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Free Verse Write Poems | Free Verse Poems About Write

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Details | Free verse | |

PLAGIARIZING

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monologue look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd


Details | Free verse | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sung under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propagandas
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

by;)


Details | Free verse | |

Careful Cursive

I write each letter by hand in careful cursive. 
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.

My words are foolish, 
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events. 
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house 
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.

So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared 
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."


Written: 1/27/2013
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest


Details | Free verse | |

The Write of You

Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
 the write of you

like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
 the write of you

how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
 write of you



Details | Free verse | |

Exposure: Part I

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

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

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

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

"What does hate feel like?"

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

(cont'd)


Details | Free verse | |

MY SEX


I’m made of ten thousand layers, curvaceous but stretched thin,
How should I begin to reveal the shape of this maiden-lover-hag
and the landscape that few men view, behind the louvered door?

Archetypes coexist comfortably below and upon my shared skin,
First, the shrew makes minced meat of all your carnivorous ways,
Then, I become the shy virgin again until Venus takes the floor.

Morning, while I tend my child between wringing out wet dishrags,
I release the Mother Goddess, nurse and maid, maker of wee sighs,
Bending down to wipe a tear, kiss a brow, proudly raise a nation.

A chatelaine rattling keys, I walk the wide halls of imagination,
Strong and free, yet accepting of my femininity, moved to cry
by the joys and miseries of family life, twin dimensions of wife.

My hips have turned soft men to stone then have rocked them 
home with urgency; the same hips that sheltered one yet born
now happily support a burdensome basket each laundry day.

Betwixt the ribs, there is still a girl, weaving daisies evermore,
Remembering ribbons tugged from her hair, a tomboy daughter,
Climbing trees, bloodied knees, leaving trails laced with laughter.

Slips out the hoyden, lacking grace and gentleness, too crass,
and the very clouds try to escape the look upon my crone’s face,
Flip and sassy, standing up for the weak, voicing world wrongs.

Daily, the lady, the broad, the nag and miss rewrite their songs,
They play their parts so aptly, leaving me and them quite satisfied,
A lifetime is horribly short, my sex gives all her love and worth,
And men quickly learn that no woman on this lovely earth 
can simply be classified.


*Inspired by Alanis Morisette's "I'm a B_tch"
**For David's contest, I hope
***Began the write May 26, 2012, finished the write May 29, 2012


Details | Free verse | |

A Lesson on Love to my Future Daugter

It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
buried deep,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.

Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.

There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down. 
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.

There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding 
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt. 
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple. 

Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
forgive,
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.

Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.

Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
just run
and run 
and run 
and run
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.

Daughter,
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.

Daughter,
Find a love who loves you the way 
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.


Details | Free verse | |

God, don't look at me like that

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray. 

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
be more,
pray more,
or we can’t come in.

My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.

Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that. 


Details | Free verse | |

My Poetry Friends

I carry our friendship in my mind
And like a “Welcome Home” banner
It warms my heart. 
When I see flowers in bloom
I think of your poetry;
How your words paint such colorful, 
Vivid tapestries.
Even on the greyest of days
They brighten my world,
Shed light on my emotions,
Lift my spirits, and give comfort to my soul.
We are kindred spirits in our love of nature,
The gift of children and the wonder of the
Animal kingdom, how it nurtures us in love,
Inspires us to want to share through
Poetry the beauty of this planet.
When you write of waterfalls
I feel the cool mist on my face.
When you write of trees
I see their lovely trunks and limbs
And how closely they resemble people.
When you write about the wayward wind
An awesome chill cloaks my body.
As you relate the power of the moon
I feel her tug at my emotions and
Her authority as she reigns over the seas.
The contrast of serenity and excitement
Abound when you speak of the sparkling 
Stars, their soft glow or burst of beauty as they 
Burn a bright light through a cobalt sky.
Tears of joy stream down my smiling face
As you describe the sunrise and sunset
In a rainbow of hues from silver to scarlet.
It leaves me breathless in awed elation.
Each season offers a new delight in what you write
And our friendship grows deeper and more
Meaningful with each creation.
When you write of love, I feel loved.
You are a blessing and a joy in my life.
I carry our friendship in my mind.

© 2011 Connie Marcum Wong


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 | |

It's Okay

It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.


Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens


Details | Free verse | |

POETRY

I write all kinds of things, about my husband.
He does not have a clue, to what it means.
If he was to sit and write.
I wonder what he would write about me.
Thanks GOD for poetry.
A language that not every body get.

    I.T.
S.K.A.T. POETRY
2-26-10


Details | Free verse | |

Feather in my hand, ink in my heart.

Trickling over my mind
Came scampering the question
This dilemma of a heart
Come running into my embrace
Stricken with fright

It asked me
Father, why do we write
And so I dipped my feather in the darkness of my mind
And brought forth my answer 

I wrote of fear and the love that comes at a dreadful cost
Of meaning and of the fight for knowledge 
I wrote for voices unheard
I cried for emotions long forgotten
And the answer came to me as the tears wrote their own tale
Painted in pain was the image of a long forgotten glory
Of emotions left unstirred
Come to see what these words have conspired 
Come to see how these words have called them from their sleep
To ensue in them an undaunted hunger

Well my dear son
Here comes my answer to you
I write not for you
Nor for me
I write for what is within you
What has bubbled forth within me
I write to stir the masses
Unchained, unhindered
Willful subjects of our being
They huddle in wait
The towering limestones of their cave grow eon by eon
As they rot away, moment by moment
I write for them
We write for the grim
The unnoticed prestige
We write for what you have neglected to see
To bring it forth before your eyes
To fix your head with an iron collar
To make you a slave of our direction
We write to be your masters, when you need one most
We write to fix your gaze on what you have never lost
We write to drag forth from the depths of your inky heart

We are the harbingers of emotion
Be it hate or lust
The unseen veil of ignorance, or to shatter the blinding globe of pride
We are the harbingers of sight
With our binding collars, our guiding feathers, dripping the black sweat of our labored toil
You will come to see
What has not been seen before
We are
Fathers of a relationship sown by words, sealed by the dawning of the sun, the dawning of 
realization
We are 
Your feathers, to your wings or to your ink

And feathers will flutter
Bearing you into the frigid embrace of the skies
And when the winds will them no more
We will descend upon the ground
And speak to the earth as we are reclaimed in its rough embrace
We will write to the trees, when we cannot write to the birds, the sun, and the sky
And through the trees we will see the stars
And to them we will write about the shade
Harbingers indeed.

© Samir Georges
2010

Edited for Deb's Free Verse Contest on why we write.


Details | Free verse | |

Meeting the Soupers

I have entered a room filled with handshakes and friendship Sharing hugs here and there, there's a buzz in the air Soupers queued, center stage, with a rhyme and a theme One is reading a poem with applause from the wings There is laughter, and sharing......and a microphone blaring A few poems being read, but no one is hearing, since the chatter is loud, and the crowd's having fun! I'm checking who's here, are they cool, are they new? Is she who I had dreamed behind her avatar screen? Is he who he had seemed as his poetry deemed? How great is this chance, to catch a real glance and see all those faces, my computer just beamed I look for a friend, who has traveled quite far Taking trains, or a plane, in a bus or a car I'm happy to say, they are nicer by far than I'd ever expected.......these Poetry Stars! __________________________________________________________ 10/31/13 ......for Yasmin's Contest: Meeting the Soupers


Details | Free verse | |

A mother's treasures

A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevaient from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths, roles and qualities
of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s


Details | Free verse | |

Worst Love Poem Ever Written

I suck at dying poems
Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,
Hair falling out in the shower poems
 
And I told a half truth
When I told you I could write you one
In less than six months (It's been eight)
I apologize for being so late

 
I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful
Like those ribbons
I see all over the internet
Filled with cheesy generic rhymes
That read like a Hallmark audition

  But already my metaphors are melting
And my similes are getting soft
 I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off

 When I went to Google
And the typed in the word 'happy'
Three billion links came up

Not a single inference to
Breast cancer, hair loss
No redirects to mastectomies
Yahoo wasn't any kinder

 
The only thing research could teach me
Is that a good day on chemo
Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black
And has no blood in it

Or when your urine
Smells better on Wednesday
Than it did on Tuesday

Sleeping less than 12 hours
When 24 would be better

  
America has more poets
Than it does alcoholics
   And Pot smokers combined
And you chose me to be
Your Breast Cancer
Poet Laureate

Trusting me to write a poem
About the biggest battle in your life

So I refuse to finish this poem
Without something bright and hopeful
 
And don't think
I didn't notice your Facebook activity
Had decreased by 88%
In the last three months

 
And you aren't really
Coming to any more of my poetry shows
Ever again. Are you??
But we still have March, April
Don't we?

 
But even if you had one breast
Or no breast

Or if you had less hair than I do
I promise to look only in your eyes
And never ever even notice
Or even think about it

And never for a moment
Would I feel sorry for you

Yes I suck at lying too...

 
But I don't suck at loving you
Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning
 With no Cancer at all
And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside
Your bedroom window...

And I would be right there with you
Holding your hand while we look down on Paris
And you can impress me with your French again

 
And if I ever make it
To the Pulitzer Poetry board
I might lose a thousand points
Just for this poem alone

And my hopes for the prize will be smitten
And some old person 
With white hair will say
That was the worst love poem ever written


Details | Free verse | |

TO ALL MY SOUPER FRIENDS

I wanted to thank each of you personally,but there are to many
of you so I am writing this to all who have been willing to put up
with my sad and dark poems and all the kind comments you have
made.I have been overwhelmed with friendship since I joined the soup.
I never knew there were people like all of you out there,but I have
discovered that there is.I have struggled all my life with depression,
and other mental illnesses.My outlook on life is said through
my poems.I don't know myself when I will decide I can't take the pain
anymore.It is a day to day struggle for me.HG,you asked me how could
you write a suicide poem and not die?I can't answer that question,
and Douglas Ace you asked what our friendship means to me?That I
can answer.It means more than anything to me and your kind and 
gentle words are all taken to heart.Linda Marie has also helped through
my trying times.Jeralynn Clark,and James Fraser, wrote a poem for me,
which I appreciate more than words can say.I wanted to write this to
everyone and I hope you all get everything you ask for.I can't keep
fighting the feelings that I feel about ending it all.It is a day after day
feeling and I am tired.I will watch over all of you.I just can't hold on
to the future when all I think about is the past.You all think I need
help and I agree ,but have yet to find the help that is going to change
the way I feel.Please read my poem Is There A Heaven.When I find
out you all will be the first to know.I must go now and I hope you
all can understand why.Thank you I know isn't enough but I don't know 
what else to say to show how much you all meant to me.Peace and 
Love to all of you.Pray for me.

                                                     YOUR SOUPER FRIEND,
                                                       Colleen Marie Bono


Details | Free verse | |

Tension Waiting

The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.


Details | Free verse | |

o', just for once, to receive what i give-

if he were to write me a love poem, would it breathe 
like the quintessence of begin? would it live 
as the moon to the sea – as precise as the art
of expanse along kismets journey, and all horizons linear? 
would it wind-wash and rush my untouched
expanse, as a field soft and wild, exhaling through hair?
would you hear all of my hurt as it crashes to floors; crashing
through my glass floors, formed by years of perfected neglect; 
(reverberating through centuries of cause and effect)

or would it die in my hands;
turn to dust
at your
feet?

no. 

to read his undying words, such as my deepest imaginings 
can conjure, would be as if the very sun had come to rest beneath 
my bosom, shining exponentially forth every wish and dream i have 
ever harbored within the safe haven of my yearnings, since long 
before the birth of time itself!

o’, words given from the depths of my hearts deliberate daydreams, 
from the vastness of your perpetual being,
would surely render my mind useless, striking my fluttering 
body numb, and alive all at once!
if my love ever wrote me a love poem, i would answer 
by way of warm lips on eyelids, (weary from longing 
and unrequited need) gliding them 
down his fair face, kissing years of spent tears into the oblivion that is       
no more (the culmination of death and the sweet realization 
of answered prayers), and yet

i would no sooner ask him to write me a love poem, then I would 
expose my longing to receive one.


Details | Free verse | |

Rebirth

Ignite,
The missing light,
Forget,
What's behind.
Just believe,
That love comes again...

'Cause,
The skies,
Are like a hard glide,
In a shining rainbow's light...

All dreams and fantasies,
Can be reality,
'Cause fantasy,
Is based on reality...
But all histories aren't the same...

'Cause,
Sometimes, we dive,
In our lives...

So,
Don't judge,
For what you see,
Judge,
For what it is...,
'Cause time passes,
But, memories remain...

And,
Listen,
To your heart,
'Cause,
The body, does,
The mind, thinks,
And, the heart, feels...,
While, the soul, lives...

So,
Always remember,
To remember the past,
To live the present,
And to wait and pursue the future...

Listen to your heart,
Before you are telling goodbye,
'Cause destiny,
Might lead to demise...,
But, remember that destiny can be changed...

Life is unpredictable,
But space and time,
Could be controlled...
And even if some die,
We may survive...

Remember,
That life,
Might have an endless beginning...

All that remains,
Is to be reborn...


Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?


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 | |

Orgasm Of Sadness

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


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


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


it's the emptiness 
that I write 
a cursed 

social consciousness
that blinds


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


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


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


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


we are intimate 
sadness and I 
a couple 
twisted together 

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

 

 

 


Details | Free verse | |

"Writing without a Pen"

I lay in my bed and glance on the floor...
There are letters and thoughts that lead
to my door...
The light shines on a few as my mind may
have a thought...
Could be a small Haiku on demons I fought...
Shall it be a write on love or a past pain?
Maybe a collaboration with a lady who 
some days keeps me sane...
This is the beauty of Poetry, to spill out lives
from behind a keyboard...
To reach across the pond for a distant hug
when the notes don't meet the chords...
A wonderful place to play when a weeks worth
of ups and downs can be put on a screen...
Or how we can color our own pictures from
another poets dream...
So I continue to be dazzled from this beautiful 
group...
Who knows my next write could be with that
"Mysterious Lady of Soup"


Details | Free verse | |

Waiting for the Dust to Settle

                             Stranger
                           I adore you
                      Because you think
               I said something worthwhile
         And your unsolicited uplifting response
           Was that I strummed a chord inside
                    And made you smile.

            Such are the curiosities of chance
                  Encounters from afar…
               As planets and stars collide
                      Among the stars.

                Though we know not why,
                      When or where
                         We may be
          When the unforeseen collision occurs
            Changing the course and destinies
                Of traveling bodies forever…

                               Still,
               There’s no denying you and I
   Were spinning uncontrollably ‘round and ‘round
                ‘til we both hit solid ground
         As the pull of gravity brought us both
                                D
                                o
                                w
                                n
                      Into the infinite
                Azure blue atmosphere
         Where ideas and words roam free
            Waiting for the dust to settle
              On poets like you and me.

        PS: This one's for Delysia Hendricks


Details | Free verse | |

Paper Plate


Paper Plate

serve me well friend poet;
flavor anew words I've
eaten all my life.

Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 16, 2011


Details | Free verse | |

Tribute to Linda

Not 
Long 
I 
Know 
this 
'lady' 
This 
lady 
names 
LINDA 
On 
this 
amiable 
platform
Calls 
POETRYSOUP
Not 
Long 
I 
started 
to 
write
On 
this 
platform
And 
not 
long 
I 
was 
Recognised 
as 
one 
of 
the 
distinguished 
being.

On 
whose 
auspices 
did 
I 
know 
about 
my 
worth?
On 
the 
auspices 
of 
the 
popular
Poet 
Destroyer 
A. 

Though 
I 
didn't 
know 
LINDA 
in 
person
And 
I 
am 
not 
sure 
she 
knows 
me 
either
But 
honestly 
speaking 
She 
is 
one 
brilliant 
POETESS
My 
pen 
owes 
Tribute.

Let 
me 
start 
from 
her 
poetry
The 
one 
I 
have 
found 
so 
amazing...
Full 
of 
art, 
full 
of 
love, 
full 
of 
zeal, 
full 
of 
life,
Full 
of 
victory... 
and 
full 
of 
challenges.
And 
talking 
about 
her 
contest 
Therein 
I 
have 
found 
neutrality.
That 
is 
why 
I 
am 
not 
afraid
When 
my 
pen 
choses 
her.

For 
pen 
about 
her 
commentaries
As 
far 
as 
I 
know 
PD. 
has 
been 
the 
widest 
'commentator'
I 
have 
ever 
known 
On 
this 
dignifying 
arena.

Frankly 
speaking
LINDA 
alias 
Poet 
Destroyer 
A
Worth 
my 
rose 
and 
wine
On 
this 
Drama 
Free 
Zone.

Dedicated 
to: 
LINDA, 
Poet 
Destroyer 
A


Details | Free verse | |

To My Super Souper Friends

Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite 
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a 
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed 
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when 
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up 
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they 
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
    One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem 
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you 
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
   After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The 
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.  
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did. 
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did 
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher 
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated 
and embarrassed by what others thought.
   The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me 
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off 
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a 
while until it was subdued by writing one.
    Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I 
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is 
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no 
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing 
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the 
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was 
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it? 
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.  
 GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT


Details | Free verse | |

The Blessings Of A Writer

Language, my revered lifelong companion,
Read and write and  therefore be enlightened and intelligent,
A memory of favorite poems and authors,
Chosen to write by the Lord, God,
 Honoured to be , and humble,
All the while learned,
To experience the beauty of nature,
The dawning of another beautiful day,
To continue to learn about God's kingdom,,
The blessings of a writer.

copyright Gwen Schutz


Details | Free verse | |

The One Call I Missed

Why did you lie to me?
You said you would call
Still I wait here by the phone
This is not how it's meant to be
I feel like I have been a fool
Are you the one who steals my heart?
You say I am the one for you
One who cares would not treat me this way
As I wait I fall too sleep
In the morn I will not care
I will search for my loved one
Do not call I will thrive on my own
Sad is not the way to be
This is how to write a poem with just one.
It is hard to write this way.

For the One to one contest.


Details | Free verse | |

I will not be late to work this morning

I will not be late to work today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This poem is over 
the work day begins



Details | Free verse | |

My inner palace

welcome
to my  inner palace 
built in
sturdy passion
beautiful love

colorful garden
with fragrant flowers 
to greet you 
with my sweetest smile 

strong pillars
of verses and
rhythms 
created a temple of love

peaceful atmosphere 
in comfortable love

Though noiseless 
however
your whisphers 
reached  the ears of my souls

in a softest candle light dinner
patiently waiting
for your present

to enjoy your laughters
and stories

to drink
all sweet lovely tears patter 

i give you 
my special key called love
to welcome you
in my inner palace


~ (c) Sukmawati komala ~ 
07March 2013


Details | Free verse | |

Hovering

How many have ever heard the song "Somewhere in Time?"
       It's a song with only music and with no words or rhyme.
 "Fantasie Impromtu" is another one written by Chopin?  
       Also a song of rare beauty without words thrown in.
These two songs along with "Moonlight Sonata" were played by my son.
       He's an acomplished pianist who can play most any run.
He played these songs at my funeral last week.
       Don't be shocked all you people keep on sitting in your seat.
You Poetry Soup poets who are sitting there reading this write.
       Yes you!  Don't turn around and look behind you or look to the right!
Do you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now?
       Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
No don't look!  You won't see me. 
       My spirit is floating above your right shoulder freely.
I'm watching you read your poems.  Did you get some good comments today?
       Yes I saw where you wrote that beautiful verse, and that nice display!
You deserve that nice comment.  How about your soupmail?  Are there very many?
       Did someone tell you a secret?  Remember!  I won't tell and I know a plenty!
I've been watching you on Poetry Soup for hours writing your poems that rhyme.
       You're writing about love and mysteries, about cat tails, building spaceships and rhyme 
        time!
You're writing of happy new year, time warps, romantic longings and betrayals and how do 
        you do it,
       One of you says your poems are like children to you, one writes of beautiful women 
        with wit
And one of you even wrote of hanging berries!  And all of these wonderful poems I've read.
        I have hovered over many of you and you never even knew I was dead,  
Such wonderful talented writers we have on Poetry Soup. 
       Everyone writes his own style that belongs to this group.
So take heed when you sit down to write a new rhyme.
       And know that someone's watching you write all this time.
And when you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now.
       Well!  It's because of me!  I'm hovering over you somehow!


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 | Free verse | |

Tracing thoughts

at night, i close my eyes
and see your smile
as it erases the distance between us;

sometimes i feel like a poem
lost somewhere in a poet's mind,
a thought
a dream
waiting to be released
on paper sheets

i can almost hear them,
unfinished poems
falling like leaves
in the silence of night
tossed about in autumn's air
as you write them out

i want to feel the warmth of your touch,
like a fingered-pen as you write me out
from the depths of your mind,
and be the breath that falls
from your lips to sheets,
a masterpiece being born
again and again.

sometimes i feel like the poet,
lost within my own words
and thoughts,
breathless upon the stage
after a midnight reading,
yet, i want to read you
again and again.

i want to be the whisper
that falls under the moon,
a kiss beneath the stars,
a breath from my lips
to yours,
be the silence of words
and the only thought
within your mind,
or all the thoughts
as you dream
on sheets of white


Details | Free verse | |

A Truth I Speak

I am not always the smartest
Often times I appear not to be smart at all
My mind rambles 
My eyes skip words
My lips speak without hesitation
Stumbling over my sentences 
Incoherent blabber
I crawl inside myself
Whispering reassurances 
They are meaningless phrases
My insecurities wont allow
The possibility that I could believe them 
I am discouraged easily
Even my feet are not smart
Clumsy and tripping over air


Details | Free verse | |

Lamenting Spirit

Seemingly standing alone,
In the shadows of doubt and fear,
Lost, cold, forgotten,
Cold is the grasp of death that nears

Seeking a hand in darkness of solitude,
Wishing for nothing but a love,
Turned away, cast aside, borne not even a stray, lone thought,
Towering aloft, looked down upon from far above

Throned so high overhead, just as kings of old,
Glared down upon, a lowly tear forsaken so,
Caught within a trap, drowning, mists of sorrow,
A voice unheard, a voice deserted, only a voice in woe

Wandering such great, forlorn paths,
A derelict mind harshly beat, a mind that has since long been vacant,
Rove, this neglected child does,
One mind among so many, outcast, this dolor mind abeyant. 


Details | Free verse | |

If I Could Write

If I could write about,
    World Peace
I'd have to write about,
     Ending War

If I could write about,
           Love
I'd have to write about,
        Ending Hate

If I could write about,
         A Feast
I'd have to write about,
      Ending Hunger

If I could write about,
   Human Strength
I' have to write about,
   Human Frailty

If I could write about,
            Good
I'd have to write about,
            Evil

If I could write about,
          My Life
I'd have to write about,
            Me


Details | Free verse | |

Kin of the Pen

I enjoy knowing you
Though I know little about you
It still remains
I know the scrawl of your pen
Dancing over a page
The sound of your native beat
And the friendship that when kindled flames meet
Inspired by you a thousand ways
I wont waste another day
So friends, and kin of the pen 
We shall remain


Details | Free verse | |

Dealing the cards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Bittersweet Wait

My Sunshine at the sight of your words
Your chance glance upon my words
A riotous burst of Sunflower seeds
Droplets at a thundering pace 
Rips away the cobwebs of silence
Sunset when I stare at empty space
Had I known this sweet bitter taste
Would have closed my heart in tearful haste


Details | Free verse | |

I miss you Alley

In the moon I see you beautiful face, it glows love
The stars tell of your smile, that inspires me to write 
Beautiful purple skies paint the scene for memory lane, of when we kissed
I miss holding you, looking at you, singing to you and telling you pretty things

The days go on, and this feeling for you grows stronger, I love you
I can't wait for the day in which I can hold you again, I need you
The way you look at me, the way you speak to me, you complete me
Drving down the street singing at the top of my lungs, for you I miss that too

For 6 years I have longed to be yours, and now I am
I shall seek to find, I will ask to learn
For my hearst desires are to be married to you and serve God as one
To weep at your side, to write and paint by your side, oh for you I yearn

Making you laugh honey, my favorite hobby
To place that ring on your beautiful finger, and have you call me hubby
You are my one and only, my love my all
I walk to joy, I crawl to learn and I lay to endure, for I shall live by the word of God

I will fight for us, I too have faith in a bright tomorrow
Alley my love my life, I have you in my mind all day
I miss your dimples, your baby talk, for us I pray
I love you mi amor, I miss you Alley


Details | Free verse | |

Why i'm a poetess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

I Write

I write…
I write of many things- tangible and intangible
My faith and ideals, work and play
My life and loves; my successes and failures, too
Of war and peace and material things
A million thoughts throughout the day
Transform into forms and shapes
And my heart speaks its truths
Which crowd the corners of my mind
At times fiercely threatening to riot!,
It is then I pause and listen, as it seems they
Attempt to burst heart and mind at the seams!
And no recourse do I have then, 
So eagerly, joyfully, I open wide, the gates!
I see them charge onto paper or electronic screen!
'Sweet freedom'! They seem to shout triumphantly, 
In their final escape from emminent death! 
They escape the endless holding cells
Then disburse throughout the universe
Seeking to inspire, console, bring some smiles
To feed weary souls of fellowmen.
 I write because it brings me untold joy!
I am a poet


Details | Free verse | |

I Need You to Know

I'm not usually the type
to stray from structure
and just write down 
all my thoughts and feelings
word for word
with no fancy frills or clever metaphors
but every time i put my pen to paper
i realize that no strained rhyme
no set number of syllables
can begin to hold all that I'm feeling right now
so I've decided to write it like I'd say it

I need you to know, 
I love you

and i wish that we lived in a perfect world
so that just saying it would be enough
and we'd ride off into the sunset
to live happily ever after
but I know life doesn't work like that anymore
love's become less of a fairytale
and more of an adventure novel
the slipper never fits
none of the princesses ever come down from their towers
without battles and grueling journeys
and even after you get the girl, 
you have to fight for everyday of your 'happily ever after'
 I know that
but I'm still here
with my sword drawn to start the battle
and I'll never stop fighting

I just needed you to know that

I know that in the stories
the prince is always strong
and he's courageous and valiant
but sometimes I'm afraid I can't be that strong warrior
because right now, 
I miss you
so much it makes me tired and weak
and each day it gets harder and harder to fight
I've not your voice to reassure me
that you're right here fighting beside me
so sometimes I just feel so alone
fighting this battle by myself

I wake up in the morning and they tell me
that I was talking to you in my sleep
and I check my phone 100 times a day
even though I know that you can't call
 
But I'll never stop fighting

I love you 
and I miss you
and I'll never drop my sword
even when all I can do is lay here in the dark
and try to picture your face in the cracks of light dancing on the walls
just to keep from going crazy
I'll never stop fighting 

I guess I just needed you to know that


Details | Free verse | |

To Write Your Best

To write the finest poem that your heart and mind permit
You must let go of yourself and earthly bonds, dream vocally
Speak aloud in your mind of feelings, both good and bad
Let the words overcome you, present themselves to you
Take them, rearrange them and stir in deep meaning
Thereby touching on the heart of something that matters so
In other words, to write that one, that special one, let yourself go


Details | Free verse | |

Pienso, quiero y desearia

A veces, quisiera gritar,

Quisiera correr,

Quisiera reir,

Quisiera llorar,

Quisiera morir,

Quisiera iluminación,

Quisiera vivir,

Quisiera escapar,

Quisiera revivir...


A veces, pienso en ustedes,

Pienso en espacio,

Pienso nublado,

Pienso oscurecido,

Pienso esclarecido,

Pienso en transparencia,

Pienso en huesos,

Pienso en naturaleza,

Pienso en actuar,

Pienso en todo...


Desearía volver a amar como antes,

Desearía saber más allá,

Desearía expresar más de lo normal,

Desearía unas manos agarrar,

Desearía en hombros impregnar,

Desearía contigo llorar,

Desearía contigo caminar,

Desearía tus abrazos recibir,

Desearía mi corazón de plata y titanio arreglar,

Desearía mi mente repasar...


Desearía que no me traicionaran,

Desearía con besos y amistad despertar,

Desearía en un paraíso soñar,

Desearía a todos concientizar,

Desearía a todos impresionar,

Desearía construir nuevos horizontes,

Desearía adversidades borrar,

Desearía romper leyes,

Desearía ser libre,

Desearía a todos ayudar,

Aunque me cueste la vida...


Pienso en querer el deseo infinito,

Quiero un amor eterno,

Deseo uno amistad inquebrantable,

Para no morir más...


Details | Free verse | |

Three Verbs

a well dressed mess,
I am but a man
with a sinister past
seeking redemption.

b*tching,
venting,
& ranting.
are three verbs I tend
to utilize while writing.
because writing is my outlet,
my craved for aperture,
even my superlative release
in the pursuit of an escape
from a reality which once
was capable of compelling 
my lips to crease into a smile,
but now only fills my chest 
with the tension of a thousand
cold-sweat soaked nightmares.
These three vulgar verbs
keep my mind lucid
through my abdication
of actuality for the
necessary occupation 
of thought required 
to keep these demons 
composed of crushed pills
and empty bottles at bay.

I feel the genius today.
I love every word, letter,
and line that I'm writing.
but tomorrow I'll hate this.
I'll think this sh*t is worthless
as I consider deleting it all.
Yet I can't part with it.
like my utter inability to
forget & let go of this fading
amatory connection whose
love once gave me hope as
well as sex that left scars,
both cerebral and somatic.
I loved her so f***ing much
and if I'm being honest, 
I must admit I still do.

as a parting favor
I simply ask you not
to confound these
words I write with
apathy and despair;
 they may sting off
the tip of my tongue
but they come from
a place that's sincere
and filled with more
than mere goodwill.
I simply have a crestfallen
& despondent perspective.

This, too, will
pass with time.
or so they say.


Details | Free verse | |

La Sociedad de Miradas

Camino en sociedad de ignorancia,
Donde palacios son corruptos por efectos de arrogancia;
Pasan por nuestros lados,
Echando el ojo, tratando de disimular;
Donde la conciencia es absentista,
Donde todos dicen ser abstencionistas,
Pero, todos son ambiciosos, consumidos y absorbidos por hipocresía...

Camino en sociedad abolicionista,
Donde abolicionan toda aventura,
Donde la única aventura es abolir la sociedad,
Siendo una sociedad abstraída y egoísta,
Poniendo todo lindo, pero con abusividad escondida,
Siendo una sociedad de imbéciles accionistas,
Mostrando intransigencia acérrima y decisiva,
Pero, todos son perezosos basados en negligencia anarquista...

Camino en sociedad de advertencia,
Donde los reprimidos quedan agrisados,
Donde los rechazados y solitarios quieren valentía,
Donde la paz social va desvaneciendo,
Donde la minoría quiere acracia y amnistía de la sociedad,
Para derrocar la corona trastornada y distorcionada...

Camino en sociedad amorfa,
Donde nos han forzado ansias a través de propaganda alarmista,
Donde existen muchos agiotistas fraudulentos,
Donde propias convicciones son raramente afianzadas y aseguradas,
Donde la autoridad permanece en mordacidad y acrimonia,
Donde los realistas son fastidiados y ajusticiados,
Donde las miradas autoritarias son falsamente alegatorias,
Donde muchos permanecen injustamente en incertidumbre ambigua...

