Poetry is here to stay.

So many different types of poetry
For the different minds “you see”.
You will always find one that will give you meaning
From a loving heart to one that’s bleeding.

Jump on the bandwagon and take a hold
For with poetry “ life unfolds”.

© L. RAMS


Details | Senryu | |

Strong Words

Pages of strong words
Written in the eye of fear
Watch them come at you

Russell Sivey


Details | Couplet | |

Have Some Gumption

A cheater never a winner was.
An honest man earns his great applause.

Bootlegged words make confidence schism.
Stealing verses denies truth's wisdom.

Writing one's best makes ideas glisten.
Expressive minds hope people listen.

So go ahead, have some gumption.
Live life golden; ascend con's basin.

Deceit never did bring satisfaction.
Observed ideals take positive action.

The harmed forgive, though it is not easy.
A higher order shows loves flows deeply.

One should never choose to plagiarize,
Not while thoughtfulness remains alive.


© October 30, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen


Details | Free verse | |

Number Eighteen

July 3, 2006

It’s a great day and I’m filled with the Holy Ghost and the Spirit of God surrounds 
me.  

Trickles of pain shoot through my parts signaling another moment given over to 
the NEGATIVE.

There are solutions that loom large and require thought and conscious study 
and I have so much work to do to be a craftswoman.

Even of life.

What about focus?  What about children’s writing?  What about?  Pick and 
choose and do, this is my message to you.


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 | Narrative | |

A Prince in the Belly of Poor Mens Reality

The walls are speaking harshly of me
They want me to hear what they think of me
I know I’m different from the descendants of their kin’s
I wonder why it bothers them that I am merely being me
Freed to live as I wanna be

They are guests in my territory 
Imprisoned by the chains of poverty
Whipped by the lashes of mediocrity
I wish to ignore them but their noise bothers me
Why this misfortune
Here to live in the core of pessimism

I am a prince lost in the belly of poor men’s reality
As self righteous as they can be in their impoverished reality
My thoughts of hope and my words of better dreams
To them noise to be done away with
They are a lot resigned to their reality
A dollar or two at the end of the day 
Does just well to satisfy them completely

They do not understand why a prince like me
Would one day wish to be king
I don’t understand why able men like they
Would not wish to reign on their mediocrity
But hey! The truth is that they are they
Meant to gather hey
And I am me
Moulded to be the prince
What’s a future king without a kingdom to inherit?

Unbeknownst to their conscience
Tomorrow they shall serve me

Whereas they toil for today only
I build an inheritance for eternity
I scratch a mark in the plaque of history
Here today, forever remembered 
As for them, here today, 
Tomorrow as insignificant as though they never were

So please by all means
Let them laugh at me
It’s the noise a prince must perceive
In his grooming to be king
Perhaps it will make me understand
Why there are a million subjects to one prince


Details | Free verse | |

P.S.

All of these poems
beneath my skin
haul the weight
of every shed tear 
and I'm getting wetter
with each neoteric sob,
but darling I found myself
a pretty way to scream
and it's much more fetching
than being peevish
from so many starless dreams 


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Regret

Every day, my life has been filled with regret. I should've found true love somewhere in
America when I had that first chance. I regret being diagnosed with autism, mild MR
(mental retardation), and OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) at the age of three. I also
regret not having a real-life girlfriend from another state, especially the State of
California. It seemed that I had an unfair advantage or whatever. Of course, I had a
somewhat good childhood, but it was almost as messed up as someone else's. The only reason
why my life is filled with plenty of regret is because I was supposed to have a perfect
life. I was also supposed to get everything right, that would've included my childhood.
Now, instead of being rich beyond my dreams and being a college graduate, I'm stuck with a
boring life. And even though I have no girlfriend or no job as of right now, the ones from
my past, it's them that I really feel sorry for. And those girls from my middle school
years and my high school years, it's them that I feel so sorry for, too. It makes me sick,
just thinking about a lot of regrets. But what I really regret most of all is that I
should've done something a long time ago, but there's nothing I can do about my past; it's
already done. Right now, I wish that my life wasn't filled with regret and that I knew
what my life would be like if I was born perfect and that I were to walk in someone
else's shoes.


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 | Dramatic monologue | |

The ImaGinaTIve PersOn's Plight

There’s no place in this world for people like me
People with hope and people with dreams
People who don’t have to see to believe
People pleased by the most simple of things.

There’s no place on this earth for poets like me
Who like rhythm and rhyming schemes
Who’ll take it short or take it long
But like it best when it sounds like a song
Who don’t mind old and don’t mind new
Who’ll bask in melody and tune
Who’ll let their heart lead the way
And when it stops be glad to stay
There’s just no place for people so weird.

Oh world! Must you hate me so?
When I only tried to love you and help you grow?
When I only wished you joy and life to the full
You repay me with scorn and call me a fool
And now I’m beginning to think I am.
I can’t understand you
And you won’t understand me

But what if my thoughts were as lovely as another’s?
And just as profound and just as soulful?
Could you make an exception just this once?
Please?
For me?
Huh?
But how can I change to suit you and still be me?
And how can I ever be worth anything?
And how am I supposed to go anywhere?
If you will have me stay right here?

There’s no place in this world for people like me
They've said it enough and what they have not mentioned
I’ve seen.
So I’ll pack up my life and musings and heart
Board a large ship and head off to Mars.

To be continued...

(Next episode: there’s no place on Mars for people like me! 
Among other plights of the imaginative race...)


Details | Free verse | |

Contrails

Her plane’s a poem 
that dissolves its words behind it 
	as it flies,
an ars poetica
that takes its chances on blue sky.


Details | Free verse | |

Communion

Jabez's prayer is recited from  
The side of the refrigerator  
Near a magnet from last summer's
Vacation bible school
Early morn and the quiet 
Is interrupted by myriad birds chirping 
The rumble of a refuse truck robotically
Empties the dumpster from the front 
Passing cars creak and whoosh  
Mrs. Garza's nightlight clicks off
Automatically the day begins
Entangled with snores
The ice maker gives birth
The central air unit cycles on
Announcing the cool air needed
For a going to get hotter day
A distant dog barks
The muse is crashed by the
Stumbling into the room
Cabinets creak open and the
Electric can opener growls
Open a can of syrupy tangerines
smackingly devoured while the spoon
Scrapes against the metal
Ancient civilizations are described
As the now too loud television alters
The air waves
Then the national anthem waves
A train whistles pass 
As does the morn 
And the mood broken 
Or enhanced by a reality
Of sneezes and snorts


Details | I do not know? | |

I Is Capitalized

Once, I had heard every word as
becoming whispers in the world;
I'd hidden from their quiet calls,
lost amongst narrow, dim-lit halls;
I had permitted Hope to dry,
become brittle, soundlessly die,
fearing that Fate had split it's core,
like plaster fallen to the floor.

I woke to evident sunset
on Days I no longer forget;
I knew  I'd been too long in place,
desperate to touch some gentle grace;
I learned words as Beauty past harms,
witnessing the span of my arms,
stretched beyond, even, my own will;
finding Hope lives within me, still.


Details | Name | |

Sanitarium

Sanitarium

  S-  sanction
  A-  apprehension
  N-  negitivism
  I-  insainity
  T-  tentitive
  A-  accenssion
  R-  redirective
  I-  immobilization
  U-  under seat
  M-  man handle


Details | Free verse | |

A Verse for Algie

A challenge has been put to me 
To create some more poetry
I’ll do my best to be creative 
And not to rhyme while I’m talking to people
In real time 
My favorite type of poem
Is one that’s metered and rhymes 
But I understand that nowadays
That really isn’t a factor anymore
I think the very best poetry
Is the kind that opens doors to imagination
That inspires the artist and moves a nation
That lifts you up through depression and inflation
And leads you to self actualization
The kind that paints a picture in your mind
And takes you from the daily grind
Transporting you to far off lands
Where there is no war, there is no despair
And the lion lies down with the lamb
Peace out!


Details | Blank verse | |

A SPEECHLESS DAY

Imagine
Twenty-four hours of pure silence
Time devoid of human speech and sound
When a word is not uttered
A day in the world of profound dumbness
The tongue, the teeth and lips
Observe a break of twenty-fours hours
 The ears hear 
The rhythm of the air, water and fire
And enjoy the lyrics of the birds
With the rhythmical dance of the trees and plants
Gossips, rumors and curses took flight
Deceit lies and tongue wagging expelled
Splits and spits of the tongues avoided
World’s day of quietude and tranquility
A day of inner communication
When the deep calls to the deep
And people transits the limits of spoken words
Into perceptions and intuitions 
Birthing profound thoughts and ideas 
As each make contact with the inner person
Imagine
A day without speech
How beautiful, how priceless!
Oh! How I long for that day!!








Details | Lyric | |

Songwriting(I write these words)

I write these words
I wrote my feelings out
The words filled with my thoughts
Is what I am all about

I write these words
Explains everything in me
Explains how I feel
In the words that sings

I write these words
It came out from my head
I am becoming more scared
When I stuck dead

I write these words
Open myself to the world of my own
To where I have never been
In the world of songwriting

I write these words
I write with my heart out
My blood, tears and happiness
Is what I am all about

With these words I wrote
It filled with what I feel
Is what I want to be
A songwriter, that will be me

And these are the words I wrote


Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

It is a fever.

  
The poet

They found the poet outside the park

His steps spoke many words of wine

His upper half seemed half asleep

And his feet walked a crooked line

His arms were spread as if to fly

His lips apart as though to speak

The telltale flush of liquid joy

Told tales of  rum from cheek to cheek

The night herself caroused with him

Drunk on sadness, drunk on care

And drink they drank, the weary lovers

Setting wine against despair

The bonds of reason, broken down

His mind amok, and absent sense

The world in woe, the world in glory

Lay before his presidence

 

And it was then they walked to him

Rudely rousing man from dream

Casting eye on village bard

Taking man as man would seem

"Sing for us again, o bard

Cast your words at senses keen"

This was why they broke his peace

Winters twice his summers seen

"Sing for us again o bard

Spin sweet words from bitter truth

Stir the embers of your heart

Dig through elder years to youth. And

Let the fountain spring with might!!

