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Epic Write Poems | Epic Poems About Write

These Epic Write poems are examples of Epic poems about Write. These are the best examples of Epic Write poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Let me write you something.

Let me write you a poem.
A poem so great Bukowski would give me a hats off-
And hand me a beer.
A poem so well-written, John Mayer would play me a 
Tribute song with his guitar.
Let me bring Shakespeare to shame-
Let me write you sonnets one and two,
Three, Four and maybe 
Five hundred. 
Let the only alliteration be that of our laughter,
As we exchange puns and stories.
Let the words “I love you” be an understatement.
Let us be the Paradox – and let the popcorn munching crowd watch us with awe.
Let the touching of our lips write Concrete poems.
Let your embraces warm me with Haikus.
Chase me through Couplets where we are the only couple.
Let the only Dramatic Monologue be that within my palpitating heart.
Wrap me with imagery- 
Shower me with smiles and similes. 
Be the Free Verse,
Be the Epic poem,
Be the Ghazal poetry drunkards wrote to their loved ones…
Be the hero in my Heroic couplets,
Be the one.
Just let me write you a poem-
Where your name is the only repeated term.
Where the only irony is the twist of fate that brought us together.
Where the only onomatopoeia is the ROAR of your rusty car’s engine.
Where we stand like Oxymorons- contradictory but side by side.
Just let me write you a poem.
Or a novel
Or a play
Or a song-
Let me write you something. 


Details | Free verse | |

Hounds from Hell

Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.

Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.

Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.

-10/14/2013-


Details | Free verse | |

Any Ideas?

Well what should I write about tonight?

Should I write about what I did today?
Should I write about my shoelaces?
Should I write about doing laundry?
Or Should I write about what I'd like for breakfast tomorrow?

Maybe I should ramble about how the school day went.
Maybe I should complain about my room being dirty.
Maybe I should name off the food in my kitchen.
Or Maybe I should just talk about my hair.

I wanna talk about what I'm learning on guitar.
I wanna speak out about my inner issues.
I wanna yell a crazy rant.
I just wanna blow off some steam.

I wish I could take a bath with a girl right now.
I wish I would've finished my homework.
I wish I could shoot ice from my finger tips
I just wish I had some soda to quench my thirst.

There are so many things I could say right now!
But I just can't seem to decide.
I'd probably get some pretty weird looks
If I told you what's all bottled up inside.

I'm everywhere and nowhere in my head
Ideas and thoughts bouncing left and right.
Too bad I can't seem to think of anything.
I was really wanting to get some feelings out tonight.

Do I need to shave in the morning?
Should I go to the music store after school?
Why didn't I grab matching socks?
What does the weekend have in store?

I wish I had something to write about.
Any Ideas?

Eh, I'll think of something tomorrow night.


Details | Epic | |

Herald Hermit

                      Sometimes I watch the rhythm of the stars
to foretell things not present yet to come
like weather men predict rain, sleet, or snow
the skies send futurity through my thoughts
Im just a man; no more...
yawning dreams of yesterday...
before yesterday occurred
I sleep with time that tease thoughts of tomorrow
a pinch of fate sometimes is all it takes
to witness how the world will wield and break
with humble breath my heart conforms puzzles I preach
believe or not I write to you a theme
that came to me while yawning dreams of yesterday
before yesterday occurred
ill animals plague man to man
the floors of earth will shake beds as they sleep
our moon will tell the sun to low the fire
a scorching heat upon the heads of most...
to top it off the waters will devour souls that weep
without an arc the mystery cuts like a knife
untamed and innocent life
Doth thou light speakth more?
free countries greed with war!
believe or not I write to you a theme
with ink purchased in 1896.

                                   Inside a shallow space I said hello
to me, myself and I and loneliness
secluded see the day does not exist
without a social kiss
with isolation my shape forms a shadow
that darkness only see..
Hibernating inside walls I hide my hands
friends of none my life a shelf of books that bend
I speak again with silent echoes
inside of walls that hide my hands
my ears hear sounds of company
as even birds place feathers of concern atop my released roof
sincerely, Herald Hermit


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Family Grief Family Happiness

  
   Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
        
    My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
        My Mother caring about all five in different ways
      Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays 
     My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
          
      Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John. 
       music  a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !

     Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
          The music  takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "    
      My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
                 My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
        feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food               
         
       the yelling , slamming of doors ,  tempers Flare , passion 
         Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
        
        After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
         Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?

       Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee  
                 No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
          the  Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .  
        Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
             Excited in Chicago !  seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
        Cubs ,  museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
        
       Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
             Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `  
        Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones , 
          scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
        
           ~ That is the Family I Love ,
                     that is the Family I choose to miss ~    
                       
              


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

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


Details | Romanticism | |

Ode to Mi Corazon

As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.

I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.

Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Her hair,
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.

She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.

She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.

Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.

She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!

We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.


Details | Sonnet | |

Beautiful Redhead aka: Irish Princess

 Dating a beautiful redhead girl will be the greatest moment of my life. She’s like an Irish princess, even better. Her hair is so red, it’s as if she’s on fire. Her beautiful eyes are like a pair of emerald gems when I look at them. And her pale skin is as beautiful as pure, white snow. It seems to me that all attractive redheads are amazing, and most of all, they’re down to Earth. This redhead is also like a beautiful, Irish Princess, even from the Emerald Isle (Ireland). I never dated an attractive redheaded girl before, but it’s about time that I did. Plus, there are other beautiful redheads who are famous, like Kay and Danielle Panabaker, Emma Stone, Hayley Williams, Lindsay Lohan, Lily Cole, and others. Not to mention Julienne Moore, even though she’s happily married. I wouldn’t mind dating a beautiful redhead, but she has to be from the U.S. or Ireland. She’s like that redheaded warrior from Brave. She’ll be my Irish Princess one day (Irish girlfriend), and I’ll be her American prince (American beau). I say, if I were to get into a serious relationship with this attractive redhead, I won’t break her heart; I’d also be honest and truthful to her. I know that female redheads are sensitive and I also know that she doesn’t want to be brokenhearted. All I know is that if I fall in love with a redhead girl and I become infatuated with her, there’s just no telling.


Details | Rhyme royal | |

I'm Irreplaceable

I slip my headphones on, and I begin dreaming,
my desk is my alter, and the Heavens is what I'm seeing.
My pen is the bridge, and this paper is the gate,
writer's block is the pad lock, the only thing in the way.

I click open my pen, and begin to release from within,
my blood runs as deep the ink, and washes away my sins.
My thoughts are the cross, and my burdens act like a wreath.
Razor sharp thorns cut me, as I'm trying to catch my breath.

My enemies are the whips, hitting me in the back,
tying me down with chains, just to get a little laugh.
My lyrics are my message, what got me here in the first place.
My mind is my shovel, digging the hole to bury my scarred face.

Then the beat stops, and I wake up from my trance,
I hit replay and try again, I only got one chance.
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.


The track starts again, and I slip back into my sleep.
My pen is my gun and the paper is my enemies.
Writers block is my holding cell, and the key is my mind,
my mind is the problem, because it locks itself up all the time.

The beat is my pulse, slowing down before it drops,
then picking up the pace, while adrenaline does it's job.
My words are the bullets, penetrating your skin,
your body is still intact, but you're shattered within.

The lead is the streets, giving me countless ways to go,
the eraser gives me the ability, to never leave my home.
Every word is a stray bullet, it'll connect it won't.
My enemies are my targets, I either hit 'em or I don't.

But I'll keep shooting, until this lead goes dull,
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
I'm Irreplaceable.