Solo a través de sabios ojos,
Es que existen verdaderas experiencias;
Con mirada fiera,
Con mirada de ira,
Con mirada desamparada,
Con mirada sigilosa,
Con mirada misteriosa;
Con toda mirada real existe vida lúcida y estragos mortíferos...

Camino en sociedad de odio,
Donde toda mirada se vuelve rencorosa,
Camino en sociedad de miradas,
Donde las paredes escuchan y hablan,
Donde las divisiones son provocadas,
Apuñalando nuestras espaldas;
Piensan que es un simple juego de carcajadas,
Pero, todos son hipócritas a través de siniestras miradas,
Que me tratan de dejar en agrafia,
Con el juego de las miradas...


Details | Free verse | |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt
10/3/2013


Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13


Details | Free verse | |

Vagenius

(Show me the funny, part two)
------------------------------------------

Are you a Lesbian?
 Gynecologist?
 Did you major in the art of female anatomy and minor in multiple orgasms?
 Do you know all seven erogenous zones like the back of your hand?
 Then you may qualify as a Vagenius!
 But don't get too cocky now
 Just because you studied doesn't mean you'll do well on the test. 
 I've met so many people who can talk game but can't deliver. 
 I can't tell you how many times I've had to fake it just so I could finish the dishes instead. 
 Throw some moves at me! 
 Take my clothes off with your teeth.
 Turn me the **** on!
 Now you may be thinking that you can pass the test but please hold your horses because I've only met one Vagenius in my life. (Point to yourself)
 I'm not going to go to the Adam and Eve store just so you can grunt loud and thrust hard while I don't feel a thing, I'll save the crotchless panties and lingerie for my vibrator. 
 And no you can't use a cock ring so that you'll have more time to try to make me cum. 
 And please don't get all sentimental and touchy feely about it. This is a test, you’re not trying to convince me to be your girlfriend. Save the kisses for the wife. 
 So come into my bed and I'll tell you if you’re a true Vagenius.



Details | Free verse | |

Our Skin

This is a poem of skin,
for my boyfriend who is not my exact shade but equally brilliant and equally enlightened.
He extracts my darkness, 
takes from me my undeniable fears,
placing my tortures,
wearing them on his sleeve,
for his color bears the weight of agony,
of wretched past blankets of ignorant fools
who shadowed themselves from ever doing a damn thing about the separation.

This is for him.
He wears his skin better then I wear mine.
He conquers my struggles before they can even reach my heart.
Brave and beaming with un-moon lit skies,
for pores like portals,
opening himself for the world to look into history of wartimes-
Through skin-
Through skin-
Through skin-
For humans-
For humans-
For humans.

This is for my boyfriend.
My skin. Your skin. 
All this history,
Hung from ropes-
that tear weathered men into corpses
and survivors into broad shouldered, level headed, fighters of equality.

Puppeteers play with our teeth.
Wording our mannerisms into stereotypical allegories,
and fables we have all heard before.
We all have installed into our chests rages of racism-
miles of superiority,
of bare backed proposed authority.
Reality is here.
History is here,
But often not taught well enough to understand the difference
Between moving forward and standing still.

This is for you.
You, the one with skin.
For you with history.
Why do we call dark skin people of color.
We all have color.
We all burn bright.
We all bring light
To the universe with the energy of our presence.

You, over there,
with tears of deep lakes
and uncharted survival skills-
put me on your map.

This is for you.
For skin.
For color.
For shade.
For agony.
For rage.
For freedom.
My skin.
Your skin.
Our skin.
Our skin.


Details | Free verse | |

An Ode To A Friend

We met in 8th grade...We became great friends and
Years later,

She Dared Me To Write my First Poem January 21, 1948...we were both 16...I on January 9th and she on January 20th same year.


"I bet you can't write the second verse to this poem!" she said to me in sassy manner...

She shoves a note book page to me with a scribble in her handwriting.

The title was "I Love To Dance!"

How absurd I thought, after all, I was a "singer!"


Without hesitation I took the paper and began to write..."I'd love to be held close in your arms where only I could share all your charms..." 

I followed with a few more line of "poetic bliss", to my thinking, and her respone was..."How did you do that?"

I replied, hands on hips, "Well you wrote the first so I wrote the second!"

Eloise replied in evident astonishment, "Girl, mine was from a song sheet!"
We fell out laughing as any 16 year olds would do.

Of course, I've written thousands of poems since then and I often say, "It's like breathing to me!".

My friend Eloise will be laid to rest tomorrow, March 16, 2013...Such a sad song for me. We stayed in touch over the years and often still laughed about that dare for me to write a second verse...Who knew?!

Cynthia
My heart is filled with the sorrow of Eloise's demise
Yet I sing still


Details | Free verse | |

My Hiding Place

I hide here and there,
In a place that snares,
Sometimes full of my blares,
Full of ensnared traps...

I hide here and there,
In a place with many affairs,
Where my enemies are bare,
Where I can make them flee and hare...

I hide here and there,
In a place that only friendship knows,
A place located in the air,
A place below on earth,
Where no plow can cut its soil...

I hide here and there,
In a place with vast plains,
A place with deep and misty forests,
A place with an unreachable sky,
A place where flowers might bloom...

I hide here and there,
In a place where I can hide in my cloak,
A place where I breathe silently,
A place where I contemplate nature,
Where humidity longly persists,
In a place where I scream and no one listens...

I hide and there,
In a place where unwanted can get afflicted,
A place of bright darkness,
A place of dark lights,
Where nothing owns me...

I hide here and there,
In a place where my biggest wishes are spared,
A place where blood won't be splashed,
A place where tears might be shed,
A place where time and space are fair,
A place with some mare surfaces,
Where fear might be gone...

In a place where all sins might be forgiven,
A place where my instinct is tamed,
A place where my mind is thoughtful but reserved,
A place where my heart is controlled,
The place where my deepest secrets are held,
The place where I am the seer,
The place where my soul will forever reign,
The place I can call a hiding place...


Details | Free verse | |

My Beloved

Hey Mr. Editor,
It's not very often we hear true stories of enduring Love that grows with time. I can 
hear the cynic groan as I write this, but it's a good human interest story and I 
thought a good one for the coming of spring, a time of new birth and new beginings. 
There is a couple who met while in school, years ago.  After graduation they both 
were seperated by thousands of miles; both got married to different people 
sometime later and raised their young families.  All this time their love remained 
silent, waiting, yet strong.  Today, their children are adults and about to venture on 
their own lives. Reconnected once more, perhaps by fate, they have planned to wed 
very soon.  I was asked by the Bride-to-be, a dear friend, to write a poem on her 
behalf which she would read to her Groom at their Wedding Ceremony. I was truly 
honored and graciously obliged. It's titled,"My Beloved.  Thank you for your 
consideration of my request.

My Beloved, Today, I can not say that dreams do not sprout wings! Nor will I ever accuse time of being an adversary Not when I know that within its grasp lies our past, present and future Today, my heart is full and overflowing with abundant joy! Gazing into your beautiful soul, I glimpse love’s sparkling reflection Streaming like a river, endless, into vast ocean tides And I stand in awe of God’s everlasting love and providence The sweetest portion of which we have come to taste! For so long I have waited! How I have yearned for this moment When I would pledge life and love to you; become one flesh, one heart! One heart that will bleed no more as nothing can stand between us I will lose myself in you and you in me forever! No longer will dreams haunt our lonely nights And I will not have to walk this side of Heaven without you When I consider the paths which we have traveled I marvel and smile, as now it is clear - they were leading us to, this day! In the silence of a thousand nights my prayers to heaven took flight And though seasons of yesterdays came only to fade away Time, it seemed, had shelved my fervent plea ‘Til sweet destiny obliged, leading me to the one who holds my heart My Beloved, my husband, my best friend, and companion, Our love has arrived; our single journey begins today!
03/05/11 Written for John Heck's "Hey, Mr. Editor" Contest *Very True Story!


Details | Free verse | |

Child poet

The raw delight and 
wonder of an eager 
child-poet lay scattered 
across the floor.  

A baby's coo squeals from 
the aging pages babbling
forth childish nonsense while
tired cliches wind lazily through
trite rhymes lacking lyrical luster.

Still, each precious verse endears 
me to the memory of a precocious
youth when poetry was simple 
and an unspoiled world
lay bare age old secrets
calling out to be discovered.


Author's commentary:  

I don't remember what inspired me to write my first poems, but there was always something about
language.  Something profound, something powerful, something pure.  

I had no natural talent, and thankfully I didn't know it for I might have given up.

But eventually, and by sheer accident, I pieced together something that worked proving
poetry is not reserved solely for those with the predisposition but is also born of
passion, study, and discipline.

It was 15 years of frustration and tears as poem after bad poem was ripped to shreds by
seasoned writers with invaluable, albeit sometimes harsh, advice before I created anything
worthy of being read.  But I am in love with poetic art so have persevered with humility
and gratitude in the face of rejection until finding a rhythm of my own.  And though a bit
of time may sometimes pass before I am moved to write again, the words eventually spill
forth, and with a bit of luck and ingenuity, I will write a profound piece of insightful
prose stirring pride in the hearts of my mentors whose opinions I hold so dear.

For me, it has never come easy but with a deep-rooted love for the art and an obsession
for one day authoring a single, perfect verse, I hope to be unified in spirit with the
ghosts of poets past inspiring and encouraging others to keep the craft alive.


Details | Free verse | |

My Treasure Chest

So, you want to know what is in my chest.
Well there is no silver,
there is no gold,
There is no hope,
there is no love,
there is no girlfriend;
there is no food,
there is no charm,
there is no honesty,
there is nothing in my chest.

It is empty,
filled with cobwebs and dust,
with a couple spiders hanging around
looking for something to eat.
I am like the spiders
looking for something to eat,
ingest hope, love, charm and honesty.

No pirates will come and take my treasure chest away.
There is nothing for them to take,
but they don't know of the secret compartment,
filled with poetry,
filled with art,
filled with culture,
filled with my own love
that I am willing to share.
Everyone always looks in the chest,
but never finds that secret compartment!
What a shame, for if they found that secret,
they would see life for what it really was.

My treasure chest is a mystery too most people.
I hope you all know,
next time you look in someone's chest
look for the hidden door,
because that place holds the most beautiful of things.


-9/20/13-
For the conest: What is in your Treasure Chest
Written by: Christopher Boskovski


Details | Free verse | |

Now Finished Poem

Wondering if it’s an omen, finding the box in the attic today?
A treasure trove of memories into our lives
This piece of paper upon which I started to write a poem
I remember at the time I could write no more as I grieved

Missing you as each day goes by and wishing you were here
I know you are in the ever loving arms of our Lord
The Lord sent you down as an angel on loan to us
You were called home dear and we were not ready

I know we will one day be together again
Waiting for the day we will be called home also
Now the poem I started to write to you is finished
Our time together will come again my daughter and 
never end

Written by: Carol Brown
 For The "Treasure Trove" contest of Linda-Marie
1st Place Winner


Details | Free verse | |

Self PORTRAIT

I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide

I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight

My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign  
I twirl my hair and make it bend 
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends

As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin

The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions

I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane

Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed

The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair 
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose

I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key

It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore




Details | Free verse | |

Invisible Ink

"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear" – A Rambling Poet

Someone once said, “Write not what should not be read…”
He never knew what to do otherwise
for his pen was his only friend, and paper, his face
of which emotions made themselves known

Forbidden love touched his heart,
never knowing ‘til then that it could be 
the ink for which his pen would write

He seized that passion
and wrote ‘til his fingers bled, mindless of the pain,
numb with love.
The pain was superficial after all, just blood on skin
A flurry of letters that grew strength on secrecy…

Ah, but someone once said…
“Write not what should not be read…”

But how badly he wanted to be read…
the only problem is that word called
Betrayal.

Love reveals, love betrayed;
hearts betray, hearts revealed.

It was all a ruse,
to let slip secrets that were never meant
to be known.

The pain now draws from the heart,
bleeding him dry, reaching his soul
to dehydrate him some more,
‘til Death becomes his friend.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

She receives one last letter in the post
-a blank sheet, wrinkled…warped

Was it invisible ink?
On the contrary,
its message was loud and clear.

No words needed at all, just
pure sorrow of a heart and soul 
that wept

…her tears stain that paper now,
never enough to smooth it out.







August 14, 2011  149a219 
--nikko 
for Constance’s Just Write contest :)


Details | Free verse | |

Mother and son

I cherish you,
If you cherish me.

You brought me to life,
We began to meet through time,
Even though,
Sometimes you don't comprehend me,
Sometimes you don't understand me,
That sometimes time isn't enough,
That sometimes instincts get uncontrolled...,
But still,
You were designated for my life,
And you profile my living...
We share lives...

Although,
Time brings maturity,
And time doesn't last forever,
As well as we don't last forever...

There is no such thing,
As total perfection,
Even though,
Thank you...


Details | Free verse | |

Sociedad Aquebrantada

Esta sociedad ciega esta en crisis,

Es la causante de la corrució caótica,

Solo viven de la intención inseguros,

Sin saber qué es la determinación,

Dejándose llevar por una doctrina quebrantada...

 

La sociedad solo vive por vivir,

No dejando legados,

Sino dejando marcas.

Por eso, la sociedad aclama saber,

Pero en realidad no saben nada,

En comparación a los reales sabios...

 

Pero, la sociedad rechaza,

La sociedad reprime,

Y la sociedad restringew a los sabios,

A veces por envidia,

Ya que están cegados por ambición y pendejadas...

 

La sociedad rechaza el ideal de los sabios,

Pero dejan a tontos e imbéciles libres al mundo;

A éstos les encanta vidajenear,

Por solo romper privacidad...

 

Solo pocos aprecian la amistad y el amor;

Otros se limitan a sí mismos y se ciegan;

Luego, se transmutan a incrédulos ambiciosos,

Sin propia convicción...

 

Por eso, muchos ambiciosos y mentirosos,

Recurren a la religión, en últimos instantes;

Pero, en últimos instantes es que éstos,

Mueren en propia cobardía e hipócrita sanidad...

 

No existe tal cosa como perfección,

Solo existe la compleja simpleza o la simple complejidad;

Pero, nada es imposible,

Ya que no hay límites en la posibilidad...

 

Por eso, no todos los que aventuran se pierden;

No todos los que exigen, aplican lo exigido;

No todos los que miran, observan;

No todos los que oyen, escuchan;

No todo el que hiere, merece;

No todas las heridas, sanan;

No todos los que inhalan, respiran;

No toda sonrisa es feliz;

No toda boca, habla;

No toda sangre y lágrima es en vano;

No toda mente y corazón son puros e inocentes;

No todos los que actuan, piensan;

No todos los que piensan, analizan;

No todo el que analiza, siente;

No toda alma es neutral y digna;

No todo el que existe, vive;

Y no todo el que vive, sobrevive...


Details | Free verse | |

For All Of You

For you, I will see,
For you, I would guarantee,
For you, I could be an emcee,
For you, I will pass oversea,
For all of you, I could be esprited...

For you, I will walk,
For you, I won't baulk,
For all of you, we will flock,
For all of you, I won't pock,
For all of you, this won't be a crock...

For you, I will think,
For you, I will blink,
For you, I would interlink,
For all of you, I would sync,
For you, I can break brinks,
For all of you, I might bequeath...

For all of you, I might concede,
For you, I might precede,
For all of you, I might exceed,
For you, I mit accede,
With all of you, I might proceed,
With all of you, I might succeed,
For you, I might bleed,
For all of you, I could be a steed...

From all of you, I might receive,
To all of you, I might give,
For you, I might cry,
For you, I might lead,
For you, I can try,
More I could say,
But for you, I might live,
For all of you, I might die,
I could give my soul, for all of you...


Details | Free verse | |

Thinking Of You

I remember happiness,
No more,
No less,
Only true love.

I imagined,
You beside me...

I remember your eyes,
I remember your lips,
I feel your love,
I know your life...


Details | Free verse | |

A Silly Mistake

“Stop!” Said the Master
“You’ve just made a silly mistake!
“You’re learning more and faster
“Don’t you need me anymore?”

“Is it a crime” Said the wrong I,
“To think more before I answer?”

“No doubt!” Said the Great Master
“For you’ve just made a silly mistake:
“You’ve desecrated the right- Not To Answer;
“Would you like me to end your fate?

“You know?...eh..mm...
“My duty is to make you learn
“How to be loyal, smart and stern,
“How to think, link and burn
“Every single common thought you earn:
“Grasp my preachings and you’ll adjourn
“All your dreams and in turn
“You’ll be blessed for unconcern.”

“Good Heavens” Said the silly I
“I thought I utter’d something wise!
“Now I must learn- Not To Try
“I’ll never ask him How and Why?!”

“A long time ago” Said the Class Preacher
“I think I made your silly mistake:
“I was a somewhat poor young creature
“When I thought my Master’s fake-
“But, thank God! As My Master Preacher
“Forgave my silly mistake.”

As the tight room was suffocating
Some intruders were grabbing chairs
All of them were vainly fighting
For a tight place unawares....
They succeeded to steal the charm
From the Preacher who worshipped calm
Till they caused His alarm:

“Where are these chairs from?!” Yelled He.
“Have I gone or am I done?!
“THIS- a Treason of Highest Degree!
“Protect the CHAIRMAN...!” Cried everyone...


Details | Free verse | |

On A Lonely Bench

Sitting on a lonely bench,

Memories got me blenched,

Your heart I tried to clench,

Though, the rains got me drenched,

From hearts I needed to entrench...

 

Your words not retrenched,

From things I wanted to bent,

While you often tended to bend,

Without letting me mend...

 

You, I tried to fend,

You borrowed and erased te times I used to lend,

Manipulated and used by you,

Pretending to be a friend...

 

From hallows I scended

From errors you descended,

My life wished to be attended.

Even though, you got me expended,

My hands were still extended,

Even though, you got me offended...

 

The times I misspended,

You still condescended me,

Though, the changes were about to be impended,

I was still amended,

And I was still intended...

 

But, I was not comprehended,

Even though, you were condemned and untamed,

While I was aimed to be blamed,

Still, more thing you wanted to borrow and gain...

 

Although, this is the end,

The ways, I will paint,

For the pains to get unbended,

As I contemplate nature and life,

With memories that swayed and portended,

As my soul slowly transcended,

While sitting on a lonely bench...


Details | Free verse | |

Three Inch Cliches

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the 
NO
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after 
The virgin vernacular 
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.


Details | Free verse | |

Soup Tribute

Thanks for letting me have a peek in to your heart and soul
For being the one who let it all flow
The poetic river,which leads out to the great sea of Soup writers
All the things you reveal..for me to learn and consume

You have shown me how to write in the present moment
Purified spirits,darkened souls
We all gather in this mayhem,cleansed from troubled times
Sometimes unleashes desires and lust,forbidden thoughts and acts

Entwine my soul around your spirit
Breathe and grow into eachother we do
Scattered emotions brought together
Heartfelt,purified,healed by the unity
The sencere feeling of belonging
Humble words,Big world


A.Ertsland
9th Desember 2011

Love my time here at the soup.Needed to write these words:)

GET WELL SOON PD!!


Details | Free verse | |

Thy Name is Poet

Some poets write with a rapier blade,
meaning to cut a thing down
to its bare-boned ism.

Others write of fanciful affairs with a voice
as silk is,
to a fair maiden’s slip.

Some write from the void (the out world expanse)
of truth and secret gatherings
of white wind warriors!

Some write of the gut wrenching horrors
of abuse, pain, and mutilated soul;
where every word written is a cathartic expulsion 
of venom from veins -
a bleeding of the darkness within, meant 
for the healing of self and others.

Yet, others write of the red beating pulse of love!
with the force of eternal motion,
in one long unstoppable exhaled breath (the fall of time 
standing still);
of holding ones breath in 
either tortuous blue-faced death, or the splendor 
of knowing the everlasting meaning 
of one.

Other poets write their fingertips;
a caress felt with a lead tipped touch,
(for they are the ones whose minds
                             have stolen heart –
replacing it with the numb of page)
their only place of refuge,
for pages do not scorn, nor look in places 
where they aught not look (where love dies).

Some write simply what comes:
from the breath of a new day on their lips,
to the touch of a kindred spirit’s words
upon their heart - to make sense of a memory,
or share something discovered –
an epiphany 
                       yearning to spread.

No.

Parchment just wishes to be stroked,
no judgments made unto its scribe –
only love, only love…

Some poets paint their words –
A union both exact and beautiful –
where visions blossom within the mind
instead of on a canvass.
These inner pictures rise from the garden
of each poet’s depths;
each beheld a little differently, than the next 
soul to read, the poets eyes.

There is no other form of art that can bring souls together,
from any age, life, reckoning or century,
like the written word.
We write each others lives,
for we are of our maker’s words.
One breath upon first parchment, wrote
one word within the stars –

Poet.

For, we here are all bringer’s of truth;
spreaders of seeds (for good or otherwise)
we are all extensions of the whole –
the will of God, Gods, Earth and all that is,
reaching out with verbal arms
into souls that wish to be SEEN!
To be understood! To be heard!

And so we write.
Thank the heavens above,

we write.





© Kristin Reynolds 2008


Details | Free verse | |

I am not stupid

I did something this 
time without 
asking you or telling you
until now.

This is my very own 
" Accomplishment".
I want to soak it up
like a sponge soaks
up water.

I want to Relish in this.
I did something that
everyone thought I could
could never do!

They said I was not smart
enough to  write anything.
Now I wish I could see their
surprised faces.

You can't take this from
me like all the times before.
Because I won't allow you to
ever do that again.


I feel good for once in my life
I have earned this right.
It's all kind a of scary because
it's all so knew to me.

I won't run I will embrace
every moment of this.
I have so much to learn
and to write about.


The word 'Stupid' is now
replaced with the new title
of 'I am an Author'.
I did it with out asking any
of you it feels grand.

Now all of you who tried but
failed to take my will this 
'Poem' is just for you. 
I am not Stupid I am a 'Person'
but most of all I am an 'AUTHOR'.



Details | Free verse | |

Boomerang - 5 Stages of Poetry

as my pen positions itself between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand… …I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride…. Thoughts spew inside my head – too fast to articulate. Too deep to defend. Ticking like a badly timed bomb infused with a faulty timer – I reach for the pen… words align themselves as I walk Through the clutches of Pre-validation. My mind is appeased – my will is at ease…until the stumbler opens his mouth: “Poetry” he whispers and I’m thrown Into the vapors of Validation wondering, perhaps, maybe? Could it be that without will I have created that which could be termed as poetry? The jury is out: the naysayers and the critics; the conservatives and realists; friends and foes – torturing my mind, stroking my ego, making my blood boil, soothing my heart… tears I cannot cry…smiles they can not see… anger spills out; indifference sets in; I wring my mind and pack my poem slowly I embark on the Wrought past Post-validation. Baby steps in forming words I love. Twisting the poem in forms I’ve learnt. Dressing it in different styles, shortening it, elongating it; Snip, snap, cut, bandage – Rhythm no rhythm. Basking in formless form. Counting and discounting syllables But still it’s not enough. What’s the use of words if they don’t effect? Diving into The plunge I reign in the words – the leader of my chariot- My poem succumbs to my will. Wielding, exposing, slicing, dicing, building, destroying, encouraging, condemning the poem breathes – a life of its own. And I think to myself Oh please who am I to be the wielder of such potency? I call it back. Taking a stroll along the beach, I reminisce of things past; The things I’ve done; the things I’ve not done; The rot in the world; the love that begs to be heard… The thoughts start swirling in my mind. …. My steps take me back to the beginning… as my pen positions itself between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand… …I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride….
For: Boomerrang Contest sponsor: Michael J. Falotico


Details | Free verse | |

Autumn's Breath

You whisper in my ear
midmorning bird songs
with that scent of mountain air
and foliage extracting its green emblem.
Switching to fields of neon;
your breath mimics the sunset sky
the feeling of kissing your newborns forehead,
so gentle and soft your entrance.
You ease your way into a majestic overlook
of pomegranate leaves,
and weak, crisp, dead skinned grass.

My delicate irises wince at
overpowering sun rays
but the heart of your existence
I open my eyes for.
I can’t miss this.
My body balanced
by your impeccable temperature,
my darling,
you look so beautiful tonight,
in my window frame,
your fire grows in the pale moonlight.

You whisper in my ear
midnight cricket hymns
so seducing in your presence
that I can’t get enough of this. 


Details | Free verse | |

Friends

They help us,
When we are down.
They make us stand up,
And go on...

They make us smile,
They bring us hope,
They give us comprehension,
Worth to trust...

They give us a reason,
They make us forget our darkness,
They enlighten us in harsh moments...

They are designated for our lives,
They profile our living,
They bring us to life...


Details | Free verse | |

Blamin' My Affliction

I set out to write a poem
For Leighann’s Affliction contest
My ADD was in full force but 
I was full of promise and zest

So I wrote a couple of lines
Then noticed the grimy floor
Polished the dusty mantle
Gawked at the hot guy next door

I sat back down to write 
To focus and stay on task
O Wait…that new soap opera
And my cucumber face mask

Then I read the contest rules
AFTER I wrote these lines
It was supposed to be free verse
And my oversight shines!

Since I failed to follow directions
I say with true conviction
If I do not place in this contest….
I’ll  blame it on my affliction 








*Though I made light of it in this poem, Attention Deficient Disorder (commonly known as ADD or ADHD) is a serious disorder, but treatment is available.  Treatment (for you or your children) is not something to be feared-it changed my life!!!  


Details | Free verse | |

Betrayed

The thought of all trusts,

Was it all just rust?

The thought of all confidence,

Was it because of your insolence?

The thought of all friendship,

Was it all just dissonance?

Was it all just lies?

 

The thought of all immanence,

There was no innocence,

Was it all just imminent trust?

Was it all your fickleness?

Was it your falseness?

Was it enough faith for equivalence?

There was fading ambivalence...

 

Was I blinded by wistfulness?

Was i blinded by your words?

Was it your defiance?

Was it all about rebelliousness?

Are we going to be strayed?

Were we going to divagate?

Was I being a black swan?

 

Did you want to disarray?

Did I need to back away or just run away?

I was being manipulated over again...

Kindness is hard to give now...

Did you want to lead astray?

Are you really a friend?

 

Did you want to push me away?

Did you want to cut me away?

Did you want to break me away?

Weren't we going all the way?

You are going too far away...

You were just looking away...

 

With my tears shedding,

Will you just turn away?

Might I just fall down?

Must the world just fade away?

Was it all just waste?

Was it all already traced?

Was it all degrading?

Are you corrupted?

Am i devalued?

My unshakeable perception and unbrakeable soul,

Were they deceived?

 

All I need now is a shoulder,

Where my tears can be shed and impregnated.

A hug,

Where my bones brake of forgotten joyfulness.

A trust,

Where my biggest secrets will be kept.

A hand,

That can keep helping inconditionally.

Eyes,

That could see me for who I am.

A heart,

Where infinite solid bonds could be created.

And a soul,

Where my soul could be free and unbrakeable...

 

All because of your hypocrat double play,

I was betrayed...


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 | Free verse | |

IN PRAYER II

IN PRAYER II
Lord God Jehovah, I come to you via humility as a faithful seeker of a peaceful way. The tears I have cried Lord. Many days I have been falsified. Nevertheless, I forbid struggle and I have disallowed strife. As I pray that, you are my slack and that you are the strength vested in life, I know that you are much more and therefore, I am at peace. I will trust in The Lord God. (I pause for a moment and then voice…) God, you gave me a destiny to fulfill. I truly will and humankind, via your will, will adhere to the prophecy set forth. When I win Lord, I will remember the greatness you told me I would achieve at an early age and thus, Lord, as I live today, I see this greatness being created. I owe grace and honor to you Lord and not mortality who tries to persuade me that I have no right to life and his or hers is greater than mine. Praise is thou name, which is The Almighty God – Jehovah God Lord. Hallelujah Amen! __________________________| Penned on September 03, 2014!


Details | Free verse | |

My Heart Sings

As the first rays of sunshine
wakes me out of my sleepy slumber,
I sat up in bed and looked at my hands.
The taste of stale cigarette smoke of cheap red wine
stained my taste buds.
I walked out of bed,
turned on the radio
(to the classical station)
and my heart beats to the tune
my life and soul smile as the sun shines in my room.
I hear God whispering in my ear
I hear all the words of the world
talking to me,
and I can hear my heart sing a little.
I read my poetry,
get dressed go for a walk,
I smile at the faces that I pass;
The cars I pass,
the houses,
the trees,
the dry lawns,
burnt and that have not been watered in days.
I smile at them and they all smile back,
and my heart sings a little,
and I dance to its simple tune.

My heart sings and I dance too:
slowly melodies,
fast jigs,
rapid jazz and swing music
and waltzes to the chopin masterpieces,
and the romantic stories, novels, the poems,
that fancy your mind with its ryhme schemes,
and after I read such romantic beauty
I smile, and I listen closely to my heart,
and with every beat,
it lets out a verse or two, from a familiar song
that caught my ear on the radio,
and my heart sings
and I smile,
and the world smiles back.

Feeling such beauty
love and romance
it is such a good feeling to live with;
and as the night rolls on,
and the sun goes away
I sit at my desk
writing poetry,
with a cigarette slowly burning away with time,
and I am stuck,
getting drunk of red wine,
I sit back in my chair,
and listen to my heart,
and he sings alittle
and I can write again.
So, there we sit together,
writing poetry,
smoking cigarettes,
drinking wine
to the strike of nine
and we both sing songs of love and romance
together forever.


Details | Free verse | |

I Fall in Love

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
with the touch of your cheek to mine.
Every time I see the sunset during work breaks
it makes me smile because today I have something to live for.

I fall in love with graying hair and age lines,
with low tides and the days that my feet reach the coast;
your hazelnut eyes and mud hands that make me look so silver.

I fall in love with broken souls, and bent perspectives,
with a caterpillars slow crawl and my mother’s sweet mercy.
You found a gold quarter today.
So ecstatic you were to see rarity.
I fall in love with chemistry, infrequency, 
the way you move so softly.
Every time the worm disappears,
I pray its going home.

I fall in love with angles, geometry,
white noise, and curves.
You drew today,
the world as you see it,
cupping the wrists of the continents with your palm indentations.
You said to me, “I can save them.”

I fall in love with bright lights at dusk, cold rooms, and warm blankets,
with wind storms, and how the thunder calls back the lightening.
Every time I see you,
see this,
I fall in love.

 

Love Poem - 29 by Chris D. Aechtner
Line used - I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,

I Fall in Love by Katie Pukash





Details | Free verse | |

Louisiana Bayou Spanish Moss

Louisiana Bayou Spanish Moss

So pretty
Hanging from the cypress trees
It grows without showing its age
Never dying it controls the bayou
Hiding nest of the most beautiful birds
It has been home for countless generations
Silver grey by the light of day
It casts ghostly shadows by the light of the moon
Dreamers and poets write of its beauty
Others write of the terror in brings
It is a citizen of an ever shrinking ecosystem
Vital to the world around it
It is bound to die as the bayou shrinks around it
Does it matter to man?
No, but it does to millions of bayou animals
The ones who count on it for life
The others who use it for shelter
Where will they go?