Showering us with wisdom earned

Showing us the link in hand

Of teachers harsh and lessons learned

Free yourself from wine's embrace!

We would hear a tale or two"

Turns to them, a wizened face

"Ask not man, but what is due."

Graying eyes regard the gathered

Moving on, from face to face

"The world whirls in the hands of time

And yet all things remain in place"

"As yet all men remain the same

The board reset a dozen times

Pi-eces unaltered, so is game

Though rearranged, the given lines

You come to me as bank to debtor

You plague me with unbridled want

Says at last, man to tormentor

'Cease at once your unjust haunt""

It is a fever

"It is not a gift so given

It is not a boon bestowed

Nor is sight beheld as blessing

When the eyes have overflowed

With the sorrows of existence

Pain cavorts with all men born

Know the price of your persistence

Hear the words of man forlorn

What is loss compared to weakness?

What is pain compared to need?

When the soul suffers from sickness

To give blood to those who bleed

O for those suffering in secret

O for hidden scars concealed

Know a secret's mark of secrets

Is in wounds that never healed

The world at large, and I remain

Numb in spirit, numb of mind

My inner coldness feed by pain

Reaped from years left far behind

 

It is a fever that I have

It is an illness I possess

It is a symptom that you worship

It is a sign that you profess

To love, to need, to love to hear

While I remain diseased of soul

You chant and clap then disappear

Then falls to me, each telling's toll

 

It is a sadness that I feel

It is madness that I suffer

When the muses offer gifts

Turn your backs and run for cover

Talent has a price, and paid

This price I have, each passing day

Rise to cup and rise to can

Drink my fill then come what may

All my masters come before me

Warned me of the poet's curse

Know you all of Byron's story

Know you all that Poe's was worse

Happiness is bound to beauty

Joy to all that beauty, see

But for those that birth said beauty

All is pain and tragedy

Listen to my fading voice, now

Listen to my silent plea

Know the doom of every poet

And ask of this, no more from me

I will fellowship with Bacchus

Gimlets of the finest sort

Rise to can and drunken glory

Fall to pleasure and cavort

Now my night bids me return

Wine is all that shields from sorrow

Sets me free from all concern

Trouble enough, will be tomorrow"

His soul unburdened, back unbent

All is caught in a lengthy pause

He turns to go, the air is rent

With sounds of cheer, and of applause

Now lowering balding head to ground

"Man may speak but none may hear

Sing for us again o Bard,

Has now become a thing to fear"


Details | Free verse | |

Star seeding


How many nights awake as thoughts tumble so fast from the heavens that sense just needs to
be made?
Grab the pad always nearby, for when the rains come
and pour your heart out with them.
It’s understated to say inspired,
conversations with clouds,
allowed and understood.
Good. When that thunder rolls you know that flash is going to illuminate a lot.
All you’ve got
is a few minutes to get that down, a word a code a sign.
To remind your mind again.
It’s like that for all of us, but we,
we who have learned to pay attention,
not to mention
that we like it,
we listen. That’s all it is.
Nothing mystic
or fatalistic in it.
We like to dance naked in the rain.
And let that rain wash right through us.
We’re not afraid of lightning, we know it comes from the Earth.
And we’re rooted there. Deep.
So keep
your judgments to yourself about what’s right.
There ain’t no St. Peter checking for baptismal certificates at the Pearly Gate.
And Fate
can be re-written any time by intent.
Well meant
wishes sent to you do good and keep you strong.
So that rain of inspiration won’t burn you up, keep you watered long
After you’ve apologized.
So we let it through in verse, in muse, in story disguised
As truth. Star seedings through us all
Watching as seeds fall
And sprout in the rain
on Earth.


Details | Couplet | |

What Should A Love Story Be

What should the perfect love story be?
Maybe about the future or past history

Maybe the story should just be about today
If it were your final breath what would you say?

The Lord is the maker and the keeper of time
He is the giver of love and all that’s divine

How can any love story not involve him?
The keeper of truth, the forgiver of sin

Jesus Christ is the father and I am but a seed
Regardless of the path I shall follow his lead

I praise God for the pain that hinders my way
For it truly does offer plenty of time to pray

The more that I pray the more clearly I see
Exactly what a perfect love poem should be

It should be hot as the desert, beautiful as the snow
Born way deep in the heart so it can forever glow

It should speak the honest truth about your dearest friend
How the strength of your love helped each of you to mend

The story should be of two lovers, bound by the soul
Yet each is has the freedom to leave, if they wish to go

You see true love was truly intended for us to caress
Tell me, “How can an unseen entity ever be possessed”

Love is a part of your heart and a part of your soul
So please caress it, bless it and make it your goal

And that’s what a true love poem is really about
Cherishing each others love through all the doubt


Details | Free verse | |

Shoeless Muse

I have endeavored to retreat behind common experience
Finding salvation far from transcendental
Happily plotting meaning as if some wisdom was
Possessed, only to be shown through the veil of
An incantation that the lines hardly end in the
Most appropriate places, clinging rather to a 
Need for old-fashioned sociability
Yet remaining far beneath, crying perhaps too
Loudly for its own sake, the doubt--
Cloaked as existence to the flawed so trampled
By the unattainable light reserved for
Men of glass whose honesty shatters the helpless
Sinner sacrificed to misfortune
'Tis a thing of beauty this universal gladness
I only hope its meaning is revealed to its
Author in a way far too brilliant to be
Extraordinary


Details | Free verse | |

Another Suffering Poet

When I feel bitter discontentment
I take out my poision pen to immortalize
The ones who have crushed
Me with their 
Gigantic, concrete boulders
Like many before me
Who cried tears
Of overwhelming sadness
Lingering depression 
And infinite lonliness
I have become one with them
For we all possess
The same quality
The need to be set free
Through the expression of 
The thoughts that haunt our minds
We release our agony through our poetic prose
Our words are few
But, they speak volumes
About what lies inside us
For my creativity 
Stems from the intensity
That roams within me
My open wounds
Exposed for all to view
When I compose
A melodic rhyme
It speaks of my angst
Through mystery
Making my reader
Look beyond the face value
Of my syntax
And search for the true meaning
Of which I was attempting to convey
My poetic talents 
Can only bring miniscule relief
From what has been
Creeping up on me
Following me 
My entire life
I hear the clock ticking
The hand is about to strike midnight
The fairytale is over
Time is running out
Like sand passing through the hourglass
I wait for the day
I muster up the courage
To turn on the gas stove
Sticking my head in 
Sylvia Plath style
So I can take my last breath
Ending my melancholic existence forever
For I couldn't escape the curse
Of my literary collegues
That preceded me
Whose lives were filled 
With despair and doom
Who spent their life tormented
By the demons inside their soul
Because I, like them
Couldn't stop feeling the torture
Of my past
When I laid down my pen
And closed my eyes
For I am just another suffering poet
In my grave
Decaying away
After a life wasted


Details | Ode | |

Prayer To My Self

Walking away might be the most hardest things for a man to do, you cant even imagine what that feeling can do to you. Falling flat on your face would be better than to look shameful, even walking around naked around the streets would be cool. But like any story in life goes, there is always that one person that will help you get back on your feet and walk again. No matter how much you fall, no matter how much you stumble upon a struggle, that person will be there with you till the end. Give love and thanks to this person who never leaves your side and helps you put a smile on your face everyday. When the day comes to an end and you know that the person has to go, all you can wish is for your special person to stay. Mine has walked away on me, I was so blind that i couldn't see. She wanted everything for her self, for me to change and be what she wanted me to be, but i had to let her go and never see this person again, cause it would only be worse in the end. Writing this is more painful than getting your body tattooed, writing this is more painful than getting over screwed. Writing this is more painful than words, writing this is more painful than razor sharp swords. No matter how much you try to let it out it just wouldn't come out, the pain is way to deep and its almost like its tattooed on your bodies gout. haven't i been hurt enough in this world, i just don't understand why i am being treated like this, is it cause i am better than you and have nothing to look forward too but my blue and black handkerchief? The cut was way to deep my dear, you just cant imagine, i have been cut and bruised for the last time, i can promise you that. No one will ever touch this body or hurt this soul ever again, if you wish to try so, go ahead and check it, but before that go ahead and get yourself a casket.


Details | I do not know? | |

HATE

Hate, 
A strong word
Word of discrimination
Word of power
Can tear friends and family apart
Used everyday in everyway
Hate,
A four letter word that will destroy our life
Word of prejudice
A word known as abdhorrence
So harmful and so dangerou, yet we still use it.


Details | Rhyme | |

Freedom

We are sullenly mourning
For security from the demoralizing night
I am despairingly probing
For mercy to carry us back to our divine flight

We are all wishing for infinite freedom
We are all seeking for an abundant kingdom

If we are living in pure happiness, why are we so emotional inside and out?
Why are we painstakingly tracking down a getaway away from this mystifying dilemma? What is all this venturing about?
If we are swaying in the rhythm of faultless jolliness, why are we vexing about the departure of our best friend?
It isn’t in our control…so get a grip or we'll fall!
If we build up our friendship, we'll have wounds to mend
So stop your blaming and cursing or we'll be in appall 

If we are all leaders, why are we panicking?

We are all leaders…we aren’t senseless pleaders!
So face your phobias and get out of the deserted state!
We are all leaders…we will not give in, vile deceivers!
Saunter out of sight, so we won’t meet our unsettling fate!

You meddled with our cries
So don't point fingers, you insidious devil
And forced us to believe your jaded lies
SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I don't want to consider your excuses, for our truth stands still

If we are living in pure happiness, why are we not meant to be?
If we are living in pure happiness, why are we battered and bent?
If I am living in pure happiness, why am I not free?
Could we ever discard this horrifying dilemma that pounds on us like cement?