Details | Romanticism | |

A Flower's Funeral

A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-


Details | Romanticism | |

My Persian Queen

From the Gardens of Babylon,
to the walkways of Palestina,
to the grand temples of Jerusalism,
to the sandy beaches of Syria and Cyprus.
Went my Persian Queen riding,
upon her golden, firery chariot.

Her black hair, like silk long and flowing.
Her royal robes white and purple, bare and pure.
Her sword by her side, ready to strike.
Her spear fastened, ready to stab the dreeded heart
of the Fire Dragon.
On the firery chariot, riding with her armies,
Went my Perisan Queen.

O, how my arimes fight your armies,
in the midst of night fall, under a full moon.
Let us stop this foolish fighting.
And have fellow brother, love fellow brother.
And so we can fall in love forever.

And don't act like you don't show love for me.
I see you in the dawns, standing upon the sand covered battlefields.
Standing proud behind your armies.
With your black hair flowing.
You almost making me want not to fight the battle of the Day,
for if you were killed, what victory would that be then?

You pull your armies back at the last minute, before I am slayed
by your fellow brother in arms.
You retreat your arimes back over the hills, not in fear of losing the day,
but in fear of losing me.
You and your armies had plenty of chances to kill me, yet you do not.

My Persian Queen, O come now.
Come down from your firery chariot
and into my restless arms.
I know you are tired
and wanting to sleep.

Listen to the nightingale
sing her love song.
Drinking the sweet necture,
from the gardens, in your vase Persian Empire.

Come now, and kiss me,
Hold me, let us ride,
far from the simple minds of the Old World
and fall in love in a New.

My Persian Queen
O how I love you so much.
I cannot bare to see you in a life you don't want to live.
Come let I, your Knight in shinning armour liberate you.
Take you by the hand, run through the great bazzare in Old Istanbul
running away from the Janissaries of your father's Imperial armies.

Let us leave this place of hate and sorrow.
To start our lives a new.
My Persian Queen,
Now dressed in silk lace,
with golden jewlery hanging
from your beautiful and tender neck.
Along with the silver pattened belt around your harmonial waist.

It is time for you, to come with me.
No more shall we act like we dispise one another.
As Romeo and Juliet's love failed,
shall our love take course, and we shall love
till the oceans swallow the earth, the mountains crumble,
and the Sun engulf the sweet Earth.
And on and on shall our love go on,
My adorable and lovely Persian Queen.


Details | Rhyme | |

Busy Busy Busy

I'm far too busy can't you see
Too busy to write poetry
So please forgive this silly rhyme
I really do not have the time
To write an epic verse or three
I'm far too busy can't you see

So many things I have to do
And all by yesterday, it's true
Then as the day comes to a close
I collapse into a chair and doze
And if I dream more poetry
I'll place it here for you to see

Before this day comes to it's end
I'll give you some advice my friend
Use every moment that's the key
I'm far too busy can't you see?




Thanks for the inspiration - you know who you are :)


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 | Epic | |

In The City

The city has everything anyone can dream of: public transportation (city buses, trains/subways, and taxi cabs), theaters, parks, hotels, and restaurants; not to mention downtown apartments. All of the cities are the largest metropolitan areas that never sleep. Living in the city is like being a part of the essence of urban living. And when he or she's in the city for a concert or another event, they won't want to leave it behind; they just want to stay there. It looks like I'm not the only one who's a city person; it's everyone else, too. The U.S. has multiple cities, and so does the rest of the world (Beijing, Rome, Paris, Toronto, or wherever). No mater what city are these people from, they're all part of the urban society. To be honest, I've always wanted to reside in the city: New York City, Seattle, Washington, Atlanta, Georgia, Kansas City, Missouri, London, U.K., Los Angeles, California, or Toronto, Ontario, Canada. I see all cities with brand new buildings in the year 2065, and I also see aliens or any other life form interacting with the humans in the futuristic city, as well. If the city's ready for me and I plan on residing in one of them for a long time, that would be great.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: V

Omniscient guy
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: II

Invisible chap
Bearded egomaniac
Probably not real


Details | Romanticism | |

Love needs Two Hearts

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.


Details | Lyric | |

Come As You Are

At one point in my life i was an artist
I used to paint and draw
Covering a piece of paper
In beautiful colors
And my art told a story
The sort of story you couldn't talk about
I used to go to school every day
Showing up late 
Wasn't something I'd do
But i dropped out
Leaving my education behind
I played the bass guitar
In a band called 
The Nocturnal
My fingers ran against that bass
Pure magic
The sound of the gods
Setting out to destroy the world
Pure Punk straight from Seattle
At one point i was clean
Sober and pure like a new born baby
Falling further into 
What you now call 
"disapointment"
Screwing up my veins
with every shot of herion
Killing my brain cells
With every joint i smoked
Clogging up my nose 
With every pill you could have known
I used to write lyrics
About my life
My childhood
I used to write journals
The ones you read in the book 
that was published of me
I got up on that stage every night
As i was
Nothing fake
Nothing glamourous
Only a few scars
One shot of heroin
Come as you are
The words only speak for 
Themselves


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 | Free verse | |

Don't Try It

A single kiss from thy lovely lips,
so sweet and so divine,
yet I taste posion upon your tongue.

Your beauty so glorious,
like a blooming rose so beautiful,
yet, why do mine eyes go blind
in the sight that you walk along with another?

Yes you, walk with another,
arm under arm,
lips touching lips in romantic kisses,
it makes my blood boil,
for mine lips are dry.

For mine eyes have seen your glory,
yet no one here listens to my story.
You are evil, yes you are,
don't try to deny,
Listen to a man of experience,
you might as well save some expense.

I write of our long romantic walks
we took together, under the shade of olive trees,
how we went apple picking in autumn time,
and made love in the foyer.

Nomore of that sweet and passionate love,
nomore silent kisses in the night,
when the wind blows hard against the branches,
that tape violently on my windowpane. 
Nomore somber tears shed, when you got sick,
and nomore warm embraces when you shed tears of betrayal.

Betrayal now is a game played by a fool,
such as I,
to think I'd have a happy life with you?
Huh, only a fool would think such a thing,
but now I sit, looking at the foyer,
where we once made sweet, passionate love,
nomore will that foyer be filled with exotic pleasure.
Nomore will you be filled with smiles and exotic pleasure.
I've done my job, as a good man shall do,
now pack your things and get of my stage,
the spotlight yawns for anew,
and the audience grows tired and restless of you.

Now I live life anew,
you too shall see life in new eyes,
walking hand and hand with the blond, blue eyed devil
you call your own.
Shall he take one kiss from your lips,
and die of the posion he tastes on your tongue,
shall he go blind, when he sees your true, black beauty?
He will see the ugly soul, covered up by white rags,
and cheap makeup,
and then he will come to me,
and shake my hand in condolence
and say, "You were right!"

Now you are all alone,
looking for another, as you did many times before,
Now you are alone, walking an open road,
spying on another,
fear of being alone.
Now, you see when you play games with a good man's emotions,
don't try it,
because a good man is not meant to be toyed with.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

The body: sacred
We’re all made in God’s image
Hence... circumcision?


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

God made all people
But some better than others?
Stop being silly.


Details | Free verse | |

Somber Tears

As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Why?
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.


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 | Free verse | |

My Notebook

Stimulating ideas pop into your head
You need a pen…you need a piece of lined paper 
It looks like you’re outtah luck…no wonder you’re drowning in dread
You need a shoulder to lie your head down for a moment’s rest… 
You need a helper…to aid you while you struggle emotionally…
I’m not trying to irritate you purposely

Try with all your might…try your best
To stay optimistic and fervent 
I believe that you’ll pass the test
Be upbeat, kindhearted and jubilant  

I appreciate the words you wrote on my notebook…
Sometimes, I feel like leftovers left on the counter…
I’m a rotten mess – you’re leaving me as if I’m an uninteresting book 
Sometimes, I feel like a coward – I don’t mean to bother…

But, you’re like no other . . .

