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Free Verse People Poems | Free Verse Poems About People

These Free Verse People poems are examples of Free Verse poems about People. These are the best examples of Free Verse People poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Broken People

I wish to be with the broken people
the get in your face challenge me people
The sometimes hidden
sitting in a dark corner kinda people
The don't you love me
I wish you seen me sorta people
People just being real people
not having to have it all together people
Them doing their best to figure it out people
dancing and singing without the smooth moves people

I don't care about the color of their skin
or what others think of as their sin
They don't need to be perfect to win
seeing and listening is where I'll begin
Beyond appearance of fat or thin
I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.

We'll start 
with our broken smiles
It's the best we've got
It might seem like so little 
still I think it's a lot
Through life's struggles we've all fought
lessons needed learning
experienced not taught
real is real it couldn't be bought

So forget the fake people
the all about perfect hair and clothes people
The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people
It's all about me, top of the hill people
They only hang out with the supremely cool people
those too important to talk to me people
thinking they're the best of the best kinda people
when all along they are merely Sheeple 
ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble

I love characters 
people who are unique
I look under exteriors to gain a peek
strength of lions disguised in meek
unconcearned with fab or being chic
Worth listening to if allowed to speak
the stories they tell will make your eyes leak

For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking
Disguising hurt with our joking
victims of others and their poking
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank 
hearts that aren't empty
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be
They might push when others come close
yet they are affectionate times three
Each just a bit afraid and broken 
all the while wishing  
and wanting to be
A part of something
If only we choose to see
those on the fringes
are a part of the we
All we have to do 
is let them be!


Dedicated to our homeless population.
They teach us the unvarnished truth about ourselves.




Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Love Poem 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
clichés, and repetition; I fall in love 
with items that people throw to the wind,
kick around, and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn;
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

The old man who sits in a rain-gorged gutter,
his fist raised to the sky in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly, beloved wife—

I fall in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem 
as ugly, dirty, morose, and immoral.
The more I fall in love,
the more I love each moment,
including the pain, torture, and misery 
that may unfold along the way.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I already have .

If I write down treasonously teetering words,
the reader could assume such words 
to be rooted in rage, or a cynical outlook,  
when the words are actually birthed from love—
I love every word that exists.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a sincere conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be grotesque,
when in fact, she is exquisitely gorgeous.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of seaweed 
rotting on the shore, and the way her hair smells 
as it bakes in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
mesmerized by the essence that the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles,the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat, who after watching the moving truck drive away, slunk around the alley in search of scraps—
over the years, she has proven to be a respectful and loyal companion (so easy to fall in love with, again and again,
while maintaining the love I already have).
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms
when it shines through the cracked, antique windowpane
that I simply don't want to replace.


And as for the people who think that it's impossible 
for someone such as myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day,

well, I love them too.



2016 Pulse Remix, July 18th, 2016
(original version was written on April 6th, 2012)

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Recording/Re-playing/Recording/Re-playing

The farm
     and the porch light hums 
the sound of another 
orange dawn.

Burnt up – crisp
      aching new reaches 
of the imagination turn 
from corn
      to wheat
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
never kissed.

Sweeping ‘cross in whispers 
two thousand years
      and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
dripping sideways,
like a red cat's eye marble 
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
     and forth - 
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm 
     being heard 
by another set of ears,
in some other when –

     some other marble.

When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth

can grip.

Night sounds come in floods
of mauve,
      and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
unsung,
      where no ears hear.

The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true 
      to form,
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment, 
      lived.

The girl turns to face 
the enormity
of all she has yet to hear upon 
      the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps 
on the skin
that God gave her; 
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
 
      breathing in the dawn 
as it breaks.

The farm notes this coming.

The sky knows;

The wind knows.

The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
      exhaling
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,

breathing through this land; 
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
      and through into another’s
open mouth.




© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
  
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME
5-25-14

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Money-God

Trust not in the words ("In God We Trust") that are printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God;
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how that isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

Godless? 
With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control;
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, 
are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, 
is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out—
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred, into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands:
to stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds, that if crossed, 
stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
then runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there. 
My teacher was killed...I don't have a teacher any more.
I think all my friends are dead.",

then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is further empowered.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire:
fed the beast within; 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out; pushed it out; purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity—
not marked by a fairy tale Devil.
The Money-God is a projection of mankind,
made in the image of mankind’s weaknesses.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom—
without and within; within and without.