We must act like a leader—tough and vigilant
Striving to survive!
We must mimic like a leader—buff and independent
Struggling to stay alive!

Disregard the mourning state;
Drive out the defiant enemies and make them face their damnations
So we can joyfully integrate and negotiate
You’d do me a favor to cease your supplications!  


Details | Senryu | |

' Orbit Gum ... ' 28th Senryu

‘ Orbit Gum … ’   28th   Senryu 



       A Devious Tongue
    Is Not A Dry-Witty One
   Just Dirt and Mouth-Scum


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 | Free verse | |

Words Soon To Come

Words come and go Soaking through tear-blemished pages of old Coffee stains and glass cup rings A desk filled a world of philosophies The absence of words Is merely a concept of words soon to come And so much more is coming So much more shall come -December 15, 2012-


Details | I do not know? | |

DisjointisPollution

Such quaint conviction; a mess of uninformed prejudice.
In place to Hate on High, for British bird-eye views .
Inherently bias? Yes but still English.
The  Self appointed wardens, for inferiority of every
other male female, race.
          
	So not to much to solve ,
just every other Male , Female,
	race. As all together brutish suits 
pray on the pace of nationalism 
and Xenophobia to boost numbers.
	
Based on some deluded natives;
  oddity's becoming cause;
Before Those Wide eye grins 
setting people on fire;
	
While seeing elegant gnarl of features
indicating strong sense of .....
Vatican champagne , 1676, uncorked,
fizz emptied all over the blank white,
	Stain spreads,
National Front Members, or in other words;
Purity.


Details | Pantoum | |

UNQUENCHABLE THIRST

Vivid imagination spins,
when one creates
a fine literary work...
life would never be happier.


When one creates,
ideas keep on flowing...
life would never be happier
with thoughts swifter than light.

Ideas keep on flowing
like water from a waterfall
with thoughts swifter than light
I am glad to reach my home.


Like water from a waterfall
that's pure and refreshing
I am glad to reach my home
without worry, sadness or doubt.


That's pure and refreshing 
as I drink it with great delight...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
to satisfy my unquenchable thirst.


I'm still writing my first Pantoum,
seeing shadows advancing...
without worry, sadness or doubt,
I pay more attention to form than rhyme.


Perched on the power line, owls stare at me
and wonder what I am doing at such hour
by this bright lamp...as
vivid imagination spins.




Details | Light Poetry | |

My Open Book

When I write these words from my mind...
Its deep inside my heart I search and find...
Each write has a piece of me written throughout...
Some may express a time of anger and a shout...
Others could be about lost love or a new one found...
All these poems are a part of my soul with no bound...
They tell of tales of passion and heartache which 
helped me grow...
A few are just a morning thoughts or a pile of words I 
throw up in the air and blow...
While a few still have strong feeling of loss or being alone...
However it comes out , my book is now open and this heart
is now warm not made of stone..


Details | Free verse | |

Alphabetical Rivers

Alphabetical rivers
Flow through pebble dashed shores
Swam upstream by a woman that would not say
Burnt by words that were taken away

Drank by a man
With a childhood in his hand
Left to drown alone
By those who didn't want to know
Paddled by all who cared
But did not know where to go

Every sentence sanity wanted to ignore
Piled high on crazy paved shores
Set high in a night without moons or stars
Burnt words calling out 
As in the flames everything they stood for is plundered

The few words that escape the flames
Dance free in just one night
Ready to be drawn by a short dawn
They are freed by all the hours 
That didn't lie or hide


Details | Free verse | |

A Good Rule To Follow

Just do what ever you think if you must,
Cause with you there can be no trust.
   Faith and love is what you must learn,
It is  something you must go out and earn.
   Respect and understanding is how you must start,
To keep a love from completely falling apart.
   If Joy and Happiness is what you seek ,
Then be strong and true it will be yours to keep.
   Kindness and compassion is a good rule to follow,
It will bring brighter days for al your tomorrows .
    Love as if it were the last day of your life,
Try caring with open arms and do not fight .
    This life is precious if there is someone to love ,
Try to remember that it is a gift from above.
TAC


Details | Senryu | |

Life Without the Soup

Life without the Soup My heart would die, short supply Of perfect poems My soul lives within Middle of the needed Soup My life-force brings want I love the whole Soup People inside and their hearts And their great poems
Russell Sivey


Details | Free verse | |

What may it take to reply

A Page of apology

A Cake or chocolate

A Poetry of smiles

A Bouquet of flowers

A Shower of reminders

Or just a thought that

I remembered You

What may it take to reply




Details | I do not know? | |

reminisciences.

Once upon a time, I wrote about love.
It was based on no poem, sung by none
drawn from the deepest through
of a soul that its flame didst burn.

Once upon a time, I wrote about hope;
each passing day, i got more hopeful 
that people would at last began to cope
with the situations they are, if careful

Once upon a time, I wrote about the morning.
every now and then, I remember the frown 
I had, when I discovered that the last wordings 
were longer than the first, like they were drawn.

Once upon a time, I wrote about time
that waits for no man, always in a hurry;
if you keep to it, you'll do just fine
but to the lazy ones, it flies past: fast and blurry.


Details | Rhyme | |

Five

The light of my life is the tide of the tight
Which half of witchcraft is blight to unbright?
Paper of papal intent in the tent
Fare of the fate to the wittingly went

Knives are nice, but butter is better
A flick of the wrist and a twist of the fetter
Burn through the binder and break down the bricks
The deluge of delusion that stickles and sticks

Ruptured erruptions of singing to sin
Enraptured in rapture by fiddling the fin
Won't will your wont until the wight's won
Sorrowful song of the son of the sun

Lice come less when Winter won't wrest
Sum of the Summer rests in the West
Oughn't the Autumn to singe from the binge
Swing with the Spring of the tingling tinge

Donning the dawn of the bleeding night's blight
Moon dies at noon at the frightening fight
Dust of the dusk falls to slickening breath
Bright light of deep night dreams quickening death.


Details | Verse | |

My Son

What I want.

To print a book, which will guide youngsters and help them to live a good life.

I have written about 100 poems dedicated to this end.

Written in  an easily understood way.

Suitable for children.

No double reading to understand. or recourse to a dictionary.

I hope that these poems will develop a love of reading, and

answer many questions they have.

The main publishing companies will co operate if I pay about 1000 pounds.

Which I am unable to do.

I require no royalties or reward for this, except the satisfaction

Of knowing that I am helping them with the many problems

that come their way.

Please help me to produce this book.

If you know of any printer who would print these poems.

Contact me....normanpurvis@casema.nl

I am looking for a cheap paperback with illustrations.

Available to every child.

Your child must have this book.

Norman Purvis.

 

A Son of Mine.

You are my Son.
Hope of the human race.
I see myself, in your face.
Soon I will be gone.
Your turn will come.
Which way to go.
To live the life of an Englishman. 

In this book I have tried to say.
All. To help you on the way.
The life you lead.
Is in your hands.
Choose with care.
All you share. 

Have pride in what you do.
Make it the best.
Make it true.
Your name renowned through and through. 

To others give your aid.
Help and charity, not to fade.
Look for ways to help the down.
Lift them up.
Without a frown. 

Norman Purvis.................. 

  

.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Writer's World

A Writer’s World

“My life is not an open book, but the “highlights” speak louder
than the title that’s pure creativity: a careful design…not made by the web.”

Writers make the world a better place…
truth be told, how else could we escape…
from this madness in this world
I’m just runnin’ on faith.
This paper and pen lives so deep within…
can’t see myself livin’ life without them…
they ask how do you do that
and when I put it down
I hear them beggin’ me to come back…
I could go back, but if I went back
it’d take the black of the ink of the pen
that I use to think with and then…
I’d be an endless worry to them
I’m wonderin’…hmmm….
with the red in my eye from the ink of the pen
I will edit rougher drafts through the laptop…
this is just the beginnin’ of when winnin’…
when winnin’ don’t give in to the redness in my eye,
to the pain when I blink samurai
and no lie I’m in war with the pen and the paper
that I’m usin’ to win with writin’ off these haters……
.come a dime a dozen don’t you know this…
glad I wasn’t!
Genius when winnin just can’t give in…..
sync with my lyrics so originique
holdin’ this pen so tight against this paper
no writer’s block….when winnin’…must think
so I’m gone ya’ll…..”Extinct

By: Aleasha Martin                                                                           


Details | Acrostic | |

Life

Life is a right, to which everyone should have,
Independently it is the most valuable possession of each living being
Verifying the fact that we only have one chance in this world to make a difference
Even if we see ourselves as a sap that can’t change the mood in our area and that we

Lower our standards to say that even dirt is too good for us
Irrationally stating that we have a miserable life and we need to change it
Forgetting the blessings and the joy that God gave us in our current life
Eventually with remorse he’ll forget all of these things and start over again

To test his strength and will power to continue so that he can
Overcome the odds to achieve a pleasant life

This just states that if we work hard we might have a better chance of being content
However living with this in mind we might think that life is about work.
Everything in this world should be earned by working but what is work compared to

Fun, having fun always makes our work more worthwhile because we now 
Use our energy to enjoy ourselves while working and earning things that we desire and
Losing the old gloomy feeling about work and the world
Letting new and much more pleasant things happen to us and letting us
Escape to the happiness that we might have missed when we’re not content in our life
Surprisingly this is the most common problem in the world today so keep this as a
Thought in mind live everything in a way you might be pleased life is precious 


Details | Haiku | |

7 Deadly Sins

gluttony, envy
greed,lust,anger,sloth
un-proudly~ guilty


Details | I do not know? | |

That's what They Call `Em..