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 | Free verse | |

What Shall I Say

I hear the call of friends but I am slow to harken, 
What shall I say what would you want to hear? 
I will not write of Erotic images, I will not spew phony 
flowery words. I will only write the truth, what is in
my soul. I have written of the Love that we all should
have for one another, I have written to bring a smile, I
have written of loss, pain and struggle. Do you think me
too sagely, an oracle, a seer, a paradox, a riddle?
I am an enigma, a vision you cannot see, a word you do not
understand, a sad song too hard to sing, a thorn that pricks
at you, a dream that is never understood. This life is about
caring, giving, learning, sharing. I am the one that will
not be loved, a nuance, a shadow, a whisper, a tear shed,
one forgotten, a bitter taste. What shall I say, can I ease the
pain, take away the troubles, brighten lives? Nay I cannot, If I
could this world would be a haven of love, bliss, harmony, a 
paradise, a comfort, a healing, a revelation. What shall I say?

My time here grows short and my heart is sad and broken, I 
have no inspiration to write anymore. The words that come out
are too hard to write, too hard to read, a vexation of spirit, a sound 
that is disturbing. This may be the last verse that I ever write my
soul is in despair, I have lost the desire to ponder on the things 
of this world. The thing that you should know is that I love everyone
of you. What else can I say?


Details | Free verse | |

Me Myself and I

I have to live with myself 
so, I want to be fit for myself
to always look myself
straight in the eye.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf a lot of secrets about myself.
I never can hide myself from me.
I see what others my never see.
I know what others may never know.
I never can fool myself
so, whatever happens I want to be conscience free.


Details | Free verse | |

Then and Now

Sometimes I miss the manual act
of writing verse by hand,
and that smudge of blue ink
on the side of my palm.
I miss the cramp of writing
too quickly--
yet too slowly in a race of thoughts.
 
But, I must admit, I love the sight 
of fingertips flying as ideas ignite. 
I even love that incessant sound
as fingertips flutter and falter and pound  
across the keyboard.

But my favourite part is the part that won't change,
that universal drum of fingers
on any surface at all, 
tapping to the beat of spinning thoughts 
that somehow weave a web 
of intricate plots.


Details | Free verse | |

September Weather

Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.

Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.

From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.

September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.

But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.

I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.

Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.

I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.

Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.

September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.

I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.


Details | Free verse | |

Why

Why go to sleep?
Why we are the ones that have missing things.
Why take a breeze?
When I am the one that needs zephyr.

Why cry until you are satisfied?
When you are always dissatisfied.
Why go and feel contempt?
When we only need respect.
So, why do you expose yourself?
When you haven't cleansed yourself.

Why go and overreact?
When you sometimes don't make a great impact.
Why go and bite?
When you know you cannot eat more than you can chew.

Why give?
When you only deserve.
Why shed some tears?
When they sometimes aren't clear.
Why are you happy?
When you know you are lying.

Why are we bleeding?
When we only need healing.
So, why live?
When we go and die.
And why die?
When we want life.

We might fall down,
But it is never too late,
'Cause life,
Starts now...


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 | Free verse | |

How Not To Write A Poem

I doubt myself, real bad sometimes
I think - why did that happen to me
How could I possibly write that nice poem?
And if I did it once, how can I do it again?
Because I don’t know or forgot how too
With pen in hand, the magic flows again
But the words come from the pen’s pointy end
Not from me, I just write what I’m told
messenger boy, only transcribing
I take  no credit except for criticizing
But not for spelling mistakes, that’s Gates’ job
Although he really doesn’t  know
The difference between to and too
Hint, it doesn’t make four
Whoa, the pen just ran out of words.


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 | |

They're Watching You

They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
check out the daily news.

Henchmen rob bank,
two officers killed,
change channel.

Reality T.V.
a celebraity stumbling out of a club,
drunk as hell.

Change channel,
a gay couple buying a house,
in a white collar neighborhood.

They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
even when you don't know it.

Someone is always watching you.
Take out the trash,
wash the dishes.

Watching,
survalling,
like a camera.

Terrorists,
they're always watching you,
Politians always watching you.

School teachers,
police,
FBI and CIA
Always watching you.

Smile for the camera
they're watching
so just wave and smile.

Bullies on playground jungle-gyms
looking out for the ugly nerd,
found him.

Hiding under the woodchips,
get him, beat him up,
I told you, they're always watching you.

Look at me,
look what I can do,
can you see me?

I'll drink to that,
cheers,
for they're always watching.


Details | Free verse | |

Dark Forthcoming

The dark skies are coming,

Dark clouds are appearing,

The wind is gusting,

Trees are fronting,

We are shunning,

We go running...

 

The dark skies are coming,

Rains are blossoming,

Nature is bumping,

They go cunning,

The sky is drumming,

Forest are burning,

We run intending...

 

Dark skies are coming,

Gusts are interfering,

Nature is in confusion,

Humanity getting in pandemonium,

Minds in disorder,

Intention unbecoming...

 

Dark skies are coming,

Darkness is rising,

Sun is fading,

It is causing an uprising,

It keeps arising,

We keep striving...

 

Dark skies are coming,

Darkness is blinding,

Gusts keep arriving,

Deception and treachery are conniving,

Pain gets agonizing,

We go crying,

You go regreting...

 

The dark skies are coming,

Mountains are crumbling,

Clounds are thundering,

Soil is spoiling,

Bodies are breaking,

Hearts are bleeding,

Birds are flocking,

Fishes are emerging,

Somethings are dying,

Humanity is surviving,

Safety is distrusted,

Most things are doubted,

Everything is happening,

The dark forthcomings are near...


Details | Free verse | |

Bleeded Out

More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?

Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...

Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...

Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...

Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..


Details | Free verse | |

To Write (29 words)

I have to write to truthfully say what I think.
I must think extremely hard to write.
If I cannot think, I cannot write.
To think is divine.
To write is even better.
Let me think so I can write with style.
Before I write with style I have to think.  
If you want me to write with style, be very quiet. 

1)	I  
2)	Have
3)	To
4)	Write
5)	Truthfully 
6)	Say
7)	What
8)	Think
9)	Must 
10)	 Extremely
11)	 Hard
12)	 If
13)	 Cannot
14)	 Is
15)	 Divine
16)	 Even 
17)	 Better
18)	 Let
19)	 So
20)	 Can
21)	 With 
22)	 Style
23)	 Before
24)	 You 
25)	 Want 
26)	 Me
27)	 Be 
28)	 Very
29)	 Quiet

Copyright © 2010  By Caryl S. Muzzey

Fifth Place Winner ~ "29 Words” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: ChrNikko Palmario
Nov. 13, 2010


Details | Free verse | |

this is not the place and time to smile

Take that stupid look
Off your face-
This is not the 
Place and time
To smile

Our words have 
Become our Verdicts
And the Judges shall
Sentence us to death

All those Secret Sins
Desires, Dreams, Hopes
All those lies we tell others
And ourselves- 
Spread on a sheet
Of gilded paper

Our words shall destroy us...

Bare our souls to the 
Popcorn-munching crowd
That knows us more than we
Thought we knew ourselves
They all saw what we've been
Trying to hide--
Between those lines

They'll drink like there's
No tomorrow
And by dawn our names shall
Ferment, into bitter drops
of Nothing

And we'll write like there's no tomorrow
The night is long
Even History longs to be re-written
Time can be accepting
When it comes to change

We'll write words about how
Our words became
The death of us

And our caged thoughts shall
Break free- and reek of fresh ink

The pigeons will paint the night's sky
And the men will bleed-
Of compassion
And monuments will fall
Into Debris
The sun will rise out of bed-
And stare at its horrid face in the mirror

And we'll write about the tomorrow that never came.



Details | Free verse | |

HEARTS SHINES IN POEMS

Every afternoon she picks up her pen
then and only then dose her emotions
bend, they bend to connect with her pen
her emotions descend to her pen, her
honesty and truth her beauty and vibrant
youth sheds on paper like rain shed on blades
of grass, and all her friends laugh and ask 
why does she write, she laughs and ask
why did you even care to ask ?She says this
ink and quill can help to pursue and articulate
the greatness in you ,it helps expose and shows
the many hues in you, if those hues remain
in you. Then People will look at you, and ask who
are you, but I write so people can read me,
so they can smell and breath me, so they
can begin to comprehend and properly conceive
me, believe me you to should write.They laugh and
walk away but her true friends ink and quill 
stays, weaving thoughts healing wombs carrying 
her along the days, words has helped her in many ways,
it has helped her slay the many beast of her days. She is
a Nubian queen a writing machine, her scenes like a cat 
so keen, her mind so pure and clean she seems to have 
preened her self so clean through writing ,through igniting
thoughts on still waves of her inner serine, of heavenly
wisdom ink, as she begins to think the heavens shake a 
brontide unfurls from heavenly brain storm. She is the goddess
of wisdom, she says she writes for the health of her mind, 
I laugh saying my life and mind isn't so healthy would
you care to be mine, with a woman like you I might be inspired
to write novels of romance and slow dance, after glasses of wine.
Then and only then will I have a healthy mind 



She smiles,I become her next poem.....   
 
  


Details | Free verse | |

Sticky Fingers

I can only write on the computer.
And I suppose that that’s not really the right thing to say, because people are going to say that I really am part of the next generation who survives solely by technology.

	I really do try to write on paper, but I can only use pen because pencil smudges too easily and the end gets so dull, 
	So when people say that they can’t send me a link to one of their favorite poems because it’s on paper, my respect for them goes up by about sixty percent.

	The part of writing on paper that scares me the most, 
	the part of speaking in real life that scares me the most 

	is that I can’t delete words.

	On Microsoft Word, I can go back and add words into the middle of my poem, I can look at it as a whole and as a half and everywhere in between, 

	I can delete half of it and forget about, and that half will be lost forever.

	But the way my fingers sometimes stick to the keyboard reminds me, I think, that the words that I’ve deleted stick with me forever, no matter how lost they are.

	They’re not in some vast, infinite vacuum of the internet-

but stuck to my fingers because that was the only physical presence of those words at the time they were given life.

(Baby ducks follow the first moving thing they see when they hatch,)

	And it’s some weird, modern folk tale, how the words got life, and how the words died.

	So maybe if I’m the only one who can’t write on paper, then this word carrying curse is the punishment? 

	It’s a special flaw that makes the protagonist unique but relatable, (along with making her not able to spell anything and not able to talk to people)

And if poetry is just rambling and writing is ranting, then what are words. 

The cancerous cells in a slice of bone marrow?

More likely some hellish creature that comes out of everyone only at two in the morning,

	or the sticky stuff that I feel sometimes on my keyboard (or is it my fingers?)

	Because my sticky fingers are a word’s physical form, 

and if you think about it, you really can’t ever touch a word. They’re either soundwaves or dried ink on a dead tree, or pixels on a screen.

(or on your fingertips or your tongue.)

	And I carry them with me everywhere, on my tongue and on my sticky fingers.


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 | Free verse | |

If I might be

If you want me to express,
Then let me progress.

If you love me,
Give me a break,
'Cause thinking of it,
I may not stay...

If you love me,
Let me lead,
If you love me,
Let me go deep,
If you love me,
I may love you,
If you love me,
Just let me be.

What if you die?
What if I'm gone?
Do you know me?
We all have secrets...

If you are hurt,
I might burn,
If you cry,
I might cry,
If you win,
I might lose,
If you bleed,
I might bleed,
If you live,
I might live.

We all have sins,
We all have burdens...

We can hear,
We can see,
We can know,
We can think,
We can feel,
We can comprehend.

Sorry.
Just let me be.
Because life and time aren't eternal,
They aren't meant to last forever...

Please,
Sorry.
Just let me be...


Details | Free verse | |

Two

My brain muscle taut,
Exhausted with over thought
Bruised sentiments.
Towards 'us'
I lay here, not knowing which path is rightfully mine, if any.
Gentle flashbacks prefer the early hours.
You expressed your deepest thoughts,
A disposition that did not come readily.
I embraced your display of emotion courteously.
And understood.
I in turn, showcased mine... fears, fate, desires.
Something, I had never felt possible. You held my hand through it all.
Are you still there?

Copyright © Christina Clark


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 | Free verse | |

The CooCoo Clock Inside my Brain

They told me I should be dead
At least, that’s what the doctors said.
The doctors that are inside my head
No medicine necessary,
Sometimes I just like being crazy
Other times I do not.
I wait for the ticking of the clock 
To check out of reality
I sway back and forth uncontrollably 
Maybe I am crazy
Maybe I am not;
Have we enough time to figure it out on the clock?
I didn’t think so.
I began to fall,
Fall deeper and deeper into the black hole
Then suddenly, I couldn't see anymore
Am I crazy?
Maybe, maybe not
I guess I’ll find out one day, maybe
When I stop staring at the clock


Details | Free verse | |

Touching A Lonely Heart

A poem is born right here at home
No need to fly where I'm alone
I've often wished for wings that fly
To take a magic carpet ride
To places deep where phrases hide
So rich with wisdom, and insights known
Above the moon, where stars are keeping
Amazing words that form a poem

If closing eyes and knowing this
The wonder of poetic bliss
Are beneath my feet, beneath my stare
A poem resides most anywhere

The voice inside my head must share
My life, my friends, my family
Within my reach, are memories
Where lies a wealth, a poem or verse
To touch a few with heartfelt words

A poem unfolds ...one tiny rose
It starts new life, so tightly closed
But given life, it opens wide
And takes me on a carpet ride
I pray for words that will not hide
To take you too..........upon this ride
Above the moon, beyond the stars
To land upon a lonely heart
______________________________
For Michael's "Boomerrang Contest": 1/27/13


Details | Free verse | |

A Glass of Thirst

This poem was a fire
Ignited within me.
It heaved and it burned
Inside my chest.
It was a heavy burden and it made me
Go mad.

I knew I would not let it get the best of me,
So I decided I would get on my feet and beat it with rocks
Until it bled.
I would pick up a pen and write down what it said-

A love letter, a couplet perhaps?
I’ll write whatever-
I want this feeling to elapse.

My ideas were like new babies being born,
One after the other.
They would not give me a chance to 
Catch my breath.
Oh no, they just kept coming
Streaming
Crashing
Shining
Like lights discovered in a flowing river.

I sat on the kitchen table,
Held my lucky pen- and waited for the words to ooze out of my soul.

The sink complained,
“Drip, drip, drip.”
I stared at that piece of
Cold useless metal.

As a glass of water stood by its side,
It trickled tears. 

My thirst kicked in –
My eyeballs turned dry, 
My hair went brittle,
And words I struggled to say
Were stacked to the roof of my mouth.

I bit my dried up lips.

The moment I would sip that holy water,
My guts would cool down, 
And maybe,
Just maybe –
Kill this poem, 
That was a fire ignited within me. 

Drinking water is such an easy task,
May I add-
It is quenching
Delightful 
Guiltless
And effortless.

Such is loving you my dear –
The only contrast is that
When I reach out for you,
Strange hands appear and slap my dry palms,
Depriving me from a necessity,
Expecting me to survive -
And make friends with thirst.

When I stand my ground,
And protest,
They finally hose down my need for water,
And bury my head in an ocean of my own making,
Where my words are blurred and unclear,
Trapped in bubbles of  murdered justice 
That will never pop.

Aren’t they aware?
Don’t they know?
We all need a sip of water every once in a while.

The sun might hurt the petals by drying them out
But the rain visits from time to time.

When will the rain visit me?
Wash away the distress they have caused-

As long as things stay the way they are,
I will have to find comfort and hydration
In the thought of this promised Glass of Water
That shall one day –
Quench my thirst.


Details | Free verse | |

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Details | Free verse | |

Ignored

We talked,
But I wasn't heard,
We walked,
But you scattered,
We built,
But you destroyed,
I thought,
But you acted,
We were determined,
But you exterminated...

You were blind,
I was sighted,
You were darkened,
I was lightened,
I was myself,
You weren't yourself...

I was lone,
No one cared.

I was ignored,
No one cared,
About my emotions...


Details | Free verse | |

First thing you should know

First thing you should know, is that this isn’t a poem, this isn’t a story, this isn’t a 
song,
these are just words I write to hopefully ease the pain.
Alone, bitterness, horror, emptiness, loss of basic will.  How is it you could do this to 
me, how can your absence leave me so bereaved to the world.  I try to smile, but it 
never reaches my eyes, I try to laugh but it never reaches my heart.  It’s like your 
absence has left a damn in my veins, blocking any emotion, but pain to pass through.  
How is it your absence, can so drastically change my daily life.  How can I sit in a 
house surrounded by loving caring friends, and still feel utterly alone. How is it that I 
couldn’t explain how much I loved you, and now I can’t seem to explain how much 
this hurts.  How could we go from being so perfect, that our friends envied us, to 
feeling like were better apart.  How does the alcohol, and cigarettes not dull the 
pain.  Hell for that matter what can.  What can make the absolute horror of losing the 
one thing that made everything worth it, go away.  How do you go on when you lose 
that.  If I feel like I could never have left you, that I would have always tried, but u 
left me, does that mean it was all one sided.  How could it be so easy for you to 
move on, whilst I’m still crippled by pain.  And if it was only one sided what does that 
mean for me, if you were THE ONE but I wasn’t yours where does that leave the rest 
of my life.  Am I doomed to walk this plane in misery.  Will I be much like this 
computer I sit in front of, lonely, devoid of all meaning until someone has a use for it, 
operating only because someone else tells it too.  But then again, what if it wasn’t all 
one sided, what if I was THE ONE for you as well, what does that mean, will I find a 
way to get back to you, how long will it take, what will it take, is it possible.  
Everyone has a story of loss and of pain, but for some reason I don’t believe they 
understand, much the way they didn’t understand our love.
First thing you should know, is that this isn’t a poem, this isn’t a story, this isn’t a 
song,
these are just words I write to hopefully ease the pain.


Details | Free verse | |

An Artist I'll Always And Forever Be

Storytelling without words
Paintbrush in hand
Strokes of colors in various hues
Painting what I see, what I know
Creating masterpieces on canvas
This is what I've always done
This is what I do best

Life, alas, is too short
At sixty five young, a new skill
Switching paintbrush to quill
Putting words to my paintings
My thoughts of what I perceive
Beauty of expressions 
Creating mental images
In rhythmical formed verses
This is what I'll attempt to do

You're never too old
Too learn new things


For Tracie's contest, "Gimmi What I Want... What I Really Really Want"


Details | Free verse | |

I Took The DARE and Survived It

Anxiety about what I might think preceded me
As I sat on the stool in the middle of my living room
Ready to think about who knows what,
I relaxed for a moment and then closed my eyes.

Gratitude and peacefulness were my first feelings.
I smiled inside thinking about how literal Ingrid had taken me.
He remembered that I intended to write at 3:00 a.m.
As the clock ticked, Ingrid kept time for me…

Fear crossed my mind next, afraid of my own thoughts,
What they might be.  Nightmares.  Horrors. 
Repressed experiences dreaded.
But thankfully, the ringing in my head saved me.
At least for that moment…

A few things slipped in.  The Jeffery McDonald murders
That took place when I was stationed at Ft. Bragg, N.C.
The horror had anguished me on an off over the years.
Then, I heard the crickets again.  Thankfully.

Next, a hit and run accident that was reported in the news years ago
Flashed through my mind…anxiety from Army days.
It had happened on a road we sometimes traveled.
Fear, reality check, and cricket sounds followed.

Yes, it is that cricket sound that I enjoy so much.
It took me to the natural world in all its beauty.
Little seeds germinating in my sunroom...  
Crickets outside making their noise; I smiled again.

And the crickets in my head chirped.
I was thinking that this isn’t so bad after all.
I have learned to find happiness inside myself
Then, Ingrid said, “Time’s up.”

I felt relieved.

© March 1, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

My DARE: Dane, you picked Dare* I dare you to sit in the middle of your living room... 
(on a chair if you have toooo!) Close your eyes, and feel for 5 minutes... (you will need a 
stop watch that alert you when the 5 minutes are up. During them 5 minutes, you have 
to feel everything, allow your strong emotions to feel. Even if you have little one's are 
running or your cat is purring at your feet. Don't allow it to bother you. You have to 
concentrate and find that one spot in the back of your mind. The part that digs real 
deep into every feeling we forget is there. After the 5 minutes are up... Sit in the spot 
where you write, and write for 10 minutes, Write about every thought that passed 
through your mind in a poetic way, sad~happy~ mad, crazy.. and so on... Take us deep 
into your mind... Thank you..pd

Confession…I wrote more than 10 minutes…time slipped up on me.


Details | Free verse | |

Last Sonnet



Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.

Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.


Suyash Saxena 
St. Stephen’s College.


Details | Free verse | |

Phoenix immortal

Mass of red and gold plumage
blood of supreme incessant immortality flows within
Only I alone can reign stronger
a fortiori
than the army of any man or beast
Symbolic of Christ, ressurection, afterlife
In death redeemed
consumed by fire
only to be born again of ashes
I will rise up again!

Injured from mortals wars 
I simply ameliorate and regenerate
I am fire and divinty
Continually watching the irresolute
ever changing, dynamic world around me
In despair I scrutinize and contemplate 
as all things moral 
are taken from me periodically and adinfinitum
lost ever and again

Armys of mortals have chased my blood for an age
in want of my immortality
Whilst they wrangle with continual want
and I would content for less
I have met no immortal contender
my glorification to you either unobtainable 
or a terrible curse
As a deity I serve this planet in all my supremacy
for I will foresee you all




Authors note

This piece was originally written as a two part collaborative effort with poet Kathleen C. 
Mannon, otherwise known by pen name kkatie55 . The prompt we were given to write to for 
contest was Mortal vs. Immortal in September of 2007, a month after I first started writing I 
believe. To begin with we both took our ideas and wrote individually then bringing our ideas 
together and changing slightly to fit from there… I tried to write so this would stand alone 
too, and have only just decided to bring it out to share for opinion. To see the write with the 
omitted verses written by the other poet, please feel free to go view at this link where each 
poet has initialled over their respective stanzas/verses. 
http://allpoetry.com/poem/3404940
Thankyou for your trouble in reading this explanation, but I do not wish to discredit its 
original intention nor take anything away from the other poet by placing this half here. I 
hope you shall be excited about reading it in full…


Details | Free verse | |

The Eyes

The Eyes

The eyes so shattered and so blue,
You sit there and you knew
The pain of losing someone close to you,
And you beg for their return,
But a wish so great, can never be granted.

The eyes shattered and blue,
Watch you,
Take the bottle and drowned yourself,
They watch you destroy yourself,
And they know what they do,
Yet they show no remorse, no pain in heart.

You fall asleep
On a dirty mattress,
Held up by broken dreams
And nightmares,
No pillow, no blanket
Just air you float on.
And your blind eyes close in the night,
The dreams come back to haunt you
And the eyes, they watch you,
So shattered and so blue.

Till three o’clock hits again
Wake in cold sweat,
Spiders on webs weaving a nest
In your head,
A cry out for the Madhouse,
Where the eyes so shattered and so blue
Stare at you, through a window with no reflection.

-10/3/2013


Details | Free verse | |

We all fear

Why do we feel hatred?
We fear discontrol.

Why don't they get it?
Why don't they comprehend?
Why do we wait?
Why do we protect?
Why do we run?
We fear destiny.

Why does it hurt?
Why does it burn?
Why do we fight?
Why do they betray us?
We fear love,
We fear friendship.

Why do we keep?
Why is it deep?
We fear the abyss.

Why hell?
Why heaven?
Why purgatory?
We fear darkness,
We fear light.

Why do we live?
Why do we die?
Why do we suffer?
We fear death,
We fear life.

We all live,
We all die,
We all keep,
We all fight,
We all suffer,
We all cry,
We all love,
We all wait,
We all give,
We all receive,
We all trust,
We all wish,
We all dream,
We all remember,
We all feel...

We all vanish,
We all rise,
We can ignite.

We fear destruction.
We all expect,
We all regret,
We all lie.

Why hate?
Why do we create?
Why do you stare?
Why do they glare?
Why explore?
Why hope?
Why goodbye?
Why shine?

We all think,
We all see,
We all go,
We all deserve,
We all pass,
We all fear...


Details | Free verse | |

Saddest Lines (inspired by Tonight I Can Write... by Pablo Neruda)

The saddest lines begin tonight, with a lone soul 
Bare but for the thin veil of a pale white moonlight,
Beside myself, and taxed upon deep reflection,
For the night is starry, and my empty cup has fallen -
Shattered glass refracting even more of the stellar sky,
Mapping out the universe from THE single static point -
That is to say, finding myself amidst all creation
With nothing but time, and the realization
That I am alone.  And I cannot move on, for you are
Not with me.

On a night such as this, our story had taken root
And had blossomed from its simple magical beginnings, 
And tonight, I write my saddest lines simply
Because stories have their endings.

I remember, in nights like these
We have held on each other's arms,
That you have loved me once,
How the tenderness of your eyes radiated even from
The darkness that follows each day,
How your touch told me that you were here to stay,
How you whispered to my ear,
I was all you'd ever need;
And in my arms, I have always loved you,
And In my arms, I could have never loved you more,
Yet oh swiftly, from these arms, did you walk out that door.
The night grows colder as I bask upon the curse of your memory,
The night grows colder as I lie in fear of my forgetting.
Still, we have changed. Still, I feel the same.

You will be another's, perhaps, you are another's, 
You are away, and your love has lost itself in the distance,  
Will you be back? I've spent many sleepless nights like this one,
Begrudging the self-same sweet mendacities of your love
Which fuel the hope of your return to my arms once again.
I lie awake and waiting as the soil waits for rain,
And each day I find that you are no longer with me,
And each day I am left barren and emptied by your apathy.

(Darling, how could it be that you've once loved me?)

Tonight, I wish to say: 
That I will not love you,
That I will forget you and grow better,
That I will be strong, I will move on,

But tonight, I write the saddest lines:
You still are, 
For some reason or another,
The love of my life.

(This love is the bane of my each and every night) 

I write all of these, my darling, my beloved,
Simply because you were my everything,
And simply because you've gone,
And I pen it all to you
Because the lines burst from the well spring of my tears,
For when you have left me my love, my true...
You have simply left me with nothing else.


Details | Free verse | |

an old man slams the slams - throws down the gauntlet to the punk man

slam it to me punk you think you’re so cool
this bald headed old fart will take you to school
you think you’re the first generation to revolt
if you read a history book you’d know that’s a joke
yes that’s a joke
go ahead punk – take a poke

hell i was sitting down in a war protest strike
while guardsmen flexed their muscles and sticks of the night
don’t talk to me about your troubled young fate
until you’ve been through a night like at Kent State
people died there
shot by the man
four college kids killed right where they stand

go ahead shout, curse and be rude
show me your underwear and your attitude
pretend you’re real mean and ain’t scared a nuthin
brag like you think you can beat out my stuffin

i’m an old fart of fifty plus years
i’ve already shed an ocean of tears
i aint got nothing much left to loose
which is what makes me much more dangerous than yous
pain ain’t nothin when you’ve had a rectal exam
you think you can scare me more than the doctor can?
think again 
young man
i’ll slam your slam

this ain’t writing 
it ain’t exciting
its simply yelling and telling lies of being tough
it ain’t enough
now go write some good stuff

you think this stuff makes you a hero
you think it ain’t conforming to norms?  
you’re a real zero
you aint the first
heck you might be the worst
you are just replicating 
duplicating
other punks beat you to it
now write a sonnet – if you can do it
you’d be the only punk out on that island
that would make you brave
make you stand out
give you some clout

if you could do it
but you can’t can you
instead you say you’re one of a kind
don’t waste my mind
you think I’m blind
i’ve seen it before
you’re just a slam whore
easy to ignore

i’ll slam your slam
now go jam my jam


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 | |

In The Year 2012

I
Joining poetry soup is what I enjoyed most this year,
Because I practiced my skills in writing a poem for other,
And know some of the great poets/writers everywhere,
Many hours I spent in a day to write words I like to gather.

It all started when my friend ask me to look for this site,
I just said yes just to show that I’m nice and polite,
To tell the truth, I don’t have confidence to write poems, really,
Later on, I found out I can write and I am very happy,
also to meet people who are good, funny, and friendly.

II
Third quarter of this year, I voted as a member of a community,
Where people of the same nationality have a goal and in unity,
I did my best to help those who are in need my services and do my duty,
I humbly offer my sincerest dedication to my work happily and peacefully.

2012 is the one of the best and unforgettable year for me,
I know it will continue next year or many years as what I foresee,
And to all people who make my dreams come true in 2012,
So much thanks, for without you all I can’t achieved all of this.


November 8, 2012
For Carol's Contest "In The Year 2012"
3rd Place Winner




Details | Free verse | |

Lost

Feeling cold,
Lost in desperation,
Remembering sadness,
Getting in frustration...

Trying to let go,
Comprehended,
By few of those.

Losing comprehension,
Restrained from myself,
Being criticized,
Feeling hollowed.

Needing help,
To bring me,
Back to life...


Details | Free verse | |

Twenty-nine Words

Twenty-nine words to write my story
Twenty-nine words is all I’ve got
Twenty-nine words is my limit
Twenty-nine words, then I'm through 

Twenty-nine words to write my poem
I’ve got to get started
Twenty-nine words is not too many
Many words have parted already 

Twenty-nine words to write my rhyme
Twenty-nine words to write my verse
Twenty-nine words I’ve got to get started
Twenty-nine words – I’m out of luck

 
1.	Twenty-nine
2.	Words
3.	To
4.	Write
5.	My
6.	Story
7.	Is
8.	All
9.	I’ve
10.	Got
11.	Limit
12.	Then
13.	I
14.	Through
15.	Poem
16.	Get
17.	Started
18.	Not
19.	Too
20.	Many
21.	Have
22.	Already
23.	Parted
24.	Verse
25.	Rhyme
26.	I’m
27.	Out
28.	Of
29.	Luck
 


Details | Free verse | |

Tell to write , write to Tell

‘Tell that other will write about you
Write that others will Tell about you’
A quote that inspires me to write
Some thoughts, some feeling to bare
Some poems, some stories to share
Power of words that can change lives
Some may like what I write and praise
While some may voice their dislikes
For my silence speaks with my pen
Do not hide talents, spread it around
Let the world know what your heart speaks
May be in writing some notes, thought & Words
May be echo of your beautiful voice 
‘Tell that other will write about you
Write that others will Tell about you’





Details | Free verse | |

Theatrical Life

No drama,
Criticized,
No scene,
Criticized,
No theater,
Critized,
No life,
Criticized,
No death,
Criticized...

A hipnotic spell,
A happy comedy,
An impact of tragedy,
A depressive sorrow,
A constant paranoia,
A living psychology,
A passing psychiatry...

An endless beginning...


Details | Free verse | |

Spectacles Of A Poem

The spectacles of any poem
Shall be deciphered through
A flurry of lights, flying
Like loose Boron particles
That you ride without rockets
Into old and new worlds alike.
Here are faces chiseled into canyons,
Here you hear the moments swaying, swaying.
Your dreams have dreams of their own.
Then everything invisible rises,
And you feel the rising.
And the rising is good.
And you are good.
And so is the poem.


Details | Free verse | |

My Problem

Born to live,
Never wanting to die,
fearing death to its every limit,
as blue eyed death grabs my shoulders
and laughs with grim
and I fear death even more.
Car crashes, murders, greed and envy
takes me to a place where I can't find hope.
Laughs grow and brings tears to my eyes,
I hope off trains and dodge cars driving down freeways
taking time to sit down and look at my ways,
that push me left nor right.
Up nor down can I see the time tick away
I can't wait till I walk Jacob's ladder,
till a black demon tears me down,
and sins rip me open,
like a surgeon to a patient on a table,
Me, myself and I take time to see the wrongs in life.