You’re like a mat – you’re constantly stepped on…
I’m like YOUR unwanted tool – 
I stepped on you and
Pushed your buttons
I accused you of being the fool 
When, in fact, I’m the fool by your side…
You’re drifting…pushing me aside…

I’m writing words of truth though – 
Expressing how much I’m fond of you 

I esteem your presence
Glowing with glee 
At times, you do say things without thinking 
I’m the god of distress – 
You’re leaving me breathless 
Cutting me down like I’m some decaying tree
You don’t see how much you make me…
Guilty for your crimes
Taking the blame about the hundredth time 

At times, I feel that I’m awkward when I’m around you

You’re like a backpack – you carry everyone’s weight…
You’re like a sponge – soaking in our stress
I’m a distraction to you – you’re wasting valuable time…but don’t hesitate 
I’m writing words of self-centered feelings – logic doesn’t exist…
But these feelings aren’t as bad as committing a crime
These feelings come and go – I just had to confess 
I didn’t mean to screw up your progress…

Hey, if you need a few sheets of paper to right on, 
Use me like a notebook instead…and write with all your might
It seems as if you read me…like a book that drags on and on 
Use me as your tool of relaxation… and read me all night  

When you wrote those words on my notebook…
It made my day…you’re such a delight 
Like reading a fascinating, classic book


Details | Epic | |

Simply being

Simply being
Nothing more than 
Than it is gone out of hand
No winds to flow to grow in land
Given bright stars in darkness

Nothing more than  
Light years rose hope
Back flush riddles in game
Only hope once to face to face

As seen bleeding in tears


Details | Epic | |

Why I Write

Why! I write because it helps to release some of my feelings, 
It's a way of me attending to my heart which is healing.
I write because it comes naturally especially when I'm stressed, 
I think its at that time i write at my best. 

I write to feel free and to be strong so i can fight , 
to find my place in this world and overcome lonely nights.
I write because i want to prevent this pain, 
to help my mind from going insane. 
Why i write, because of you. 
Yes you! 
Your looking at your self because you don't have a clue. 
Right now i can tell your mind is way pass the clouds and lost in the blue.
 
Why i write, because i want you to see things in my life, 
how its hurt when i got stabbed by a knife. 
Why i write, not because i want you to only read and look out for rhymes,
because reading and understanding is important at times. 
Why i write, to help tell about mine and other love tales, 
to show you how easy a strong relationship fails.

Why i write, not to be in this spot light, 
but its because i am RYO the Poem "Black Knight". 
So i really careless what people might think.
I am the poet putting words don't with the ink. 
I am out of your league also your range. 
I am not surprised cause this isn't strange. 
Don't ask this question again ' Why i Write'.

RYO"""


Details | Romanticism | |

I'm dead without my Love

I am dead without my love.
It is simple as that.
I cannot breath without her,
I cannot eat without her,
I cannot write without her.
I cannot live without my love,
I am dead without my love.

I cannot prosper without her warm embrace,
I cannot think without her by my side.
always thinking of her, sharing her love I once had,
with another.
My heart breaks,
and my mind is gone.
I weap... I weap...
I cannot handle the betrayal of my once love.
I am stuck, sitting in dark corners of dark rooms,
staring at blank walls, thinking of what once was.

Her beauty,
her smile,
the laughs shared, and the tears we weaped together.
Holding hands, you and I, walking down sandy beaches,
and beautiful highways, full of love.
How we sat on park benches and kissed the night away.
I cannot believe you are gone, with another.

I did what I could,
I loved you endless time on my hand.
Our time spent together was special and near to the heart.
Do not expect for that happiness to come again.
For that has sailed, to far East, to the rising of the new day.

But, I cannot live one more day without my love.
For what I had with her is unexplainable and beautiful beyond definition.
I have seen the wayward signs point me to the direction of you.
But when we see each other, you don't spare a passing glance,
as if I was a ghost, an invisible man, like air.
That is when my heart breaks, torn in two, I cannot see me without you.
Walk with another, shall I go, now this without you.

For she is my everything, beauty and nature.
She is my rose, my violet, my nightingale singing her songs, in the twilight.
She is the sky, the sun, the moon, the trees, the grass.
She is everything to me.
She is even the summer storms and Winter blizzards that roll in and destroy,
beauty and harmony.

I cannot live without my love, for she is my one and only.
I do not like to beg, but love me once again and live with me forever.
For you know and I know, and the world knows,
That I cannot live without you,
I cannot live without my love,
For I am dead without my love.


Details | Free verse | |

Drunk in the City of Angels

Drunk in the lost city,
lost in the vase beauty of the angels
drunk, smoking on park benches.

Freaks, trannys, whores and pimps,
looking at me;
a one of a kind.

No one has ever seen me on the streets of L.A.,
beacause I am a one of a kind,
a gentleman, a drunken buffoon.

I hurl myself at the bars,
and the whores look at me and smile,
and I wave them over, and they come.

40 bucks for a night a good fun,
a night of exotic pleasure,
in the heart of the sleeping angels.

Drunk walking,
two in the morning,
police stop me, sleeping on a park bench.

Warm always warm,
never cold,
the city that is lost.

A city known as the city of angels,
yet how many devils I have counted.
How much evil I have seen,
how much temptation rules in the gutters.

Walking drunk on madness,
in this dirty city,
as I look for a bar before last call.

I find one,
I go in,
order a beer.

I drink with pleasure
I start to write,
I light a cigarette and smoke.

A grey cloud forms around me,
"Last call for alcohol," the barkeep shouts.
I raise my hand, he comes over.

"What will yah have?" he asks,
"Another beer and my check."
On the house, free drinks, on the house.

After a night in the city of angels,
I find myself a cosy park bench,
and fall asleep, dreaming of the angels I had never seen.


Details | Free verse | |

I lay sleeping

I lay sleeping with eyes wide open,
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning,
I lay sleeping with nothing to dream about.
I lay sleeping with no care and sleep with eyes blind,
I lay sleeping, there with my eyes wide open.

Seeing the dark change from dark to black.
There is no moon, there is no sky
just purple strokes of paint in the sky.
Take that morning dew smell and close your blind eyes.
Smell the morning, that smell that clicks in your mind.
The smell of childhood dreams,
that as an adult never came true.
Sleeping bare in the nude with your eyes wide open.
Thinking of her, as she is five thousand miles away from you.
Wanting to love and hold her, but no use in crying.
Sleeping their with blind eyes in the dark that dances in the light.

Your lamplight turned down low,
as life trickeles down in its nightgown and yawns for sweet slumber.
Tired from longs days, and sometimes long nights,
wanting to curel in bed and close its blind eyes.
Dusk will soon peek its head through the blinds
and awake life to a new dawn.
She sleeps in the morning, and walks at night.
When he sleeps at night, and walks with a bare nude heart in the morning.

Life climbs over yellow mountains,
and meets her fellow compainion
a handsome fellow with broud shoulders and blessed with an ego
as I sleep there with my eyes wide open.
As I sleep with my eyes blind to what life has intented for me,
and as I raise to walk the lone streets at the break of the dew covered lawn
at the first sweet smells of dawn,
I can see life go on with the handsome man
and I blind and wanting to go to bed.