They say that they're your friend 
but in the end their nothing 
but a black hole within the deep pits of your soul. 
And you wonder why you feel your hair rise 
as you take on the presence of their coming. 
Even though you practice silence in the honor of the footsteps that they portrait, 
you still make it easier for those that are haters to come your way. 
You speak when only you are spoken too, 
and you smile when they turn their heads. 
They make it their #1 goal to make fun 
because your hair isn't to their standards
and your clothes isn't as "Baby Phatty" as theirs. 
And again, you seem not to care. 
You tell them your problems 
expecting them to become closer to you. 
You make it seem as if you’re happy, 
but again, you have the slightest clue. 
The bad, the hateful, the deceitful, and the ugly...that's what they call ..em. 

They pry on your tears 
and make jokes amongst their peers. 
They dream about you 
and awake in the middle of the night because they can't sleep without you. 
They envy you so much they can't even eat without you. 
Holding up their backbone has become a task 
because their so busy minding your business they forgot about theirs. 
They are somewhat like the sun on dry grass, 
and spaghetti without the sauce. 
Such dry personality 
and unthinkable 
nonsense of humor with their thoughts. 
That’s why your their target and at the same time remain #1.
They have no life of their own, 
and they get attention by bringing hurt to your heart. 
The bad, the hateful, the deceitful, and the ugly...that’s what they call ..em.


Details | Free verse | |

Her Silent Seduction

Her mind wanders with every pause, every space Between the lines he writes She is taken to where she never thought she’d travel To where fantasy seems a reality As eyes so affix themselves to the words, the meaning The heart gets a hold of emotions It races, increasing, with each word, each syllable With deep breaths, to this place she returns The heated midday sun is cool compared to her now As words transform her quiet day Into a raging pool of need and want She so succumbs to the overpowering lust of sensuality As her discretion is cast aside Her eyes close upon the very last word read Her heart and body tremble As a quake, undeniable to all, Takes her to the apex of poet’s mountain And back again Returning her to her world And to the next poem to read


Details | Sonnet | |

Anniversary

Good poets like precision, real art is
an economy of words that define.
That is why the subject of love will mess
up even the wisest of poets that line 
up to talk much of unrequited love,
that sounds more like lust most of the time.
True love may not be eternal or above
ordinary humans but found to be divine
nevertheless because it endures in the coffee
made each morning, resides in the same bed
every night, lasts through mistakes and daffy
misunderstandings, diapers, children fed,
sickness, health and death, life's distracting lures.
When loved ones work at it, love endures.


Details | Free verse | |

Parchment Recall

My first paper that I found
Simply written from that day:

“There’s a secret garden
At which I can play”

Another great parchment
That is written on states:

“I feel my life as a frown
Casting away doubts
Of whether there is any good
Knowing my existence
Is like I’m hated as a clown”

My last real paper
That shines in the dark:

“Darkness radiates from without
The heart cannot survive
From the emptiness that it holds
Caring for nothing
Only the pain can enter
As the soul claims
No other piece but darkness”

The pieces of my life
Written down sporadically
Encompasses more of my life
Than I would ever have guessed
Most of the life seen through three
Small pieces of enhanced parchment paper

Russell Sivey

Entrant into Carol’s “Pieces Of Paper…A Poets Heart” contest


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 | Blank verse | |

cracked lines on the surface of the morning...

cracked lines on the surface of the morning
as I bleed the (night’s) phantoms onto a page
trying to settle the inconstancies
of unsolid corners
& console myself in the shape of a line
i carry the words you’ve spoken
etched into my softest skin
& the contours of your eyes
reflected forever in mine
you will know me
in another life
by my sweetest scars
& the words
for which
there is
no
voice


Details | I do not know? | |

Arise

Arise take heart, and take up pen
And let this poet live again

He is not dead, not dead you see
So let him live and let him be

Let your words flow out so strong
And let them be the anthem’s song

Let them arise from their sleep
In my hands give them safe keep

Though you rest but for a time
Pick up your scroll and pen and rhyme

Let me arise and take up pen
And this poet shall live again


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 | Blank verse | |

Untitled

This is untitled
For a title is a name
And a name gives life
But this? This is dead.

This is unknown
For knowledge will lead to fame
And fame has but a short life.
But this? This was never born.

This is unsung
For to sing is to be heard
And to be heard there must be life
But this? No one lived to hear.

This is nothing
For to be it must think
And to think means to live
But this? This never was.

This is untitled
Unknown, unsung.
A mere wisp of nothing.
For only nothing will ever have
The world of opportunity


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 | Free verse | |

TUMI OR NOT TUMI!?

No, It was not my time
to jaunt & jump about 
the Morld with You, to
glowering-green-glows
of Ischia, the privileges
of Mackinac, "...our Paris, Ilsa!"...

Ornamented ataud &
calefacted incinerators are
merely better-funded!, to a last-
notice of proteaned hoar, the
dearth of silk...

So, it was to be
Goa, or Delhi "curry-in-a-hurry" not,
and the touts & shouts 
as We passed...
You in those shoes,
toeing-up with heel asway
like a silent, ticking-pendulum,
Me, watching...

Allowing sole specialnesses, but a few
to my inti-mated Life,
why there was You insinuate...
E'er Yours-sporadic, tho'
an extravagance of Soul!, like
incipient Sinatra, or 
the piano of Jarrett!  But,

No, it was not your time
to jump & jaunt-about
with Me, but for You, 
like a junkie afeared of needles,
to be going, & mine  
to Write... of It, plecking-off 
the pilpuls from 
My blanket, & You to
replacing contoured batteries
and
for Now... perhaps as recent
as tomorrows' accident.

                        H.e.m.
                        c.5.10.MMvii.



Details | Free verse | |

X-Ray Poem

I write to tell you of my life
But you compare meanings with dictionaries
And understand words
Think of this poem like a lover's fight
You told me if we quarrel I must not leave the bed
So I take it I must wrestle you until you yield
If you only bring your senses to words
You are like me, too sophisticated that morning
And too naive to understand 
If you will enter into life
You first die bruise and broken 
For why should find life if already you are alive
Is this not what you do to me everyday
If I was not a poem I would not even care
But I know I am written to be read
Deeply; to be profoundly understood
I resent dictionaries always sabotaging my imageries
I resent you imposing on me your twisted histories
How many have you had
Is there no private to abort your the incongruities of your womb
A poem must be read without suppositions
Without hesitation
It must be penetrated and rewarded with convulsions
I vomit in revulsion unless I am placated
For the ejaculation of truth,
That is deep semen from complex tissues
And feelings that for life are complex roots.


Details | Rhyme | |

Deep rooted

unrelenting screaming in my head
Words deleted before they are siad
wiped of the page, never been read
comfortable 6 foot under in my bed
Paradise falls beneath me as I am lead
Hungery demons can now be fed
draining my soul for now I have bled
satisfied thurst, call me when I'm dead
 
Overwhelming hurt embraces my mind
Dirty, twisted, diseased, rotton all intertwined
This anguish and torture is never defined
Keeping away from the world remaining refined
Myself and others I call me are all combined
Nothing can be said this is how I was designed
Hidden away, locked up, staying confined
Rejected from the world, forever delcined





 


Details | Free verse | |

Life Imitates Art A Humble Tribute to Oscar Wilde

O thou proud Nature
Rolling in ashes of long-burnt
Fiery love of yourself
What are you boasting of?

Thy greenery? 
That’s nothing but
Wooden rotten figures 
With wrinkled claws
Scratching the Earth’s breast
Fumbling for manure
Water-thirsty vampires
Destined to be strangled
By the icy hands of snowy demons!

Thy mountains?
They’re nothing but piles of dust
Proud of piercing the clouds
Forcing a heavy load
On the Earth’s shoulders
Yet, trodden by every foot
Crushed by every step
Dumb megalomaniacs
Whose sole voice
A mere echo 
Dies in an instant
Not long enough to be heard!

Thy clouds?
Those plump, haughty phantoms
Wishing to display their mighty wrath
Pat each other on the shoulders
And roar to shake and shock
The creatures beneath
Yet melt in their rages’ climax
And weep for their untimely death!

Thy far stretching seas and oceans?
They’re nothing but tiny trivial
Drops of water
Gathering to form an impressive identity
By losing their own!
In the depth of their watery heart
Lay their so-called treasures
Which being nothing but shipwrecks
Make them pleased
With their great triumph
Over helpless, wooden toys!
Their anger is masterfully portrayed
By raising their eyebrows 
Frowning and foaming desperately
To impress the captains
By their magnificent personality!!!

Thy Sun and Moon?
They are nothing but boring circles of light
One too lazy to move
One too transient in mood
One entangled in the boggy kingdom of his own flames
One begging hopelessly for a beam of light
One pleased with burning the eyes
One trained in fooling the wise

Now behold
That every single monument of thy greatness
That makes your eyes glow with pride
And your heart beat with pulses of joy
Is nothing but an illusory mirage

Were it not for the sweet words of poetry
Coupled with the melodious rhythm of embedded lyres
Were it not for the winged metaphors
Hand in hand with the marble fingers of imagination
Were it not for the poet’s discerning eye
To see in thee what thou hast not
Thou would not be seen,
Thou would not be loved…


Details | Rhyme | |

Words After

I have words I did not speak
For they serve to make me weak
Yet I see them lettering for me
Spelling a dream to never be
Have I yet what not?
What was sold were bought
Though nearer I move yet further I am
The distant time I came to befriend
Every foothold to see myself depart
Every light fading to be stepping into the dark
Yet a comfort I am to find
Some peace where the light fail to remind
Surrounding me, consuming my presence
Flattering to consider the world at absence
And they be who I’ll aspire
A lonesome self for loneliness to desire
Nonetheless, the more I dwell the more I’m afraid
I fear to have my eyes reawaken to what await
An impending doom perhaps... unavoidable
A countdown for death’s toll... applicable
Yet of humanity be my most feared
For they be ones as selfless as selfishly deared
As simple as a wish as a wish to be simple
Reality be the realm no longer I shall follow
Though they have words spelling for me
They do not letter out for my dreams to be


Details | Free verse | |

AUTUMN COLORS

Like autumn leaves the colors of my life have changed

From mountains to hills of green a new but old state i have move to again

Strange is the surroundings now similar are the horizons

What I thought would be easy has become hard

The quest for living not so intermediate; life on this coast seems so hard

Ponder if i will ever be better off but with faith and pray i believe i should be

Seeing old faces and having re connections have made the time here pass easier

Skies are only grey for a time the sun of my happiness shall shine bright again

God calls out this is the path i just need to listen and be patient for this time alone.