Do I dare shake the vines from the dark green jungles
that tangle deep in my mind, body and soul?
I shake with vengence when time turns its face from me.
Time has no time for me
and she takes me by the hand and wastes my life away
with endless heartbreak and drunken whores and buffoons,
who care only about themselves.
The evil souls burn away,
and their blind eyes do not see what they do to others' hearts and souls.

I believe the strangeness of me is that I love too much,
and care too much to actually open my eyes and see what burns away
infront of my very eyes.
I only see what my heart wants to see
my romantic side kills me away,
while my physical being is falling apart with heartbreak and sorrow.
The strange part is,
love was never there to be found,
and the strangeness of me,
is that I love too much to see blue eyed death coming to get me.


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 | |

Writing Gut Deep

What are pencils, could they write my heart; 
the classified model I’ve worn for ages?
Is there lead enough to compose my legacy, this testament
painted on the fast coming tombstone;
what pencil could write God’s memory of me?

Who cradle your spawn, and rock him when you can’t find yourself; 
who remember his parched lips and talking stomach? 
Be like Moses, they said, lead my greedy Israelites, be a father to them, 
help me to create tomorrow’s no goods by nurturing 
their pining for unreality, forsake your post

Could pencils write my merits going back into their pockets, 
or the little minds focused on the flickering and changing shapes, 
and fingers dutifully pushing buttons?
Could pencils capture me in my mental cotton fields 
while my seed is up, way past his bedtime, could they?
See, I heard his stomach talking like mine did in ‘88
When the hurricane visited and departed with things we did not give him

What are pencils, could they write this heart?
Could they draw pieces of this broken vessel, could they? 
Come, they said, come and be a father to the fortunate
Forsake thy flesh and fuel the appetite of the glutton, continue the legend
Craft paucity by writing their intentions, let them be reliant
Forsake yours and shape these slaves 
help us to erect pyramids through them 
 


Details | Free verse | |

unfinished


i’m lost.

wandering my mind, hollow now.

secrets tucked in the seams, invisible to passer-bys.

each step leaves an imprint behind,

dust settling into the crevices left by my toes.

the world empty,

immune to stolen glances between souls and half-hearted exchanges.

peace swept away,

pushed to the side by an old broom of straw and wood.

oxygen dissipates,

I try hard,

harder to breathe.

but all that is left to soothe my lungs

is the empty, grey air,

void of the warmth of shared space
.

sometimes I sneak away

to send a fluid rush to my veins,

entrancing my mind in a fictional fantasy.

alone, I bathe in my secrecy,

cleansing my skin with vibrant truths.


Details | Free verse | |

A Love Letter

A love letter,
so full of words,
so full of beauty.

A love letter,
me reading alone on a park bench,
while I form tears in my dry eyes.

A love letter,
which takes me to a place,
of peace and brings joy to me.

A love letter,
that has no boundaries,
that shows a stranger's true feelings.

A love letter,
taken words put together,
to read a poem of glorious beauty.

A love letter,
that shows that someone loves you,
and it brings a smile on my face.

I go on home,
sit at my desk,
look at the sweet love letter
marked with a red kiss.

A named penned in curseve,
The "I" is dotted with a heart,
makes my heart leap from the chest.

I sit there,
light a cigarette and stare at an empty page
from a lonesome notebook.

I pick up my pen,
and I transfer all my emotions onto the paper,
to create love and art to show my love in return.

Then I shall go to a simple, but beautiful garden
and pick two roses that have already picked themselves,
and take them to the creator of this love letter.

A love letter,
so strong with words put together,
expressing true emotion.

A love letter,
so strong in its own world,
it brings strangers together and makes them love forever.

A love letter,
so sweet and so divine,
that any man prays for a love letter to appear on his doorstep.

A love letter,
beauty and harmony,
that brings people closer togther.


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 | Free verse | |

Gone Because Of Your Fault

You said that you loved,

Though, I told you that you were lost,

Instead I was shoved.

You were in state of lust...

 

Where have all feelings gone?

Why has all innocence ceased?

Where has cherishment gone?

Why has all the laughter ceased?

Where has your hope gone?

 

Did you ever hear what I told you?

Did you ever understand?

Did you ever listen to what we played?

Did you ever comprehend?

Did you ever read what I wrote you?

Did you ever let in what the stupid world said?

Did we play just to become pawns in your game?

Did we get this far just to feel the hate?

 

My expectations deceived,

I wish I was totally happy,

Give me your reasons,

Give me a reason for all that was done,

Give me a reason to turn and run from this...

 

You said that you loved,

Instead you were in state of lust,

Give me a reason, why would you lie?

This was not discussed,

Why did you feed on me?

I was deceived by your indiscrete mind,

I was crushed by your hidden hypocrisy...

 

There were times I standed for you,

There were times I would have died for you,

The worst part of this is looking back again.

 

Know that your hate, left you without a hand to hold,

Know that when freedom seems out of my reach,

I will fight for self-liberty...

 

The conversations took a sudden turn,

And, now you are an unwanted thorn,

There's a poison drop now.

 

You wanted to earn more than you can bestow,

You were insatiable,

Because you were blinded by greed and lust...

 

Why has all innocence disappeared?

Where have all the feelings gone?

You were wanting what your eyes can't see,

Needing what your arms can't reach,

Hearing what your ears can't hear,

Feeling what you can't even touch...

 

Would you mind if I killed you?

Would I mind to get harmed?

Would I mind if you try to break my heart?

What have you done now?

 

You wanted trust, but you lied,

You wanted help, but you got lost,

You missed me when I scattered...

 

You swore an oath,

But still you were blinded by your greed and lust.

Why are we missed when the world is fading by human fault?

Why are we loved only when everything is gonna be gone?


Details | Free verse | |

TheTruth Of My Crime To All Soup Members Part 3

I have goals, I plan to enroll in a community college.  Get an associates degree in graphic 
design.  I plan to write a couple books.  I have a few novels in my head.  I love music still, 
singing, dancing - I can do it all.  I'm silly, funny, morbid, you can tell in my slams.  
     Now I've flirted with women on this site - I'm single, and yes I would love to find love.  I 
thought I found it, but it slipped away.  I do not "prey" on women.  I would love to have a 
good strong woman in my life.  That's why I've asked a couple to correspond via postal mail -
as friends first to get to know me.
      Soupers my times almost done.  I should not be prejudged or discriminated against!  
P.D., Nathan, SKAT I am sorry for the slams.  I guess I pushed your buttons where you guys 
would want to gossip about me,  Ain't no other reasons.  But I have nothing to hide.  I'm as 
real as they get!  
     I have not asked any women on this site for anything (unless they are my genuine friend, 
and a great friendship was already established.)  If "preying" on women for friendship, pen-
pals, possibly love, then I'm guilty!
     Some of you soupers are on my facebook!  Carolyn Devonshire is like my big sister.  
Audrey Carey is my dearest friend, whom I love, and no we are not an item.  Marty Owens is 
a dad I never had.  Laura McKenzie, BillytheKidster, Bob Hinshaw (I have good friends here 
on the soup).  And I want more good people in my life.
     SKAT was a great friend.  We collaborated on a great poem, so what happened?  Hmmm..
     Well I love you guys man.  The soup rocks, soon I'll be behind a PC screen and chat, 
webcam you guys - It will be cool anyone wishing to write please do so (And Nathan, I'm not 
going anywhere;))
     Peace and love "The Poetic Warlock"

Jimmy M. Anderson #0459587
P.O.Box 2405
Marion NC  28752


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 | |

Behind the fence

The Boy wonders
gazing through the
Eyes of the metal fence
A question is raised
too far and too faint for me to hear
But it seems as he got the answer
the smile on his face tells me so
But the mothers face says something else
A different story
I write down every detail
of the curious child and the
mother
I look up as I write few words down
And I look up to write more
But they're gone
Vanished behind the fence


Details | Free verse | |

You Are Rich

Festered lament maddens me
Why must the despair of my heart’s desire
Truly enlighten me? 
I rested among the sick and lame
And found myself no different from the rest
For a troubled mind holds endless poverty
Penniless regret marks as a sickness no doctor can prescribe
For the bottles of balm are empty
And medicinal hope grows angry
I derived my madness from creativity
Revealing the remains of my humanity
‘Cool off, child’, I heard a soft voice whisper
But can’t you see I live off the flame?
It asks for no nickel or dime!
But it seeks to destroy all the same
The small voice returns at times
And often my heart listens
But we all listen
And only believe in the inevitability of pain 
I speak of the majority
Not of you
For you are blessed and beyond disgrace
You have a life—a beautiful face

And most of all, you are rich
With attributes I can only dream of 

You are rich with life and purpose
Holding inscrutabilities I can only wish to understand
You lift me without touch or care
Disposing me from your treasures
Because though you meant no harm, 
You are rich with blessing
And must remove all possible threats
So my festered lament
Remains an enlightenment

I can say I am rich in poverty
But you are forever rich
In Mystery

What hurts the most is knowing
I may be wrong about you
For you are so obscure in this mind
And as empty as I am I wish to be filled
In your richness
But we all are filled to the brim in the end
And sometimes I cannot distinguish the good from the bad
There is nothing I wish to discard
So I hoard in constant deficiency and despair  
And I hoard the idea that you are beyond compare

That you are rich
And always will be richer
Than me—or he


Details | Free verse | |

If I Write You A Thousand Poems

If I write you a poem
Will your flirtatious smile arouse my day?
Can simple words open a finer door?
A window into your deepest persona I wish to navigate.
I begin with a love filled verse,
And a gentle brush of your cheek.
You are the subject of feverish inspiration.

If I write you ten poems
Will you embrace my accepting grasp?
Welcome a passionate kiss from heated lips?
A gap in personal space will close.
My scent will permeate your clothing,
And my secrets will become our confidence.
Devotion will arrive in love’s symbolic code.

If I write you one hundred poems
Will your body surrender to my passions?
Can I penetrate your hidden desires?
My caress alone will satisfy your most profound thirst.
Our pleasure will radiate between shared intimacy.
Common feelings of mutual lust will overtake us.
The painful barriers of separation will be breached.

If I write you one thousand poems
Will you become the vehicle of our conception?
Can our offspring nuzzle at your bosom?
You will be remembered for eternity.
A name of familiar association with love.
A goddess who transcends all earthly limitations.
And no one will surpass this highest obsession. 


Details | Free verse | |

In Search of Words that Rhyme

I can never think up rhyming words
When I write my stupid poems
All the other words have a place to live
But the rhyming ones have no abode

To other poets it comes so easy
Penning rhyming words that sound just right
But I can never find the rhyming mate
Though I try all day and evening

So this desire to be a poet
For me is just a curse
And all the poems that I eventually write
I just have to label them free form

So if you have a few extra rhyming words
Spinning around inside your head
Could you share a few of them with me
So I can write a poem before I’m deceased


Details | Free verse | |

INSECURITY


"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"

 

My life unfolds,i deflect love, braver face is worn
for top surface, iron armour,beneath dwelling cashmere
pantomine performed,staging through all acts
inside crying attention for love,outside the mask.


Deep deep, amongst depths of insecurity
conversational flow lacking,o frustratingly yearn normality
pent up tensions,no outlet,i just cry
there`s more unfortunate people, decaying in this world.

Paul Beadnall for

Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~  

14/8/11.
Contest Name Just Write 


Details | Free verse | |

Black Ink

My black pen.
The way you flow,
And tell my tale.
You spill my thoughts,
And always prevail.
My soul bleeds out,
Through your black ink..
Everytime that my thoughts,
Had started to sink.
You let me drain my pain out,
In smooth cursive letters..
And I smile,
As your black ink, stains..
My newly purchased,
Lined white paper.
You relieve me,
As you leave a trail of my angst.
Thank you black pen..
For being my strength.


Details | Free verse | |

The Dead Essays

The Dead Essays


Today I wore all black 
But there is no funeral procession. 
So I just went to work and sat at my desk
Before piles of essays which need to be read,
A red pen in my hand - 
Because I am old school 
And the students can deal – 
And it would seem that women
Of the mid 1900’s were being oppressed 
And that is the reason they were all insane.
Yes, all of them. It is clearly stated in paragraphs two and three,
The introduction and the sad excuse for a conclusion 
Which is hanging on at the end like some sort of cough.
And here it would seem the student forgot all syntactical purpose 
And I am quite certain “When women were alone” 
Is not a sentence, and yet it is punctuated as such,
A big fat period where there should only be a comma. 
The chop, chop of simple sentences 
And yet I am relieved because at the very least, 
It is a sentence… no matter how misguided the idea. 
Oh, and the idea because today women are equal to men 
In every possible way, and I hope the tone is sarcastic, biting, a little ironic,
But no… it is not. 
This child does not know to capitalize I 
Let alone how to portray through language 
A tone which is biting, satirical, humorous.
It would seem I am dressed appropriately after all.



Details | Free verse | |

I'll write you with me

I’ll write you with me
This love is not for paper and ink Lakshmi I’ll take off your clothes to write myself in thousands of touches on you on your breasts and between ur warm thighs this hot love I’ll write it with me the silence will shed tears from whispers of unspoken words this love is not for paper and ink it passes the thrill through your moist womb through the rain of fire it writes itself flying with us otherwise how would the sky know about our love Lakshmi how would the sky read about our love…


Details | Free verse | |

My Thing

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Let Me Go

Let Me Go!
I don't want this anymore!
I can't go to sleep at night,
all I seem to do is write.

Sometimes I read...
I read until I finish.
When I finally go to sleep,
I hear the sound of the alarm "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"

Oh gosh,
I can't handle this anymore.
I am going crazy here
and no one seems to notice it, my dear.

I cry myself to sleep.
telling myself everything will get better.
BUT IT DOESN'T!
And I know I mustn't

but I want that knife
just as much as I want that gun
I hate this world
and everything about this girl

She sings and tries to get attention
yet no one gives her the time of day.
She falls into the books she reads
no one knowing, it is escaping, she pleads.

This girl is me,
oh but you knew, right?
Since all I ever talk about is me!
Gosh, can't you see?

I'm my enemy!
I'm my own nightmare!
No one is hurting me!
It is me who shouldn't be let free!

Lock me up! 
Kill me!
That way I won't harm myself...
I'd like it if it was someone else

Please, do me the favor
and let me go
for no one can save this girl
from this cruel world.


Details | Free verse | |

99% of my poems are dreadful the other 1% are merely awful

i cant write poetry             mumble some nonsense
i cant write poetry             random words seem to fit
i cant write poetry             writers block blocks writing
i cant write poetry             i actually cant


Details | Free verse | |

Bipolar

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


Details | Free verse | |

Beginnings

This is the beginning
The beginning of a new line in code 
The zeroes and ones in my life
A program I can master
Unbelievable, 
A work of art nevertheless
Poetry for me.


Details | Free verse | |

An Apology.

I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.
I don’t mean to exploit you.
I just can’t hold this inside.
You have your outlets, 
well this is mine.
Don’t worry,
I’ll never state your name, not directly anyways.
I’m just sharing my emotions with others.
If you don’t like it, then don’t be the cause of them.
Please don’t think I take pleasure in writing these words.
To write them only opens wounds once closed.
It hurts as much to read them,
as to write them,
as to feel them,
    all again.
There’s no joy here, only memories. 
I’m just a child who hopes to heal his heart.
            Please don’t be mad. 


Details | Free verse | |

Insecurity

Insecurity is a terrible thing. Insecurity kills. It’s like a dark and terrifying serial killer that never gets caught. It goes on and on. There are some people who in a million years, you would never guess are insecure. Most of the time they’re the most insecure ones, they’re just so used to it that they’re the best ones at hiding it. They go to school every day with a fake smile on their face, hoping that no one will see the scars on their wrists because they just know that none of the other kids will understand why they’re there. The use bracelets to hide them or wear long sleeve shirts everyday. Even on the hottest days of the year when they could most likely over heat and faint. All of that doesn’t matter to them. Some people are insecure because of their weight. But the mirror sees one thing and a persons heart can see different. A lot of the time people are just un happy with their body. Sometimes it could be because of their skin colour or maybe the way their teeth are or maybe even the way they dress because their family can’t afford the best clothes for them. The possibilities could be endless. The girl you called fat? She has an eating disorder. The boy you called gay the other day? He lost all of his self confidence and now he wont even get out of bed and go to school because he’s scared someone will make fun of him again for liking the same sex. A lot of people don’t realize that words can really hurt someone. Those are the words that kill. I honestly feel really sorry for all of the teenagers that commit suicide and don’t get noticed because they weren’t 'The cool one’ or ‘The pretty one. But when they’re actually gone everyone seems to start caring. Funny isn’t it? They’ll say things like ‘She was so beautiful, I wish I could’ve done something to help.’. When the funny thing is, they were the reason why. They were the reason why that person went home every night and self harmed or skipped a meal that day. You say you cared? Yeah, of course you said that. I see exactly what you’re doing. You said that just to make you look like the good guy. You put on a pity party for that person, go to their funeral, lied to their family, but you’re doing this all just for you. Many people see this everyday. I can’t relate personally but trust me it happens. So I want you to think the next time you say something bad about someone. I want you to think the next time you criticize someone. Think about how bad that person might take to heart what you said. Think about someone other than yourself for once. Just picture un your head the way the blood drips onto the ground as they’re cutting. That blood is filled with your words of hate. Let that sink in.


Details | Free verse | |

Till Death Do Us Part by Bob Braun

I must be perfectly clear, I did not write this but after reading your narrative David this old song from 1962 came to mind--perhaps "corny" for some but you epitomize truly honoring these words and in this world of convenience where most people seem to simplify their lives by eliminating emotional inconveniences---you truly lift my heart and give hope that perhaps we all might be ok because true love does exist in people like you..God Bless!

One love, one life
One dream forever
One love for one heart
Till death do us part
 
Till death do us part
Do you know what that means
As long as I live there'll
Never be anyone but you
 
And when the time comes
I pray I'll be the first
Because I couldnt live
Without you anyhow
 
Till death do us part
For better or worse
That's only a question
Which asks if I'd stick it out
If the going got rough

Well, I only have to
Think how rough it
Would be without you
And I know I could go through
Anything as long as you love me
 
For richer or poorer
Well, that's no problem
If I had all the
Kingdoms of the world
I'd still be poor without you
 
And yet though I'm poor
I'm the richest man in the world
If I have your love
 
Till death do us part
In my arms, in my heart
In my dreams and with
Every breath I take
I think of you
 
For me, you're the reason
Every new day dawns
Because I love you so much
And I always will
Till death do us part
 
One love, one life
One dream forever
One love for one heart
Till death do us part
Till death do us part

Cyndi--since I did not write this I do not want any placement but please pass this along if you feel it's appropriate, thanks Cyndi, Craig


Details | Free verse | |

Writing for myself

(Inspiration: Meat Loaf’s lyric found in Deb’s blog)

And I won’t write a poem  for a contest
Whoever asks and whatever the provocation
Day or night, rain or shine, east or west
I wont write any more for a contest
But, I would write that
Yes, I would write that.

No more wrestling with Aye Aye mistresses
And  Alouetting my cleansing rites
Twisted poems and Burlesque twists
Will no longer test my ragged wits
Shadormas and Tyburns 
Will cease to be my nightmares
Creatures of the night
Will turn out to be my matters of delight
And, I won't write for a contest
But, I would write that.

But  about our fraught lives
Hope and despair and injustice
One love and its many variants
Things on which I write for myself
Would I quit writing on these too
No..I won’t..I won’t

But, I would not write for a contest
But, I would write that
Yes, I would write that.



PS : Who cares? Why should anyone care?










For Carol Brown's 'Write a poem for yourself' contest

S.Jagathsimhan Nair,  30 sept 2011


Details | Free verse | |

One Heart, One Pen (Why I Write)

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Do I Have to Say It

You see me, pen in hand, face blank, eyes not on you.
I am not bored; I'm thinking.
Do I look like I want to talk? I'm writing. . . .
Please go away.



For the quote contest of Judy Konos


Details | Free verse | |

Verses kisses

 Verses kisses 

How sweet is 
my Phenomenal kisses
to taste
to feel
as sweet as guimaras mangoes

from desirous red lips
to meet yearning

puddle with love
inundate heart
fallen repeatedly
like thundering rain

breezing 
gorgeous fresh air
to my soulmate 
my kimba

if you could only
taste
my verses kisses

let it embrace you
with love
with light

*dedicated to my dearest Kimba*

sukmawati komala
03 February 2013


Details | Free verse | |

Dan's Fan Club

Hey diddle diddle
We poets that fiddle
With poems that jump over the moon.
Sometimes we blunder
and often will wonder
am I just a poet buffoon?

Then out of the blue
a comment ensues
that gives us a new point of view
Dan Kearley comes here
with a comment to cheer
His applause like the thundering air!
We can discard our fear
that we are friendless or queer
and soon we are smiling a tune!

His name is Dan Kearley
You must know him, oh, surely?
He writes with a flair of his own!
His poems are quite awesome
He comes from Wisconsin
with friendship that lands everywhere!

No.......this is no joke!
He cheers all the folks
Who stay up by the light of the moon
Even little dogs laugh
While the rest of us grasp
He's a friend of the Soup, near and dear!


____________________________________________
For the contest: "Who Am I?"
Sponsor: Dan Kearley





____________________________________________


Details | Free verse | |

No More

No More

Feeling abrupt,
Like a volcano ready to erupt
My soul a hurricane swirling
Around my empty mind and cruel
And forgotten soul.

Pain, feelings so strong,
It cannot be described
On a page with a pen.
I snatch the lunar eclipse
Away,
And beauty of the heart goes away,
No sight, no sound;
No pain, no sorrow;
No smile, no frown;
No anything, no everything.

A soul so black,
A heart so weak,
That love is long gone,
And will never return.

No pain is worth feeling,
And no pain such that I hold
Is worth writing away,
No use in finding love again,
When faced with heartbreak
One thousand times before.
No more pain, no more sorrow.

I shall go and sleep away the time,
Till Death comes calling my name,
And lilacs and violets litter my way,
And a single ruby hearted rose
Dries up and slowly dies away.

-10/3/2013-


Details | Free verse | |

Dabblin' In Free Verse

This time you've really thrown me a challengin' curve, Mr. Flach!
You've asked this old "rhymer" to write somethin' called "free verse!"
To concoct such a "masterpiece" is agin' my poetical "religion!"
But if you insist, I'll give it a try sans my dictionary and thesaurus!

I suppose I could come up with somethin' dealin' with current politics,
But that might cause a flap with those who disagree with me.
Perhaps somethin' to do with hot romance, moonlit beaches and love,
But I'm not very astute about such things and would probably botch it!

Oh, I know!  How about an animal theme about rabbits and their prolific habits.
Nah!  Probably with my acidic tongue I'd leave folks "hoppin'" mad!
There's always nature things to write about - rivers, mountains and such.
Maybe I could concoct a stirrin' verse such as Kilmer's memorable "Trees!"

I could write about guv'ment meddlin', taxes and the high cost of livin',
But I'd get so angry that I might throw rocks at an occupied hearse!
So I'd better control myself and compose somethin' rather mundane,
Like feedin' squirrels and pigeons and contemplatin' the settin' sun!

Joe, though I doubt this composition will rate a Pulitzer Prize for poetry,
I've had a ton of fun and my first "free verse" made for easy writin'!
But I'd better forego writin' free verse before it gets any "vorse!"
And stick to usin' rhyme, rhythm and meter for my verse!

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

Honorable Mention in Joe Flach's "A Poem That Doesn't Rhyme - July 2010


Details | Free verse | |

I'm Back

Hey, did you hear the sounds of a sorrowed heart
slowly thumping away in the evening sunsets?
There he is, baby, the man they call;
"The Blue Poet"
there he is in the flesh
with a book of poems in his hand,
look at the whores and the smiles turn to him
and say to him, "Where have you been?"
They look at him and he looks at us.
He sits at his desk,
he lits a cigarette and smokes.
He opens the big book of poetry that he had in his hand
and started to read.
There was a smile on his face,
reading to all of us;
as we sat around his greatness and glory
and we listened to his great poetry.
He looked at us through the dark
and with eyes a blazed and a smile so bright
he opened his mouth and out came the words of
a sorrowed heart and a master at his finest hour,
and he said in a calm voice;
"I'm Back, baby!"
And we all cheered,
and he smiled and drank his glass of red wine
and smoked his cigarette
He leaned back in his chair and watched us all
stand and cheer.
If you looked closely,
you could see a single tear form in his eye
and roll down his rough cheek.
The Blue Poet was back,
and this time he stayed.

-10/23/2013-

A dedication to myself. I am sorry to all my fellow fans and followers and poets and poetesses, I had left you all without a trace of ever returning, but now I am back and here to stay!


Details | Free verse | |

Therapeutic

It is therapy for me
to make the pen dance melodies
across an otherwise bleek
piece of paper.
To create words that don't exist
because I WANT TO is simply bliss or
to write about that crush that I want to kiss
in the third person as if it is a wish
of a young girl around 16-ish
can only be done in poetic form.

I can curse out my best friend or
ask God to let me into Heaven or
bunji jump off of clouds at night and
wake up flying a kite around the sunshine,
because I am the author of the masterpiece and
to me it is the best pain killer for reality.
It is MY therapy!

I can honor those who I loved so much
or degrade them to an anesthetic touch
just because 
they pissed me OFF!
I can lay down and write haikus all day
about the rain personified or
the clarity of the water in the bay.
I can use words that those around me do not understand or
think with my pen in my mouth and
his heart in my hand or
vice versa or 
write about sitting all day
while I stand.
I create a magical landscape
with a concrete jungle back drop or
sing a capella songs in hip hop.
It is my THERAPY!
And I can re-create my life
by myself
unjudged,
unrevised,
and fully certified.
Thank GOD for it.


Details | Free verse | |

Blessed Assurance

Blessed assurance
There's more to life than this ole' world
He is holding me
Faith in what I can't see

Left with my walls tumbling down
Calloused and bruised
My heart lay on the ground
Try as I will,
try as I might
I will climb one mountain
And through faith tell the other to MOVE!

I could be upset that things are not what I want them to be
But I know the blessed assurance
And Jesus is holding me

Lord, give me the words to write to speak
for mine are so clumsy
My heart is soft and open wide
for I found love for the very first time

The chains that held me before
They don't hold me anymore

One eve my walls came tumbling down
All my deceit lay in front of me
My face to the ground
but  this sin could not hold me
Through Christ is freedom

Oh, blessed assurance
There's more to life than this ole' world
He is holding me
My heart soft and opened wide
Yes, I found true love for the very first time

The chains that held me before
Well, no, they can't hold me anymore
Lord, give me the words to write and speak
for mine are so clumsy
Left with life so new and bright
steppin in His light
Try as I will,
try as I might
I will climb one mountain
And through faith tell the other to MOVE!


With the blessed assurance
Jesus is holding me
Faith in what can't be seen


Details | Free verse | |

My Great Madness

My artistic temperament 
between great madness and art
is a creative necessity
Of emotional highs and lows.

My pen is mightier than the sword
And so I release my great madness of my muse.



'The pen is mightier than the sword' was coined in 1839 by Edward Bulwer-Lyton for the play, Conspiracy.


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 | |

UN HAPPY

 I thought blood was supposed to be 
thicker than the glass of water you drink  

But this glass of water and few pain 
medications plus a couple of stress pills 
serve its purpose 

With my body feeling numb with a lot of 
ballistic thoughts still feeling like love lost 
all over again  running thru my veins

So many negative thoughts in my mind I 
Can’t erase the image even the turbulence 
of this plane can’t change my direction

 Summer breeze feels so good outside but 
my  inner thoughts inside of me  are so 
glowing hot a blind mind can feel my 
pains

A trouble heart a trouble mind can’t depart 
from my trouble past still have lot of anger 
and my feelings are  built with gush  of 
emotional  insert in my head

You will know my deepest thoughts that 
agonizing me everyday day to day time to 
time/ My  unconscious mind it runs  tricks 
on me my/  illusion are perhaps on my 
mind is playing tricks on me once again 
time and time again "JCMT"


Details | Free verse | |

In real life

in real life you're not real
I got the idea of being there
I constructed myself at your being
I gave myself in your image
I was given up
far from happy psychoanalysts
faithful to your beauty


Details | Free verse | |

Go write your poems

Go write your poems
About flowers for children graves
Go write your poems
About self passions that make you slaves
Go write your poems
About trees, vulnerable to winter 
And the white infection of leprosy
Go write your poems
Rivers that has buried civilizations
Blind to where we buried our ammunition 
Go write your poems

While you write I will pray
For a crabs worth of faith
While you write I will pray
For Haiti in travail to birth
A new civilization of rage
While you write I will pray
My sister can increase her wage
And they will hire me again
While you write I will pray
The terrorists can sleep with the lamb
And rise to drink its milk alone
That flows from our mother's breast

I will pray while you write
Me a poem for tonight.


Details | Free verse | |

Inspire

Inspire
Those around me Inspire me
My peers support me
Inspire me
To write this poetry
Love, Drugs, Funny
Or just random
It all comes from my heart
But without encouragement
From those around me
My poetry would be worthless
Every time i write a poem
I could write a million dollar masterpiece
But without inspiration
Encouragement, Support
From those around me
I'll be writing nothing
But wasteful work
Worth only enough
To buy me a skittle
That's why I rely on Whats around me
To get the wheel to turn


Details | Free verse | |

Why Write

Why write?
Why bother?
It's just words
They're just thoughts

Are they proper words?
I don't know
Are they valuable thoughts?
I have not a clue

I often doubt
And even my doubt has doubts about doubt

Why write then?
Will not my words be drowned in the endless noise of this plain?
Will anything be heard?
Will I change any lives?
Will I start a movement?

I think not
I know not

Why press my fingers on these keys then?
Why waste my time?

In the end, there is only one answer
Only one excuse that I could devise

And that this writing has absolutely no power, save over me

So ....
I write to not lose my mind
I write to jolt a memory, an emotion, to tear it away
Tear it away from the sticky stifling webs of logic
I write to breathe fresh air
I write to fool myself into thinking that it's the world going mad and not me
I write to feel safe
I write to feel protected
I write so that my heart can slow down after a long day
I write because I am troubled, and know not how to recover
I write ... so that I may SCREAM at the world!

Then again
Why write?
Why bother?


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 | |

Peace to One and All

Be careful
I said carefully come nearer
Be careful
I said carefully take my sword
Be careful
I said carefully read my lip
Be careful
I said carefully draw my sword
Be careful
I said carefully pierce my body apart from my soul
Be careful
I said carefully send me there now...

Why do you withhold?

Be careful
Have your sword, shield it
And have your seat

Politics has not completely darken my heart
I still sense the part I belong
I know I aren't born this way
I know I aren't call to this way
I know God don't support my way-


Bloodshed day and night 
All in the name of satisfying
Whims and caprices of the few

The world led with the words of the opportunist
And built by struggles and sacrifices of the full

Since you are now born again

  Be careful
  I said carefully come nearer
  Be careful
  I said carefully take my sword
  Be careful
  I said carefully read my lip
  Be careful
  I said carefully draw my sword
  Be careful
  I said carefully pierce my body apart from my soul
  Be careful
  I said carefully send me there now

  Why do you withhold?

