Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt
Happiness in a Wrong way – Zamreen Zarook
In the notion of seeking happiness,
I thought of stepping in to nonsense,
I dream I could find success,
But I had only little access.
Every attempt that I lend,
It was an utter failure at the end,
My life was full of difficult bend,
But God is always there as a good friend.
My deeds travel in various ways,
Some times in subways,
Or in times it goes in highways,
But I had the belief, God is there always.
North and south families surrounded,
East and west friends are rounded,
Every time fear on death soughed,
I am trapped, and my merits are loaded.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook
I am drifting into memories.
Wasting away like a million photographs fading in the sun-
Yet with ceaseless renewal,
Staining the depths of my eyes with images
In the minds shutter ever fluttering to infinity,
Stringing together this conscious stream I play in-
My stupendous God made of dust and space
Tightrope walking existence!
And to think we too are made of mostly nothing-
Chance so scarcely gracing our atoms with a single touch
In a place so lonely when counted,
Yet so abounding when felt!
So dance with the Dust God
Poised miles above the earth-
Prance on your stilts,
And peek into the great valleys beneath his skin.
Because any moment we could disappear
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt
Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.
The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.
"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.
The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.
Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
Love cannot bloom,
love cannot go on,
love cannot persue it dreams,
love cannot be what it is meant to be,
love cannot be where it is supposed to be,
if love doesn't have two hearts.
Love needs two hearts to be true,
Like water to a dried rose
makes it bloom in spring weather
with such glory and beauty.
Love cannot be true if one heart
doesn't love the other.
Care, trust, honesty and loyalty
in love it has no boundaries,
it has no color, it has no age,
like a fine wine or an aged whiskey
it grows better with time.
But love cannot fullfill without the other half.
If a woman loves man,
let her love him,
if you love me,
than love me, but if my heart is gone
and cannot be found in such relation with you
then I must halt, till my heart comes around.
If it never does show with the first light of morning,
then it wasn't meant to be with thee.
Come now, do not shed a tear for me,
a simple heathin, who cries havoc
when something doesn't go his way.
Do not cry, do not shed your one of a kind tears
for a souless man, for a heartless man like I,
but do not blame me,
if my heart cannot be found.
Love needs two hearts,
not one or the other can survive
without each other.
Love is patient, love is kind,
but with ever lover comes another.
And we will all fall in great and deep love,
be intoxicated with each other,
and our sweet kisses that God himself would shed a tear
for such beauty that still exisits.
Love needs two hearts,
you cannot have one, without the other.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
What I do to deserve this heartbreak,
this horrid and unnatural pain,
this cleche of events that strike me simultaneously
as the time ticks away,
and as the grinning faces pierce a whole through my soul
and my heart turns pale and slowly beats.
My heart is torn in two,
and I cannot find the doctors to stich me up.
I ask an old man,
how does love go about,
he smaked me in the face and went on.
The pain and the sorrow,
it is too much to feel,
too much to gain in one serving,
When I eat, I taste posion, not passion,
familiar faces turn grey, with ruby eyes and sharp fangs
they hiss at me, like a cat to a mouse.
I don't understand why I deserve this.
I am a good man,
who loves with open arms and a big heart.
With every hug I give,
I recieve a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds,
suicidal tendencies roll through my mine,
but I quickly throw them out,
because Mama didn't raise no coward.
I see the blow, I clench my fists
and swing away,
God cries wanting to stop this madness,
Death laughs and soon joins in,
people join in and punch away.
I lay there on the concret blood everywhere,
my heart torn out of my chest,
each with a thousand knives stabbed in it,
as it slowly beats,
I lay their on the pavement,
looking up to the heavenly skies,
and as it starts to rain droplets of hope
I ask myself,
What did I do to deserve this?
Then, I shall close my eyes
and rest for awhile.
Inspired by all the betrayal and heartbreak I've faced, by so many cowards who didn't want to recieve my love. People I had thought who were my friends, came with invitations of humiliation and hate, and now I see who my real friends are; this pen and paper... Have a good day.
P.S. No one should ever be shown this much betrayal and heartbreak. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. Have a good day!
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby...
You are my...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...
YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE
Copyright © jaremy mount Jr
I do not know?
Hand in hand we walked
together into Reception
Nothing could stop us and
together we were three
James and I LARP-ed Doctor
Who for fun
We talked and laughed for
Because no stress was in our
Anna and I smiled and laughed
And jumped on our bouncy
With nothing dividing us.
Side by side we walked
together into Year 6
Some stranger stopped them to
talk and broken we were alone
James and I talked about
Doctor Who for fun
And we talked and kissed for
But misunderstanding broke us
Anna and I still smiled and
And joked about our bouncy
But secondary school was going
to divide us.