If I am given the chance,
I will try my best to smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out; push it out; purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.



January 7th, 2013



In remembrance of S.H.E.S., December 14th, 2012










.

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

This Girl

This girl, she's crying inside,
But all everyone sees is smiles,
This girl, she's hurting inside,
She's lived like this for quite a while,
Always holding her pain inside, 
She won't ruin everyone's time,
This girl, she's breaking down inside,
But all she does is smile,
Those deep eyes,
Hold a lot world of misery,
Playing pictures from her mind,
Showing her past, her history,
She doesn't want to remember,
But the memories continue to play,
Every night she prays,
Wishing them away,
But this girl lies with her laugh,
And hides behind a mask,
So that no-one can see her pain,
Her past, her denials,
This girl, she's dying inside,
Although no-one can see her pain,
She just continues to smile bright,
From day to everyday,
With beautiful lying eyes,
For everyone to see,
Everyone and anyone,
Everyone but me.

Copyright © Loretta Bailey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Simple Words for Simple People

If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart

maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse

maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words

maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!

But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.

Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.

Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday

breathing softly  in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.

Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.

Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse

but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world

Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society 

would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole

and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.

Maybe a little child who understands only little words

would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned

rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries

and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh 

Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream

and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet

or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers

And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and  maybe I feel blessed.


Charma


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

On the outside, looking in

"When humanity becomes louder than love, stay out of its way. At times, it's better to be the lion in the distance, rather than the sheep losing their way...again."

This was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Its impact mimicked abused parallelograms
Unto emptiness’ solution

I witness sliced wrists shedding bohemian smiles.

Testament verses
Latching onto anchors of invalid mo(u)rning

There was no sunrise to be found,
Because humanity kept making love to silhouetted blinders

I was surrounded by shovels
Ransacked
For the sake of digging louder messages’ trench

While I
Caress incipient wings
And half-full Windex bottles
Just to keep perception from clouding my lyrics

Because nobody wants to see eye to eye…

…

…cataract-laced speeches permeate tainted whispers
Of an innocent breath 
Simply
Searching
For B-rated serendipity

Oh, this was the 1st time
I felt out of place.

Turning away from windowed afflictions
Ready
To step towards gratitude’s breath

Outside,
No longer looking in

How good it feels.

Yet, I still miss my friends.

©Drake J. Eszes 

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Color Me

Color me white, or color me black. Color
me brown, or color me red. Color me 
yellow, but color me to be just me.

Color me anyway you want. You are the 
artist, you know what to do, just capture 
my beauty and let it show through.

My beauty is not on the outside for everyone 
to see. My beauty comes from within and 
few people have seen.

Color me with the colors that you so much
love to use and when people see this painting,
they will see themselves in me.

The people will ask you - why did you put so
many colors on me and you will tell them - because
the beauty I did see.

The painting is now finished, the artist has done 
his job. A painting of many colors, that he is very 
proud of.

The colors bring beauty to the painting on the 
wall, but if we were all colored blind - we wouldn't
see any colors at all...

Copyright: written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo

Comments:

I wrote this poem because through out life 
I have seen a lot of injustice done, because
of who we are , or where we came from. We
did not choose to be who we are, or where
we came from. God chose that for us. I don't
think God made a mistake when He made us.
He had His reasons. We are who we are, that
can never be changed. We live in this world.
We are God's Race...

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Cashmere Wishes

You waited for this moment,
As if you were an incomplete salutation

You waited for confessional breaths to alleviate this finite evening
Missing its constellations

You wept for their sunflower touch.

A touch to engorge the gaps of your imprinted thumb
With honeysuckle madness

Dry

Another cashmere moistened parable
Hungering for ink-plated resolutions

You waited for their Haiku smile.

A smile condoning resilient waterfalls
Unto ocean’s distant memory

Aching for risky walks above coal-ridden tomorrows

No forest green pupils observing
The hindrance of time

You wished upon wishes
For blanketed convenance to warm aspiring, French kiss upon promised morn

You wrestled with downward spirals,
Uplifting loneliness from Heaven’s chasm

Lost

Enough

Regurgitated sobs reserved under no-name invitations

But, I...