I dream of dreams that have no meaning
Gardens of cluelessness and raging emotions
tare me down and I am confused on which way to go.
Do I stay here and dream away, blind and half awake
as life slaps me across my broad cheek?
Or shall I walk on with life hand and hand
and regain my vision of the world,
Start to sleep with dreams that make sense
and dreams that are made of gold and have no end?
Dream of fancy dreams that show love and happy endings
I would love that, and I would love to walk with life,
but she is out of my leauge.

And my bed is so cozy and I feel like sleeping.
So I shall sleep on more restless night chashing life down.
I lay sleeping with my eyes wide open.
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning.
I lay sleeping waiting for life to come back from the mountains
and lay beside me.
I lay sleeping with hope of regaining hope and salvage
what is left of my spirit at hand.


Details | Blank verse | |

The Sweet smell of a dead rose

A rose that is at full bloom
and the color is pure and the pettles are calm
and dance along with the blowing of the wind
they have a smell, that is divine,
but doesn't bring back no special memory.

Now a dead rose,
that has a smell
that has no definition
that has no pain
it is just there
and it doesn't cry
and it doesn't sigh
it just sits there,
burning away when the sun hits it,
without remorse
without blinding courage.

The dead rose just sits there,
and the smell is so sweet
it brings back memories
that make you cry
and sigh
and sometimes,
laugh
and
smile a little.

Sometimes the dead things
are more beautiful
than the living,

but that is just my opinion,

what do you think?


Details | Free verse | |

Wake Me, When the Morning Comes

A night full of nightmares
and suicidal tendencies,
feeling pain rush, like tidal waves
crushing me and blood boiling
anger wishes and takes the best of me;
but can I heal my own heartbreak?
Will I ever find love again?
See the angel of death come to me,
smiles and says come with me.
Oh, Wake me, when the morning comes,
so I can show evil the light.

Feelings eternal and fragile,
she walks some lonesome highway
travelled by the ones who fall in love.
She a grand fool, who takes life for 
granted,
wake her with the morning light
and shine down rays of goodness and 
pride
and show her the path that leads back to 
me.

Wake me when the morning comes,
place her upon my doorstep
and a smile upon her loving face,
I'm not ready to move on just yet.
I don't want anymore nightmares
and nightly visits from the black angels.
I don't want to see blue eyed Death,
with his grinning skull and black robe.
I want to see the sunshine break through 
my window
and I want to hear the birds sing love 
songs,
and the trees dancing to the wind's sweet 
melody.
I want to awake to her sweet and glorious 
beauty.
Wake me, when the morning comes,
when I can open my eyes to anew
and see life in a new day,
and live life in a new way.

-10/5/2013-


Details | Romanticism | |

Can't Love be with me for once

Can't Love be with me for once

in my life.

Can't Love for once in my life

see the way I live

and accept me for who I am

and not for what I possess.

I have seen love bounce back and forth

through the darkened streets of life

and I sat on the park benches,

alone.

I can't wait till love comes again

but can't love just be with me for once

and live with me, embrace me, to see me late at night,

come through the doors of perception.

Can't Love be with me for once

throughout the valleys of sorrow and depression

and shine its glorious face onto me,

like the first morning rays of the sun at dawn.

I cannot understand, why

Love can't just be with me for once...

Why?

I ask you, why?

Can't Love just laugh, and talk to me

Can't the arrow of Cupid find me already.

I have found my time, now I have no love.

The beauty of Plato's words that melt of the page

as you read word for word, and my heart melts away.

Why can't love just be with me for once,

once in a great, blue moon.

Too walk through the dew sprinkled, dawn days in August

as I walk to my chamber

and ready to love,

but love can't be found.

Can't love just come already.

Show its pretty face,

Hold my hand,

kiss me and I kiss back,

to read a book of poetry to her

as she lays in my arms,

and then we shall make love

under the twilight.

The stars shall shine

the moon shall be bright and full

and I shall find love one day.

One lonely day, as I sit in the wayward cafe

drinking my sorrows away,

writing my poetry

and love shall walk through that door

I shall find her and take her by the hand

and kiss her upon her soft cheek.

I just ask,

Why can't love just be with me for once.


Details | Romanticism | |

Do not travel the lonesome road

Do not travel the lonesome road
alone with no one by your side,
sitting on park benches all alone
with no one to come to your need,
do not travel the open road alone.
That one dark road that kicks up dust
when you drag your feet across the ground,
that lonesome road that has no end,
that has no beginning, that has no life;
it just sits there alone and no one ever notices this road.
Do not travel the lonesome road of my heart.
Come with me, take my hand
I shall guide you with the beat of my heart,
with the light from mine eyes, I shall take you
and show you the world and all it's seven wonders.
You are beautiful and you do not need to walk
the lonesome road alone.

I see the pain in your heart,
I feel the tears that fall from your eyes
and drop into my hands,
come into my warm embrace
and I shall love you.
Cherish a moment so grand,
just come with me and we shall walk together
in united glory and sleep the night away,
but promise me one thing my love;
Do not walk the lonesome road of life.

-10/6/2013


Details | Free verse | |

What did I do to deserve this

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.

-9/23/13-

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!


Details | Free verse | |

Like the frightened Jackrabbit, I run away from Love

Jump up and down like a jackrabbit
running through meadows
running from what?
Could it be heartbreak,
a venemous snake that hides in the grass,
hiding with fangs ready to pierce the tender skin
upon the tight, bronze flesh of everyday life?
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now!
I need a vacation a long way away from the faceless smiles
and ignorance of young girls, who don't look at you,
who don't show you love and respect.
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now,
as jumping spiders hop everywhere, crawling eight legs around me
my soul black like carcoal, but my heart still beating
slower this time, not like the days before
and like the jackrabbit running from anything and everything,
I run to seek love and vanish away from the empty voids
that people call, their souls.
Recording a film with no tape,
talking to a woman you love, but not having the guts to tell her how you really feel
Jump my boy, like a jackrabbit, take my advice
tell her before she leaves
turns down the endless avenues of endless dark love
the trees grow taller, taller than you
and you sit there feeling away yourself die, missing out in life.
I cannot see you lose your love.
Say it, say it, Say it!!! Tell her! Tell her! Build the guts up!
Build up the courage, tell her how you feel. Take her by the hand and never say goodbye! Never say goodnight, stay with her till the flight comes in the morning
of the first rays of sun shine through your dorm room take her and love her!
Do not be like me, the jackrabbit! I see no happiness
Reading poetry it makes me sad,
to write of others falling in love and I never finding the one.
People tell me, you'll find yours, have hope
but I am a frightened little jackrabbit
who flees from sounds of deep emotions, not having courage to fall in love,
not building the guts up to tell her how I really feel.
She walks alone, I find my oppertunity and sing my love song
She smiles and moves on,
please tell me I cannot fight anymore.
All I have to say is Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I need a vacation
to go to some sandy beach on an island of love
and write and write and write, the same poetry that depresses me
but makes you all fall in love with words!
Fiction about love stories, please kiss me
Blue eyed death comes, plays a game of chess with me
I bet twenty, he bets my soul
Kiss me death, the only love I'll ever get,
besides my poet friends who kiss my ass
Listen to my heart, truely, I don't write of beauty
I write for the sorrow soul, the fleeing jackrabbit
running away from love.....


Details | Free verse | |

When a Man cries Himself to Sleep

When a man cries himself to sleep,
it is a sad sight to see,
tears roll off his cheek
and onto his bed sheets and pillow case.
When you hear his somber cries,
you can feel his pain
when he wimpers like a child who treds in fear.
No one knows what they do to a man
when they play with his emotions,
lead him on,
take advantage of him.
They don't know what they do to an innocent man
looking for love.
They break his heart that is full of love,
they stab him in the back
when he needs them at his most vulnerable moment
they laugh at him, and tease him,
Do they know what they do to a man?
They slowly kill a man, who just wants a simple kiss on the lips,
they kill a dreamer, a good man, with a big heart.
They drive a man to his bed,
with tears running down his face
and force him to dream of nightmares.
When a man cries himself to sleep, 
it is that saddest thing to see.
Goodnight and sweet dreams...