With no one there I walked
alone into Year 7
And a stranger became my
friend and together we were
Violet and I both loved Doctor
And James found Dominic
So James and I talked for mere
And school started pulling us
Anna and I still laughed and
Still promising to be friends
Never letting it divide us
Suffocating and drowning I
walked into Year 9
Hating how I was and feeling
Katie and Chloe were so pretty
And Violet so funny and all
were better than me
James and I hardly talked or
saw each other
But we still made the most of
As we were like family, stress
couldn’t break us apart
Anna and I laughed but I did
not smile genuinely
Because the bouncy castle was
And our schools were beginning
to divide us
Dead yet breathing I stand
And I hate who am I and every
Fights broke us up and pulled
So I can feel Katie, Violet and
Falling further out my reach
James moved house to a place
And blamed me for never
talking to him
But really it was because of my
ex who was a girl
It was for something beyond
Anna and I were still friends;
only by a thread
As she did not know about me
And how school broke me apart
So this is me now; I’m all alone
No longer the smiling young girl
The only person talking to me
And the voice in side my head
You see; they all left me and
So now the only call I answer
Is that of my blades
And the darkness
That is constantly
Copyright © Teenage Frustrations
Walking in the meadow of life on that summer day
Where she always loved to be at Una walked along the steady stream
As she picked up the white Lilly flower and put upon her hair of gold (princess of love)
And the daughter of a dander king
Una suddenly turned her head to the old orchard tree and begun to sing roman lullabies of joy
With tears of affection shed for the god who lives above the skies
At that moment she gazed back to the stream
And there the lion stood so tall just like a king eyes wide looked to una
As she went toward the mighty lion he went to her and utter'd thee words
I am a creature of pride with nothing to hide I am pure of heart true of courage with a mask of savage a mane gold as our hearts-
She became very happy and intrigued
As she laid her gentle hands on upon the lion she spoke these words
-I love thee lion and by sun and moon I love thee freely as men strive for right;
I love thee purely in my old griefs and childhood's faith
There a tiny lamb appears right next to her and the lion
So small and graceful like a gift from god above
The tiny lamb followed them further into the enchanted meadow sky as crystal blue and the wind is calm they drifted off strung into the world
To bring new love joy and courage to the world and spread good faith
Copyright © Brian Otoole
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Copyright © Suyash Saxena
POEMS AT EIGHTY-ONE
By Leonard Kleeman
I started writing poems at the age of eighty-one.
I did it because I enjoyed it and it was lots of fun.
I thought of getting published but I pushed
that all aside,
I read so many poems that I knew I
I admire those who write and do it big time
and most of their poems don't have to rhyme.
Many of those I understand and many I do not.
Some are hard reading and some I really like a lot.
To be a published poet you have to write a
be it metaphors or similes or other stuff
I read and read so many poems until I really knew
It isn't just the form they have but they must have
A poem to have meaning is a very important thing.
You have to understand it or it can just be annoying.
It can be done in free verse or any other way
as long as the reader knows what the poet has to say.
I remember as a child reading Mother Goose.
When I got much older I even read Dr. Seuss.
And, Robert Frost became my favorite to read.
Even finding poems by Emily I would often plead.
So through the years I had a great taste
of all the poems and some even to waste.
I decided then to write in rhyme
and to be understood all of the time.
I made my poems as simple as could be
with easy meanings that all could see.
I then set them to rhyme to give them
For all to enjoy and never do harm.
So here I am now at age eighty-one
writing some poems just to have fun.
Maybe they're just lyrics writ off the cuff
but I'll enjoy my time that's left writing that stuff.
Copyright © Leonard Kleeman
Love they say is louder than hate.
But I think that it’s a shame,
That only holds true when you have a pretty face.
Maybe I’m a disgrace,
For saying such a thing,
But think about your life and how true that *****rings.
And I cannot deny what this mirror is reflecting,
What’s standing in my way is only one thing.
It was beauty killed the beast,
In famine it will bring feast.
And sideways glances, second chances, you’ll get those at least.
But what about me?
What about us?
It’s power like money,
It drives greed,
it drives lust.
So what about you?
What can we do?
All I can hear,
The sounds that make the world disappear.
Love is louder than hate, but I can’t hear it from here.