…I was 						h	e	r	e.

All along

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

prayer

God , we are sorry,
we need you  in this time of fury,
we are broken and blackened,
 we are slaves of someone else all shackled.
the chains hurts our feet our legs 
but we can take  all that we deserve this toll
we just don't want them to take over our souls
we don't want to be mind controlled
our will is one thing You don't even interfere with 
then why do You give them a space in our brains to sit
 yes we are disobedient, drowned in our arrogance
but we never denied Your existence  never denied your magnificence
we came to you with all our issues all problems
we ask you for help in every form of danger
yet You turn your back on us like we a stranger
You know they are evil, u know they are wrong
but why is it that You see us take the fall
my heart cries with the death of all your men
we sacrificed  our kids our parents our country as a whole
God, i respectfully ask you, how much more?
how much blood, how many tears?
Is this the price we are paying for having a divine fear?
please forgive me God, i dare not complain
You have blessed me with so much that its  hard to  explain
You are the all  kind all gracious
but why is your creation so ferocious?
why don't they know how to love  why cant we be  ever in peace?
have we been mislead from Your path and now are paying a fees?
my  lord, my king please bring down mercy upon us
open our eyes,please keep us away from lust
let our kids breath the fresh air that you made away from all those drugs and meds
please don't let them put chip in our heads
please make us honest and make us love our friends
alleviate us from the differences of black and white no matter where we are born and bred
let us renew the  beauty of freedom of speech
where everyone is allowed to let their minds speak
where we don't  make fun of  people who disagree and call them freaks.
please destroy all the evil that makes us fall apart
that brings hatred and greed in our hearts
Take us somewhere else ,oh lord
where you are proud of us and the world is not all fraud
where the people   think before making a decision
where we are not lab rats put in horrible conditions
where the people are obedient to You and not the politician
where big fish eating weaker ones is not considered a tradition
I know You arelistening,You always do
please save us today, We all need you more than ever
and whether You help us or not,it doesnt matter
because I know You are the merciful we are  in Your debts forever!




Copyright © mary abdali | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Soul Stones

We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)

Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.

Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
and acid.

The stones settle,

BOOM...

      BOOM...

            BOOM...

Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.

We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner,  for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:

"Honey, are you alright?"

(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)

There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-

boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes 
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...

And then serenity.

The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.

"I'm here now... and you're ok."

We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.

No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,

but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...



Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

A jaded man

The sting of shattered trust
fills his veins with toxic spite,
contaminating his heart. 

He finds solace in a bottle,
quenching his resentment,
slurring forth caustic fumes;
nauseating his liver.

Until he spits her treachery up
with a sickening heave,
in the shallow, murky gutter
of a jaded man's reprieve.
 .


Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Gary's Yard Sale, the story

Gary's Yard Sale, the story
                                                  Authored by Chuck Keys

Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed, 
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.

Those in the hood
And outside,
Meet and greet among 
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
Maybe everythings,
For important that evolved into history.

Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.

During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
To each,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.

The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made.  As is today.
Bravo! Bravo!

*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and 
their Yard Sales age forever!

© Charles H Keys, 2010.  All Rights Reserved.  V1.4.09252010

Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Beauty in my Palm

You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-

You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.

Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Signs and Times

You say: Wrong place—wrong time,
Maybe: Wrong place—not right time,
Not right place—but wrong time?
I say: This's right place—right time, 
In times and places,
What is the time?
Where is the place
For right not wrong?
Is this like signs
Tearing up the scenery;
What about my mind?
Don't what? I can read the sign!
Oh—Signs of the time?
What’s wrong is not right,
Lord, I will sing this song!
Fight for what’s right 
Correct what's wrong!
In all times and places
Oh, salvation!
Please, be alright,
And make it—
On time!

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

© Joseph, October 11, 2008
© All Rights Reserved

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is 
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which 
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the 
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; 
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for 
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~


Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

Interwoven

Place your head on my shoulder,
let it stay there
and we'll just breathe
together
in
...and... out

Inhale positivity,
exhale negativity-

Pluck the sadness from the air,
unravel that ball of worry...
We'll find that knot
that started it all,
untangle it, 
and wave ribbons 
in the air

We'll let those colors swirl
around each other,
we'll blend them...
then weave them

into a tapestry

that comforts us 
in the end

Doesn't matter 
at all
if it turns out
 too short

Our lives
are full of tangles
anyway,
a lot of thread
out there...