Details | Free verse | |

The Problem With Poetry

I just read some of Charles Bukowski's poetry.

Some words on his own life gave me heartache, 
reminded my own dark history.
His poetry--invited me to peek through his misery; deep mistery.

Though long gone, his colorful writings can still make
people see life through his eyes
and search their own truths despite maddening lies.

I am now returning from a long hiatus to poetry.

The problem with it is that besides being dynamic:
it has free form; doesn't have to rhyme; filled with rhetoric,
boundless, overflowing poignant images--
making some poems incomprehensible in first reading,
leaving you in wonder,
splitting your consciousness asunder.

The problem with poetry is that:
the poet's life becomes his great masterpiece--
where you can break all rules and make your own.
Its problem then becomes its beauty...

just like Bukowski's.


[Written: 12:40PM 27JUN08, Friday @ Shell CSC-PH's Office 38th/F RCBC Plaza Tower 2, Makati City Philippines]


Details | Rhyme | |

Recipe for a Roller Coaster

Start with ripe imagination
add some over-stimulation
a pinch of spicy inspiration
stewed in saucy consternation
please don't season with much sleep
a glass of wine or two will keep
you on the ride of your life...

Hang on!


Details | Rhyme | |

Rains Of Surreal

There were clouds from the sky
To be a little darker then before
Some thoughts in sacrifice to deny
The ever mist in darken haze to recall

And the walked path was an unsheltered one
He who bears the weight of unnoticed vapour
Should be realized to have unflustered thoughts come undone
For he who thinks will thoughts be flooded lesser!

That be pure and impure to see
For a path of evil may well be a course to undertake
To understand the substances of purity
To then walk perhaps the dream-fill path in wake

As the rain becomes heavier in turn
It only meant for the routes be harder to view
To be drench toward a point of no-return
Guess not the unseen road but be sure of surreal!

Mayhaps an after-rain be of rain an after
To share the affair and to embrace as one… the unknown
And to walk is the path already be taken forever
Yet the rain, hasn’t me to recall of those being shown


Details | Rhyme | |

SHORT POETRY

                                          SHORT POETRY

                                       When a taste is pure

                                        When a bite is sweet

                                        Who would wish
                                               It gone

                                   Before a blink’s complete?


Victoria Anderson-Throop
2013


Details | Personification | |

life to me

i see life as a struggle
and how to make it ?
to some people is a baffle
but i  know myself
am gonna jump over the hurdle
no matter the situation
even in the hardest scenario
just trying to make some few notes into my pocket
take time like hitting a tennis ball with a racket
my road to stardom,see it just started
am focused minded like searching for a nugget
people want things easy,that's not what i want
i wanna strive and get it,that's what i'm in for
nothing to break me down like the virus jeefo.
i owe my life


Details | Cinquain | |

Failure

I write
to a gold moon
but the moon cannot read
and the stars cannot sing or dance--
I fail.


Details | Blank verse | |

BEHOLDING HER (3)

Again, I got it wrong
She wasn’t bathing nor making up
She was of her natural look
Holding a Bible with her phone  
Coming straight from a vigil
Forget not, it was 7.15am

Not too tall as I envisaged
A bit lighter in body colour 
Her facial beauty was not magical
Her smile was same as that on phone
While her eye lashes speaks for itself
But her teeth-gap is of instant special effect
In all, she is of an average beauty.








Alayande Stephen T.
23rd November, 2007
4.53pm


On my way to Ikare
Agbado-Ekiti.


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 | Free verse | |

The Tale

With paper and pen in hand,
She sat down to tell the tale
Of a love once known
And now gone forever.
Tears stain the paper
And smear the ink
As she reminisces
Over the young boy she met
At the church picnic
That beautiful day so long ago.
Of the fairy-tale courtship
And story book wedding
Of a couple so in love.
She in her long, flowing dress
Glowing, more radiant than
The pearls and sequins that covered her.
He looking like a prince
In long white tails and top hat.
She smiles gently as she tells
Of the children brought in love
Raised to walk with heads held high.
The words flow easily,
Like the ink from the pen,
Speaking of the grandchildren to come,
The days of growing old together,
The good days and those less happy,
The love shared and the hopes expressed,
The promises made and the lives lost.
With pen and paper still in hand
She begins to weep silently again
Wishing only that this story book life
Had been her own.


Details | Rhyme | |

Paper Soul

Poets will try to hide their pain
Where tears will go unseen
They'll hide the countless demons slain
With words they find serene

Emotion will always find their sleeves
It's part of who they are
A special way the poet grieves
To mend that hidden scar

A poet is lost until they're found
They just can't find their way
A silent scream without a sound
Will chase their pain away

A poet is made of different stuff
They're not like all the rest
Peace, they never seem to have enough
Until their sin's confessed

They're haunted by their need to write
Their ink made to console
For most are prisoners to the night
And they're born with a paper soul


Details | Tanka | |

Pen of Loneliness

My heart beats for love
But the pen’s my loneliness
Writing down the words
Painful words put on the walls
Of my aching heart of love

Russell Sivey


Details | Free verse | |

To the beginning and over but Never Out

Oh please, I plead
Listen to my beseech
I raise my hands out to you
take them please

In this dark void I walk through
there is no comfort
no warmth
no joy

slowly it leaches out all that I hold
when will I ever reach the end?
Do you know where the end is?
Is the end where the end of the end is?

Lost, dazed, confused
Did God pluck me out
and strand me here?

three doors, three paths, three choices
one Mundane

ransom me out
an open cage, such as this atramentous nightmare
no end
no path

Is there hope? 
Hope is where light is
is the light at the end where darkness is not?
is the light where the light always materializes from?

                                                                                where
                              is
                                                                                                     it?


Details | Senryu | |

Beginning of the Country

The country started By making a little sweat Causing injury Writing promises Of the great Constitution Wearing fresh clothing Now we have finished Because we are very smart Awesome document
Russell Sivey


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 | Free verse | |

Metaphysical cutup

It is not that I love you less
When first my lines of heavenly Joyes
made mention 
	through regions farr divided 
see with what simplicity 
      see! With what constant motion
Philosophers have measured mountains 
Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries
	Oh wearisome condition of humanity !
Oh might Nothing ! Unto thee 
O Joyes ! Infinite sweetness! With what flowers
	
	Must I then see, with what busie heart 
	Heare mee, O God!
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares
				Busie old fool , unruly sunne
    Absent from thee I languish still 
O sweet and bitter monuments of paine
	Out upon it , I have lov'd  
Sweet day , so cool , so calm , so bright 
	where do these voices stray 
like to the falling of a starre
Poet and Saint ! To thee alone are given
A ward , and still in bonds, one day

All my past life is mine no more 
	How vainly men themselves amaze
dazel'd thus with height of place 
	Here lies wise and valiant dust.


Details | Free verse | |

Ginsberg

withpen in hand awake, apparations of immortality
consumed inward. This straight heart's delight 
yelling Tiny Nicaragua's a big threat 
	to undernourished Mexico.
By common sense , common law , common tenderness
& common tranquility I want to know what
happens after I rot. 

shooting Gasoline electric speed ; empty soul'd 
exploding at viaducts heavy bound and 
manacled upon the City's Heart.

	... Was that a shot ! backfire 
or cherrybomb? jiggling yr knees there blankeyed
	in the rain.
While each flower Buddha eye repeats this story 
with teenage boys , The Red Police and grunts &
screams & shouts ...
	
	... eyes , tongue and heart ...
theres' just too much to see ; world-wide 
and full of money. Count yourself Greatness 
in their pointy empire accumalating on the margin
with broken plumes of sensation. As 
I lie 
here naked in the dark , dreaming....


Details | Crystalline | |

iLLUMINATION

A spark of spiritual insight
can light a passage in my soul


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 | Blank verse | |

Zip Zap

Zip Zap Zoom Zoop
I love these kind of words
their very presence makes me smile
A jump in my heart as these words come forth
as I see the words
splat and boom
gaw and he haw
little words
that have no real purpose but
to remind me that life
is suppose to be fun


Details | Free verse | |

The Emotional Cry

Inside of my soul is emptiness 
I can't get rid of this
all of this emotional relationship sh!t
made me unstable naw I ain't tellin fables
but listen & look into my eyes more deeply
my heart feels so cold now
the Pope or catholic priest couldn't reach me
reach one teach one 
I hear evil but I don't see none
and whats worst in like 8 months 
I might have a lil daughter or son
and truth be told I can't stand my baby muva
I regret ever speaking to her Damn!
when we was loving I wish I would've used a rubber
she's the reason that I need a brake from the female species
I don't know whats worst dealing wit someone 
who could physically or emotionally beat me
right now I swear I just need to be by my lonesome
I been on the frontline long enough
she's the reason that I no longer believe in love
truthfully speaking if I wasn't a poet 
I'd probably feed myself a slug
Now look in my eyes can't you see the emotional flood


Details | I do not know? | |

Table For Two

Unequivocal strangers, you and I,
both of us bear an apparent aspect;
you, demanding that we meet eye to eye,
yet, I must charge as to my own respect.
How else can the full bill be divided,
if we two were, too soon, to take our seats?
Our stranger tastes will, then, be collided,
as we order near Olympian feasts.
Though you've waved to dismiss all the children,
perhaps, I'm not quite ready to do so;
I'll await the results of the cauldron,
before dousing embers beneath that glow.
But, here I am, able to take my place
at this table you have set before me,
now, prepared to find myself face to face
with you, who questions everything I see.