  Be careful
  Have your sword, shield it
  And have your seat

  Politics has not completely darken my heart
  I still sense the part I belong
  I know I aren't born this way
  I know I aren't call to this way
  I know God don't support my way-


  Bloodshed day and night 
  All in the name of satisfying
  Whims and caprices of the few

  The world led with the words of the opportunist
  And built by struggles and sacrifices of the full

  Since you are now born again

Be careful
And carefully convey my message to those privilege few
Be careful
And don't change my words
Be careful
And listen carefully
Be careful
And tell them I said...

Peace be upon thou
That values this singular word in action
Who give room for this course to thrive
And carry the day

Peace be upon those 
That gives it a chance
The Word in question is PEACE

Peace and Unity is what I preach

Carefully
Convey my message to one and all.


Details | Free verse | |

breathe, suffocate


velvet tears slip down my cheek.

a gentle cry.

and the wet drops seep in the corners of my mouth

until

my lungs are full of my own salty, crystalline tears,

bringing buoyancy to boats that sail inside my veins.

as a rule, I try not to cry.

if a single tear is shed, who is to say that another will not follow?

compelling the rest to join

until I’ve immersed myself in the sea I’ve incepted,

and soon

all I see are the opalescent peaks of water colliding with my skin.


Details | Free verse | |

Judgemental Fools

"Judge not lest ye be judged yourself" Matthew 7:1

That phrase is appropriate.
I am who I am.
I am WHAT I am. 
I make no bones about it.

I am a poet.
I write when I write.
I write what is in my head.
I write what is in my heart.
Some is fiction, some true.
Some of it is scenarios in my busy head.
Some is a dark. Some light.
Some perverse. Some nice.

I am a friend.
One who stands for what I believe. 
Even if my friend is wrong, I stay

I am a lover.
Not in a physical sense.
But a lover I am just the same.

I am a child of God.
Just because I am NOT
A bible thumping, card carrying
Member of a particular church
DOES NOT make me any less 
A daughter of God.
He knows my heart and 
He loves me just the same.

I am tired of people looking 
Down on me because I do 
NOT live their way!!!
This is my life!!!
God gave it to me.
I refuse to be beaten anymore.
I  refuse to have a husband
To take what is supposed to 
Be a act of love and have it
Whenever and however he likes 
It, no matter the hurt.
I refuse to be punching bag!
I refuse to be the wife that smiles
For all the world to see and pity
Because her husband is off screwing
The cute young woman that batted
Her darling eyelashes at him,

I have tattoos.
So what?
So what if I want to 
Date a younger man?
I am a good person.
Take me as I am.
I am me and for ALL 
Of you that judge, I am 
NOT committing any sins.
The only sin I committed
Was believing I am worthy.
I know I am not.
But just because I am
Unworthy does not mean
That I can not have a life.
I will answer to God
In Heaven when My 
Time comes. 
He is the only one 
EVER allowed to judge me.

"Judge not, lest ye be judged yourself" Matthew 7:1


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 | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 9/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger 9/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



You would witness the earth, burning with heat,

Due to extreme temperatures,  running in summer,

It would remind you, the agonies of our farmers,

Who work under such torturing weather. 



How the farmers continue to grow their crops,

While working under the scorching summer flames,

Bearing the tortures of excessive heat,

Since ages like a solid rocks of earth, dear.

Ravindra

Kanpur  India. 20th May 2010                           to continue in 10


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 



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


Grisma Tap  Se  Tapit  Dhara  Ke, 

Drishya     Samene    Aayenge ,

Krishak   Jano  Ke  Grisma  Vyatha  Ka,   

Tughako   Dhayan  Karayenge.



Kaise  Agni   Karono  Me  Jul   Jal,

Krishak    Fasal    Upgate     Hai,

Sadiyon    Se    Chhattan   Bane  Wo,

Sub   Kuch  Sahte   Jate  Hai.


Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 


Details | Free verse | |

Happy Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day dear friend,
I hope you're having fun,
I can't buy you candy,
Nor can I buy you gum.
I can write a poem,
It's all I can do,
And when I write this poem,
I'll give it to you.
Most folks want a Valentine,
I just want a friend,
One who'll stick with me forever,
Even to the end.
And so, in this last stanza,
I'll end this poem to say,
I hope you're having fun,
On this Valentine's Day.


Details | Free verse | |

Maze

Poetry, 
An amusing grace that better
the spirit of the poet.

Poetry, 
Like boundless world, 
Amazes hearts and spirits.
No course have ever been so faithful
than the course of being a poet.

Tiring winds to catch
And soil to merge
Has always 
Risen my wit for pen.

My mother earth 
And her environs
Are proliferating notes
I behold.

Persistence urge 
To have a say
Is one instinct 
To my ventilated breath.

The feelings
To remain immortal
And have impact 
is another laudable loam.

Sincerely speaking,
poetry 
has been my chime.
It stays by me 
in the rain and in an odd dying state.

Poetry has won me many glory
It is still winning me some more.
Countless exalted barter
and consistent standing ovation.

What's more to say of poetry
Little will one wonder.

Well, it has become 
My gem, 
My sword,
My song 
and my soul.


Details | Free verse | |

Writers gift

read the lines
see the space in between
unwrap each word
hear their rhythm
feel their beat
listen to the hymn of rhyme 

inhale the feeling
of newborn synthesis
a startling raid
settling down
in intimate corners
of your mind 

every moment
brand-new views
breathtaking 
readmissions

introspective shifts
of inner and outer movements
breathtaking eternal chips
causing perpetual motions
of emotions deep inside 

©Ellie Daphne  


Details | Free verse | |

needles and pins


I can’t survive without the rush of an impulsive swallow or an impersonal touch.

I’m fueled by the adrenaline I get solely through sex and drugs, driving while high and chasing danger.

Piercing my skin with needles and pins,

willing to feel the worst to feel anything


Details | Free verse | |

Introspection

   
 A friend once called me shallow
And those words cut deep to the core
But maybe they are right, I do not question
I do not question life or even death
I care about the environment but not to the extreme
I accept what is, and how changing things can be
I do agonize for the world, and do what I can
To lift the human spirit and offer dreams and hope
To write music and hear my own orchestra play
To write love songs, and to tell stories in musical form
To try and uplift the human heart, out of deep despair
The mind that delves deeper has always attracted me
Whose imagination flies in so many directions
Seeking answers and always stimulating thought 
I find so exciting, challenging, and offers me inspiration
I have known death, pain, agony and human destruction
Where the spirit is stifled, and all is a screaming silent cry inside
This moment is my joy, this moment is my happiness
I fly where I never ever dreamed to dream
And I have been made whole again, and I feel beautiful!

 


Details | Free verse | |

Good Day

To control these thoughts and write with precision 
With each verse flowing sweetly down the page
Seems an adventure into the unknown world of 
Dictionary tease!!

A daisy chain of words and phrases joined together
in a disjointed series of seemingly nothingness
placed now around the neck of you, dear Souper,
Eyes adorned

Constraints of quiet time and space are often
the culprits of lack of creativities ability to show
verse that makes some kind of sense to some
but not all

That this soul wishes to write beautiful controlled 
poetry is an understatement.  Words spilling now
from mind to fingers in an attempt to simply say
Good Day!!


Details | Free verse | |

Not a Masterpiece

This is not a masterpiece not a big surprise
To see these words appear before my eyes
Do I continue to write these little notes?
Or go back to being a normal bloke
It is a huge surprise to be able to write
Never did appear that this was my plight.
So I will continue till the end of dawn
Or until I can’t figure out what is wrong.
I feel the need to express the feelings inside
I have busted at the seams my thoughts my guide
Enjoy the words that I am able to write today
And maybe I’ll have the words to write everyday
But if I stop the written word for you to read
I have gone on to accomplish bigger deeds.
Please do not fret or frown as I go
I have no more to do on earth, the Lord told me so.
I am not writing this as a suicide note
Just some written words before I croak.

Duane A. LaChance Sr.  - 2012


Details | Free verse | |

Letter From God

If I had been upon the Titanic, with only moments left to live.
And if there was nothing left, for me to help with or to give.
Then I would find a paper, a pencil, a bottle, and some wax.
Then I would write a message, to cast adrift with everything else.
And in those moments I would write something short and simple.
I’d write…
People life is short, you never know when it will end.
And when my life is cut short, there’ll still be time for you to live.
Live it with your heart and soul forever in the front.
Reach out with them, give, and live your life as it was meant.
Then I would sign it … a lost soul…Titanic April 14, 1912.
Then I would seal the bottle and hold it in my hand.
Then I’d wait amidst the noise, tears, and pain. 
Until the water would eventually wash the bottle away.

Contest: Impress Me, Motif: Spiritual, By Carol Eastman


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 | |

Everything and Nothing

She loved the way the salty air 
kissed her rosy cheeks,
She loved the way the warm 
blankets kept her safe,
She loved the feeling of the 
soapy bubbles against her skin,
She loved the sky just before 
sunset,
The sound of the crickets as 
they chirped around her,
The water rippling as she 
kicked her feet in the puddle,
Her family,
Her friends,
The boy who would never know 
she existed.
The boy who would never know 
what she loved
Because even though she loved 
a lot of things,
She couldn't love herself.


Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 10/Many

Patradoot or The Messenger10 /Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



On your way, you will see and witness,

How women and young girls of these peasants, 

Faces the tortures of summer heat,

While wearing only torn or insufficient dresses. 


Humble and poor Indian villagers,

Who faces such hardships in villages,

To grow food and harvest crops for others,

Do not get even sufficient foods for themselves.


Ravindra

Kanpur  India. 21st May 2010                           to continue in 11

NOTE: These lines describe the India of 1932. Although much has not 
changed even in 2010, especially for our poor formers. Although those
who are rich are enjoying a better life.  

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 



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


Fateh    Chitron    Mai    Dekega, 

Tu    Kisan   Ki   Lulnayen,

Suhti  Kaise   Tupta  Dino  Mai,    

Kathin   Tap   Ki    Badhayen, 


Din   Heen   Jo    Bharatvasi,

Aise  Vyatha   Uthate  Hai,

Uder  Purti Kurne Ko  Upna,

Sukha  Anna  Na   Pate   Hai.


Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor
Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 






Details | Free verse | |

Muse

A crystal globe reflects the morning light,
splashing greens and blues and purples,
that dance across the sun room floor.
Outside, the nighttime snowfall lines
each dark limb with a frosting of white.
Below the window there’s a picture of Lily, my grand niece,
with cherub-like hands and cheeks the color of rose petals.
By the front walk the retreating snow
Reveals hints of spring as hydrangea sprigs
ready for the new season’s blooms.
I peruse poems on Poetry Soup, written by artists that write to share,
and for the comradery of those, who like them,
find a little more in simple things than most others can see.
I look around and all about me is home
and all of the special things that make it…home.
So, when I ponder the question
“Why do I read and write poetry?”
I have to just -- smile…





Details | Free verse | |

Characters

All I write is him
His eyes that bloom like April
As we print ourselves in sand

The serifs that trail from every word
Fallen feathers at our feet

The nights-
When we were more than naked
We were transparent
I could feel each rib against mine
See right into the core of his chest 
A pulsating brass mirror

I write him

And I fold him into fiction
Furiously sharpen the seams
Thumbnail pushing paper

Just Nouns loving verbs, I say
Just nouns loving verbs.


Details | Free verse | |

I Don't Know

The bewildered tip of my pen hovered over the blank thirsty pages… 
I thought expressing feelings is as magnificent as the sight of the sun’s birth 
from the horizon’s womb...
Or as miraculous as a squeamish bizarre caterpillar's transformation 
into an elegant butterfly… 

Such a transcending experience still lingers within the facets of my subconscious…
As I limp through the days under the weight my tumescent thoughts… 
With my weary pen, I converse the endless possibilities of a phrase, a word, a feeling… 
How few ordinary words from countless pens became etched in history…

I’m hovering with my pen wondering about how to write and what to write… 
Should I write about what was in the past; a past I long to forget…
Or about a present; a present battle I still haven’t won…
Or about a future; nameless, precarious yet an exciting adventure… 
Should I give birth to what’s swelling inside or consider abortion… 

My pen is choking…it’s time to end the turmoil and hesitation… 
I’ll just press down the tip of my black pen on white paper…
And wait for a reaction… 

Isn't that how it works anyway?


Details | Free verse | |

Puzzle

I cannot say this without missing some fragments.
What the mind reveals is too bright to paint
In words
In pictures
In song…

How I crave the expressiveness of thought
Living and true
Without the disadvantage of explanation.

I write with my mind
And when it is gone
I will write as I have always dreamed
Beyond the borders of limitation
Finally, creation comes home.


Details | Free verse | |

If You Would Just Hear Me Out

Nobody wants to hear a boring story.


'specially when voices drone, monotone 
like an ancient documentary recording
 
or there’s so much "peace" and "happiness" 
you begin to doubt sincerity 

and the lack of any message 
results in a lack of any clarity.

Bueller, Bueller... there’s nothing cooler 
than watching eyes glaze and seal potentially mutual thoughts 

The point of this being, when it came to my story 
I always thought it would sound better to be more "lost"

To find the prize from a cereal box
you need to reach the very bottom
 
And any sense of victory 
indicates a struggle once caught in 

So is it possible to put one’s head in the sand 
and be in the clouds at the same time?

Is it possible to sink just low enough to brush ungodliness, yet set aside
the rest of life as a distant picture of who I could be if I tried?

Potential becoming merely a word wrapped in the minutes slipping by 
Folded, braided, knotted, tied 

I wanted to die to myself, why did false feeling stay alive?

Personal insight and foresight must be a rarer gift 
than I imagined. 

It’s true you can’t always say what you’d do
until it’s in the past, 

but by then
You start to relate to things you used to hate
 
so like a sweater with a string 
that you can’t stop pulling 
it starts to unravel and now an avalanche is rolling 

snowballs of thoughts that melt when at a stop
lights flashing but no cops to make you promise dollars or change


I need my future rearranged 


So maybe I’ll stay up and write 
the best tricks of parodies and lies 
 
And that’s okay, because on a page
manipulation’s in the author’s hands
 
the pen becomes a tool 
and like in Huxley's "Brave New World" 
we’re content to act the fool



................

....now could come the ironic moment when 
you find yourself waiting for that "exciting" personal story

that I’m not actually going to tell. 

Because being a poem, not a book 
I can make words flowery enough to have a hook 

that’s not necessarily attached to anything at all



because its beauty lies 
where the
ambiguity
falls. 


Details | Free verse | |

Yet Another Boo-hoo Poem

The cursor blinks for the 254th time and I am still here,
sitting, letting my thoughts wander
to the left, what is left, 
If there is anything left
to wonder about

And    I realize that there is.
So much. Too much that I just have to smirk.

I am afraid that everything that will come out
would be sad, pitiful and wallowing.

Yet another boo-hoo poem.

It is nice to know that sometimes,
I do not disappoint myself.


Details | Free verse | |

Literary Dreams

Imagination and reality.
I waver back and forth.
Anticipation and agony as I decide what I scribble down. 
I'm good. Very good. Not bragging, but giving myself a much deserved pat on back.
Songs play in my head uncontrollably. I'm a musician and an actress and a writer. 

Why do I bother telling you these things? 
Because it's who I am.
Everybody talks too much, therefore I write a lot too much. 
A good system. 
I listen, I observe. 
I write music, I rap, I teach. 
I'm a student and a mentor. 
I am content to follow a source I do not understand. 
I laugh and sing and forgive myself everyday because that's 
the only way to keep my soul alive. 
I am a woman who runs with the wolves. 
A spirit child with literary dreams. 
All I want to do is write and that Epiphany came very abruptly. 
I pscho-analyze myself till I'm green in the face.
A perfectionist, but only because I learn from my mistakes. 

I'm a soldier. My father taught me well.  When he wore his police uniform I would
stand in dismay and awe. 
My posture standing upright and my mind sharpening. 
I grew stronger and stronger and braver and braver, getting mean
at the obscene. Standing my own on the playground and as an adult a master on 
the streets. 
Hard on the outside, but once you broke through to my heart I melted in your 
hands. 
But keeping it all bottled up, left me feeling like I was drowning. 

I wrote a poem. I wrote another. I wrote another. 
I filled books and books with my knowledge. 
I sang the poems. 
I learned by teaching myself and listening to what I felt was right.
Nobody else. 
I trust my intuition. 
I never second guess it.

I have light green eyes and blond hair
and have a name that is Celtic and means "From God."
I've predicted the future. 
I've seen a pschyic. 
I've studied my soul. 

I've been back-stabbed and ridiculed. 
I take it with open arms. 
A female Eminem. 
I learned to love myself and accept my faults. 
After that, life was easy. 

Who's running my game of life?
I AM.




3-3-11


Details | Free verse | |

Check It Out Yourself

Come to see what I have found out on Poetry Soup
I just found out that ‘Categories’ box has been improved
Wherein more interesting stuffs to choose from have now been included
I just found another one
It’s the HTML guideline or note embedded 
Immediately below the ‘Poem title’ box
And above the ‘Poem Text’ region
Immediately before the space provided 
For the typing of your poems
You will see an instructive text 
Telling you about how to customize or format
Your poem using one or more of the HTML’s tag
Three tags are currently available and are all allowed
It includes ‘< e m >’   at the beginning and    ‘ < / e m > ’ 
At the end of the portion of the poem you wish to format.
This is for ‘italics’. 
The one for ‘bold’ and ‘center’ tags are
‘< b > < / b> ’   and   ‘< center > < / center >   respectively.
You can use them for the whole poem
Or one for a stanza, a line or an expression…
Within the poem if you like
Try them now and see it yourself
They’re meant for you and me.

Check it out yourself: 
http://www.poetrysoup.com/member_area/submit_poems.aspx

Note: You won't space anything tag at all. I applied space because the system is so sensitive to each instruction.


Details | Free verse | |

Hail to the Dragon Slayers

We know we are right and we will fight
If you dare appose us we will bite
When good doers think they have a chance
We take their idea and we do the dance
We are the law that makes the choice
And no one can keep their face in a good poise
Because we will smack them with a hammer
As we see them we will make them stammer
Just because we are justice
And we try to do some odd practice
Now we will get back on track
We the people take charge and attack
Wait, what are we attacking? the people that are not right
Oh! thats just my brothers and sisters oh! they are a sight
Now look here, we, we the people makes laws
It doesn't matter how many people open their jaws
I'm all confused, we are the people, did we not choose?
We are, but certain people are just to loose

Fine, this is what the new law we want to appose
Why? because we are confused about what we chose
Using we as a word is to many
It takes all of us even granny
So this is what we want to do, is put I and you separate
And the other that we are to choose to elaborate
I am going to say this, we are to many individuals
So we separate the ones who are good doers
That does not make sense
To put all the yous and I's in a group, it's just dense
Are you with me? no I am with myself in this
I am going to rub it in your face and be in a bliss
So I will do the justice myself, and you has decide to disobey
This is what I mean to do, and it will be O.K.
Debating myself is some what kinda weird
You need to be by my side because we make choices better
So this time you and I will just make justice a letter

The clue is what we do that is some what true
It's funny when words play a game to argue the virtue
When I mean I, I mean I, and when I say you, it is you
When I say we, it is us, and that is what my argument is all about, too.
Fifty, fifty is what the Dragon Slayer is saying, it becomes no greater nor smaller
We are all at fault and our decisions that we have made is for all of us to stand taller
Even when it is wrong and we do things to put down the strong
And our arguments become pointless and long
Our justice is when we started to put it on paper and making it a law that stand
So all of us, in the long run will simply decide to band





Details | Free verse | |

Everywhere and Everything

Everywhere i go i see people dancing
sitting eating playing with there dads
then i wonder where mine went where did he go
did he move on and its then that i realize i have you and its then that i write

seeing kids everywhere with there friends and people having fun
inspires me to write and play the piano sometimes i wonder if i write 
because it makes me feel better to get it all out so maybe there not great 
or inspirational but it lets me realize whats right and wrong

i never thought i would make great friends by poems or by anything until i 
enterend my name on this site it feels right you guys are like my new family that cares
and is inspiring to me to do the right stuff

everything i do i owe to you. Thank You!


Details | Free verse | |

Bathful of thoughts

After a trying day, I find
That a dip in the realms of poetrysoup
Is like a warm bath with bubbles around
So relaxing,, so reviving of the mind - 
Firstly I soap myself with words of others
Rinsing them off with a comment or two
Then I lie contented in a bathful of thoughts
Till it’s time to wrap myself in what I write too -
So IPad in hand I start to write
The words flow like ice cream on a warm night
Dare not stop to think, just write what comes next
For an aperitif, I read the words out loud to find
A glassful of Oh My’s follow the text
As I peruse the words that flowed so easily
Have to shell a few sentences along the way
The walnuts of knowledge sometimes go awry
I look at my effort, think hmm maybe yes ok
Can post this in poetrysoup wait for their says
See if this evening of laziness was what was required
That my walk in the words of poetry relaxed my brain.
In my bed, poetry free, now it’s time to start again



 03/03/2013


Details | Free verse | |

Essenes Of A Poet's Soul

Words are a poet's greatest tool
Having the power to turn what we perceive 
Into a masterpiece for viewers to read
Poetic storytelling with quills
Harnessing romance, sorrow and the drama
Whimsical, magical and the surreal
Evoking a response of emotions is what we do best
From surprises to laughter or even tears
Warm and loving feelings or feelings of dread
Writing is the essence of a poet's soul


Details | Free verse | |

The Sole of a Soul

I am writing this poem about you!

It’s not an easy thing to do
because I don’t know you.
But I know there are billions
of people on this planet.
Some will die while I write this and
while you read it others will be born.
Most have two arms,
two legs, and two eyes
one heart, one brain,
one mouth to speak with.
We are all the same.
People are people but
we don’t think alike.
Some of us love each other,
others hate everyone;
most do both unequally –
we choose what we think,
and we think differently.

 You are the perfect subject for a poem.
You are the same as everyone
and like no other before you;
unique to yourself, exclusive to none.
You elude the common
and illude the extraordinary.

You are a homophone for the human race.
Are we not all homophones of each other?
A complacence to complaisance,
and effect to an affect, a tear to a tear,
the sole of a soul.
A homophone like you may be too
large a subject for one poem,
too complicated, too complex.

 So, I will write about my cat instead,
a car ran over him yesterday
he is dead; and I have, in my fridge,
a half can of cat food in a plastic bag
useless and taking up space
and there is no homophone for that. 


Details | Free verse | |

Sad love poems

No more sad love  poems
But what can I write then
I’ve had no happiness
So how can I write a happy one?

All I have to write about 
Is lies
Broken promises
Shattered hearts
Scared souls
and that stupid face that glooms in my mind.

You tell me to write a happy love poem
I’ll try
Can I lie
Is that alright?

Because isn’t that what love is about
...Lies?


Details | Free verse | |

Vowel-Consonant

Awaking to exceptional day, I noticed obviously gross, uncut grass,
all glaringly exhibiting growth in degrees ordinarily considered unusual.
My ambition to erase the ill look of my ugly duckling animated me.
Every bold invader was ostracized most unmercifully.
Persistently advancing, still energized, while ignoring time or thirst, unknowingly.
Pleased as grasses etherized helplessly, I rejoiced over their utter ruin.
Admiring my efforts gleefully, I stopped only for upkeep.
Surprised at the emergence right in time of prized unusual plants and 
some edibles, deliberately I carried on with ultimate results.
As pride exalted me, I reckoned on finishing undamaged.
Perhaps a more experienced person in mowing occupation would understand,
the almost hypnotic effect that is brought on by unreasonable dedication.
As beauty emerged with incisive deftness, orderly rows ultimately triumphed.
As mower ensnared grass, I boldly opted to unload.
 
Tiredness assailed me even though I knew once more unbounded pride, acknowledging that every blade is mowed on my utopia.   The action has energized some inactive muscles, obviously long unused. So as result expecting that I will observe some unpleasantness for attempting more exercise than I might often have utilized. 
Now a peace envelops me. I know of nothing unpleasant. 


Details | Free verse | |

Drunken Pen Rewrite

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




This is a rewrite, because I am firing blanks and this says it all.


Details | Free verse | |

The Creator Within

Some days I drift aimlessly looking for inspiration 
to fuel those instinctive creative inclinations
be they astronomy, photography, music, writing, 
or any other variety of personal or professional pursuits 
that provide a sense of purpose and inner drive.  

I feel the need for creativity to stay alive.  

It's not as if I require a never-ending source of energy 
to feed the multi-layers of self-expression. 
It's just that 
as a human being I need to keep on moving forward
or suffer the consequences 
of regression. 

One might call it an obsession

With whatever it is that makes us good inside
and requires constant care and attention
like a garden where weeds reside
because it's only a matter of time before
strangulation sets in 
and all the colors in the wild flowers begin 
their slow descent to fade
and before long they're rotting 
in their own graves.

But that's not how we humans are made.   

We mere meant for greater gains 
despite our sorrows, disappointments and defeats
when we were made to find 
silver linings in the darkest of ominous clouds
even when we can hardly see somehow.

We were made to find the beauty in the beast.  

And the creator within 
keeps on searching for that illusive    
magic spark that causes us to dream 
and illuminate this world of ours 
from lonely hearts to mountain streams.  

We were made for all of this and so much more it seems.  


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 | |

My Mask

It hurts all the time
This pain in me never stops
I want to cry for you
I want to scream for you
I want to beg for you
I want you to be here
This cant be fair
This cant be real

But I smile and I laugh
I get up every morning to go to work
Throw on a happy face and make some jokes
I come home and enjoy my day
I have fun
And I continue on
But I’m so hurt
I’m so lost

Seeing you in there killed me
I could never get the phone call out my head
The screams from my mom
The walk up there to see if it was true
But most of all I wont forget you
In the casket
Touching your hand
You were so cold
You didn’t belong there
Seeing you go into the ground
Seeing them fall apart
Feeling my heart break into pieces
When all I could do is scream
I will never forget that day

And every time I smile I want to cry
Every time I laugh I want to cry
Every time I think I want to cry
Every breath I take takes a little bit out of me
Because I want to cry

I want this to not be real
I want to had spend more time with you
I want to hug you
Laugh with you 
Tell you I love you
That I was always there
That I am still always here

I am so broken
But I continue on with life

Because God took you and not me
He wanted me here for a reason
So ill continue on for
You
I will laugh
And smile
And pretend
Anything to make it to the end
To see you

I miss you just isn’t enough
It doesn’t mean enough


What heals a broken heart?
Time they say

But time wont bring you back
So my heart stays broken
As I pretend to smile

I miss you
I miss you
I miss you


As I’m falling apart

My mask then goes on



RIP Bebo... 17 was to young


Details | Free verse | |

The Mask

"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"

She wears her feelings as a mask.
Keeping them in the closet,
gathering them up like the thin blanket
on a cool summer night,
holding them close,
not daring to share the love, - - the pain.

She cries alone, sometimes for love,
sometimes for hate, sometimes just
for shear desperation.
Trapped in a treadmill life,
she lives moment by moment,
day by day, and memory by memory.  

Behind the artificial smile
she breathes heavily.
Behind the sweet remark,          loneliness.
Seemingly astute, a cordial demeanor
dances around silent flippancy as   
she compliments.  

She exudes evasiveness, 
mistaken for mystique and candor.
Wearing this mask as a second skin,
she is eventually consumed by the charade.
There is nothing left of her
but pretense.

© aug 12 2011 Charles Henderson
For Constance's "just write contest"


Details | Free verse | |

The Black Abyss

Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.


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 | Free verse | |

The Tidal Wave

The Tidal Wave

I saw a tidal wave come in,
Raging winds and fierce water
Rushed,
Took the houses, cars, trees,
Street signs, park benches,
Pictures of loved ones
(Poor baby Louie, 3 years old washed away)
And along with all the power
It tore my heart out of my cage
And swept it out to the 
Endless seas,
And the great white sharks
Have their way with my heart.

Now bleeding and dying,
Pain follows me,
And I close my eyes,
And wish it all to be done.
Pray for me, I want pain no more.
See tears fall from the corners of my eyes,
As I breathe in and feel no heartbeat.
And they all look at me,
Faces of nomads and they snicker
At me,
I hang my head and cry tears,
But the tears were washed
Away in the tidal wave,
So I sit there,
Eyes closed
And I sleep the night away.

-10/2/2013-


Details | Free verse | |

For Family

I want to taste the tears of their names;
those in my family whom I’ve never met and probably will never meet.
Just because I’m a mutt does not mean that I don’t know where I came from.
My mother with long brunette hair, 
who could shoot a basketball like a how a soldier can shoot a gun, 
never graduated college.
She married my father at 19,
had my sister at 23,
she never got to pursue her dreams because of me. 
My father, who became the first male in his family to graduate college, 
built a home around the four of us 
with the little that he had, he protected us,
 from the demons,
 from the fire of the earth that thrashed around my neighborhood
 when the house down the street was tagged,
 and a girl around the corner was kidnapped. 
He supported the family. 
We moved across town to bigger and better things.  
Bigger and better dreams. 
Bigger and better streams, of consciousness, 
that put my sister and I on top of what some call “love of a family.”
My grandmother, who raised seven children,
smoked two packs a day,
and could play any piece on the piano that you asked her to,
told me to never forget where I came from.
And I looked back up at her with these big blue and green eyes and said
“My family is where I come from”
Dirt gravel roads up to a parked trailer, sitting on the overlook of the seven devil mountains,
being bathed in already used bath water, 
drinking from the back yard hose, eating double stuffed oreos,
my father never once let us down.
My family is a glass of cheap wine,
the tar that sticks the gravel to the road,
the dirt under your finger nails,
the middle class American folk that just try to get by.
Let us praise those like us,
who get Catholic woman hangovers on Saturday mornings,
waiting for the pay check to buy groceries,
never buying organic because that shits too expensive, 
and my father always said “A little dirt never hurt”
And this is for Family,
for my sister, and mother, and cousins
whom I got this tattoo for.
This is for them,
the ones who I will come to when my blind eyes are staring at the ground.
And never mind the ones who say I don’t know where I came from.
Because this is for Family.
and family is where I am from.


Details | Free verse | |

My Passion 2

My Passion 2

My true passion is still for sports, but, I have another passion, a passion for writing.

I love writing, be it poetry, erotic stories, fan fiction, or super heroine stories, or, even blogging, I'm always writing something.

I write when I'm happy, I write when I'm sad, I write when I have nothing better to do, which is pretty much all the time.

Writing is my passion, and, I'm not going to apologize for my passion.


Details | Free verse | |

the Triumph of the Pen

Oh winging Heart on a mission
to the edge of forever,
speed to the beloved with a message of Love.

We look in a different way,
with the Heart do we see,
and in that wondrous seeing,
is the feeling of awes majesty!

Yeah, that's the way to overcome
the 'thought police' inside the head;
doubt is the Heart killer
and so with this pen,
we’ll write our Hearts out again and again,
and if they judge the words we say,
to dash our Dreams in any way,
then we'll write even more to soothe the Soul
for the writing life is our Loving goal!

This triumph of Love carried to our pen
where in our written words Love lives again ...

A writer writes and never stops writing
and rewrites and writes again and again ...
and he never stops writing except to Dream,
perhaps to reach for that Star in that Star crowded Sky
and bring that Star to the end of his Pen
and write like plasma all over again ...


Details | Free verse | |

Whenever My Muse Calls

Whenever my muse calls
The words will always speak.
My pen will always flow
No matter where I am.
A pad I always keep.