So place your hand in mine,
let it stay there,
and we'll weave
together
...in
...and... out...






03062011619p637

Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Last Poem

This will be the last stanza
The last stanza

The final syllable

I commemorate these wounds
to my Agnostic dreams

Because God kept telling me to believe in her

He kept saying,
“Son, be her tissue when she collapses”

“Son, wipe away her sins with this blank slate I’ve given to you”

“Be that man for the woman she may never accept herself to be”

“Be the wings of that angel”

Until, one night, I said a prayer

I said to Him,
“She must go”

“I won’t give up on her, but I must let her go.”

“I leave it to You to save the pariah.”

I, can no longer be that man.

Because I exhaled insipid banter
from misery hollow

Borrowed happiness
whisked me away to coalescent landscapes
under eclipsed moonshine,
sipping unto artificially incipient sunrises

Tasting drops, sour
Wiping them dry, with this flower
my sanctum holds close

And on this day,
this new day,
this last stanza,
soon, I will
no longer finish you with question marks and exclamation points

Soon, I will
complete you,
withdraw from you,
with punctuated silence

I will walk while you crawl
I will smile while you cry
I will see while you’re blind
I will shout while you mumble
I will pray while you deny
I will climb while you trip
I will love while you hesitate

…

This will be my final kiss to you

No longer will we
be
endless

For I now complete you,
you,
my end poem

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Today Is a Gift To Us All

The thing about today is that:
                      It will be different than any other day
  Many different factors will share in the reasons 
           That today will be completely original 
  The people we encounter can play a huge role 
                          In the way that our day plays out 
We have no control over how these people may act 
                   No control over what they may say or do 
We can however control the way we allow it to affect us 
               I have met and been friends with 
        About every type of person that there is 
       From healers to killers I have met them all 
Shared meals and how we feel;the pressure of it all 
                             I used to allow outside influences 
                                                 Like these people 
            To play a role in how my day would go  
Then one day I realized that if you remove the water from the falls 
                                                     All that you have left is a cliff 
                                         And of course a hole at the bottom 
                  All the breathtaking beauty of the waterfall is gone 
All because some fool decided to build a dam to divert the water 
                    The River had no choice in how its day would go 
                       It had no choice in allowing an outside force 
                                                        To change its course 
                                        Of where it would end today 
        We have a choice, no matter what anyone does 
We can stay on course and maintain the original beauty of our day 
                                 As long as we always remember 
                                     That this day belongs to us 
The only thing that can change that is God, for it is his gift to us all

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

One Night Stanza

You called me "baby"
When your eyes streaked
In nudist dialect
Upon my strength

You begged to engorge
My palms
With cinnamon scented lotion

Taking me into melancholic forest
To sacrifice your shedding, virgin silk
With me
To have your way

It was imperative
That I brought you inches closer to God
As chastity’s ribbon
Slides down leagues below sea level truths

But, I
Refused to be a puppet pulled
By your G-strings

…

You implored with vehement thrusts
Of creamy, inner thigh
To turn my page

But, you never bothered to read
My table of contents

©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Brush Stroke to Uniqueness

If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red? 
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration, 
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green, 
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
on absorption.
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
"Mind's Eye"
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

WHAT ARE WE



What are we but vibrant green leaves in the foliage of the tree of life, soon to be turned brown and fall before others take their place? 

What are we but fast moving waves on the surface of the ocean of humanity, heading towards the shores of oblivion where they break up and die? 
  
What are we but wandering clouds, chased across the sky of existence by the winds of necessity and consumed by the sun of voracious time?


Let us ponder for a while, my loving friends
  
And

Let us try to give an answer to this:

How sensible is it, to waste our ephemeral life by
Hurting one another?  

Wouldn't it preferable be, more holy and more wise, 
Only love to harbor in our hearts and
Nothing  other?   