Details | Haiku | |

Fish Speak Silently

fish speak silently

underwater words echo

heartfelt thoughts within




(February 9, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved


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 | Free verse | |

what not to do

most people,
they don't get out of bed
in the morning
until they've heard the news.
or the weather.

all we need in the morning
is bad news and coffee,
tips on traffic routes,
tips on wardrobe.

no one wants to hear about
success anymore.
tragedy always seemed
so much more interesting.
no one reads milton,
but everyone reads shakespeare.

lifestyles of the rich & famous is gone,
but cops is still around.

no one likes to be told what to do,
but everyone needs examples of what
not to do.

i guess even poets still have a place
in society.


Details | Sonnet | |

Twenty Thousand Times

In poem or prose, if I have one ideal
that no one, in creation, had before.
I would share with the world, and not conceal
this consideration, behind closed doors.
If to me, an apothegm should creep
into or through my offset, wayward mind 
on parchment this archetype, I would keep
to reassess accepted space, and time.

Ah, this dilemma I will never fight.
My every concept has been over-worn.
All missive or poems I will ever write, 
have been penned twenty thousand time before.
For all our thought bright enough to glisten, 
seldom fall on ears arranged to listen.


Details | Rhyme | |

Speaking In Tongues

I have so much to give,
I have so much to say,
Let me speak,
Let me feel.

I know my heart,
Here lies the truth:
My tears paint
Much more than friendship.

The ink in my veins
Will write how I feel,
The words on my tongue
Will show after time.


Details | Free verse | |

Writer's Block

I need a poem, and
I've needed one all day long.
I need a poem, and 
I've looked everywhere for one.
Well, I've looked for one in the shower,
once my favorite place.
I've looked for one in the traffic, in the dance
of tail lights in the rain.
I need a poem.
All the metaphors that I can conjure up,
just sit there like a lump.
I need a poem, and 
I wonder why, some days
it comes so easily. Those days, there's
a poem in every tree but, today
I need a poem.
I feel like some demented dentist,
pulling every tooth he sees, or
some starving native tipping every stone
to find a slug beneath.
I need a poem,
and I don't think I'll
find one very soon.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The broken road to heaven

The broken road to heaven 


The broken road in need of maintenance  
through which we have traveled, mute and solemn 
to our delight
was alight with millions of glow bugs;
evening was another leaf fallen
when I whisper to my friend Richard,
“Is it heaven? Have we arrived at last?” 
he smiled,  “we are yet to reach my home.”
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar 


Details | Rhyme | |

I'll Follow You Like Your Duckling

I'm like your duckling, dear 
I follow wherever you roam so have no fear
I'm your duckling, so don't disappear 
Be my dependable leader
I'll stick around and I'll abide by your side
Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)

I mimic like your duckling, beloved
I swim wherever you paddle so slip on my gear
Be my trustable coach 
I'll follow your routine and float by your side
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)

I'll follow you wherever you flee
Just signal where we ought to be
I'll follow you wherever you take wing
Just push me back and forward like a swing
Lift me up and pull me down
And I'll follow you
Like your pesky duckling

Take wing, my darling angel 
I'll watch your Devine flight and wave a farewell 
Someday I'll dwell with you 
But I'll be your duckling and will always have you to turn to
Like a hero! (3) 
Wie ein Held! (2)

Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)

I'll follow you like your ugly duckling



Details | Sonnet | |

Beat Red

I’d like to write poems beat red.
Like the color of my face
when white spit foams the lips.
I’d like an utterly violent embrace.

No pretense, nothing dishonest
about this undoctored rage.
Hold nothing back, let it all go,
tear off clothes, and punch the walls.

I’d like my poems to be suicidal.
Willing to jump off the Golden Gate,
overdose on sleeping pills,
a Black and Decker drill to the skull.

At least then I will have killed
for complete love of the poem.


Details | I do not know? | |

Tendrils of Hope

Refusing to succumb,

to the alluring haze of self-pity,

I refuse to wallow,
in an ocean of regret,

I choose to banish thoughts of despair,

dispelling pain, while tempting joy to emerge from its shielded lair.

I shall sow the seeds of promise,

nourishing well,

the tendrils of hope,

breathing new life into my nights, my days.

I must stand, I will rise, I have to believe,

in a better tomorrow,

not perfect, nor rosy,

yet filled with tidbits of bliss,


as well as with shards of sorrow.


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 | |

Heartless Fire

In my fervent heart,
You knew I treasured you
But you didn’t return those tender feelings
Just see the fumes arise from the consuming fire
Because my wicked desires wasted away into embers
I love you…I love you…These feelings are ever so new!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…These feelings are always true!
You knew I honestly adored you…oh yeah; I always did from the start
But you don’t consider those mild feelings—you wrecked those bits by bits
Ah! Now I’m crammed into the ascending fire, splintering me with the strokes of death
Because of my virtuous desires, I’m wasting away into the pit of corruption
I thought you were encompassed with my passionate kisses
But you wanted to chase after your callous blisses, now I’m faced with crises
I detest the thought of adoring you…but I have to admit—I love you!
I love you…I love you with all of my heart! Do you love me too?
I know the desires that I have constructed for you never occurred in your heart
I know in the bottom of my heart that you were only enticed by your sick pleasures
You’re dumping me into the raging fire and you’re a sneaky little liar
Because I ain’t lying like you do deceitfully to me—I’m in love and I can’t draw back my desire
You brought magnificence in my eyes, comforting angel
But I’m subsiding into the cavernous fire
Because I surrender to my legit desire
How could I free from the embrace that yanks on to me?
You brighten up my dreams and set me free from reality’s calamity
I love you…I love you…These feeling relieve me from the blue!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…I adore your every existence—do you get the clue?
You knew I kept this feeling inside for so long
Nevertheless, I feel that I belong
In your heart…In His heart…
In my heart…we’ll never depart!
You are my true endeavor
And I wanna win your heart forever!
You’ll always be loved because you’re above beautiful
But, you don’t believe this love will survive in this stranded palace
But I’ll attempt to win you with all of my might and I’ll defeat the malice
Our boundless love is like two fireflies floating in the midnight sky
But you disturbed our greetings and you didn’t even accept the feelings I felt for you
Why did you blow away our interweaved feelings of passion
And blew them away into the heartless fire?
My precious love, why did you diminish my eternal desire?
You knew I worshiped you
In my sensitive heart


Details | Free verse | |

Threshold -Zelazny-

"I know you are
	specially designed for this operation"
	the man twisted as the Old Stories 
streaked gold across the wall opposite.
	
	When the lights went out a 
moment later , touching his throat , like
a piece of ice dictating :
	' Lies about Man's psychological &
biological make-up.'
	"I know ; I wrote it , seldom happy
& junk sick" Laughter from 
	the Alcatraz of his eyes
	asking someone for The Synopsis of ;
Flight , wordless.
	Hate , an active verb.
Fury , the inside of a furnace.
	Pain &
silence...


Details | Free verse | |

dark stage

what do you do
when to one's self you're true
lay down on the guillotine
let them scream off with her head
leaving your soul naked for all to see
under the glare of the red queen
when all who look
only see the dark stage
all the puppets you set
not the woman behind the puppets
not the writer of the page
only the actors chose to act
in the strange little play (c) M.J.Richter


Details | Haiku | |

' Uni-Verse...' (Haiku # 11)

   ‘ Uni-Verse ’   Haiku  # 11

        Oh, What Universe
What Grand Word, Did God Speak First
     ... Gave Beginning – Birth !