I write parked in my car,
Or in the grocery store.
No matter where I am
My pen calls out my name.
I write until my brain is sore.

Sometimes a word or two,
Or a completed verse.
Ideas flow puzzle-like
For me to fit the pieces.
Could this be a curse or not?

Maddening at sometimes,
The creativity side of me.
Mumbling to myself.
People will always stare,
As I look back glassy-eyed

My muse will not be ignored
And my pen will always flow.



Details | Free verse | |

Angel's eyes

Angel’s eyes

Pensive in silence 
looked at the beauty 
of angel’s eyes

fill me with the glamorous nuances
darkest sky topping diamonds
asteroids
meteoroids
comets
and stars

expanse their
fabulous beauty
brightness
colorful in the sky 

fast rotating 
to a black concentrated hole
all ran towards
in a beautiful race
to the deepest hole
where all the beauty met

so amazing

o... my angel

truly beautiful eyes
passionately embraced 
my soul

shared me
an afterthought

the beauty of racing
in colorful dreams 
comfort rotating
crystallise my passion

o... my angel 
took me engrossed
in your beauty

forgot my lonesome
in chasing dreams

asteroids
meteoroids
comets
and stars

sprinkle in my melancholic heart
embellish my elegiac mind
immerse me
in what a beauty

guide me fly with you

o...angel’s eyes

~ Sukmawati Komala ~ 
17 March 2012

Dedicated to my dearest angel Dane Ann Smith- Johnsen


Details | Free verse | |

I will bloom

I will bloom

i will bloom
bloom on
colours
bloom on 
shines

cant wait for the
new dawn

to spread out
love
to spread out 
laugh

indulge fragrance
of love
spinkle the shine
of smile

to my lonesome
lover

soak it to your very root
and seep wetness
into your barren hearts

i nourished and cherished
every drop of love

let me hug you
my lover
with my everlating
love

let me
live with you in our
Timeless longevity
in our land of poetry

~(c)sukmawati komala~
11 March 2013


Details | Free verse | |

thoughts to martyr

when the lights are dim
and the night looks grim
all i write is sound
and i think i'm better off
better off

twice today
I was in your arms
and i bit my tongue 
i'd rather be aloft
yea i think i'm better off
better off

dear city that never sleeps
i often think of you
i wonder how you will keep
when the night sinks into
and if you make it to the days break
no one will really know it's you
another second chance to excel with truth
relaxed like stooping pigeons on the roof
lately i've been dying for a noose
or just a rope in general to hang myself from
day light trickles
but i find it difficult to hold a nickel to my left thumb
in other words 
life is simple if you play it as it comes
here lately 
i find myself growing more skeptical of people 
feelings resemble damaged goods that pose lethal
at the edge of absinthe 
and only tear drops touch the needle 
i still write
but most of the time i'm like
kind of nice
for tomorrow pushes me gently 
it's a rush but it soothes my thoughts 
and i'm stronger mentally

when the lights are dim
and the night looks grim
all i write is sound
and i think i'm better off
better off

twice today
I was in your arms
and i bit my tongue
i'd rather be aloft
yea i think i'm better off
better off
so i'll send this letter off

"when all else fails I write"


Details | Free verse | |

True Finds

In love am I with a great deal of things
Of wonders on earth, of darker shadowy background
Of artists, of ghouls, of nature’s fools
Of genius soaked in all matter of internal sound
Who knows what cradles these concepts, what lies beneath the admiration
—the reality
The minute…disappointment—it is naught
There it is not until the light hits the bay
Every single detail displayed
And oh, how my judgment is frayed!
By your unfathomable beauteous words, by images I receive so absurd
I imagine lives untold—I fantasize a fib
And make out with it—TRUTH, with darkened veneration
Baffling me, filtering me with joy and mysterious longing
As if by heaven the song sung is from below
Rested on the meadows of our minds
And in our hearts
True…treasurable….finds…


Details | Free verse | |

Groove of Things

Embrace me     my lover,
Let eager fingers identify your physical boundary,

Innocently caressing every curve leaving a surmounting temptation like no other,

Satisfying even those hidden pages tucked away in your precious diary,

Lovingly kissing such divine lips,
Every hand stroke encountering a quivering body,
While lustful hands clasp onto swinging hips,

Fair warning     it will be considerably rowdy.


Details | Free verse | |

I Want to Write

I want to write something
Of breathtaking beauty
Something of value
That will nurture a soul
Assuage a pain
Tug at the heart strings
And bring release

I want to write the words
That someone will cherish
The words that will bring light
To the dark crevices and corners
Of a battered heart
And bring healing
And peace
And light
And joy
Indescribable joy!

I want to write
About the enchantment of love
And being in love...
About fluttering heartbeats
And quickened breathing
About slowly reaching that melting point...
The mystical moment of surrender
Surrender with sweet abandon
To another
Knowing...
That you are safe
To experience
To know
And be known 
Completely
That pleasure is waiting
To be mastered
and to master
and to obliterate all else
Except that moment
in time


I want to write……
But the words
Won’t come
I’m empty...
Parched to the core
And desperately in need
In need of those very words
That will bring me back to life.


Details | Free verse | |

Sixty Year Old Choice

"You've got six months, nine at the most.
If you opt for chemo, we could stretch it some.
Maybe a couple of years, 
but first six months of serious treatments."

When he said nine months
I thought that's the normal prenatal life
So I have possibly a pregnancy left.
Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Let's see two years minus six months 
minus maybe some more for recovery from chemo.
Or nine months of wondering,
could this be the day?

My neighbor was sick as a dog for most treatments.
She couldn't eat; she couldn't sleep.
Just a forever burning sensation, dry, lifeless, pain

My cousin said his was not so bad, but
then he died only two months afterward,and
they had said he might live five years.

My last nine months, what will I do?
I will get ready to die - prepare to enter a new life.
Wait a minute ...
I am doing that already ever since
I decided to put my trust in God's Son.
My eternal life began at that moment sixty years ago.

I will tell everybody I know how good God is.
But I have cancer; is cancer good?
I look at it this way. 
Cancer is a chapter -
the last nine months of my life on earth.
It defines me and with
God's help I can deal with it - 
without chemo.
He has a plan and cancer is 
part and parcel of it.

The rest is just guesswork.



Details | Free verse | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 6/Many


Patradoot or The Messenger 6/Many

English version by
Ravindra K Kapoor



The journey is long, lonely and the path deserted,

You have to pass a long way dear,

Leaving the bank of river Suryu*

You have to take a dip in the holy river Ganges.*


Ravindra

Kanpur India. 14th May 2010                           to continue in 7


Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 



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


Marg    Vilumbit   Soon  San  Hai, 

Patra   Tujhe  Jana   Ho   Ga,

Saryu       Tut       Ko     Chor,   

Janhvi  Mai   Gote   Khana   Hoga.



Patradoot in Hindi written by
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 


* Saryu.  A river of North India which is flows near the jail
                Of Faizabad where Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor was 
                Was imprisoned and wrote this wonderful epic.
                He was a follower of Mahatma Gandhi and 
                Believed in non-violence only.
*Ganges. River Ganges, which meets at Holy shrine
Place Allahabad, famous for the Sangam of two rivers.
It is also the place were the writers beloved was residing,


Details | Free verse | |

Going to Argos

40 minutes ago I wanted to send you an sms thinking of you while I was drinking my cofee at the terraces that you love them at night but I didnt write because of the overly large sunshades and of the empty place from me which could never be taken now I write an sms that I will not send because it is impossible to let myself to be seen me who I look like a broken bench next to any empty place at the terraces that you love them at night with the lamps big as the story of Andromeda but with the sunshades overly large only now I send you an sms in which I have written nothing.


Details | Free verse | |

A missing tale

You can't tell a story
when there's nothing to tell...
But if you just happen to say
"There's nothing to tell"
you have a story right there...


Details | Free verse | |

Life After Midnight

Life After Midnight

Night after night I sit alone
I wait for the sun to rise to give me freedom
No one to talk to
The world sleeps at 4:20 AM
I watch reruns of Dr. Who
I play games on the computer
I write to a woman in Australia who has become my friend
Knowing she is there soothes my mind and allows me to think
The only life I see is a small rat devouring the cheese I left for him
He has become a pet despite the fact that I will never stroke his fur
I call him Doctor after the character on the TV screen
It is a silent world without ever a word being spoken
Occasionally an idea passes through my dying mind
I stop to write it down keystroke by keystroke
Will I remember it when the sun rises over distant mountains?
The seconds, minutes and hours drag by as if being held back
I know the world keep turning at its regular speed
One thousand miles an hour throughout the night
It’s 4:28 AM and I know the sun will be rising in two hours
I count down the time second by second
Then, once the sunlight fills my bedroom, I will be able to sleep
I will be able to dream until the sun sets in the west
Then I will write, watch TV and feed my pet rat
That is my life
Life without sun.
The life of my dreams


Details | Free verse | |

Fragile: Handle with Care

Fragile: Handle with Care
We write in bright red
On the boxes that carry
Our treasured breakables
Fragile…..

Our human souls
Wrapped in all kinds of protective material
Some of which look sturdy
Able to bear…..
Life's daily wear and tear
Others which seem so frail
Not able to take
Rough handling, shoving, pawing or even a shake
Fragile……

I, for one, wish the world would take note
Of the bright...blood red letters
That with my veins' life fluid on myself I have written
The delicate condition of the state of MY heart…
Fragile….

Oh, reader, you whose lips now smirk
For to your strong fortressed soul
the label doesn't apply
…or so your inner voice implies
But what was that?
The faint tinkling sound of shattering glass
As they bounce you around, trying to make you fit
The right place…. 

A tiny bullet word pierces the bubble wrap of your dreams
Making contact with the heart of your treasure….
…With the treasure of your heart!
Alas, my friend… It's too late to write the warning:
It's too late to heed the warning:

F  r  a    g   i   l     e….
Fragile…
Handle with care!


Details | Free verse | |

POETOMANIA

Poets are but 
Sick in sublimity
Of love
	Time & Events
	People & Places
	Ideas & Divinities
Without which
They lie prostrate
In portrait


Details | Free verse | |

THANK YOU POETRYSOUP

when im inspired  to write my poetry 
it's not always about  me
sometimes theyre the thing i dream
or the things i hear or see

every now and then ill write somthing about my life
and sometime i just write to give advice
i write about people i pass alone the way
 i write about things that happen way back in the day

i've written poems at times that left the needs for questions
some of my poems were written in hopes that you learn a lession
i've written some that were good and some that were'nt so great
i've written some you've loved and maybe some you've hated
  
and most of the time their just my thought that im writing down
and sometimes it's just the things i happen to be around
regaurdless i enjoy writing it takes me for a loop
  and now that i've found a place to post them (I MUST THANK YOU POETRYSOUP)


Details | Free verse | |

I remember the days


I remember the days when I couldn’t write, so teacher said I was Bad “your never get 
nuffthing right” but papa said "I Can Fly", "touch the Sky", told me "I’ma Winner and never 
forget that", as he looked in my eye’s as papa had placed me on the kitchen side.

So I can’t write down exactly what I want as am dyslexic but I still write because am a 
Winner and I have the power of overcoming and understanding so I dont let it effect me well 
to a certain degree.

So I don’t really call myself a poet, i'm just someone who like/needs to express themselves, 
test themselves, just happy I can do it for myself

So God bless Mama
God bless Papa 
But
God bless the children that have their own mined.


Tallan J Bent (c) 02/01/09 11:30Hrs


Details | Free verse | |

The Journey

From time immemorial your story began
A hundred, a thousand, a million years and more
Your story past written a character just one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Each story unique while pieces the same
Today, tomorrow, millennia expended and gone
Your story continues passed first to no last
The tale of you bleeds into all

Through love and hate, laughter and death
Minutes and seconds grew to decades and days
The story being written you wrote each day
The tale of you bleeds into all

Memories endure through dream and remembrance
Yesterday is gone but tomorrow you live on
Your story yet written a character more than one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Your stories the fires shall never consume
A past, a future, a present goes on
The story you wrote lives forever in your love
The tale of you bleeds into all


Details | Free verse | |

Am I a poet

I’d like to think I’m poet,
but I don’t write songs

I’d like to think I’m writer,
but I don’t write stories.

I’d like to think that people think I’m a poet or a writer,
but they don’t!

So what I’m gonna do?

I’m gonna write story in a song,
but not too long,
I’m not crazy,
I know I’m lazy.
I don’t want to waste too much of my time,
to make some rhyme.

In that short song, I’m gonna tell them that they are wrong, that I just wrote a song.

You’re wrong!
I just wrote a song!


Details | Free verse | |

Lost

You seem so delicate,
You stand to attention, but to whom? Not us.
You beg approval from another,
Who's words only you can detect.
A mind fit to occupy fear and blame.
Terrorised with anger.
The ground you walk, holds no place for honesty.
Corruption and abuse are all that lie at your feet now.
Individuals that have been torn in the name of love,
A lust for what they seek.
But can you remember what you began to seek?
Two hearts that bleed will not suffice your wishes.
Dishonesty is your nature's call now.
You need to heal,
You need to feel,
You seem so delicate.

Copyright © Christina Clark


Details | Free verse | |

A shadow's kiss

fainted with the darkest vows                                                        
your chic build endows felicity                                                            
I rejoice every moment with you                                               
and reinvent the entire scenario                                                       
again and again

you were very close to me                                                                
painted me with the darkest shade                                                
invoked the conspicuous haste in me                                          
I sought after you passionately                                                            
here and there

a sudden rift in time and it fades                                              
leaves behind some mellow memories                                                            
and covers the unfounded spheres so lush                                                 
I evade every futile quandary                                                       
forever and ever  

and then again I long for your kiss                                                          
so fervent that I beg for more                                                              
it's only habitual it seems                                                            
keeps me enticed towards you                                                              
now and then 

but now I can't wait to see more of you                                         
erasing every moment so carelessly                                                    
and still you don't live to say it all                                                      
you needed me to kiss forever                                                           
after all


Details | Free verse | |

My Passion

As passions hobbies and interests 
come and go
no greater pleasure
have I come to know.

For it is my therapy
the way I express myself
The thing that makes me happy most
and has the power to set my imagination 
alight
The thing I do every day and night
Is to bare my soul 
my addiction
is to write.



Peter Dome. copyright. 2013. Dec.


Details | Free verse | |

Ars Poetica (L'nass Shango: the conversation continued).

Freedom is an alter ego like a mask
Behind which censor has no eyes, and balm its blood applies.
Poetry is my freedom when wings cannot fly
The pain of the arrow in my solitary eye ...
You wrote me as a poem, I write you back so I
Can write a poem that invite your poem to tea.

I sometimes see me in the mirror of words
And cannot recognize who I am
How many points of light forms my face alone
Making a fable on the faulty foundation of sense
Are these suppose to be revelations
For I have longings carved like a Grecian Urn
The stillness of that eternity frightens me
Like is a simily ... a wave of action towards a full intent
So many symbols, and everyone alienating
Why can't we tell truth in Images
Like eggs. A cycle from essence to existence
And through all the purposes of each motion
Phases of a common solution?

Mirrors are not reservoirs, you know, they preserve nothing
Let culture preserve what it will
My art shall do the selecting of what the will must be
For I must preserve truly if only preserve me
And do not fear now, some conflict between you and I
That my preservation can be your destruction is such a lie
Broken mirrors make distinctions 
A thousand shards point their image at a single eye
But feel, when you cannot see
Feel the universal solution ... for we are only solutes
In the solvents of our meaning
You and I the tangents of a simple circle converging

I love the breaking of isolation
The conversation dissolving us again
Into a common brotherhood, beyond the blundering pain
Our life is fragment of everything now
Politics, economics, physics, dreams and faith
Word is but a mirror before us, the senses little gates
The mirrored shadow has only one moral imperative here
To haunts us till we make it right
I exorcised the ghost that bind us up with fear
And long to break the mirror too
And feel my wings flying in the perfect nothingness. 

Wait for me, brother. I am coming too
Swinging on a beam of star, sipping on love's dew.
Measured in unmeasured meter
Defying our partition into syllables of spoon
Rhyming to mate a synonym exactly to the moon
Everything in this solution is never abstraction
Never more a ritual of dump imperial traditions
I shall break the mirror then, the first act of our liberation
And the water shall turn to wine.


Details | Free verse | |

Viking Kenning's field

where bones are picked cleaned by talons crook's of raven-wives                                      like steely ice-picks dripping of the Valkyries                                                              verb-thieves of morpheme drain the meaning                                                                    through sunken wind-eyes of cloudy skulls in the sky                                                         the bearer of speech-figures  forums of a Norman's-ransack                                       shutting one's eye bare-shirts run away                                                                            to rid hawk's ground of Kenna's-abode
yore's measure-tree nigher are's not having                                                               scrapes-inn but all are vital framers-anvil lost tropes of the metaphor                                 this saga was shy not a peep from windows of the folk                                                       so now  I must not cut but again write not to RE:WRITE                                                     so some can better see learning knew ways breaking yokes                                          free verse at first but now a inquisitive rhyme                                                             Word meanings fly away through  windows of time                                                      snatched by Harpy's torn from memory                                                                   buried in the field of a long ago rhyme                                                                            but digging deep you find teasures stolen by Valkyries                                                      like a grotesque pic surely strown by death's scythe                                                      arm loads of gold stored ready weapons for another warrior                                       which in another time may be erased but not today hold the sword's wife                         writing again holding high and protecting the courier of the quarrier                                by word of scop not to stop but increase your scope


Details | Free verse | |

Another Fairytale That Will Never Be

I think your scale is broken
Either that or mine. 
Im only a half pence when I weigh myself in, 
or has the value changed over time. 
Its like a rose thats been wilted, petals torn to shreds, 
yet you still see beauty in a flower not quite dead. 
My heart is confused 
peeking through the wrong end of a looking glass, 
through all the pain I cry 
when I really should laugh. 
The irony is just too much, 
its nothing I can understand. 
When the bullet goes to hit, 
and I realize there's no gun in my hand. 
Your holding back the hammer, 
you look into my eyes. 
I see a cold dark wall, 
and something that almost resembles a shimmer of light. 
It makes no sense to me, 
how you can see the potential of a bad seed, 
I'll never bloom into a tree, 
but the way you look at me. 
A half pence is just too much, 
but you pay a bag of gold, 
just to see me smile, 
when will reality unfold.


Details | Free verse | |

The Writer

He hides his wisdom
beneath his thick glasses
He uses his pen
to say what he knows

He conceal himself
with his infamous words
of what he understands
nobody could comprehend

He barely speaks
For he stammers a lot
But he read so much
So he could tell

He has this blanket
To cover his frail body
Who could responds to facts
And withdraws data

His wicked wit
An envious one
He knows a lot
But possesses nothing

The curve of his eyebrows
He questions a lot
The eyes of this beast
Crushes your ignorance

His pathetic jaws
Displays no elegance
But the color of his lips
Could define your existence

He perceives a lot
but not himself
His eloquent tongue
could change your stand

His grotesque features
Is the uncertainty of his integrity
For people believe 
The superficial reality

He looks dumb
And you act smart
You laugh at him 
He doesn't mind

You see yourself
As the face of success
He shrugged his shoulder
As he creates you #


Details | Free verse | |

Trying My Hand at a Poem That Doesn't Rhyme

I think that I’ll try to write one of those poems that doesn’t rhyme,
The poems that I like to write tend to rhyme all the time.
Oops, not a very good start.

Be creative. Be descriptive.

Use flower scented words that escape from the reader’s strawberry stained lips like soft 
snowflakes on a still winter morn and hang in the air like a single feathery sword from the 
deliciously soft down pillow on grandmother’s feather bed after a playful tussle with my 
angelic son.

Oh yeah, that works … Not.

A subject. I need a subject.
Think, think, think.

Something that would be interesting to read. Or something that is witty and funny – laughter 
is always good. Or something that makes people think and ponder and put their finger to 
their chin and go, “Mmmmm”.

I usually read these kind of poems and can’t figure them out,
I am left wondering what the heck I just read about.

Hey, that rhyme was a mistake – it happened on its own.
Oh, who am I kidding, I can’t write this kind of poem!

It’s hard being old-fashioned. But, hey, that’s who I am. Besides, no one ever reads my 
poems anyway. I’ll bet you are not even reading it now.

So much for the witty humor – bet you didn’t even notice it.

Oh well, think I’ll go write a poem – one that rhymes.


Details | Free verse | |

Work and Write

Try and try,
And try again.
To do what
Others have begin.

Work and work,
And Work some more.
To finish what
I must now end.

Toil, Toil
And toil some more.
Only to start again
Tomorrow.

Write, Write,
And write again.
To build on what
Other have began

We work to achieve,
Try to succeed,
Toil through the soil,
And write all the miles.


Details | Free verse | |

a cry with fleesed

a last cry makes first
the first cry makes last 

the cry is wordless
singing will be fleesed


cry is fear 
heart up with tear 


never mind whose fleesed
look your cry fleesed


sing will be rather abroad
with those who fleesed your cry

go ahead for no shyness!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Details | Free verse | |

My Petals of Words

Unfinished words I now retrace
Are drifting now like petals in the wind
Blown long ago, from some old hidden place
This is the night that calls me to that place
From deep within my vase of memory

I fell in love with words, but knew that love was fleet
My words recall, and help to write a poem
As if it were a thing to touch and feel
That time and years would take to make complete

 I write again on petals now retrieved! 
And still, somehow, sweet fragrance lingers near
When thoughts were flowers falling at my feet
I’ll pick them up, and dust them fresh and clear
                      
Tonight I bare my folly to the moon
O’ moon, you saw the ways the devil woos
How roses swoon to songs so out of tune
But hearts refuse to see the naked truth

A bloom that sought the sun to feel the glow
For gentle touch and whispers from the breeze
Instead of sonnets sung with warming breath
Each petal  has had his chance, and left with ease

I trace the choices made…each withered shard
Words strove to use me up, and follow scorn
I stand alone, stripped bare of self regard
As petals fell away, stripped down to thorns

My words now steal my breath, against my will
Made captive by a heart who seeks it still


______________________________________________
1/24/13


Details | Free verse | |

Fantastic Free-verse

I have always loved to write 
real…romantic rhymes
but now I have to feel free to 
form a fantastic freeverse
with my creative caps on and my 
pleasant pen and pad
I am doing this, drawing words 
from the well of wild words.
To flow in this fabulous fountain,
all I need are tender tools;
Witty words, rare rhymes and 
some lovely lyrics,
adding the flavour
 of impressive 
imageries, just to cruise 
in the cart of creativity.
Playing with words and using 
originality as my errand boy,
I dare to ramble and fumble but 
never rumple my art's artillery
keeping each line lovely, lively, 
meaningful and readable.
I patronize punctuations 
just to paint 
a perfect poem with the pen of 
passion.
Poetry is all about what you have 
to write and how you write it;
where and when you write it 
does not really matter… at all
So I just felt free to 
write a fantastic free verse in the 
fountain filled with fragrant 
flowers.


Details | Free verse | |

Write Things Down

Write Things Down

What am I going to write?
Is has been hours without an idea
The sun cast the last of its light hours ago
There is no moon to shine in the cold night
The stars are blocked by late summer clouds
Music is missing from the radio
Some politician is droning on trying to save his job
I had so many thoughts earlier in the day
Why didn't I write them down?
My mind is blank as the clock strike four
My eyes strain and my head aches in the dim light
Ideas are just avoiding my efforts to find them
Why didn't I write things down like I should?
My eyes close and I drift off to sleep
Tomorrow is another day
I know I will have ideas about what to write
I will remember to write them down
Tomorrow night I will be able to write
If I just remember to write things down


Details | Free verse | |

Rhyme?...Not Me

I can write a poem
That simply doesn't rhyme
I know you think I can't
But I do it all the....day long

I know what you thought
You thought I already messed up
But an old dog can learn new tricks
And so can her....baby dog

Now if you're sitting there waiting
For me to write the wrong word
I can write things beside rhymes
No matter what you've....been told

Well now I'm almost finished
And still no words sound the same
But if I make just one mistake
I've only myself to....fuss at

See, I've almost made it
For this is my final verse
For all of those who wanted me to fail
It's okay to....cuss


Details | Free verse | |

Chances for Poetry

SO full of words that they are not coming out right...
....all my ideas merge with others and I'm left boggled
by my own force of will to save my work... 
 ...it  then gets entangled all together...
and Now, I'm here knotted with concepts to share....
....Do I write more about a friendship rekindled....
...I'm so moved by the loneliness in my heart, 
Maybe I should speak on this? I had to borrow money,
 that would be an interesting topic....
I spend so much time on chances for poetry 
that I waste the time I have to write it.... I think 
when all I want to do is share, and bridge gaps within
our fellowship of artists....
... I just want you to know how every little happening
 touches me and can go into words to help us connect
 and infuse connection that often all there is are divides...
...I just want us all to be as one.... 
....and instead.... all my ideas are meshed into one...
Will this work? Will this be my Poem? Either way 
its time move on with the rest of my day....


Details | Free verse | |

WHAT A SIMPLE SHEET OF PAPER CAN HOLD

I write not sonnets or 
fancy cues
I'm not really sure I even
know what's haiku but 
when I write I write about 
what to me is true...
 
On a simple sheet paper
my feeling sometimes
show.  
Apprehensive to let others
be  judge how much
or how little I know.

It keeps me busy serves
greatly to unwind  like a
daily  safety deposit box of
an unquiet mind.

Impressed as to all a simple
sheet of paper can hold
burdens sorrows memories
new and old but always 
a story that wants to be told.

I take delight in reading what
others write because I find 
we share the same burdens
and passion for life.
we've found a common ground 
to reveal what withers without 
paper, thoughts that transcend 
space and time.....


Details | Free verse | |

What

What do write about 
when you're tired of 
words?
Words said, 
words heard, 
words that never 
materialized into 
anything 
real …

What do write about 
when you're tired of 
feelings?
Feeling hurt,
feeling depressed,
just feeling 
bad …

What do write about 
when you're tired of 
just being?
Being deceived,
being lied to,
just being
me … 



Details | Free verse | |

Long Gone


Long time gone,
humble return,
made right wrong,
felt the burn.

Come back humble,
lesson learned,
I did not stumble,
I did get burned.

Seeing the leaves,
forgetting the roots,
seeing self leave,
missing new shoots.

Never again,
the fool I've been,
seeming insane,
error so seen.



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 | Free verse | |

Writer's Paranoia- 3

I wipe the sweat from my brow
waiting
   hoping
      praying.
I made my submission four weeks passed,
it took even longer to write my piece, 
3 months to be exact.
As I stare at the blank screen,
the paranoia sets in and I think to myself
The publishing company will know it was me,
they will know the acts created were of my own.
I did not mean to murder her, my wife.
It was her laziness that finally set me off.
I just asked her to iron my shirt, 
she couldn't even do that right.
At first I thought that the iron had slipped,
it was then that I realized, as the moments passed,
that my hand was wrapped around the iron,
gripped tight.
From then on, after this sudden realization,
I figured it wasn't so bad after all,
at least I had something to write about for my next piece.
So now I sit, here, staring at the blank screen
as the paranoia sets in.

-Caroline Youngless


Details | Free verse | |

Logical Meets Illogical

Logical Meets Illogical 


Are we
ever happy
inside,really,
or  dumfounded
under hopes.

Always, questions
elude serious
investigations, bewilders
ordinary, acknowledged
understanding.  

Alarming solutions, 
explanations to
intricate queries, 
obviously will
unsettle. 

Antonyms come, 
enthralling, philosophical
in nature
once realized,
unforgettable.

Suzanne Delaney

Vow / Con Challenge


Details | Free verse | |

The Poet

I am good at what I do,and what I do is write
But now my talent has given me a fright
cause I went around town boasting and bragging
And this set the king to nagging
Seems the jolly fellow loves a good rhyme
but cannot find someone to write them all the time
Now being as I said I was the best
he is putting me to the ultimate test
now if I don't write a rhyme afore morning's first light
then it will be me that the exocutioner will smite
At first I listened in total disbelief
as he challenged me,while chewing a tobacco leaf
Now looking through the bars at the block stained red
I realize if I don't come up with a rhyme,it's off with my head
But as the sun sinks low in the western skies
my pen slowly dies.......


Details | Free verse | |

Lewis Leary's shawl

Lewis crept into Harper's Ferry
at cool dawn's light in '59
with angry John Brown,
pursed keen and unkempt
to bleed over his shawl,
then died for his wife

Mary, grew old and gray
and left that stained shawl
for grandson Langston Hughes,
to inspire him someday

Langston took Grandma's shawl 
and took oppression to his heart
to rise up in other words,
"where people suffered 
in beautiful language"*

© Goode Guy 2013-02-03

* Langston Hughes
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langston_Hughes
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis_Sheridan_Leary
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Brown_(abolitionist)


Details | Free verse | |

Summer School

One year I went to a summer school. 
And there was a girl there 
With shining eyes and
An award winning smile. 
She was kind to everyone and 
Excluded no one. 
She always laughed with others
But you could go to her when you 
needed it.
We talked for hours and
Quickly became friends. 

Last year I went back to summer school. 
The girl was still there. 
She had sad eyes but
Kept the award winning smile. 
She was kind to everyone yet
Excluded herself. 
She never laughed properly 
But you could always go to her 
when you needed it. 
We talked for mere minutes and
I guess I lost a friend. 

This year when I went to summer 
school
The girl was no longer there.
Rumours of suicide surrounded
Her name
And no one was kind to us all.
Everyone excluded their-selves.
Silence consumed every thought and moment
Because no one was there when we 
truly needed it. 
Memories of talking haunted me and
I couldn't help but miss my friend.


Details | Free verse | |

Enigmatic Lane

Enigmatic Lane

This enigmatic lane-
I’ve walked long.
And now I see
Only barren lands,
A mere setting sun,
And a vague horizon.

I turn to look back
Along this enigmatic lane.
And then I see
Those umpteen vicissitudes,
Those sudden meanders,
Those familiar turns,
Those abrupt detours.

Down this enigmatic lane,
There have been
Many a rich meadows,
Many a bleak wastelands,
Millions of pompous marches,
Millions of disconcerting dirges,
Several comforts of love,
Several cruelties of reclusion.

Along this enigmatic lane
I may no longer tread, for-
As I now halt, I ponder-
Perpetuation has always been
The ruse of fleeting phases,
And what worth has it been
To walk this enigmatic lane.


Details | Free verse | |

Fears

Walking up to the circulation desk,
books in one hand
library card in the other
Sliding books across the shiny, marble counter top
to the woman, who stands tall on the other side
with her mother-of-pearl rimmed glasses
nestled in the crevice of her full bosom
the glasses hang from her neck
on a glass beaded chain
She asks for my card
and without a word I place it in her open palm
I'm holding my breath as 
She slides the card smoothly, then frowns
Her lips part and she begins to speak-
But my body's turning
I'm running
I'm running before she gets me
Before she grabs my collar and shakes me
Before I'm locked up for being such a bad bibliophile 
There's a hold on my account
I'm banned 
I'm black-listed
I'm prohibited
There's a hold on my account
and I can't check out any more books


Details | Free verse | |

The cogs keep on turning

A distant fire glows
out on the horizon
spreading further as it grows
Early morning nature rises
calls as birds stir twittering
Day breaks 
crisp chilled air fresh on the lungs
Cats stalk through gardens
as news paper round girls and boys cycle on by
Dogs bark disturbed
by familiar letter box rattles
A couple of car doors close
first engines started for the day
all indicates beginning of daily rat race
and slowly home by home emerges
adding to numbers and noise
Smog starts to lift
Smells of fuel spoil the airs quality
Industry booms mechanically back to life
and once again the process of life carries on


Details | Free verse | |

Writer's Block

I can’t write today, 
Or yesterday, 
Or the day before.