Details | Free verse | |

My Love Intended

My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.

She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.

The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.

It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.

A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.

Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.

She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.

Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.

Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.

Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.

The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.

Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.

She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.

As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.

I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.

The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.

Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?

All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.

The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.

I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.

Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.

Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.

She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.

We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.

Love everlasting,
everything everlasting,
cigarettes smoked together.

A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
my love.


Details | Ghazal | |

Iksiri zehir kendim

Ne dusle senle  gecti  yillar
Ne hikayeler  senle  yasadik birlikte
Bir gun yakin asik
Bir gun yabanci
Omur goctu boyle
Sanki  sen dusman bana
Hep birlikte yasanan  yillara
Kusmusun sevdasin boylesine
Soframdan  tat  almayan  sen
Yeni bir damak tadi  bulan ben
Sanki bilmem mi   gecmisimi 
Hic bitmeyen yanardag  ofkeni  
Ve siddetini yasadikca seni
Unuttum desem   unutsam desem
Sevgimle ortsem desem
Ayni bitmeyen ofke
Ne yapsam bilemem
Bu nasil hastalik  bende
Iksiri  zehir  kendim


Details | Rhyme | |

heart, mind, and soul

father time in my chest
keeper of its own pace
just skin and bone depth
influences time and space
what are we but drifters
 in an unknown

see truth in a literal
belief before my face
stars with no funeral
light will win the race
here i am, not for long
death starts at home

where is this leading?
which story could it be?
despite all my reading
writings the cup of tea
i dont need to know it all
as long as im not alone



Details | I do not know? | |

M.I.N.D. (Mental Inhabitants Need Danger)

The mind can have the most fulfilling capacity
It's the 2nd most important thing of your anatomy
But first it comes the heart
These poems that i write is my own mental state of art
Full of cells and neutrons
I'm not Jimmy Neutron
Mentally slay you like terminator
Iconic negotiator
Predatorized like an alligator
He won't starve because I feed her hundreds of haters
My brain has thousands of layers
Peel one off you get another
The telepathic waves I send to my sisters and brothers
Even though we have different mothers
I got a powerful mind
Stronger than most in these hard modern times
My brain is a quarter, you have a dime
Like my heart, my brain is stainless
I am painless!
Known as a poetic chemist
My mind is a knuckle-less fist
Punches all fake friends, because I'm declared their nemesis
I write what I like because my mind is LIMITLESS
Going through hell, I am no stranger
To being in danger
Gas tank fueled by anger
And to think I used to wanna be a Power Ranger
I should have been the bad guy
LIke the song Say Hello by the rapper from Bed Stuy
I try to paint pictures you can see with your inner eye
The Brain....
The best controller you could use if you wanna win this game 


Details | Rhyme | |

spirits that will outlast

  I'm the sentient of individuality,
the warrior of my path,
free from anything claiming power,
that laughs at social wrath,
that walks with firm ability,,
  I'm the control at present,
that nothing steers for me,
the navigator twards sole horizons,
free destinations I independently see,
honor of my life's intent,,
  Sole creators of this choice,
that others look to see,
that leads with independent indifference,
knowing that it's not free,
leading with the strongest voice,,
  This independence the hardest road,
but worth it above all,
knowledge of this gained wisdom,
you'll rise above the call,
power of one so bold,,
  The ancestors of ancient past,
knew this all too well,
always striving twards independent light,
staring down faces of hell,
true spirits that will outlast.


Details | Free verse | |

Songs of Sorrowed Hearts

What makes this world go around?
What makes Death walk the Earth
and God sit on his throne and watch over us?
What makes love go around with such favour
and strut along side lonesome avenues?
What does a widow, a motherless child, a Vietnam veteran
and a boy who has had his fare share of heartbreaks,
all have in common with each other?

They were all promised a beautiful life,
free for all to love, free from the pain of betrayal
and anger.
We are what make the world go around,
I am the poet who sits and looks at love walk down the street,
and watch the blind eyes stare deep in my soul.
I am the poet, that feels the pain of a heart torn in two.
He his the poet who writes of smiles, to forget the frowns
and tears.
She is the poetress that writes of her success,
in order to forget her past that tortured her soul,
now he and she walk together writing poetry
sharing their love and smiles with the world.
But with smiles, also comes frowns,
with hearts full of love, comes hearts full of sorrow,
and someone has to stay behind and write of the bad
has to write and compose the songs of the sorrowed hearts.

We are all given love,
but it takes some whole lives to understand
the dark mystery that tags along with beautiful love.
Someone has to suffer the pain,
someone has to sacrifice his or her happiness,
so another poet can feel the beauty in happiness and pain.
I am willing to sacrifice my time and heart,
for my fellow poet to feel the smiles grow on their faces
and feel love uplift their heart,
while the black cancer tears apart mine.
I will go on, with what is left of my heart and smile,
and go into my room of creativity
and compose the songs of sorrowed hearts
for future poets, like that came before me.


Details | Free verse | |

Vertical Lines

Don't forget to cross the Ts
and dot your Is
because if you don't do that
they're just lines vertical on a page.
Lets us forget about the imperfect words
that make us cry
the vertical lines,
like jail bars hold us back.
Stand up and out and roar like a lion!

she is mine, I love her,
but I am quiet,
held back by the vertical lines
the black oily jail bars,
that keep my hear caged in
everytime I cry and people don't listen
the guard taps his nightstick upon
the vertical bars,
the imperfect feelings of pain and sadness
feeling like this it bores me 
feeling like this makes me sick
and I feel myself wanting to vomit
and shake the nervous feeling
of falling into a dark hole,
so I sit behind these vertical lines,
like cocaine lines, ready to snort up your nose,
like cigarettes lined in a perfect and neat row,
like empty wine and beer bottles
littering around my feet.

The vertical lines take me away from reality,
close my already blinded eyes
with a black blindfold.
These jail bars cross my soul,
chain my the ankles and wrists,
and choking me, holding my head under water,
I can't breath!!! Help me!
These vertical bars hold me back in life,
hold my emotions from coming out,
to tell you how I feel for you!
I no more want vertical lines,
I want to be free.
Drive horizontal roads that wined and turn around beautiful mountains
too take a deep breathe and share the beauty
to watch the horizontal horizon.
Too sit on a beach shore and write till the sun goes down
and the mermaids sings cheerful tunes
that uplift my spirits and break the remaining vertical lines
that bind and hold my heart in place.

There is nothing beautiful in a straight line,
let alone a vertical one.
Horizontal, vertical all bad in their own ways,
always trapping us, like jail bars or barbwire that streches across the open lands.
Love has no lines,
no boundaries,
so why should I have lines that bind me together
holding my head underwater,
till a spark lights a powder keg and blows me sky high
and I finally set myself free
and roam the horizon for ever.


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 8/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger 8/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



Enchanting beauty of nature, 

Would unfold its charms, on your way,

When you would take my hearts message,

For the most lovely child of the creator, my beloved.

Ravindra

Kanpur  India. 15th May 2010                           to continue in 9


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Background of this Epic 

The Patradoot was written originally by my later father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom in 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and 
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was 
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.

During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed 
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for 
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in 
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the 
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great 
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.

Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 
and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.

Ravindra

Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.