© Demetrios Trifiatis
  20 OCTOBER 2014

 

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Final Say

As our world spins into this blatant madness Family units like dead leaves, fading fast! Our children lost, good values tossed Idols abound, keeps us in a choke! Excesses, extreme shape our lives The Golden Rule, now a corny joke! A simple guide to can heal our earth-disregarded Yet, in spite of all these, God will have the final say When wars and storms sweep across our earth Leaders ignore the hour at hand Perhaps, the last to stand as men To right the wrongs of history past And re enact laws to seal the cracks! Potent winds arising, already on track Remember, love for man and nature will heal this earth Yes, I believe, in spite of all these, My God will have the final say So let the politicians, argue, fight and scheme Let the liars, deceivers, play their games!” Let death merchants chant their evil anthem “It’s not a child, but a piece of flesh”! While the years like pages torn from a book All blowing away like dust in the wind Gone forever beyond eternity's veil! 'Too simplistic', some claim, that love's the remedy Yet, in spite of all these, I will fear no end, for My God will have the final say! ~*~

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Still Falling

.

Did you close your eyes? Did you think of them?
Memories come every year and I weep, alone and wondering
if at the top and at the end you had a fear of heights
as if the answer could make a difference.

Yet I'm dismayed to watch it again, acrophobic, imagining...
a room afire and the smoke making signals to the World
no easy means of escape, no places to hide, no exit.
Suffocated in that vision, I stay breathless trying to perceive...

Hot gasses in red eyes begging for the luxury of  fresh air 
a burning window and the fall-space: coin with just one side
pieces of crystals in livid hands without time to wave 
sticky blood warming fingers in a last cold morning.

And I weep, helpless and thinking in what you saw from above
that pandemonium of alarms, yelling and the sound of the fire
just an instant to decide how to face it, how to accept it 
an instant in which you may comprehend our brevity.

Perhaps, you could say goodbye... Did you have time?
Did you close your eyes? Did you think of them?
in their faces, their eyes, their voices, their scents...
Behind, below, inside...Death, waiting for your decision...

And I weep for your innocence... for your panic...for you
I'm with you now, terrified... yet, I can't follow you...
But you drag me and I jump with you, as every year 
as the only way I can remember you...feeling you, being with you ...

And I weep...recoiling to that morning that will live in infamy
in its intense impact, in those images 
Because the towers disappeared in its collapse
but you, through the years...you're still falling.



Footnote: This short video is very disturbing; it shows people falling and jumping from the towers. I don't recommend you to watch it because it may offend or hurt your feelings. However, it shows the true horror of that day and I think that it's the true extent in which those innocent people lost their lives. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcC6bTHosx0

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Its Raining...

                          Its Raining…

God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…

who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again

                               Amen

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

The Man on Brunswick Drive

Familiarly, his car shifts into gear
Coming around the curve
As he coasts into the long drive
The hour is precisely 6:00
Never early, never late...
As always, he stops...hops out...
Pushes the tricycle away from his path
Returns to his car....pulls into the garage
The giant white door folds down behind him
As he appears again on the walkway to the house
He stoops to pick up the evening newspaper
And disappears behind the green front door
I think of Pavlov and his dogs.....

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

The Day That Died Forever

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps

Copyright © Winter Wallace | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Lightning Chased Thunder

Into the mist which settles upon the waters
Tempered elements connect and clash
Each vying for dominance within their domain
Lightning chases Thunder throughout forlorn skies
The harder she cracks her brilliant, whip the further he runs
In pain he roars through pitch black skies
Man stands in awe of the battle displayed 
And the heavens hang low and cry pouring rain

~*~

Note:  Inspired by "The perfect Storm" Very sad ending, yet, one of my favs.

Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Poet

The Poet

We have been around for thousands of years
Reading our words for kings and queens
and a few people who gathered just to hear us talk.
We lived on the copper coins they could afford
and traveled through the lands writing what 
we saw, dreams and thoughts.
Our words were put to music and made immortal
Others were acted on the stage making
people laugh and cry.
Some words changed the way people thought
and ended hatred between people who
should not feel hate.
People died because they did not realize what
our words could do
Many times a love bogged in fear was loosed
because of a few words we wrote.
God only knows how many children our words
have brought smiles to and how many starting
thinking because of what we wrote.
Why do we do it?
Not to end wars or hatred
Not for the lovers who found each other because of us
Not even for the copper coins people throw
We do it because we love words
We do it to share our feelings
and we do it so that someday maybe someone will read 
our thoughts, dreams and words  and they will be 
remembered long after we are gone.

Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2007