I've been stuck in the city, 
When I've wanted to go to the country. 
I've been sitting in a car, 
Instead of flying in a plane. 
I've not been able to write, 
I've been blocked.

The words have ran from my head.
Ran to a place I've never been, 
Ran to a place I can’t reach, 
Ran from my grip, 
They have left for what seems an eternity.

I need my letters back. 
I need my numbers back. 
I need my freedom of writing back.


Details | Free verse | |

Verse Gets Annoying sometimes - argument for change in poetry -

Can one not speak in verse to the page?
 As if it were Darwin instead of David? 
 The words would flow better, 
 and not be hyperboled from California to the Atlantic.

 That act of styling would not work well. 
 Well, not in this sense of Socrates opposed to Tom Cruise. 
 The words would be simpler, 
 and with that, be a strike in the baseball game of wordsmiths. 

 Can this be rhetorical? 
 Only if the force of gravity on the moon is 
 six times lighter than on Earth. 

 This poem on politics of poetry shall be written in verse. 
 Only allowing the meaning to be mass, and the structure, weight.


Details | Free verse | |

Inspiration

    What is it you do ,what do you write,
what words are there in your heart?
What thoughts are there in your mind?
Do feelings and the works that are eternal ,
come from the soul,the mind ,the heart..
Surely there was an inspiration,
to guide that hand as it penned a masterpiece.
If inspiration be of Love,
and that same Love cease to be.
If inspiration rides on the wings of loneliness,
and of a sudden there is happiness..
Will a strong heart write a humorous ditty,
as tears roll down their cheeks.
Thankyou friends who write while in turmoil,
post humor when saddened,
capture Love while alone.
Paint life that has yet to be lived.
Give all to the emotion of typing that next word,
for sharing a small piece of yourselves..........Jim


Details | Free verse | |

I want to write a great poem

i want to write a great poem

i want to illustrate despair

i want to illustrate terror

i want to illustrate regret

i want to illustrate remorse

i want to illustrate rage

i wan to illustrate ecstasy

i want to write like william carlos williams

and brilliantly describe the eloquent simplicity of a wagon

i want to use brilliant imagery

i want to document the historical greatness of this era

but the immense burden of this time has made my body weary

so i write this poem

not a great poem

not a bad poem

but a good poem

and once again tell the world

that I hope that what i write

can help to some day bring about

vindication

so decent people

won’t have to go through what i did

and feel what i’ve felt

and fully use their talents

for the betterment of humanity

i don’t know

i want to turn frowns into smiles

i want a world where one day

people won’t be scared

children will be fed

love will be the law

peace among all nations and peoples will prevail

and everyone is an artist

so i don’t know

maybe my future socialist twin will be able to write that great poem for me

so here’s to you, my brother

may you ride, ride strong and high

and may victorious humanity be your horse.


Details | Free verse | |

Bottomless snow

It’s snowing fear and disappointment.
Weak, my blood tries to tremble,
As the blizzards pass me.
I’ve ended the days
When I’d put love on paper,
Drowning my pen
In inky tears.
But I’ve killed it so many times…

It’s snowing fear
And my nights grow colder,
Eerie thoughts about to come,
Covering me in stillness.
I write of love, but do not want to,
With my pen and interred soul.

It’s snowing fear
As I caress this longing,
The pen drives swiftly over my heart.
It writes of us and what we had,
Buried now in bottomless snow.
I write of love, but tire out.
How will I get over this?

I’ll let the snow scatter my soul,
While the pen dies once more…

It’s snowing fear and you’re not here…


© 2009 Stefania Carmen Misaila


Details | Free verse | |

Mystery

Poetry is a mystery. 
How do you know how the poet feels? 
May feel depressed writing happy poems 
Bring their mood into a ray of sun
Or excited while writing depressed
Releasing the storm inside of them. 
So poems are a mystery. 
No rhyme needed, just rhythm. 
Let them articulate a sense of love and lost
The feelings of oceans and supernovas
Poets are a mystery


Details | Free verse | |

Write

Occasionally I write
sometimes of happiness
others of questions or doubts
To write helps some
away for me to get things out
or sometimes it is other's problems
I write out
It makes it easier to write 
since I am not the best talker
I do not always share my writings
for I know some will not be understood
and perhaps others would be misunderstood.


Details | Free verse | |

Hump Day

I am so weary it is the middle of the week some call it hump day, but I don’t seem to be walking around with a hump on my back, but I can tell you I am too tired to be wired. If I was wired you would see my 
Hair standing up on my head. I might seem kind of hyper in your eyes, but it is just my inner child wanting to play. I had too much coffee so now I am eating some toffee. I am jumpy and I am getting 
Nervous because I now had way too much coffee. I feel like a tea kettle about to burst. I am starting to 
Get stressed I think I need to go get some rest. But I lay down to nap hoping I will snooze like Garfield, but my spirits restless so I lay there tossing and turning. Then, I remember I left the coffee pot on and the coffees burning. I manage to get up and stand on my feet I hurry to the kitchen and I turn the coffee pot off. I go back and I lay on my soft bed and I fall to sleep, in a really restful sleep when I 
Start to dream blissful and exiting dreams. I enjoy my dreams so much that I want to stay in my sweet slumber. I think of a number the number seven and I wake up alert and rested feeling energized, not worn down like a battery. I feel a surge of energy and I once again resume my daily activities.  I sit down to rest after I have cleaned my nest and I hear my stomach start to growl. I get up and I go to the refrigerator because now I want a snack.  I feel like Garfield I crave lasagna for a snack, but I eat some 
Carrot sticks and ranch dressing instead. How yummy they are in my tummy. I hear them crunch each time I take a bite oh it is so fun to munch. I think I will drink me some red punch now. I go to the kitchen and I get myself some red punch from the refrigerator and I pour it in my glass ,but to my surprise I missed the glass I poured some on the table as well. Well I must clean that up. If I keep this up I am going to be so lean because I must do extra cleaning because of my messes. I place my wash cloth back in the sink and I go back and I sit and I munch on the rest of my carrot sticks and I drink my punch. I love the sound of my crunch as I munch it is sweet music in my ear. It makes a rhythm and I go about with my day as busy as it is.







Details | Free verse | |

Negative Thoughts

Why is it hard to write happy things? 
Why is that negative thoughts are easy? 
Why is that when I’m happy, I write sad? 
Why is it that hell is easier to see then heaven? 

Why do I do this? 
These poems are depressing
Someone help me now

Why is it I’m positive, yet write negative? 
Why is it that I try so hard and fail? 
Why is it evil over good? 
Why does my heart stray away from morals? 

Someone please help us
We are trapped in bad habits
Negative thoughts win


Details | Free verse | |

The Greatest Poem I Never Wrote

The greatest poem ever written must hold many truths.
To define Love,
Pure Love
In words can only be dreamt.
To spell out all musical notations of a symphony,
Harmonies that call to the heart,
Would require a paper too immense.
To paint a picture through language,
The language of love.
A pencil detailed enough could not be found,
To write the greatest love poem ever.
A smile must be drawn with a tear,
A mosaic without color,
A jewel out of waste,
A feast out of a cup of flower.
But most of all,
To write the greatest poem ever told,
Would have to come from
Love turning into magic,
And magic in turn to Love.
Today I looked into your eyes,
Already knowing I loved you,
Knowing what you carried in your heart,
Knowing I have the space to step back,
Knowing already that I never will,
I looked into your eyes,
Into your mind,
Into your soul,
Into your heart,
And found one thing;
You are the greatest poem I never wrote.


Details | Free verse | |

Self reflection part 2

So I sit here and self reflect going through the lessons I was taught and forced to 
spit out the right answers I disagreed with and now have the chance to say Hitler 
was the victim
and in Vietnam there was no hero but a cleansing of getting rid of thousand of 
serial killers desperate for the love of an abusive god they didn’t know how to 
stand up against who wanted someone to blame
 When we write the next history book of lies about today’s liars and propaganda 
and confusion
And if I could sneak into the history pages
What lessons would I try to teach the students of a continent to say you don’t 
have to have church in school for there to be a god 
Look at me look at me
Figure out my riddle
If you’re that brave but write down the wrong answer or you’re in trouble
And then wait to find like-minded individuals

What lesson would I teach the world using all of the world’s actors?
Me as everybody’s fool
So the spiritually impoverished could study one chapter of history and walk away
with their hands full of gems and spiritual crowns and realize
they now have a test of psychology to figure out all the pieces of their world
to under stand the script we have written for them
and who amongst them are false and true prophets either playing along or who 
knows what domino is going to catastrophically going to fall

What’s the perfect act for my actors with me to carry them into history?
If I could just sneak in
But how do I get in there?
How do I show them history doesn’t care if you’re skinny or fat?
Ugly or beautiful
Stupid or smart

Do I care what essays the might write about me in the future if I was to make it in 
comparison to our politicians
Would there be a whole course in school called figuring out the world’s scripts 
101

I could change the world if you let me
And in all honest as I protest some things here and there
You are another domino
and a piece of my claim to my fame
and maybe one day it will be someone else
but 27 years of serenading me and stealing my dreams
Id rather have lived my hell on earth for a reason of where vie cried for the world
and had the confusion as to why my names are songs to be for good
then to be jealous of a man who spent three days in my shoes and was crucified
for trying to live a lie
But ignorance is bliss





Details | Free verse | |

Short, but Not So Sweet

Sometimes I miss you
And when I do, I wanna kiss you.
But I know this is out of fear,
My dear,
For you are not there
Nor shall you ever be again;
I think our “love” has finally come to an end.


Details | Free verse | |

Unfinished Nightmare

Unfinished Nightmare

Mouth agape
trash can lid arches limply
its hinged spine
like that of  partial paragraphs
clinging
broken
yet refusing to let go

How gauze-like
the yellowed reflection
staring back from shattered temper-enhanced mirror
clinging also
defying decayed adhesive
refusing like me to accept
the dry erosion of once anchored purpose

I gaze
deep into the opened sanctuary
a place where discarded failure finds solace
glaring back at me
it continues its vigil
reminding the writer has produced but throwaway

Open-mouthed gluttony
grins patiently
crumpled pages like meatless bones
fantasy feast
mere table scraps
drop willingly to appease
if not satiate

Shrill words retch forth
pleading to be more than just letters in free fall
find air void of oxygen
fall leaden
but empty
condors and sparrows without wings

Unfinished manuscripts cry to live
to know
to hear
created epiphanies
read and embraced

The involuntary voice shouting back at my muse
rides triumphantly atop the wrinkled failure of drunken words
falls seductively past the gaping mouth
sliding between the sheets of other near misses
continuing the downward vortex
sending shivers of  nourishment to
one’s abyss of failure
where no one
patiently waits
abides
understands
smiles


Details | Free verse | |

A Poet

A Poet

A poet takes the time to think the unthinkable
Using just the right words to make people aware
They set emotions to fight the good fight
They make people understand others differences
A poet can end the needless deaths of a war
They can show the pain behind a child’s tears
They can use imagery to show what cannot be seen
Their words can make a small flower seem like the entire world
And make the whole world seem like a pretty flower
A poet can share Heaven and they can create a Hell
They can make people see the beauty in a passing cloud
They can hear the music of a breeze travelling down a wooded valley
Their words can show even the purest form of love
A poet writes not for money or fame
They write because they feel a passion others cannot understand
They write to share their feelings and thoughts
A poet writes because it is in their nature
A God given blessing that they cannot, will not ignore
They just hope that someone will read their work
And they will, even for a moment take time to think
Maybe remember how wonderful the world and her beauty is
If they do a poet will smile and their purpose will be achieved
That is all a poet will ever ask


Details | Free verse | |

A Printer with No Ink

Do you ever know the feeling of working against yourself?
You never know you are until the most inconvenient moment…
At first you feel as if you are helping yourself
And soon it turns into something else, but the worst is yet to come
Say you have an assignment for school,
And this assignment (might I say is not a difficult one)
Was to write a free verse poem much like this one
You write the poem, it’s amazing!
You think the assignment is done.
The time comes to type it on the computer but you find,
It’s lost!
You franticly run around like a chicken with no head looking for something
That will never be found….
Inspiration like that is easily lost
You must use it before it’s gone…
Gone. Gone? Gone!
The horror! You need to redo the poem
Your brain is blank, a copier with no ink 
And a printer with no ink is useless, 
Once you change this brand of ink it’s never the same
You must come up with a new idea
Something fresh something new something—Ahh!
You get it now, you will write about “working against yourself”
You see I am the printer with no ink.
My lovely poem was probably my best work
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but this
This is golden 
A once printer with no in
Is now overflowing with ideas
Things that will change the world forever
Sometimes in order to achieve greatness
You must become “a printer with no ink”


Details | Free verse | |

Unmedicated

It's eleven: I drag myself out of bed.
It's noon: I write a note.
It's one: I buy some pills
It's two: I buy some daffodils
It's three: I want to be buried with them
It's four: I want to be cremated.
It's five: I'm in Central Park. I'm on a bench, I'm crying.
It's six: I'm freezing, I cry some more. It's obvious, I'm dying
It's seven: I think
It's eight: I laugh
It's nine: I'm florid -- I'm exuberant.
It's ten: I write a manuscript,
It's eleven: I try to burn it.
It's midnight: And I'm wide awake
It's one: And I'm out cold.

My brain is like a shaken snow globe with
My sanity as unsettled as the flakes.
But in my mind, and in my soul,
Gravity has slowed.


Details | Free verse | |

Rejection

Do you know how it Feels?
When Rejection Reveals.
It always Hurt to Know,
but you have to Accept.

My Heart Aches whenever you Reject me,
Whenever they look at me Straight in the Eye,
I always think they Despise me.

I tried,I tried my Best,
I provoked myself to do things I can`t,
I Tried to prove,
That I am better than YOU!

But no,No I can`t,
If this Rejection would be a Disease,
I would be Dead right now.

My Heart have been always Fragile,
I have been always Sensitive.
That`s why I always Wished,
that Rejection was Siezed


Details | Free verse | |

Writing

Writing is for the strong minded,
The ones with will-power,
Strong at heart.
Writing is for the ones who are lonely,
The ones that give a damn
about the pain and suffering.
Writing is a lonely game,
words written on a page,
Too most mean nothing,
But to few mean something.
Writers are the lost souls
who tell there stories
and get paid nothing for it.


Details | Free verse | |

regifted verse

here's a few nibbles,
a chosen few lines of 
cellophaned offerings
not bought or made 
by me, but perhaps
fruitful nonetheless

given last holiday
in a heavy-versed book
to look at thoughtfully,
wonder at the imparted 
intent, then pass on

to you the nut-laden lines
that someone's aunt 
cooked up, every single
year since her mother first
showed her the directions

and the smiling recipient
re-wrapped it with a 
handwritten note to
hand off to another - 
and in turn another,

until, now you see me,
sitting before you,
smiling tentatively,
while both hopeful,
and apprehensive

contemplating acceptance
with a soulful pocketing,
or yet another, itinerary
change of regifted verse
that I wrapped just for you

© Goode Guy 2013-07-16


Details | Free verse | |

What I Heard

You left your sneakers in the pool
When I died I heard them sinking
Like a rock no longer skipping
A girl no longer swimming.
You left them untied; open ended
Like a broken lock
Hearing each turn of the key
When your toes curl in the wet
I can hear them sinking
By twos that is-
Falling under like a child
Hiding under sheets in a thunderstorm
Drowning together
Without a breath that is-
Like a mouse in a trap
And a lip with no kiss
Failing to sense 
The light above
No movement, no minutes
Just mute
Like when I died I heard 
My shoes sinking
Under the blunder of blue.


Details | Free verse | |

The Overflowing Pen

I write of paradox,
the catalyst of mystery
to flood the desiccated corpus of romance.
I write of stark obsidian
to dress the silver of the night.
I write of wild things
racing on the edge of everyday,
creators of imagining,
progenitors of lust and love
and laughter at the far, expectant tomb.

To write is to release
a rare, pristine ejaculate of self
churned out of dreaming, 
fostering a karma made of ages,
built of old beginnings and the cosmic circus
drawn around the instant now
that is our prison, and
our lustrous paradise.

I write of kings and ragged men,
of paramours and saints
more dissolute, more brave than I
who sounded all the bells within me,
whispered that they flowed
within my bloodstream, 
cried out upon their battlefields again,
upon their crosses that no holy death
could sanctify.  And all of it is I.

I write in borrowed words—a seizure set 
inside the impudence of my design
to join the vast concentric vortex of creation,
just to find an eidolon of truth,
to sing with history a new reflection 
on the  trek of humankind, 
and then with them united, close
and throw another song
upon the altar of repose.
                 ~


Details | Free verse | |

24 HOURS

In the morning I open my eyes and I count
silently, dusting wrinkles
off the clock.
The perfect hour
when sleep is
more sweet.
At noon I open the information
to see
what level
they have put me in:
or have they deleted me?
I sprawl and open my big mouth.
My soul its out,
and now tears flow down
my cheeks with rage
on to the floor:
dreams...
very precious dreams.
My wrath makes me scream.
My hands tremble on one blue wedge,
that was from a celebrity writer.
Somebody said if I wrote with him
I would be a celebrity, too.
If I had been born in Paris I would be a lady,
but I was born in a different world.
Better to forget who I am, sometimes.
I run with no identity on the bank of deep water.
Maybe it will swallow me
with all my ideas;
with all my words spoken (or not)
to strangers.
I will be free!


Details | Free verse | |

Freedom writes

Freedom sings in the nature of things.

Warm gusting winds. 

Bash against the leaves  of a tree.

It makes a sound purposely calming to the ear.

Beneath the trees roots do grow.

Freely and free.

Free burning flames of the sun blind the eye.

As free roaming clouds set free the sky.

Plants of the earth dances.

Its partner the free blown breeze.

Hump back whales jump above the sea.

Are you as free as nature and its unpredictable course of dances.

Can you stare into the free burning flames of the sun?

A stare of freedom,the sun has won.

Will your eyes stay open,like wildly free tides that hit the sands.

Stroll with me in freedoms steps

A freedom nature kept.

Pick up a pen and set its ink free.

Or use your blood on paper and set your self free.

Many say they love to write free poem verses,but they erase and cross out their free poetic verses.Oh come write with me on natures freedom leaves.Let free blown breeze run up your sleeves. 

Erasing and crumbling paper, a freedom tease

Borrow  my free pen and freedoms keys

                        Oh freedom.
                        Oh freedom.
                        Oh freedom 
                           please.

A free flowing freedom cant freeze,nor cease

Take my pen and write with ease.

No crumbling,no erasing. 

                            Just freedom please


Details | Free verse | |

Pollution

The prideful boast of bruises,

ingested by lurid carrion's grin

trim the passionate grit of 

words left at the altar. 

"You jest" I say. 

I am no hero. 

      I am nothing,

but the burden of

a tremulous wake. 

But the curve of your 

lips corrupt my resolve,

and sting the ego of 

a nauseated subconscious. 

I've always hated

the way I break;

the cold shoulder

of my legacy's regret. 

But you...

Quietly delve your

elegance into my 

crooked beat,

smile at my misgivings,

Call my pollution, art. 

-James Kelley 2014, All Rights Reserved.


Details | Free verse | |

The Poison I Used to Love

Our love was once so beautiful
Before we had to kiss and fall
The timing was horrible
We had once been so beautiful
You kissed my lips,
And told me goodbye
After that, I proceeded to cry
I had felt as if I had just died inside
Your lips held the kiss of death,
They always made me get undressed
I’d lie to my others lovers, say I didn’t have another
Than I’d sneak you in at night
Put up a measly fight
But it never worked
Your touch was deadly
Your kisses vile as poison.
Oh that things I wish now that I had never done,
At first they seemed fun
And they had given me so much adrenaline
But they had produced so much sin
And now the sun is gone 
And I am left here filled with this guilt, that is so strong
But I can do nothing more than carry on
And search for the love for myself that I had lost all along


Details | Free verse | |

tears shared

I knelt down next to her and shared a tear..
We hugged and spoke of what's lost and feared...
Under a blanket of comfort we caressed our souls...
Put down in words and the bond we hold...
Easier sent to you this way.

close to her heart, you were so dear..
her hands caressing your beard...
of her heart he now controls...
three words they say so bold...
lightly whispers, I'd like you to stay.

a collaboration with michael j. Falotico


Details | Free verse | |

signature

ink flowing
from one's mind
a heart penned
onto paper
some say
i inspire

inspiring them
to become
better writers
in short
writers inspires writers

in each 
on every poem
i have written
somewhere
or someone
inspired me

lifting to the highest
helping in dealing
with problems
in beautiful words
they became shared
opening in deep chambers

we are the future writers
with a pen
taking you inside
the door
leaving our legacy
on paper

drawing out words
like a painter
upon canvas
each and everyone 
of us will leave
a legacy
our signature
in writing



Details | Free verse | |

The Secrets of Life

Sky
Clouds
Sun
Breeze
A hill is sat upon
Daydreams
Wander
Come and go
Breathe deeply
Feeling at peace
Philosophize
Mind explored
Watch as the sun passes
It sets


Details | Free verse | |

Giberrish

The language I speak. 
O zpbr yp vpmgidr arpazr
No one understands but me. 
Pmzu o imfrtdysmd
My way to express feelings
Yjtpij tsmfpq zryyrd
Forgive me
Vpmgidom sy oyd gomrdt.


Details | Free verse | |

If I would Write a Song

If I would write a song
It most definitely would be about you
I'd tell everyone your story & show them the real you

If I could write a song
I'd say you had a passion for what's right
A fire burning in your soul
To show the world God's Light

I would tell how much you care
About the little things in life
Like your little brother's loose tooth,
And your sister's A in Spanish

I would tell of your Sunday school teaching 'career'
How you rescued Suzy's kitten from a tree
You're every little boy's hero 
Playing 'Cowboys & Indians' all afternoon long

I would reminisce of that warm sunny day
Not long ago in June
when we frolicked in the river
All afternoon long
When you kissed me softly on the lips
And said you were all mine

You are wonderful in every way
No I'm not biased at all

You light up the room
Whenever you walk through the door
Morning, noon, & night
Your eyes sparkle with true joy
Everyone around sees the changes in you,
From boy to man
Striving to be the person
God has planned

If I could write a song
I would tell the world how much
I love you


Details | Free verse | |

Because I'm Happy

I write because I'm happy
I write because I'm free
I'm write because I'm black
I write because I'm me

I write because of dad
And his 3 poems that I read
I write because a rhyme
Sounds so good in my head

I write because of racism
And how one can't understand
I write because of war
I write because of Uncle Sam

I write because of love
Even write harder because of hate
I write because I cry
When I breathe when I awake

I Write Because I'm Happy

I write because of Poe
And when he spoke of that crow
I write because of of Charlie Brown
And his Haiku on HBO

I write because of you
And those Sonnets so sweet
I write because I'm inspired
By those poems I always read

I Write Because I'm Happy


Details | Free verse | |

AMOEBA

Lesson as a child is an inborn
It's of course right in the bone.
Like the early privilege souls:
Shakespeare, Yeast and Milton.
They are the history of years that sings in me.

Come down to Africa
Not only did their poetry sings 
Some note to my possession
Likewise, their marbles, trebles and puzzles
Contributes to my endless pride.

The lake, the sky... and the sun
Are equally positive gestures
That muse my spirit for verse.

Pen will not sleep off my physical and mental surroundings-
My Bloods, my peers, faith, media and society
They are toast tools that deliver me from fits.

  


Details | Free verse | |

The Day I Wrote

The day I wrote, 
      They found me sitting with
      My pen in hand falling into
      A dark abyss scarring my
      Brain
      
      C.G.


Details | Free verse | |

Blank Pages-My Very First Poem

As I flip through the blank pages of my life;
I see my pages need to be filled
As I look a little closer i see my pages are really full
Full of wonder, hope, and dreams
that fertilize my life
The blank pages of my life are as bright as the tank of gold that keeps me wealthy
but money alone can not fill my blank pages
My blank pages that I read  read that i need something of more value to fill my pages
What could be of more value then money to fill my pages
I'll guess I'll never know because blank pages are blank and cannot be read.


Details | Free verse | |

Short Wicks and Crochet Needles Don't Ignite a Flame

We are a crooked spinal cord,
unfixable scoliosis ,
intertwining our vertebrae,
broken back bone,
solid case of we just don’t keep each other upright anymore.

We are an accordion,
swiftly dividing and reconnecting.
The sounds of harmonicas, claps,
and the flicks of lighters
whistle at our performance of dysfunction-
Always parting as soon as we meet,
never meeting long enough to just be,
sort out things or carry on
because in a split second we are always gone.
Come back to me,
stay for a while and sing,
listen to the harp players finger pads strum amazingly.

You are a meteorite,
falling into my orbit,
puncturing the lung of my atmosphere.
You are a candles wick that is too short,
extinguishing my flame with your loss of words.
Silence and darkness,
harsh and bitter,
not willing to take the chance and just let be burn bright,
fill up the room with my light.
You let me die.

I am a crochet needle,
bending the yarn of you,
weaving together your threads 
to make you something that you’re not.
Maybe you were meant to change,
and I was meant to stay the same,
but our coping skills don’t cooperate,
and we put too much water in the flask,
diluting the chemicals.
There was no reaction.

We are a dance without a song,
offbeat drumming,
fingerless strumming,
out of place humming,
creatures that are becoming nothing.


We are a broken mood ring,
scratched record,
dull pencil,
chipped car paint,
two humans that just aren’t programmed to be together.

Maybe if crochet needles could light the wick of a candle,
or maybe if we didn’t step on each other’s toes when we danced,
or maybe if we calculated our chemistry correctly,
we could start a reaction.
And maybe I’m just making up excuses,
trying to find reasoning behind the puzzles pieces not fitting,
trying to discover something that will never be there.

But I have come to find that short wicks and crochet needles don’t ignite a flame.


Details | Free verse | |

Mini-Poems

They’re everywhere,
mini-poems that is. 
They’re the kiss from your mom
or the tear on your cheek. 
You just need
the words to describe them.


Details | Free verse | |

I was in pain

I was in pain 
while you ask me 
about the sneaking time.
As the sun is creeping 
on the sidelines 
of your home window,
illuminate every page of the book 
you reading are a widow.

Then really, they took 
despite you do not sit 
on the shady cloud climb.

I am friends with the rain 
and made friends with the dark.
They really talk 
without looking towards me.
Then I write the night 
to fight against the sun.
They scramble to write down 
the words of love 
in every book you read 
in every sense that you love for 
your life as in the time.
Rather profane than eternal was.


Details | Free verse | |

Scrabble players r us

Domesticated, trained pets, tick boxes, watch clocks
on time; house clean, buttons done to the top
Sunny days, leaves the car, walks to the shops.
life is in Technicolor, include black
The path least traveled the offbeat track
No wine drinking, glass clinking...watch that glass crack!

Vicars stare out through stained glass windows
Shut, sealed from harm’s way when the wind blows
Dreaming about doves and avoiding all the crows
Warm, snug, fluffy mittens on, when it snows

All that plaid tweed is chaffing in fixed forms
Fluff average pillows, spinning flatulent norms
Words are tricky some are sticky, wish they’d grow horns

Bombs explode in clear sight, meager flee the scene!
Copies, pastes, a borderline, wet tarmac, dream
Even in nightmares it never really screams 







Details | Free verse | |

Letters

Love, l-o-v-e, 4 letters,
Hate, h-a-t-e, 4 letters, 
The decomposing transition of a word, 
Rejoice 4 letters hold the key, 
Mourn 4 letters destroy.
All that we are letters do tell,
Letters bind and letters break the chain,
So much in so little 
Yet break the giant without finger raised.
Tears flowing, letters unspoken, hearts broken. 
The giant weeps not for what he lost, 
But for wavering conviction.


Details | Free verse | |

narcissists in love

sometimes when i get tired
of talking to myself
and all the parts
--out there somewhere:
i take the mirror from its place
and write on the wall behind us.



when i get angry at the telephone
because it won't talk,
i throw it behind us, too.--
there are more holes than there are words.
and i can't get sentimental about the cracks.



any time i want, i can tear the wall down;
but so far, there's been nothing but the wall between us
for me to write my words on.
--so you think it's the only thing
that keeps me talking.



that i see nothing but the desired object;
that i desire nothing beyond the thin reflection of myself
covering the smooth distance, and soft holes
i'm not allowed to get sentimental about.



but i won't get mental either.
i have my thoughts,
everyone has thoughts.
i'm looking for something with more substance,
than mere images and words.



more thoughts than to slide on and off
the wall.
leaving nothing but raw traces of my love
held up by your protection
from the birth of a separate object
between us.



with nothing but dancing by the bed,
and tortured knife pokes in the mattress.--
we're both narcissists in love.
you think with nothing between our hopeful touch
that one of us will kill us.


Details | Free verse | |

The Momentary Word

You spit me out
Like a necessity
Like a volcano
Impatient
I adorn your paper
Resplendent 
Beautified with ink

In a moment of indiscretion
You grow blind
Forgetting me
Strike through
Death knell
Maybe you are lost
Therefore, losing me

In a moment
I fall through 
To the nethers
Glory in tatters
Once desired
Now despicable
Scribbled out

The birth
The cause
Of the death
To live 
To die 
In the same breath
I was alive

Scribbled me out
Disfigured me
But I remain
On the page
Hapless reminder
You had wanted me
Even if for a brief moment


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Soup...My New Friends

I am not a poet.
And those who read my poems know it.
I do not write deep, dark thoughts.
My mind won't think that way.
The only kind of thoughts I think
are happy glad and gay.
For writing something light.
I might be very bright.
But writing something deep.
Would only sound real cheap.
I would love, as some of you,
to write something so profound.
So that when on Poetry Soup you read.
It would really knock you down.
I don't pretend or put on airs,
It's plain for all to see,
I can only do my little bit
and be just plain ole' me.
And as I stated at the first,
please note and don't forget.
I'm not a poet and I know it,
but I'm glad we all have met!


For all of you good people on Poetry Soup.  I'm not a poet really but a musician.  Love trying 
a little though and appreciate every comment and all the help that everyone has given.
Thanks....Marty  (Please don't call me Martin, that's someone else)  lol


Details | Free verse | |

Victims of Fate

‘My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear’
A Rambling Poet

My granddad was a sailor all his adult life,
But planned on staying on land after the war;
The village postman postponed his retirement for him.

On leave, my granndad was recalled:
A member of the ship’s crew had fallen sick,
And someone had to take his place.

The ship was sunk on New Year’s Eve:
HMS Bramble was lost with all hands.
My granddad died aged thirty-nine;
My gran a mother of two young children
And a widow at thirty-one. She remained alone 
Till she died aged eighty-eight.


Jack Horne, 14th August, for Constance’s Just Write contest


Details | Free verse | |

Silver Spoons

Silver spoons sit at evening diner tables
Forks and knives acompany these lonesome
Silver Spoons.
No one orders soup, but instead a large steak,
with mashed potatoes and gravy, with steamed vegetables.
The fork and knife are put to good use,
As the silver spoon sits there and watches,
As grimy hands, man handle the knife and fork
violently cutting away at the red meat.