Copyright © Ag Ki
On that cloudy weekend in June
I hear a soft and graceful tune
from the grey bird on the tree
Singing sweet lullabies felt
blessed in the moment
My body tingles of joy at sight
Gazing out through
my open door,
Letting thoughts fly free
Releasing love out into the horizon
Heart filled with emotion came
Grey bird stood playing its tune
for awhile and on the wings of
Then as the rain fell from the
sky the grey bird flew away
I blew a kiss to the clouds and
utterd these simple words of I
Love You father ( who's now in
heaven ) and yet I hope to hear
that grey bird sing again once
more for me
Farewell, love your son
Poem contest for Debbie -referential
Copyright © Brian Otoole
I thought I could do it,
an all nighter
pouring my heart out
throughout the night
on dis here lonely page,
my eyes got heavy
I fall asleep writing u
this here ..
made up words of mesh
I hope u can see clearly
through this mess..
its may not be perfect
but its filled with
lifes lessons an many love stories
pain will be through the whole thing.
its all true, its everything I've seen, an done
and then some...
I hope you'll. Like what u read
special thanks to
my mom pushed me to write
this whole thing....
Copyright © CHELSEY MOORE
thanking you all guys
Copyright © nikhileswari swaminathan
Spoken words will fade
But written words are bound to
The life of a page.
Copyright © Tara Andre
hearing from them
all night long i cried
you laughing out loud
Copyright © Pranath Khatri
I know I haven't written anything lately. I feel like I have sorta had to cut out poetry in my life for a awhile. Just so I can focus on school, like studying and trying to do my best. Then try to be a nice person to everyone in general. It's difficult. I feel like If i were to ever mess up. In high school that everyone would poke fun at me. I don't like high school very much, I feel like everybody is watching my every move. It's like walking on thin ice you don't want to fall in. I haven't really fit-in with the school yet. I'm still known as unknown but oh well I guess. I just think its to late to make friends since it is my junior year already. I feel bad because I don't know anybody in my class. I hope to graduate. I mean I cried so hard because I didn't pass my ogts and i get other chances to re-take them. It's just If i don't pass them soon I can't graduate. Thanks Ohio. :/ I feel so stressed out about everything...life is sorta unfair but at least I don't have to worry about dying during the night like some countries do.
Copyright © desiray wells
I am but a living matter, with no much giving wonder
I’ve seen my birth twice, all after an attempted suicide thrice
I still weed and weave, that is, think and compose
Yet I am still but willed to be still.
Ignition in my struggle have seen my daring heart through
I still and possibly, will write with no much height
In me I see the silent child-like Emily Dickson, still doing my fiction
Still, creating, hoping, losing and breaking my skeletal friction
I know rejuvenation shall get me there
Where the hearts grill with cheer.
I’ve crawled to the lands Far East, then Far West
To the North and South Pole
In my interactive intractable mind of imagination
Yet to lose but to give I’ve captured the silent mourning
Of many unable, disabled, able-less people
I’ve coined the immaculate wealth and health
Of many reliable very able people
And still to be real, I am but still.
Just the young thoughts of the young mind
Copyright © njeri hunjeri
I will write about my ancestral
home soon Because she is my root
When the world recognizes my voice shall i write
I will write about those tall trees in my family compound
I will write about the forefathers and their homes
The masquerade in the forest, the ikoro of my land
The traditional marriage rites where a man pays the dowries
Isn't right for a woman to take charge of that?
I will write about Nkporo people, their hospitality
I will stand tall and tell the world where i come from
I will write about the rivers when i grow up
I will write about those pretty women of Nkporoland
The tall pretty girls who drive men crazy with their
I will write about the unconstructed roads
The power outrage in that beautiful village
Wait for me i am coming to interview you
So that you could tell me your own side of the story
I will write about love when i grow up
I will write about Melissa, my first love
I will write about Nneoma, my mistress
But i must keep her file away from melissa
I don't really wants Melissa to know Nneoma
Neither do i want Nneoma know about melissa
I can't afford to loose any of them
I will write about the witches
The king and finally the arrogant chief priest
Who raped young ladies in the forest of Okike
I will surely write about this place soon
Copyright © john chizoba vincent
I do not know?
Never had actual dreams because I always thought that they will never come
Will they? as i'm growing up in this world where I see all kinds of disasters.
I remember being 12 wishing of my age to be 18 witch I regret and now I see
the whole truth of being a young adult there's nothing really out here for me but
frustration and making my own world better by becoming successful.
Copyright © TERESA MORENO
The secret site of mine I can blog anything I want
Instead of putting it on my social network page this way I can taunt,
The one person whom I don't like and can blog mean post
It is sorry that I hide my true feelings and blog about what I hate most,
This way I look like I am a good person on my social network page
While I secretly blog mean thoughts and post them while I age,
I have become so obsessed with this blogging site
I find myself wanting to write hate blogs about one person all night,
Being sneaky is such a thrill
Maybe one day I will get my fill.
Written By: Unique Poetry 2015: This poem is about other People and not the way I feel.....