Prakriti   Mugdha   Sunderta   ke, 

Mug   Mai   Nav   Drashaya   Suhayenge,

Le   Kur   Priya   Dhing   Hirdraya  Sandesha,   

Jub   Tu    Mera    Gayega. 


Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 







Details | Footle | |

Ridiculous

This is ridiculous.
I write a poem.
I post a poem.
I clearly click post poem.
It takes me to my poems.
My poem is not there.
It is no where.
I did not write this poem on paper.
It just - literately just came from my heart.
I literately just freaking wrote it.
But is it there.
No.
No it is nowhere.
This is bull$sh!t


Details | Free verse | |

Love will Triumph

Love will Triumph
when all is lost,
and nothing is gained.
Love will Triumph;
when hearts are broken,
and friends cry upon other friend's shoulders,
as love has fleed the countrysides,
but Love will come again
to triumph over the souls that eat away at evening dreams.

Love will triumph
when all is lost,
and the enemy takes victory
from the bloodsoaked battlefields,
as the hearts break with a somber kiss goodbye,
Love will triumph once more.

Friends turn enemies with a blind eye
and a sorrow kiss goodbye.
Blue eyed Death comes with a knock upon my door,
Charles Haigh Wood,
You painted a picture
that describes that sorrow in my heart,
that one wish, that one dream,
that if I believe hard enough
that Love will triumph again.
Believe, when a friend steals my love away,
they kiss and kill my heart,
hand and hand, they sing to each other,
as I clench my fists and hold back my sharp tongue
and evil and dreeded thoughts.
As she holds me back from him, My tourmented soul cannot handle
such pain and suffering.
and I wanting to get revenage, but having no courage, I am no coward.
I scream in my thoughts and my heart sheads tears.
Why me? I ask, why does love trample over my soul?
Leave me now, you have what you wanted,
you stole my love away,
take her,
love her,
show her what I couldn't show her,
teach her!
I shall turn the other cheek
listen to the nightingales sing in the morning sunrises,
and listen to the phrase that plays one thousand and one times
in my mind,
Love with Triumph, Love will Triumph, Love will Triumph!!!

Oh with love comes such betrayal and hate,
it seems everytime love Triumphs away,
someone else is happy in love's fanasty
and my heart is trampled all over!
My heart crushed by dirty shoes,
and dirty and sinfull hands that take my love away from me.
Love will Triumph as they say,
but no more shall I go though that pain again.
Over and over and over again,
Love Triumphs all over,
but no victory in my name, no victory for my heart.

As I sit at the foot of my bed,
the fog rolls on through
and takes me by surprise.
Love is like a fog, that burns away with the first rays of sunrise.
Love will Triumph in the days of Betrayal.



-9/21/2013-

For the Contest: Charles Haigh Wood


Details | Free verse | |

The Ripped Pages

The ripped pages,
torn from a red notebook
litter the ground.

And empty beer bottles,
are all toppled on each other
the wine bottles line the fireplace mantel.

Ripped pages from a red notebook
crumpled into balls,
torn from reality.

Like hearts broken,
from betrayal or heartache,
Ripped pages from a red notebook.

Torn pages,
ripped pages,
torn from a red notebook,
the notebook of life.

Ripped pages litter the ground,
and I open a bottle of beer,
I drink.

I light a cigarette,
I inhale,
fill my lungs with clouds of grey.

Ripped pages from a red notebook,
the notebook of life,
here I go, writing another poem.


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 7/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger 7/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



On your way,  you would witness and see,

Alluring scenes and sceneries all around the way,

Spreading their charms  to allure your mind,

They would keep fascinating your heart, on your way.


Ravindra


Kanpur India. 14th May 2010                           to continue in 7


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

Background of this Epic 

The Patradoot was written originally by my late father
Dr.Amar Nath Kapoor in 1932. He had joined India’s
Freedom struggle in 1920 on the call of Mahatma Gandhi.
From 1920 till 1947 (India got freedom on 15th Aug. 1947)
my father was in active movement as Congressman and 
Gandhi’s non violent soldier. For many a time he was 
imprisoned for many months to more than a years sometimes.

During one such imprisonment he wrote this epic and sent
it to my mother secretly as a gift for her and to get it printed 
and circulated among the masses to create awareness for 
India’s freedom. The book was printed by my mother in 
Hindi and some of this epic was circulated also, but the 
British confiscated the book and press of my father around
1933. I was born in 1950 in a free India. I am trying to bring
this great writing of my father in English which portrays more
than the translation of the epic, so the world may
come to know about this otherwise lost and forgotten great 
great epic and the sacrifices of my patents towards India’s
freedom struggle.

Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor left active politics after 1947 
and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. Unfortunately many of his
World class work could not be published so far and Patradoot
is one of them.

Ravindra


  
  




Transliteration of Hindi poem in English- Patradoot or the Messenger.


Bhati  Bhati  Ke Drishya  Marg  Mai, 

Audbhut  Chata  Dhikhayege,

Nig  Anupam   Sobha   Se  Tera,   

Hardaya   Lubhate  Gayenge. 



Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 








Details | I do not know? | |

The Running Pencil

I can feel the moisture progressing on the top of my forehead
Little light creases start to form here on my chin 
I'm looking at you and I can see that you are lovely
Beyond your red rose colored eraser, and your tented yellow streaks
Lies a handsome texture of a newly grown tree wrapped around carved graphite
Your incandescent sensation is intense
My grey eyes are no match to the glow that flows off your wonderful carving 
You are so beautiful I can't even imagine how I could write with you
Behind all that beauty I can see that you are terrified 
Terrified that I might abandon you, after your jagged edges fall to the floor
Your point will be no more 
Possibly terrified I would use you to you were numb
I can't imagine how I could do this to you 
But it needs to be done
This is your destiny 
This is your end 
I must write with you 
As I gaze at you slowly, with suspicion out of my grey colored pupil 
I see no reaction, no movement, no emotion
Do you even care?
But then I hear you scream
Let me go 
Oh' please 
Oh' please just let me dream
You try to wiggle from my grip 
But I just tighten up
My hands are trembling
You're incredibly to strong
My hands set free 
You hop towards the door, but I run faster
Closing in on you more and more
You look back just to take a glimpse of this nightmare
Now looking forward, you are getting closer to the door
Gotcha I yelled
Please you begin to plead
But I won't let you go, no not anymore
You were close to your escape, but this isn't your fate
 


Details | Free verse | |

Midnight is almost here

Long after the sun has set,
and the moon has been out for sometime,
and it is full,
and a couple stars twinkle
with no remorse,
the sky is dark purple and blue.
The headlights from hotrods shine through my living room window,
as I sit there listening to the classical station
on the radio
and I sit hunched over my typewriter,
a cigarette hanging from my mouth,
a half bottle of red wine at my possession.
I look at the clock upon the wall,

11:45 P.M.

Ah, midnight is almost here.
Midnight, the turn of a new day,
as I sit there
I breath in,
feel my heart skip a beat,
I turn to the radio and click it off.
the classical nocturne of Chopin disappears into thin air.
I put out my cigarette,
cork the bottle of wine.
I type one last poem,
before the end of the night,
before the night goes away
into the past.
Then I think to myself,
Goodbye old day,
oh, what memories I created along with the shining of the sun?
Then I write about the midnight slowly approaching,
slowly climbing to the zero hour,
the hour of:
a new day,
a new hour,
a new life,
a new start,
a new woman,
a new adventure,
a new everything,
a new anything,
a new politician,
a new choice of lunch,
a new walk around the block,
a new time,
a new day,
a new sun,
and a new moon,
and after a new day,
a new night,
and another midnight,
and a new cigarette with be lit,
a new bottle of wine will be open,
and drunk with responsibility,
and all will be good
and everything with come into place,
with a new day,
and a new life,
a new midnight.
The start of a night soon will come.