Details | Haiku | |

God's Love

From a higher place
Fall streams of tranquility
Moving still waters

~~~~~




For John freeman's Contest: The Precept: Nature's Haiku
Inspired by the Photo
Awarded:  2nd Place



Details | Dizain | |

Profits are Poets

Two thousand twelve, just a new year,
No one knows the end, except one.
With faith, knowing right, none to fear,
Everyone just hypes to shun.
Others do it, in lively pun.
Outcomes of profits can be fit.
They can be played, on any bit.
Profits are mans weakness, in life.
They make all people, fear their wit.
Profits are poets, giving strife.


Details | Free verse | |

Verbage Stew

I salt the soil of my mind
spew forth a regurgitated mash
of syllables and vowels
meted out in a rhythm
only a lunatic could dance to
Buy me a package of 
instant identity- a dash of Plath,
some Tagore for good measure
that I would no longer be distracted by
the sound of my own pen tapping
on an empty page
Deceitful brain!
How you've betrayed me
Your promise is dry ink
and screeds of nothing


Details | Lyric | |

Eventually

eventually everything loses its touch
eventually everyone gets rid of their lust
and when you can no longer pretend
that everything eventually comes to an end

it'll all come down in a bad way
no one not even you can stop fate
so why bother why even try
because all of us will eventually die

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

trouble all of us will eventually meet
i guess you think a fool i must be
but the truth is so full of heat
the odds i guess no one can beat

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

and this pain fills me
wishing i could escape this destiny
but whats meant to happen will
i wonder how does that make you feel

the truth makes you so pail
slowly we're losing to this hell
in this life we're all going to fail
and we can't escape this jail

baby listen to me yell

im not stupid
im not going to believe their lies
im not naive 
and im not going to give in this time

eventually you will give up 
eventually your words will be left in the dust
eventually you will lose your shameful lust
while everything has already lost its touch




Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

A Youthful Girl In Cold War Part I

Deficient air I breathe in my lungs
In this world now I live, daddy's are careless
The children feeling helpless
Mother's have to play two characters
All I can see is the tears
That flow down their cheeks
Why am I disrespected by the one's who I look up to
I stick with my boys, because I never understood 
Why girls constantly hate each other 

I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war

Trying to fit in is so called being cool
Its just another word for being someone else fool
If they smoke, dislikes him or her
Then that person does the same
Now its all eyes on me so I have to go along too

Since I look at life at a different angle
I chose to go my own way
If my clothes ain't tight then he isn't going to like me
Being nice it's just a bad finish in the end
I guess I come last, some still say I'm just stuck in my past
As much as my pulverized heart been through 
I learned to put off love as it corker, belittlement, and depressed me for years

I'm just a youthful girl in cold war
I'm constantly going through it
misjudgment and jealousy constantly bothering me
I'm just a youthful girl at cold war


Details | Rhyme | |

A shady truth to me

God forbid we should draw inspiration 
From fellow neighbors who try to comply 
To better a craft, push beyond limitation
Expanding the graveyards where sunsets die
Envy runs rampant within the benign 
Sucking the life out of lessons to teach
While sticking new frames on old designs 
They rant and rave, practice and preach
And hide there faces while spitting in the wind
Like not being able to face their fears
Like false starts in rearward races begin 
Or crying in rainstorms to camouflage tears
They stand for elite ones in business suites
Forgetting of the ones down in the dirt
While reaping rewards and picking the fruit
Anchored in faith that contests such hurt
Protesting the feelings that all of us know
Unlabeled compliance humanely built
Confessing true lies, while hoping to grow
And cover with tree shade their feelings of guilt


Details | I do not know? | |

Immortability

Please understand what I have to say,
for I would give all to be as Homer;
my writing become part of a great over-lay
for some Peisistratus to later recover.
Yes, in those imagined, far-future ages,
my name would have long-since been lost;
but, to think, my words amongst those pages;
my perceptions would have escaped Fate's cost!
My God, my observations being templated
amongst the gathered truths of our time,
even after my ashes have deteriorated,
they'll continue as part of an eternal rhyme.
I'm now willing to give it up and embrace it,
since my life's spent chasing my own doom,
I accept that, like no one, meager candle lit
can forever light the fullness of, even, one room;
no one, single poet's work can hope to truly
enlighten the beauty of any entire era.
I yearn my gift be set in the stars, a wedding tiara;
no longer desiring the twin role of mother and father
to my own impossibly virtuous daughter;
I'm made to think of Keats, and I remember,
his final wish was his name be writ in water.


Details | Free verse | |

Refill

I am the pen of life
Held between the fingers
Of a much greater power
I flow my footprints onto pages
Even glass, wood or the roughest surface
Engraving a non cryptic legacy
Bleeding in cursive inkblots
Embedding confusion into the psyche
Of the psychological
And stain with smudges the white card backdrops
Where all but the unknown remain
To taint and blemish
The nature of the purest liquid
Rolling, tumbling, leaking
Crying mascara from start to finish
To leave some memory
Of any sort of acceptance
While in a putrid state of lucidness
Gliding, striving, soul seeking
For purpose and repentance
My greatest fear
Is that it will start to rain
Before the ink has dried


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 | Blank verse | |

still life with cigarette

i was just sitting on the porch
& thinking how maybe
i should take up smoking
how the world
might appreciate me so much more
if i had a vice
if Death were perched
a little more obviously on my shoulder
some shrouded & sadistic parrot
echoing the words i write
as if every one
might be the last
then i'd be a fitting tragedy
to listen to
the world sees no art
in just living


Details | Free verse | |

Pens 'n Needles

Ink spreads, Forming A pattern your Heart understands. Lines that Make up your Mind. A trivial Victory A battle betweem Body & Mind. Heart & Soul. Eternal on Paper...


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 | Free verse | |

Awkward

-Hi. 
-Hi.

Pause

-How you doing?
-Alright.

Pause

-Uhuh.

Pause.

-So do you come here often?
-No

Pause

-Yeah.

Pause

-Nice weather today.
-I suppose.

Pause

-Do you want a drink?
-I don't drink.

Pause

-Oh.

Pause

-Do you wan't to dance?
-Not really.

Pause

-Hmm.

Pause

-Shall we go back to my place then?
SLAP


Details | Blank verse | |

trick of light

dark glance from the table in the corner;
she stares & you stumble
half drunk from the second's hope
or trick of light that trapped you in her eyes.
but what's a muse if not a trick, a risk, 
some fleeting moment of unknowable fear?
go on, sit down
take the empty chair an arm's length 
or heart beat's distance away from her;
make an ass of yourself,
make something of yourself-anything.
you look back & she's gone,
what's a muse if not an illusion,
man's desires made manifest
in flawless impossibility,
or flawed perfection blurred to new proportion?


Details | Free verse | |

Pablo Neruda

A man and a poet of extraordinary powers,
of the written verse to which flows, passion, 
so much more then simple words entice,
readers to see what shall not be hid.
Unexpected lines depict such simple views,
while beautiful spectrums of delight,
rise from every line he writes.
Political reality overshadows his life,
while periods of love shines into verse,
that takes control of such a deliberate man.
Pablo Neruda a pen name at first took over, 
every aspect of his life and words became,
reality and a powerful poet and writer emerged.


Details | I do not know? | |

Maybe...I am Nothing

Maybe I wear baggy jeans
white socks and cheap flip-flops,
tank tops and black nails polish
and I'm not a social butterfly,
Tucking away my physical pain and childhood 
sufferings
Taunted by the world outside the box
maybe I don't care about the things
that make you love me, 
maybe you look at me and think:
i am nothing.

Maybe I dont like giving smiles
regularly,
greeting everyone i meet
and maybe I allow my imagination
to run wild,
maybe you don't understand me 
and that's why you cannot see,
that because im am imperfect
i am nothing

The world makes you believe
your personality mustn't be noticed,
your physical must be picture perfect
and wear clothes just the best, to be accepted.
Maybe I look at you
and feel sorry that you let this cruel world
change your perceptions and dreams,
and yourself you'll never find.
The creator made you as you are, as well as me,
naked as Adam and Eve
maybe coming into the world alone
i'll leave the same
this means I am something,
Believing that maybe, just maybe
the world is full of lies
and if I must be nothing, 
then what makes you something.


Details | Senryu | |

Lost Consciousness

thoughts escape my mind

flying swiftly through space, time

lost consciousness




(February 7, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved


Details | Rhyme | |

Fords of Jordan

Your words justified your words condemn     				      their own blood they lay in wait by consent  				         of spiritual things not to entice with them                                                                          you know what you said Lord knows what you meant      											        For shallow attempts to lead you astray    				      with pretense made their own speech will betray        			     their rock is not our Rock beware leaven     				      true to thyself their own little deity    													    Their so as above is not heaven          					        no fear before their eyes brothers of impropriety                 			     they swallow the gravel of sinking sand        				 smooth talk took their hand as pebbles drowning 			                                                                                                                  Reaping the foaming shame of a dark land             				         all the while their deeds Jesus is frowning           			                      desperate wicked above all things hearts                                                                          how well you do in the swelling Jordan												                          speak truth in love repent be born again                                                                           divides asunder the soul and spirit   					        He being Truth knows how to set apart          				    make new hearts not of stone those that fear it 				     																


Details | Blank verse | |

Life Is The Ink

Life is the ink
I write with.
Words are the actions
I maketh and take.
Paper is the earthly conneciton
Of where I am.
This pen is my destiny,
For only I hold the key.
These lines are boundaries
Of memories and times.
This book is my story,
Telling all there has been.
Writing is as living
As to remaining is as dying.
History is vast,
Yet each life creates its cast.
Life is the ink
We write with.
Words are the weapons
For fight and defence.
These books are our story
And forever we write freely.
Life is the ink
And is bound to run dry.
Our words remain
Even after we die.


Details | Free verse | |

Life Stories

Unfold, get worn,
dirty, washed, refolded,
unravel, mend,
ignore, rediscover,
reshape, repair,
rethink, get comfortable.

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

life's a lot like laundry


Details | Free verse | |

Violet Skull Scavenger

I came upon you like a path 
of broken sprigs
of mint and lavender