Copyright © Michelle Born
When ever I'm looking back on parts of my life
Here is not where I want to stay on this page
Thinking about all the much trouble and strife
Looking for a new way, the start of a new age
A giant puddle but its not always a bed of roses
Though the experience builds ones character
A right hurdle, one door opens, another closes
Closing the book on the past, a new chapter
Getting out of this muddle, one now proposes
Looking to a new dawn just tears of laughter
A never ending struggle finding a prognosis
Looking to new horizons from here on after
An atmosphere that no longer cuts like a knife
Skies no longer grey, no more build up of rage
Looking for pastures new, pastures more rife
A better tomorrow a new day, yeah a new age
A poem inspired by group conversations(2001)
written (2002)/2003) a new age a journey of self discovery
Talking about moving forward instead of always looking behind
A new cycle of time a new errer a new beging a fresh start
a new day a new year a new decade yeah a new age
this is part two if you like to age of my life (2004)
note just reconstructed a little updated 2011 2012
note just reedited a bit better context
Copyright © david scott
Everyone can write.
Never think that certificate could make us a good writer.
What we need is a burning passion and discipline
And never have we thought
that writing shall come from the mind
but from the soul.
Always be reminded that
writing is not merely a composition.
So don't ever think to compose but to write.
The best thing to start writing is to start.
The best to write is what we know
but better to write of what we do not know.
But the limit of the freedom of speech,
is the hate speech.
I love you writing. Let's sail together. Layag Sug!
Copyright © Neldy Jolo
Who will I write for,
When there’s no one left to please,
When my leaves have fallen,
Scattered in the breeze?
The forest defines me,
Yet I am lost in the trees,
Scarred and bruised survivor,
The only one of me.
My bent down frame gives
no more shade, gravity
Gradually got its way,
And roots are not immune.
Who will I write for
When there is no one left to please?
Copyright © James Fredholm
Julie, was sitting by the window inside, away from the brisk winter breeze. She had just moved out west, when it began to freeze. When she wakes up in the morning, it's cold as ice there.
She thought it would be wise, being a writer, to take a little time off. She took a few sips of whiskey, to help get rid of her cough. She felt very, weary.
She dreaded the holidays, her husband Bill, had passed away. She began to weep. She never expected this to even happen. She wished she had passed away, too.
Julie heard a whimper and scratch at the door. It was wrinkles, her dog. He had white snow all over him. She went to the door to let him in. Julie then decided not to waste anymore time.
Julie decided to do a load of wash. She looked out the door, stood there to watch the wild animals. Then she figured while she had time, look too, for the movie, Star Wars.
Julie finally got the whole house cleaned, looked where the dog was, whispered, "love ya buddy" to him, "and will get through this together."
Copyright © Country Girl47
I'm inside ride of happiness, an sadness.
I love you so much. but now I know that weren't met to be.
You said once you don't meat your soul-mate so young.
But we believe at 19 years that we do. How do you know when
it's your soul-mate.
Do you feel the love inside.
I ended up pregnant so young.
that didn't go so good. Our wedding
you told me that I won't leave you.
that didn't turn our good
Because we both broke those vows to each other.
I sometimes wonder when we still hang out
with our friends do we love each other?
I know in way that I love you but we argued so
much that told me the last time
I can't argue with you my love.
We shouldn't be together and go our separate ways.
you wouldn't sign our divorce papers.
We argued over those.
Everything we argued over.
When I came back home I expected you to be married and with kids.
that are beautiful and good carrere. you would of made good father.
Your new wife would of been beautiful and made you feel good
about yourself better than I could.
I sometimes wonder if we could of made it work for each other.
Copyright © Kelli Prosser
You laid your voice down
For all to hear,
You wrote some poetry
Ago a year,
It's difficult to comprehend
What happened to that time,
You could have said:
“This time's mine.”
Wedged in between a period
Like a molecule
In a lump of steel,
The time to wrote this song
Will be gone with the wheel,
The wheel of fleeting time
Caught somewhere in the atmosphere,
Before you know it,
Gone will be a year, then another year.
(Reproduced pretty well word for word from a slice of juvenilia I wrote and recorded when I was 18 years old.)
Copyright © Carl Halling
**This poem is a letter to another poem I wrote years ago titled "They Come Out at Night" which I'll post in a bit.**
I wrote a poem yesterday
but it didn't feel the same.
These words don't bounce,
lightening-quick, across the pages
I take pauses where sparks
I think too much now,
or maybe I don't think enough.
Questions are dangerous
and emotions are battle fields
better left unvisited.
I think I've even forgotten
how to tango with my ghosts,
and weren't they always my
favorite source of inspiration?
I feel like I've written it all.
And then words come back to me,
soft as a wing.
pull their shades closed at night,
and say a rosary before turning out the lights.
like they know better,
like they won't take anymore
of your shit.
Copyright © Felicia Elizab