It is now 11:52 P.M. 

I've been writing
for seven minutes,
eight more minutes till a new day,
till a new beginning!
I'm tired,
I'm going to bed.
Have a goodnight.


Details | Blank verse | |

Lone Apocalyptic

Sand paper shores *******he seasons to shift into a new dawn. I believed the skies would forever hold their pillows damp with the rain, along with the sunshine. Can you smell the plague come pouring down like a summer storm? See the hollowed graves scattered with chipped fingernails or the swaying and bent lampposts observing a fractured terrain all displaying carnage. So when the colossal tide of apocalyptic taste is released from our heavenly maker to cleanse this plain anew, who will hold my hand while chosen? 
-Mitch


Details | Quatrain | |

pirated words

I stole this poem
with cutlass and eyes
words lusted and trusted 
so I took of this prize

it's chests of golden
it's flashing jeweled verbs
and left letters worthless
to be picked by the birds

sailing 'cross bleached pages
under azure blue skies
I stole of my own life
and took what implies

existence on dangerous sees
to the edge of the earth and
boarded keyboard south of the keys
taking every word of worth

pillaging the hapless literati
demanding chains and trinkets
relieving authors boasting haughty
of bootied lines me think it's

better to hold to bright sun 
to see glint in the daylight
some pirated pentameter outdone
without sword of pen to fight

so hang me dashed by a yardarm
an' tell lies of me glories
whilst takin' maidens in arm
regaling wild legended stories

but, me matey, ye'd better beware
of plagiarists fast on your tale
'cross oceans of notions they dare
pirate your own words to unveil

to their own laughing lasses and crew
drinking and toasting remembrance of you
what's a pirating plagiarist to do?
- but pirate a poem out of the blue

aaarrgh matey - 
        I'll be takin' them lines now...

© Goode Guy 2012-12-13


Details | Rhyme | |

Yearnings

How can I be a poet,
when the words I cannot find?
How can I be a poet,
When there's others more refined?

I've tried to give some words,
that are filled with sound advice.
I wonder when I give them thou,
will others come this nice?

I yearn to write a story,
of a long and epic tale;
where pirates rule the sea's-
will the winds become a gale!

I long to write of legends,
From far and distant lands!
With maidens  bravely rescued,
By white nights that are so grand.

For now I must be happy,
just to write this simple poem;
of desires still unfulfilled,
in a soft and simple tone.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Root of Inspiration

I set out on a quest today,
Compelled to write a poetic story,
I thought perhaps I’d write about,
The mind in its’ infinite glory,
While philosophizing life
I wondered, what is inspiration?
So I continued on my noble journey,
Through the minds vast imagination,
I was full of motivation,
As I made my faithful way,
And neurological obstacles,
Kept getting in my way,
Soaring through the universe,
I came unto a vibrant light,
As i set my hand upon it,
I was filled with divine insight,
The gleaming light then vanished,
And an angel had appeared,
Dressed in a robe of white,
Dawned with a halo in her hair,
A silky voice then asked me,
Is it knowledge you require?
She said again as if she’d known,
Then ask what you desire,
I was wondering where it was,
That inspiration is derived,
Then as I came unto the light,
I’d understood as I arrived.

Copyright © 2009 Zachary Jackson


Details | Ballad | |

Kathy and the Woman of Old

There was a girl, who felt as though there was no place for her in the world,
And so she worked to discover a place in her thoughts, a place of sanctuary.
And she worked and worked, but all that came was derision and abuse.
And she found God.
And worked for God with abandon, undaunted, unafraid.
And the enemy saw her light and became afraid.
And so he sent her souls to sap her confidence, and she writhed in torment.
And she cried out to God, “Woman of old, I do not know you.  But I need you.  
Save me now!”
And the woman said, “When it is time, you will change the face of a generation.  
But for now, be still and know that I am Lord.  The Lord who birthed you.  The 
Lord who watches over her creation as a mother hen, always feeding not too 
much and not too little, but just right.”
And the woman became angry and said, “Though you slay me Satan, yet will I 
vanquish your lies, and praise the Divine for ever more.”
And she decided to study. 
This woman decided to study the words of a Word everlasting.
To bring light to a generation, lost in the spoiled vanity of dissolution.
And she met a woman.
A hard woman to some, but to those who knew her, they knew of a softness sent 
down from Abraham to bring light to a people who were not her own.
And the woman said to the woman, “You must study until your mind aches with 
pain of a generation, and then study some more.  You must write, until your 
hands ache with the sorrow of the bitterness of women passed over for eons. 
AND THEN WRITE SOME MORE.  But if you hold on, you will surpass all 
expectations and you will rise to give light to the world.”
And so the woman said to the woman, “I will study and I will write.  And I will study 
and I will write.  And when I cannot go one step further. I will write some more, 
until my hands shed the blood of Gethsemane.  And from this blood, wounds of 
old between woman and man, woman and woman, man and creation shall be 
healed forever more.”
And so the woman wrote and read, she read and wrote.  And finally she began to 
shed blood and lost 2 near and dear to her.  And she cried out to the Lamb, “Son 
of my mother, what am I to do?”  And the Lamb responded, “Woman, you have 
done well.  But now just bow down and let my grace do the rest.  For my yoke is 
easy and my burden is light and my grace endures forever.”
And so the woman learned mercy.
And with mercy she shared her love with every soul she passed.  Simple words 
of light she shared.  To the fallen souls of a forlorn generation.


Details | Epic | |

Titanic Letters contest

I write this poem from my heart
As I set off on my fresh new start
A woman of the age of nineteen
Leaving her family for this American dream
With just this napkin and worn out ink
I rest this night under Gods eyes and think
Of all that I am leaving behind
To make sure my little boy and I will be just fine
The ticket cost more than we could afford
But while the captain said "all aboard"
I knew it was my last chance to truly live
And have a chance to someday give
These little hands the ability to play
Lord give us strength is what I pray
From nine to two im committed to dine
On deck with musical fingers that chime
Then again at six for dinner time
Seriate this ship while they enjoy evening wine
Though they will make money off me
My only song and melody
Will sound across the ocean floor
Free at last my wings shall finally soar
And when he’s older he will understand
A mother’s love and faithful hands
Directed his destiny to new borders
While voyaging on still waters
When he’s grown he will know no lack
For all his wealth will be in tact
I end this write until part two
My payment now I must pursue,
Day three on this exquisite sea
The people have been quite nice to me
They house me and my angel all for free
While I keep playing so eloquently
I know we will soon be there
A man offered us to stay in his care
All if I will teach his wife
To dance on zebra keys with abundent life
The lavish life I can plainly see
Never again will we feel pity,
Why are people screaming upstairs?
Ill finish my line for down here I’m unaware
This poem I keep sown in his pocket
For my son you will look back and it will be your cherished locket...

I sit here and look at all my land,
I wish for a moment I was still in your hands,
Dear mother you sacrificed your life for me,
That night our ship of dreams lost its identity,
Now grown and wise,
With your gental green eyes,
This piece of you is all I got,
As I write, my stomach is in knots,
Even though I was only two,
I remember all that you went through,
Wrapping me in a little tote,
Slipping me in that safety boat,
For many had to stay on deck,
While the ocean engulfed that wreck,
And only the rich could really survive,
Dear mother I was your wealth that’s how you kept me alive,
You have never left my sleeves,
I keep your words sown as part of me,
I know that you’re playing For God and all his angelic bliss
I end this journal entry with a cherished kiss.