Violet skull scavenger
how I do wilt when I dream as
an indigo carousel spun in your eyes
You've broken down every
thought that I might have thought
pearly and sugar wrought
sleeping in peace
'till you crushed them to scent up
our cobblestone walkway by the light of the moon
Now in your recompense
you will dispose, dispense
all of your wisdom in icicle dew
frozen on eye lashes, whispered goodbye flashes
there is no other exactly like you...


Details | Free verse | |

THINE TRUE SELF

THE BEAUTY YOU SEE IN MY EYES IS,
SADNESS FROM ALL THE PAIN I'VE SUFFERED IN MY LIFE.
MY RAGE IS MY SCARS, FROM ALL THE DAMAGED HEART ACHES,
I'VE EVER FELT.
WHILE YOU SEE ME SMILING OR LAUGHING ON THE OUTSIDE,
MY TEARS ARE CRYING OUT SILENTLY.
ALL ALONE, AND UNLOVED,
AND BARON OF A FAMILY;
AN ORPHANED AND ABANDONED AS A CHILD,
NOW A GROWN WOMEN.
I TRIED TO TURN MY BACK ON MYSELF AS WELL,
ONLY TO BE BROUGHT DOWN TO MY KNEES SCREAMING,
WITH ALL MY OVERWHELMING EMOTIONS RUNNING WILDLY,
INSIDE OF ME.
WISHING OTHERS WOULD UNDERSTAND HOW GRATEFUL THEY
SHOULD BE TO HAVE FAMILIES THAT REALLY LOVE AND CARE FOR THEM;
INSTEAD OF COMPLAINING AND GROANING.
THINKING TO MYSELF,
IF ONLY MY FAMILY SHOWED ME THAT
THEY LOVED ME THAT AS MUCH AS
I LOVE THEM.
INSTEAD REALITY SETS IN AND REMINDS ME ON
HOW CRUEL THIS WORLD HAS BEEN TO ME.
I FINALLY DECIDED TO START ANEW,
AND THIS NEW BEGINNING HAD ITS UPS AND DOWNS;
AND LIFE LESSONS THAT NEEDED TO BE LEARNED.
ACKNOWLEDGE AND APPLIED.
LEAVING ME WITH THE DREAM AND HOPE,
THAT ONE DAY SOON I WOULD FIND MY KINDRED SPIRIT,
OR HE WOULD FIND ME TO LOVE ME IN THE LOVING WAY,
THAT WE BOTH NEED AND DESERVE.


Details | Free verse | |

Book Euphoria

When writing a book
I feel completely alive
When I’m finished
And the book is done
I enter a stage of euphoria
My insides twist and turn
And I feel a sort of
Wondrous sense of passion
Only felt when I successfully
Create my book for the world
Where I’m proud of myself
And I hear from friends
Who go on to state that
The books are fantastic
Beautiful works of art
These completions are what
Ultimately turn me on

Russell Sivey

Entrant in FRANK H's "What Turns You On" contest


Details | Personification | |

felt in this world

Felt as if I were a stranger amongst family.
A mere shadow puppet on the wall.
The whispers that enraged me deeply.
From all the distasteful, shameful,
ungrateful words that had been spoken.
Utter silence drifting away,
the darkness starts to reign.
Sincerity's all so superficial beauty shines brightly,
blinding us from the true light burning within.
Rebelliously our selfish motives,
and lustful attitudes,
ruthlessly are felt thru out the land.
Emotionless thoughts,a lack of wisdom,
Aimlessly wandering about,
consuming everything in it's path.
Leaving "heart aches" as distraactions,
felt dining the war within the chains of bondage.
Keeping us slaves of death.
Our "seeds of faith" never failing,
surrendering to our human nature.
Repenting with our bankrupted souls.
His grace,given with forgiveness
and love.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

Living in the fragment
Shards keep me stagnant
I’m both plaintiff and defendant
Daily tried in my own lament
Choices within myself I resent
Down on my knees I repent
No answers leave me discontent
Or are angels ever sent
Pulled by the devil so evident
Mired in midlife not my intent
My poems where I vent
Giving and taking advice lent
Days slowly pass and there’s no dent
Lost souls are my life’s precedent
Sickened by my own ailment
Painted with emotions so transparent
Love adds to my abandonment
Pain penetrates like an insurgent
There’s no way to circumvent
To trust again I’m ambivalent
The pleasure of pain coexistent 
Looked upon as an embarrassment
Dreams realized are only a figment
My story no one could invent
These words written are blood sent
Of a life forever being spent
Seeking a valid endorsement
Blood , sweat, and tears are a requirement
For we have to be diligent
So all can understand what we meant
The life lived unknown as the  poet…









Details | Free verse | |

Affluent

  
On the sidewalks of beautiful and opulent Waikiki, in step with the wealth of nations, a homeless society, lapping at the scraps, sleeping in doorways and beach park benches , amongst affluent foreigners, under cover of shady scenic banyon trees. She wanders elite avenues in search of her oasis, dripping with the pretentiousness, of a Starbucks cafe gourmet she mused, sipping a double mocha latte with extra froth, topped with shaved chocolate , and a "touch"of Madagascar cinnamon from a hot- cold cup, that she holds with shaking hands, dirty, broken nails and then she dabs at the corners of penciled lips, outlined several times in contrasting color, with a bit of the sleeve of her second hand denim designer jacket. Putting the cup down and picking up the designer copy of a pen that skips occasionally, needing to be tapped on the edge of the table, she pauses for thought and begins to compose a napkin sonnet for a needy friend


Details | Cinquain | |

Angst Of Burden On An Overcast Day

onus
traps me inside
myself -- suffocated.
to love but be unloved -- my cross 
to bear.


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 | Free verse | |

Never Sympathy

Looking up at all the lights that you can't appreciate
Among the city life I wonder:
What's out there; who's out there for me?
From what I do the thoughts remain in constant circulation.
From what I write will my life be revered or will it be viewed
As a man who struggled to persevere. The outlets in which
I drain my power are far from self-sustaining, and although
Straining, they jolt along. The truth behind his words
Is an authors saddest and most powerful story. His life; in relation
To all that surrounds him. His light; in all that's growing dim. 
The complex written in small words as a reminder, not of spite,
But to remember life and what has been survived. An outward
Expression to set yourself free; hoping for understanding but never sympathy.


Details | Free verse | |

Nonsense Answered

~This poem is a response to the questions asked in the book "The Book of Questions" (Poems I, II and III) by Pablo Neruda.~

The airplanes fly solo,
ashamed of their pasts; those who know
of their young propeller days.
The sunny bird,
with warmth is lured
those with bags of lemons from their ways.
No one can make the gun,
that harnesses the sun
to give to helicopters; they grow unwise.
In the lake shines a great bright light,
a reflection in the night,
and in that sight you will find her prize.
Ask Big Ben, who's always visible through rains
or the sun who dictates change,
you'll never find time through flesh.
The leaves, so green,
from trees so keen
on the birth of many strong souls; fresh.
In the mind,
you hid the blind,
without worry of bees.
We will use red then,
anger works just as well as delight in the kin
for bread to eat with teas.
The rose petals swell,
outside the budding shell,
having nothing to hide.
The wise old tree knows
it is better to hide than show
it's roots; knowledge makes them wide.
The silent screams,
the unknown rings,
reveal the automobile's frame.
The train so rusted,
the train so crusted,
I will never forget it's pain.


Details | I do not know? | |

Letting Thoughts Run

Letting thoughts run, fun 
happily eager to meet one another in a clash of ideas
each as unique as the last they mingle, and greet as individuals in a mind of mentality, a 
party pulling out poetry in an attempt to define definition of self, indefinite.

interesting to see thoughts of wisdom, timeless and now 
advise thoughts of hopelessness in a sea of certainty
washing up possibilities washing away concerns
cleaning the soul of poisonous thoughts with purity.

Pure is energy
Pure is light from the sun
Pure is compassion and empathy
Pure is initial
Pure is without thought

Thoughts live one at a time
Thoughts travel in a single line

You can only hold one thought at any moment
so make it a good one, a positive one
one that makes you smile

Good thoughts bring about good things
bad thoughts bring you trouble

Manifestation of thoughts into the physical.
The thought of thoughts being materialized, in a vessel
visible, tangible,
in itself shapes these very thoughts.
Creation is consciousness.

Thoughts are free until you put them on paper, or
type them, now imprisoned behind digital bars
these words will never be the same
as the moment they were created in my brain.
spontaneous words can be, here there everywhere at once
with no real connection or responsibility except to the writer writing them
and the reader.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Writer

If you want to be a writer, you might as well forget money, forget richness, forget happiness, the ink pierces your skin- in, out, in, out, such a pattern of mourning- it strips all pride in hopes you'll quit- give up- like they all do. You might as well sign the contract of death- to die before any work-if that even is published, or merely acknowledged. The steps of becoming one with the pen, and page- begin with hurt there's no way you can achieve a smile when a thousand doubts are slapping your face. Mocking you so you're locked up in your own world- without a key. The pity emphasizes the fact you're unknown and from that you always will be hopes and dreams are stomped on while you continue to change the world with a single line- 7 syllables; I want to be a writer. Well of course you do- but can you run through the eternal disaster? Hoping you get through without a single scar single scratch, blood only kept within. That's the defining moment- blood seeping through- searing feeling of the climax and then it all ends.


Details | Light Poetry | |

' Love Of Poets ... '

Oh, I Love Poets …
Here is Why:  Explore-It …

I Love The Way We Speak
I Love The Way We Think
And Seek and Link and When On The Brink
Of The Flow of Life … The Way We Drink …

I Love The Way We Pour-It
On … and Oh, I So Love Poets

Oh, I Love Poets …
Here is Some More-of-It …

The Way We Exercise Freedom of Speech
Sometimes, We May Actually Even Teach
All Times … We Are Truly Trying To Reach
at least One, if not Each … (while We Preach) …

but, They’ll Overlook or Get-Over-It 
Oh, I Do So Love Poets

I Love Poets …
Simply, Can Not Ignore-It …

We Are Determined to Make Talk, Très Chic’
All Topics, from Looney-Tunes to Tolstoy-Tragic
Deep Thoughts and Themes and Tags-Unique
“for A Rose by Any Other Name, Would Smell As Sweet”

… but It Would Not Sound So Fantastic !
If It Were Not Said, So Poetic …

So, I Do Love Poets
And What They Do, I Do Adore It
New or Classics and How They Wrote It
Oh, How I Do Indeed, Love Poets …


Details | Couplet | |

Homeboy Clown (Conclusion)

Every smile has a frown
In the life of a clown

We all hide behind painted faces

Our mind is our cell
Our own state of hell

Dreaming of far away places

We keep dreaming of free
Something we’ll never be

As our hopes drown in our fears

Our number is our name
Our life is our shame

Distorted by all of our tears

The years turn us cold
Over hearts we can’t hold

Our love is replaced by our hate

There is just one conclusion
It is all but an illusion

Because we create our own fate
---------------------------------------
We all hide behind painted faces
Dreaming of far away places

As our hopes drown in our fears
Distorted by all of our tears

Our love is replaced by hate
Because we create our own fate

Just a ghost inside a "Homeboy Clown"
--------------------------------------

Created for Michael's Contest

The conclusion is basically a rhyming Couplet
that has a non-rhyming conclusion at the
end of each stanza. At the end of the poem
the non rhyming conclusions must form their 
own rhyming couplet stanzas with a non rhyming 
conclusion that refers to the title. Note: The Couplets
in the first part of the poem must be even
numbered as to form a perfect couplet in
the second half. 

The "Conclusion was invented by Michael Jordan
On 2/6/09

This was quite the adventure Michael


Details | Concrete | |

The Bird

                                     
                                        Soaring high,