By; Sabina Nicole
Titanic contest


Details | Light Poetry | |

JorgeSouthKorea

This is the man that I am

No need for a detective because I have few mysteries

Whatever you don’t find its trapped somewhere inside my mind

I put my life into words for the whole world to read

I hope you enjoy what you see

A South Korean English teacher by night

An avid writer by day

A helpless romantic somewhere in between

The smile and joy from my students is priceless

Seeing someone enjoy my writings is pretty rewarding as well

I feel that everything in my life is finally going well

From my writings you may find that hard to tell

Sorry I don’t write more fantasies or fables

To convey happy emotions and attract more followers

You are getting my life through my eyes

I don’t have a sweet tooth so I don’t sugarcoat things

I write what I have seen and how it has effected me

My adventures and journeys have been vast

Come with me on this ride

Together we can both be pleasantly surprised

With what I will write

This is the the man that I am



Find more of my writings and poems at jorgesouthkorea.com


Details | I do not know? | |

The Great Pretender

I want to write the perfect poem
 
I know it's out there somewhere
 
Searching for home
 
I want to sing the world's most beautiful song
 
I know it's out there somewhere
 
Longing to belong
 
I want to paint the most beautiful scene
 
With all of Vincent's beautiful colors
 
Red, blue, yellow, purple, lavender and green
 
I want to write the picture perfect ending
 
I want you to love me
 
But I shouldn't go on pretending


Details | Verse | |

Cemented Ink

I’m in the position of a responsible orphan
I’m left with no plan…abandoned
I turn aside from being caught up in denial, though I’m stumbling
upon affliction and bafflement, entangling me in its web
These unkempt, cemented words—they are strapping
The griminess searing through my skin and bone
I’m left in the chambers of my words

How can I talk myself out of this position?

They are cemented to my soul,
decaying in debris…chained to envy and fear
I write down my experiences with cemented ink

My fear-binding words weigh me down,
cemented with bewilderment 
My toes trickle with grime…my life is but a frown
My body becomes weak… leaving me with a print

My depression dunks my head down

I write down my feelings with layered ink 
Decaying in filth…chained to fury and terror
Chipping my soul…peeling away everything I adore

I am demolishing along with 
my last lick of luck 

How can I get out of here?
I’m left to find my own way out
The draftiness singeing through me…goose bumps 
leaving scars of tousled emotions—they are strapping 

These portraying words crawl in my cranium…
Perturbing my every thought
Abandoning all the doubtless hopes…entangled with uncertainty
My worries are shot
With ink…
blotching my heart 

I’m unprepared on my flight
I’m in the position of a bewildered orphan…
 lost in the ink-cemented night


Details | Free verse | |

I'm thinking

I'm thinking maybe its time for me to stay focus. Stay focus on what's important. What's is important is what I believe and what i believe that this only one me. There is not another that is more clever then me . That speaks like me or think like me. But wait am i just saying things because I must have got my ways from someone or no one. Confused but not dumb. But some can not relate to me . Its so simple to understand me just listen to the words that I am saying and do judge what you cant grasp see . Im just thinkin that maybe it is me that I'm lacking the understanding of things that is just not me . Its not the way I talk let along walk or that its just not all about me but its about whats around me and I need to focus on what's important and what's important is to better me and not say that I'm better then eveybody that I come across man I'm so lost if I think that. So I changed me and the way I was thinking to get a clear understanding that I'm have a bigger and better plan for me . It's starts in the mind and that's why I spend most of my time thinking and writing and coming up sometimes with nothing but at least my attempt is to write what is ment for not only you to get but to me to get as well and if we both decide to sit and think and write it out . To let some of the stress out confess some of the things that we hide and then release all the pride. And let it all be set aside. But maybe the pride would be to strong for the both us to get along .So in the time I'm going to take some me time and just sit and think on what I what I miss most.


Details | Epic | |

Writing Poems

I write poems to express myself. I write poems because I really need to be heard from.
When writing poetry, it makes me want to talk about favorite TV shows, music, world
crisis, whatever. I don't need anyone to ever tell me what I can and can't write about.
They're my words and I have the right to my real opinions. When I'm writing my own poems,
I don't hold anything back. If I want to write love poems, emotional poems, and/or
whatever, I'll do that. I'm expressing myself throughout my writings and I want to share
my poems with everyone around the nation. And if any of those nay-Sayers have a problem
with the way I write my own poetry, that's their problem; not mine. I hope everyone gets
the message.


Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizard wrote part seven

Sinkin lips
the revolutionary how to overthrow a government will come in handy 
and the love letters to protect you of prayers for the matter 
what change would do us good?
whose living in a paper bag? 
will be something worth saving 
its twelve past midnight
in the end you will find me home
 Nothing to prove with empty eyes
one day I will write this book 
and lead many enlightened beings through
Hush hush hush
Sell the house to go to the school of the streets page by page 
flipped out cats?
reveal their surrounding sin riddle and tell them what pages to throw away and 
what pages to keep 
what are the truth prophecies and what are the fake 
but among every possibility and in this game this test of strategy and 
foreshadowing of 
It was the way he walked
When he walked in
He was like king lear

opportunity to be a zero hero or a hero to pass down and be passed down and 
the sucker  patrol of nightmares and mindscapes and predicted forthcoming 
legacies of self-control 
OH NO LOOK OUT!!!!
and deflation of egos 
the hurt of it 
thousands of you
the beauty the fight
and you think it’s all about you
to sink the drink and leave you taking it



I can taste it 
this godly mannered book will catch on 
I will write it 
I will write it for you 
you will desecrate it
With your seamen shoes
And your plastic swords
Kitchen floor angels  
and in a time capsule 
where every page is in brail
A new ouija board 
buried beneath the earth to  be dug up it will be published again in centuries to 
pass when you think you have it defeated 


Details | I do not know? | |

Revolution of Dead Poetry

Offensive tones

Offensive notes

Poets complain

Poets go broke

Who cares who likes this

Who cares who agrees

Who cares if your upset

I happily smile free

Your too involved

In this pointless game

Of writing love notes

And ever complain

I shoot my own

With your ball point clone

No one will even care

What you write when you are gone

The cyclical life

Will bring your pen back

Give enough time

You will write the same slack

And I will complain

Again and again

That your lonely pen 

With its constant frown

Will look for acceptance

As you rub each other down

So cry to one another

About these words

And pat one another

Where you lay your swords

And smile as you kill

And praise while you drill

And write how you miss

Your feelings in the abyss

Poetry died out along with God

Religion is a fable

And so is your nod

Do yourself a favor 

And solve your solution

Do yourself a favor

Join the revolution














Details | Free verse | |

Last Dayz

Wha could i say livin i these last in dayz,
I feel like i seen it all i'm no longer amaze ,
This situations tragic, 
Magic Johnson  must of knew magic,
Cause he ain't got  A.I.D.S
And i know he had it, 
And the cghick that passed it still takes a tablet,
So know i walk lke this is my last day on the planet,
 I write like these are  my last words,
The last of What i draw for the Cameras,
Now you can se mind,
S H I NE S,
The more i write the more bright,
The more you listen,
The closer the closer you getting,
 To words that you say in the wind,
Feel them  like sun rays on you skin,
Yoou mind as well bask in it,
 This might be the last of it,
Cause the sun's done,
The went out with the trash,,
thatsa how it is for living in famine
The sun aint shinning, 
There water fallng out sky,
Oh no thats water in my Eye, 
Im crying, trying to stop they  ^ss from dying, 
Save they ^ss from frying, 
I told em keep putting that work in,
Never stop trying,
Even though somtimes you feel like breaking downand crying,
Just like an orphan thanking G o d they wasnt aborted keep walking