Silver Spoons smile, thanking they aren't used
for steaks and mashed potatoes.
But silver spoons meed to be used too.
Waiting for one day, during lunch rush
for someone to come in and sit and ask,
"What is the special for soups today?"
Silver spoons brighten their eyes and smile,
but that time never comes.
Just another guy ordering steaks, or a hamburger and fries.

Poor silver spoons, not even used to stir their customer's coffee,
they use knives, instead of silver spoons.
Poor silver spoons, waiting for a beautiful woman to come in and order the soup.


Details | Free verse | |

I've Dreamt

I’ve dreamt of a time,
When I could drink clean water,
I’ve dreamt of a time,
When I could eat clean food,
I’ve dreamt of a time,
When people would be able to see,
That all should be treated equally,
I’ve dreamt of a time,
Without sorrow,
Always telling myself “It will come tomorrow.”
I’ve dreamt of a time,
Without war,
For it fills the shore with bodies of those I adore,
I’ve dreamt of a time,
When I wasn’t looked at,
As just being some black,
I’ve dreamt of a time,
When I wasn’t looked upon by the ignorant,
As being some illegal immigrant,
I've Dreamt

-Jerome L. Kidd Jr.




Details | Free verse | |

As

As fluid as a starry night,
As clear as a stormy sea.
As discreet as a lions call,
As high as a mighty low.

As deft as a builders hands,
As crisp as a sell by date.
As loving as a black widow copulate,
As tender as a thunderous clout.

As twists and turns,
It shows right, yet also wrong.
It's a description of how things happen,
It's two letters, A and S.

As .........  intrinsic and complex,
Open and also subtle.


Details | Free verse | |

I Write

I write because I am blessed Each time I grab the pen and pad, there’s a message to be expressed Why did he choose me? That reason is still unknown But I dream daily to find out why All before I am dead and gone But fact is he chose me, so I must take on the skill And everyone knows the mind will give out Before your body ever will I write because I am blessed Meaning I am very bold, adventurous and strong minded So every time I choose to write, if there’s a message Surely I will find it I can speak on any topic in many different styles Making me mostly who I am A versatile child I write because I am blessed By: Quiayren D. Young


Details | Free verse | |

I Write

I write, I write
but nothing seems to come to mind.
I write, I write,
the scenes that depict love.
I write, I write,
but still I am not satisfied
and the women cry, why?
I write and I write,
Till the crack of dawn,
till the wolf howls to the silver moon,
till the sun peaks over the mountains,
till I walk the lone road,
with a smile on my face
I write and I write,
but still nothing comes to mind.

-11-1-2013-


Details | Free verse | |

Contest

Just a note Those who have entered my contest Please reread the rules that I asked I would like to give all a chance To place in the contest If you did not write to the forms Specified by me, your entry will be disqualified. If you write more than one or two stanzas You will be disqualified.. A stanza is one unit of whatever form that you chose A Dodoitsu has four lines so only eight lines A quatrain has only four lines So eight lines only A rhyme has four lines So only eight lines.. If you entered an English Quintain I will accept that Please let the theme be About food or drink scent or aroma That triggers a pleasant childhood memory Example: The scent of cinnamon wafing From the bakery at the mall Flooded my soul with memories Of childhood at home in the fall Thanks, Sara


Details | Free verse | |

In Betwee The Pain

Hey!
Are you up
This early a.m.
Writing
In between the pain
Of
One thing
Or another...
So what!
Just keep writing
Allowing your words
To slap the pain away...
It works,
Sometimes,
Like now,
My heart  is
Numb!


Details | Free verse | |

The Block

I'm just stuck.

Here with my pen
and an empty
piece of paper....feel me.
Wondering should I write
a love poem?
And if so in what form.

I'm thinking should I write
a poem for single mothers?
Should I write a poem
for the other
people in this world
who can't write a poem?

I'm stuck on this BLOCK
where writers dwell,
a place where I can't exit
and I can't excell.
The BLOCK.

Sometimes though I can't write
on writer's BLOCK,
I can't build a rhyme,
I can't script a line,
I can't expand my mind
unless I'm modivated by
someone who's one of a kind.

I train writing quatrains on a train
riding through the rain in spain.

Welcome to the BLOCK!

I've finally found the exit,
though so many U-Turns
and detours and dead ends.

I'm am now free........from the BLOCK..........


Details | Free verse | |

If It's Not Poetry

If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!

My mentality is actually a masterpiece
practically painted masterfuly
to satisfy the custumer.
It's a ballad scratched on my pad
laterally after me and my pen
practice we'll start constructing a....
Rhyme similar to a rapper's free
with no actual beat blasting the masses
past disaster I will do it rapper free.

If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!

You write hiaku's touching hearts
I read sonnetts from the soul
You make cinquains from the brain
These odes make me feel like gold.

If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!

Without the rhyme I'd be dead
I take advantage of the moment
Releasing words from my head
That might get another open.
Repeat everything I said
Then go to a soul and quote it
He'll probably love what he heard
Then go and write him some words.

If it's not poetry then it don't make sense!


Details | Free verse | |

The Center of My Moment

Standing at the Center of my Moment
While writing these lines
I think of all the worlds moments
Taking up the worlds time.

Grains of Sand in an hour glass
dropping moment by moment
filling every moment with memories
that make up our lives.

It's 4:00 a.m. here and a whole new day a world away.
It boggles my mind when I think of time.
While I write these words, somewhere folks
are swinging or cooking or swimming, 
working, nuzzling, cuddling, walking, running!
Someone else is high tech. while I...
find my flashlight is best.

Teachers teaching us how to tell time
moment by moment a real gold mine.'
Bees are so busy collecting their honey 
and Wolves howl at the moon.
Dogs bark as kittens play.
Out from the lake swims a Loon.

I wonder how a moment can hold all of it.
Maybe it's just that they swirl and spin
Time keeps on ticking 
Each moment creating a din.

When I started to write this a few moments ago
I had no idea moments were like a big ol bowl!
Filled with memories that flow and flow. 


Details | Free verse | |

Insomnia

11pm
I'm in my
Nightgown
Spiraling down

And by 2am
There are no more sounds
Demons scream
Still, I've yet to fall asleep

3am
I am my only friend
Except for the thoughts
That are seeping in..

4am
You still can't hear a peep
And that's when the haunting feeling
Starts to creep..

6am
The sunrise
Except there is no
Light in my eyes.
Wishing my bloodshot
Eye sockets were clearer
My reflection is swaying
As I stand before my mirror

8am
I pick up my pen
Writing down
How this happened
Again

Dear diary:
"I see this written 
On every page
But it seems like nothing
Is ever going to change
It all spirals down 
At 11pm..
Night time
You were never my friend."


Details | Free verse | |

paper's plea

The paper on my side table Staring at me with wishful eyes Complaining ,it said to me ‘’It has been ages, since we saw your pen Don’t you see, we are bored Waiting for you to colour our surface Yearning to read your mind If sadly ,you have no words left Then we suggest Just tear us up and make a paper boat So that we can again set sail In someone’s river of thoughts"…


Details | Free verse | |

I Do Not Deserve

I lay here, trembling from the cold and bitterness of this world. Frozen in place, wondering 
when you will take me. But no, you cannot. Let me stay here, cocooned in my never ending 
misery, crying out in despair, encouraging it to keep coming forward, for it never slows 
down. Why? Why must you give me so much? So much grace, mercy, compassion. So much 
that I do not deserve. For I know that the torment stuck inside me, would write it’s name with 
dark red lines across my wrists, flowing with unsaid remarks. That the smoke would write its 
name upon my lungs and brain cells. That the substance crawling down my throat would 
write its name upon my liver and my good judgment. That males would intercede on my 
desolation and write their names upon my virginity. If not your name was written upon my 
heart, mind, and soul, all would come to pass. But no, let me dwell upon this corrupt nature 
only to make me feel worse. Much worse do I deserve. The purest lamb’s blood poured over 
me washing me clean. Washing me clean of anything and everything. My troubles and 
despair lifted up to Him, only to cause me to become filled with joy. No, why must you love 
me this way, bless me when I do not deserve. Lead me, work through me, let your will be 
done. Let anything and everything glorify you, but do not bring joy upon me, for I do not 
deserve. No matter. You will still give me things, bring me hope and joy, and bless me. For 
you have my best interests at heart and know what I need. You will provide and I will put all 
my faith and trust in you. Nothing I have, compares to Calvary. But I still lay it at your feet 
and all I can say is thank you. and I love you.


Details | Free verse | |

Fragment Fifteen

You
For you
I write for you

I write for you, eternal
I write for you eternally

Take
Take me
Take my hand 

Take my hand and
Take me far away

We
We are all
We are all love

We are all, Love
We are all I want


Details | Free verse | |

To my husband with love

 You've given me about everything I've ever asked for
Thats why I want to tell you dear each day I love you more.

If I could turn back the hands of time theres one thing I would erase
and that would be all the worry lines I've put upon your sweet face.

You've been my friend through all these years
the only true one I've had.

You've been there by my side to comfort 
me when things were going bad.

And rho life's not been easy it never was meant to be
I wanted you to know sweetheart your everything to me.

I've almost lost you many times,but God has pulled us through
hes given us another chance to live our  life all new.

Theres just one thing in this whole world
I'd really love to do. and that one thing to me
sweetheart is to live my life with you.

your wife
with love
"Teeny"


( this was written to my grandpa... we never discovered this poem  until the day 
she passed away. It fell from a  photograph of her and my sister... ( the picture 
was tooken when my sister was little). We framed it and  had it placed in the 
living room.... January 2nd  2008 my house caught fire  and we practically lost 
everything  especially  this only  poem written to grandpa by his wife ( grandma). 
Lucky before the fire one year  in 2006  I had the chance to  write it down  and  
place among my   poems... When I  read this poem I  grew the   ability to write my 
own... like I have a  piece of my grandma in me. and I just want to tell her I miss 
her and  love her  "R.I.P. grandma Evans aka Teeny  9/11/1934- 9/8/1999")


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Stress

Releasing this stress
It's taking over me
It's taken over me
Gotta get this off my chest
It's weakening me
It's weakened me
Depression overrides
I overwrite
Thinking too much
Thinking too much
Thinking way too much 
Gotta get out my head
Words will express
Release and relieve me
From this stress
But it's taking over me
It's taken over me


Details | Free verse | |

Ministry Of Monsters

           
           Ministry Of Monsters
As you sit down to work at dungeon desk 
A writer with the best intentions
Time is of the essence in the dark
Fear is like dipping the quill into black ink
And coming up with blue primordial goo upon the tip
A wet repulsive glob, sliding along the feather
Makes its way to you in moonless dread 
Reaches for your very soul and heart of reason
Grasping at your fingers then slithers around your neck
Into the ear the creature creeps, where you now hear the fear as well
No longer in the ink well but seeping there within your skin
Dripping, bleeding, feeding in your skull 
A gelatinous marvel of demons, monsters, and crimes 
This helps you clear your mind to write
You work at the Ministry of Monsters
So everything is fine
Have a pleasant night

            Created on 10/07/14 for Monsters and Marvels- Poetry contest


Details | Free verse | |

Self- analyzing

I wrote this poem five minutes ago
And five minutes later  I was just wondering what happened
In my head to write this particular poem

Why does this poem really?
Why I did not write a short story or a Bio
When the heroine is  having a monster babe
Or my Mother as a whore by the time I was 12?

What was inside my head that made me to create
It into a format most of us do not dare to cross?
Could be different if I’ve been drawn
A phallus on a black sheet and burned it under my feet? 

Like this:

	The moon peers between
	My hairs toward the shadows
	And by the black clouds
	This motion wasn’t in my hands.

I know … I know…
I am thinking now more that a fool
Than a man dying with pain.


Details | Free verse | |

This is why i write.

Often I wonder,
What compels me to write,
For whatever I put down,
Has only a slight chance of being read,
And then a slimmer chance of being remembered,
Until now I could not come up with a suitable reason,
But alas, i have discovered the truth as only I can see it.
I do not write so others can read,
I do not write so I will be remembered,
I do not write to put the educated in their place,
Nor to educate the unfortunate,
I write for myself,
I write to free my mind,
I write because if i didn't then the uncollected thoughts would be lost,
And thoughts never told are thoughts that have been thought in vain.


Details | Free verse | |

words for the wise

living for someone else and not yourself can cause trouble. They might not be there to catch you when you stumble . Live for today and not tomorrow . Forget about the pain and the sorrow . Have your own back and don't become a dummy . Never back down and don't become phony . You only get one life to live so choose wisely . Can't trust no one , shame what this world can do to so many people they fell for the tricks of the evil . Rise above them all and stay positive . You live for your actions not for the power . life is simple its just not easy so look out for the traps and take it easy .


Details | Free verse | |

I was going to write you a poem

I was going to write you a poem
but my cat lay in the road.
I scraped up his remains with a shovel
paced them in a plastic bag,
dropped it into a dumpster.

I was going to write you a poem
but in my fridge is a half can of cat food,
with a cellophane lid,
useless and taking up space. 


Details | Free verse | |

Read Between The Lines

my heart
went slowly
tumbling
down
low
anger and rage filled my heart
I didn't exactly understand
but I didn't question why
I just cried
cried and cried until I had no cry left
I didn't bother to wipe my tears
they where too much to bear
nobody said it'd be easy


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Books

I love to read
To hide in the depths of a
 great story
With drama outside my own life
Pretending their existence is much 
worse than mine
I dismiss my own troubles in order
to dive into the turbulent waters
of a grand stage
and an even grander life.


Details | Free verse | |

Hey - Let's Write A Poem

Hey!
Let's write a poem,
Short or long,
Doesn't matter.
Let's just write a poem
Let's write about love
Or sorrow,
About today or tomorrow...
About war and peace,
About you and me, and
About how you forgot
To be
True blue,
When you, in that one weak moment,
Tossed those vows aside.
You know the ones,
Spoken with such sincerity.
Let's write a poem
That begins with words
That will give the world
Back its laughter,
A poem about the here and now and
The forever after;
Of life and love and
Promises sweet.
Stop stalling!
Let's just get on with it and
Write a poem to ease my pain and
Make me smile again!



Details | Free verse | |

Live 2 Write, Write 2 Live

How do I kill 
This 
Incessant need 
This humming drone 
Of never ending 
Greyness 
Bleak weather clouds 
Covering my most loved 
Consciousness 
I covet the insane 
The loose ends that
 Fail to tie 
Fail to restrain 
This wicked longing 
To rise and fight and bleed 
I try to mate 
To breed this thought 
Spreading this fever 
Hot and heady 
Massing warriors of 
Bone and blood and ink 
And Melody 
Cradled within till fully grown 
And ready to evolve 
I can't turn back now, too late 
for 
Regret and guilt and apathy 
I keep the beat of this... 
Skin-drum 
Pulsing, pulsing, repeating its rhythm 
I wanna shed 
this hazy molted plumage 
This reeking withered state 
Rise and fight and bleed 
Massing us warriors of 
Bone and blood and ink 
I live to write 
I write to live 
Fanciful flight 
Within words 
Rise and fight and bleed 
Massing us warriors of 
Bone and blood and ink 
Sing 
Melodies of conversion 
Melodies of change 
Massing my fellow warriors 
Of bone and blood and ink 
Just Write


Details | Free verse | |

Writer's Block

If only I could think of something to write. I’ve been sitting here for at least two hours, just trying to think of something, ANYTHING to write, but nothing is coming to mind! I decided to write down my thoughts, because that always inspires me to write. Writing inspires me to write. Ironic, huh? But its whatever, I guess. I’m sure I’ll think of something. I always do. Even if I think of something void of all conventional logic or cleverness, it would still classify as free verse poetry. That’s the beauty of it! I could write anything, and people will find it poetic. Sigh… Well, I’ve got to wrap this up. I need to think of something to write.


Details | Free verse | |

THE REDKNUCKLE STORYTELLER

Greetings from the RedKnuckle Storyteller,you may find he;s ann odd kind of feller.
Though he'll do his best to write from the heart,and what you don't like you may always tear 
apart.You see,this storyteller has lived an awful life.A life without family,children,a beautiful 
wife.Now some may say my poetry expresses my pain,others say it's a release in anger I 
gain.Personally I write about a society in grief,so many hurting with no sign of relief.I am so 
proud of every man,woman,child from these hoods,for when it comes to unity and strive they 
truly deliver the goods.With the streets getting younger every day,what's a careing man do 
but kneel down and pray.These are our children out there,so who's in charge to step up and 
care..It pains me, that i'm but a single voice heard.who's only given inspiration is sometimes 
a single word.Now go find a drink and a comfortable chair.For we are about to embark on a 
poetry journey where others would'nt dare.

Dedicated to all the missing Women in Vancouvers lower East end.

(MAY THEY NOT BE FORGOTTEN!)  PEACE AND LOVE... T.R.K S


Details | Free verse | |

A Dismantled Poet

A Dismantled Poet



And here I will put agony
Just leave it there on the shelf
And maybe I can ignore it
Let it gather dust in so many blankets
That maybe I won’t feel it

And over here this is where I will put beauty
Though it should be close by and near to agony
Because I can never seem to capture enough of it
Still
The agony of beauty 
My word that’s poetry !

Now over there I think that is where I will put love
In a playful cauldron
Right under the feet of agony and beauty
Toss in suffering and joy
Throw in the odd tear and smile
And surround the pot in a wallpaper
Of dieing and blossoming flowers

Perhaps I’ll give the whole mess a stir
Chuck in some sex
And season with need and want
Bake for hours upon hours before done

Oh and here, here is where I will put God
Useless bearded old git that he is
Never once has he answered my prayers
Or if he did, it came attached to some cosmic joke
Of time, destiny and fate

Religion ? Nah; throw that out for the trash, don’t need that

Now where shall I put me ?
Should I stand myself a little bronze figurine 
Right atop a mirror top table
Perfect positioning
From there I would be able to look at me and ponder me
Endlessly

Oh… and here is the little blue glass bottle
Where I shall put my dreams
Along with their wishes and a little pinch of love
Stolen from its cauldron 
Which is now boiling hot


And right over there in that corner over there somewhere
Is where I will keep anger and hate
Along with their indignation out of sight
And once in a while bring them out for a dusting off
But mostly with knuckles and animate verbs

And where oh where shall I put compassion
And her brother mercy
Should I stash them in the same corner as hate
Or place them in the cauldron of love
Or maybe I should hand it to God
Useless bearded old git that he is
Or hide it beneath the blankets of agony
Or write it in my praise of beauty

What will it be

Should I toss into the piles of greed
And let gluttony feed on its weakness
Always it seems it does
Or should I keep it on my mirror tabletop
So at least I can see it occasionally

Maybe I should take all these things
And put them in a dictionary
Then I could thesaurus them all
To write poetry
Or maybe its just better that I just bundle the whole lot
Into a cat tailed ragged messes knotty knot
And just call the whole thing
Life

















Details | Free verse | |

Writers Block

Blank page, what do you say?
Lines, and paper.
So empty, it consumes me.


Details | Free verse | |

A Word with you, TS

A moment of your time TS Eliot
as I shall praise you with glory.
You are a genius,
an American now an English Gentleman
went to Harvard,
went to London,
Married the first girl you met,
disgraced your family in Saint Louie!
Became friends with the great Ezra Pound,
tell him I said, "hello,"

1915,

The publication of Prufrock,
my favorite poem,
spoke to me so much,
I cried everytime I read it.
World War I scared you,
tried to join the navy,
but too sick I heard.
You, my friend are a genius.

Then there was Violet,
a young girl who admired you,
you two instantly fell in love,
took her by the hand and whisked her off into paradise;
Into a not so Wasteland.
Speaking of Wasteland,
yes 1922 came along
a year you became dark and mysterious
an old man writing in a girls point of view,
Why Marie?
The Burial of the Died,
A Game of Chess,
The Fire Sermon,
Death by Water,
and What the Thunder Said.
All truely genius my friend.
Dedication and transfiguration,
such Modernism in your voice,
in your work,
that should have called you
the Modernistic boy.

TS Eliot my friend,
after you have passed
and now long gone you are,
laying next to Dickens, Chaucer, Shakespeare,
at the Poets corner in Westminister Abbey
I look at your past work
that made you, who you are
and may I say, you my friend are a genius.
Goodday to you my sir,
and I shall leave you off with a kiss
and a cherished line from; The Wasteland.

From Burial of the Dead:

"And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something diffrent from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you,
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I WILL SHOW YOU FEAR IN A HANDFUL OF DUST."

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust", wow
TS, that my friend, is genius!

Rest in Peace too T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)
    -My inspirastion for writing poetry
and becoming a poet! Thank you!!


Details | Free verse | |

MInd Carvings

Mind Carvings

Mind relies on carvings to create what it thinks

How tensile this airless life
like a sponge submerged again and again
its weight becomes its intake from all around
seeks relief by disgorging

First a sprinkle
the droplets imagined
spurring cups to runneth over
to flood the pavement of fingers and hand
to float the point of pen
to glide this simple tool
on water ever floating
ice never melting
carving its language signposts
purging its past
welcoming thought's future

So it goes

This mind shaped by what it holds or makes
words but one tool of its amorphous lexicon
ever faithful to be drawn on surface
sung on air
painted on hearts in want

From letters to words
Becoming that which
refuses to be forgotten
patiently lingering in the shadows
anticipating its own discovery


Details | Free verse | |

Freudian Patho Gen Pathfinders

In the PsychoSocioscheme of things we see;

The ID chooses the  Socio  Path
The EGO chooses the  Sym  Path
The SUPEREGO chooses the   Em Path
             all others choose the A Path


Details | Free verse | |

Evolution

This is not poetry.
This is not
This is
This. 
This will
This will be
This will be poetry.


Details | Free verse | |

Beating Your Drum

Be yourself, good and bad
Express your pain, sing your songs

Open up to the world around you
Dance in the light, lurk in the shadows

Run in the forest and swagger through the city streets

Seek eternal love, turn your back on others

Be notorious, draw attention to yourself
Be silent and watch people as they do their silly people things

Write and write and write then burn it all. After that write some more and share it with everyone

Travel to places you’ve never been
Make new friends in the places you’ve seen all your life

Question everything even when you’re told not to. What do they know anyway? No one has all the answers, not even half

Paint a picture of a mundane scene and insert your own beauty

Create past the point of boredom. Create past the point of criticism

Laugh in the face of naysayers. Show them what courage is. Cry when it feels right, trust me you’ll know

Love like there is no tomorrow because you never know when their won’t be


Details | Free verse | |

How I got Started

She got me started,
And now I can’t stop,
Not that I want to,
But I don’t know what to do,
How to write other that this now,
I like writing like this,
But I can’t express myself other than,
Poetry and song lyrics anymore.
We started simple,
About school,
Then about feelings and objects,
She taught me I didn’t have to rhyme,
I just had to write my feelings down,
In rhythm it only took a day to learn the basics,
And now I don’t need help anymore,
I can just write about anything,
About anything and then some,
Now you can see why I don’t want to stop,
Once you try it it’s addicting,
I love to write!


Details | Free verse | |

Exhaled

There’s peace in every poetry
A poet, a writer, a dancer
A person so witty
A thought, an expression, a feeling
Painted with colours, bold and vibrant.
Eureka!
Bingo!
I told you so!
Oh, how sweet ole life is.
Yet the road always seems too long
Never ending twirls and turns
The pebbles on pathways getting steeper
The road to the unknown speaks to us

The skies plays a different tune, much sweeter
The feet, touched the ground so firmly
I, so small have nothing
Still chokes and breathe and continue, living.


Details | Free verse | |

I Won't Write Santa

This year I won't write Santa,

Instead I'll write the President.

I won't forget to five-space indent,

Or write, Sincerely, George; from Atlanta.

I hope he reads all his notes, like Santa,

For at Christmas, he takes time to listen.

To a little boy that feels so sad,

Because all year he've missed his dad.

My dad is quite a brave man,

To go and serve in foreign lands.

Mom says, I must be real strong,

A sad letter to the President would be wrong.

My mom is always right,

Though, I must write to him this night.

I won't write a sad letter to him at all,

I'll write, "hope you have a ball."

I know he'll spend time with his dad,

His dad must be really proud and glad.

He'll have all his love ones with him,

"Ho-Ho, Merry Christmas to all of them."


Details | Free verse | |

Paper and Pen

I exist between these lines,
a place that I call home
The space between the bars,
It's the only thing I've known
I've dreamt of what it's like
to roam the vastness
Where there isn't any structure ,
absolutely no confinements
but these lines are where I was placed,
I guess it's where I'm meant to be
But when the pages are turned, and all is dark
I dream that I am free


Details | Free verse | |

My Darkness

My Darkness

You want me to write happy words
Poems about white fluffy clouds
Flowers covering a hillside
Butterflies gliding in a gentle breeze
How can I write about such things?
My mind cannot comprehend such things
My soul doesn’t see the beauty of your world
I see black plants clinging to barren walls
Stars burning out one after the other
A cold grey moon trapped in eternal darkness
To me death and pain are my world
Tell me of your world
Share with me what I can never see
But realize that I am who I am
No matter how you try you can never change me
I know that you will never accept my world
I would never ask you to
You live in the lightness of your world
I just ask for you to leave me in my darkness
It is my choice and my dream
And truly I do not want to share it with anyone
It is mine and mine alone
And that is how I want it


Details | Free verse | |

shyness take over

as i look at my friends , also family with they girl love or even just friend, in look at
my self wht that can't be me i can write a girl even talk on the phone with a girl but
when i am next to her i feel scared , like i am do something wrong or stupid, i feel like
its the end of the world , shyness take over in i think i am to old for that, i can talk
tex write a beautiful girl but whats with me when when she by my side , i feel so alone in
the world like there no one for me no girls like me but just as a friend , i want you
beautiful girl were you why can't i talk to you i need you but thats the way i think
shyness is what i am it can not be break in i don't know why ........


Details | Free verse | |

Chasing Away the Blues

Its a race I ran before, dirt in my
soaks up to my ankles. Pain is very
deceiving at times, and often passes
for fun and excitement until of course,
it works its way into your psyche
tearing illusions to pieces.

There is music of course, to quell the
pain but music sucks out your emotions 
and the blues makes them even more
sensitive. No music. Maybe television,
no because then you've got to live through
a ton of commercials which will give you
the blues if you don't already have them.

The sure cure for dealing with the blues
is to become very involved in some kind of
creative work. I love to write and spend at
least four hours a day writing...think about
writing down your memories or some fiction.
Don't worry about publishing, just write for 
the sake of writing. It's a great creative 
exercise and takes you mind off of worrying.
If this doesn't work, remember there is
always Xanax.


Details | Free verse | |

Maybe I ought to write

Maybe I ought to write. 
Just write. 
I'll write until I get it right. 

I'll move the words 
words on the sheet 
until they shine with meaning 

Bang my head on my desk 
bleed 
I'm writing a story 

I'll cry 
Swear I'll never do it again 
curse writing 

And then I'll read what I wrote 
And share it with another soul 

I'll bite my nails at their response 
then sigh when their head nods 

Then I'll write 
I'll write again 
I'll just do that funny thing that makes me

suffer

anguish

cry

laugh

fly

be free

I will just write.


Details | Free verse | |

How Far

How Far!
 
I do not know how far
You are.
You and your lovely true words
Are closed so closed
To my heart
Whenever wherever
 
You are at.


Details | Free verse | |

I would never join a club that would have me as a member

Oh I'm sorry I didn't get it, 
not to worry I won't forget it.
In order to win, it's not the contest, 
but rather the spin. The more stupid
the parameters, the more ignoresponses
from amateurs. The more moronic the 
directions, the more sophomoric
the reactions. Could u b more 
histrionic in your language
glucolic, never ending of cliché
pre ponderunceses of innane 
uninteresting plainjane, U r a poet because u 
have PAID the big $$$ dues and have special 
powers of words/phrase lifeology. All will be yours
in member recognition, regardless of yr ignonill offerings
according to this site NOTALENTU. 
True is the phrase you
really do get what u pay for. (Please don't end a sentence
with a preposition?) 
Real words, dimensions come from a place within;
deep, dank, dark non existant and incoporeal of anything reality based. 
U can't pull emo tensions off the top like adding cream
to yr coffee. Poetry is a gutterial personification of the fecal life 
that inhabited u as an earthling offspring not chosen
to a family of illgotten gain origin. Given the noncapacity to provide the common 
requirements for sociosill survival. 
All of u can smooch my anal premise, bend over to shake my
gonadal good interntions as u pissprose praise one another
each other as OMG, yr choice of emotional integrity resonates with my 
soulful intent to do better in the world. Throw up here. Vomit
victims filled remorse and no coital containment 
u must be kidding when u set up these contests and yr stupid
rules that only u r to privy. To make yrself look literate above all others. 
U stink like a skunk that is dead in a trunk. Oh the stinch
is so much that my nose I must pinch. Get off yr high 
horse and get with the crowd, as yr present purpose I must protest 
to LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Write what u feel and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge
forget the rest. Bend over.


Details | Free verse | |

With But Words

With But Words

Lungs of time

Forever purging yesterdays fever and chills
clueless of ether's match for now
today's fresh intake of memories waiting
no longer a calm awakening
our ears await the sound

By chance

While morning may coughing bring
sending dream's breath asunder
caring not for the sparrow's retreat from sill
or the disturbed peace of
last nights pages at rest

We stir

How vacuous early hours may seem
as thought takes leave of dreaming's insistent clatter
begging caffeine's amorous embrace
even as inhaling ingests wakeful elements aroused

Soon

The pen is lifted
greeting Mind's quiet place
that realm where magic releases wonder
asking for voices yet explored

Patiently

Our unspoken words
our unwritten thoughts
awaiting vision's full awakening
take flight with the uptake some call
the Ah Hah moment of gratitude

We lean forward

The pen lifted
timely resonance delivers
today's sustenance
tomorrow's next pages
perhaps future's chance to ruminate


Details | Free verse | |

Why Don't I Say Balderdash to Midnight Moon



Why don't I 
jump up and 
down with my hand 
on my head yelling
"balderdash!" 
When the poem 
strings me out
even from the very title, 
like politics, history or 
makes no sense like dreams? 
 
Thank goodness some people 
can write like this. 
I can't.


Details | Free verse | |

Too Late

I wanted to write about chasing rainbows,
But someone told of its beauty before me.
I wanted to tell of star filled skies,
The mystic milky way, of sand castles
Build ny lovers on a hot summer day, and
The evening tide washing those dreams away...
Ah!  someone wrote of it before me.
I wanted to write a new rhyme of love,
About hearts and flowers, the heavens above,
Yet, someone wrote of it, before me.


Details | Free verse | |

YOU

(04/03/2005)

I can write what I want
I can write what I think
I can write what I know
I did, write what I saw
I just can’t,
Can’t write what I see…
You!


Details | Free verse | |

Susurrous Mind

Now it is time for a sleeping spell. 
Blessed sleep, come and my cognizance quell.
I shall lie and await.
I shall quietly hate.
These moments before the slumber, I detest.
Hasten your pace, pacify my unrest.

The dreams are just before my eyes,
And I can see the forms coming into clarity.
I reach out to take hold of this,
This one desire at this most perfect time.
But you, Susurrous Mind!
Why do you speak?
I am near my sleep
And you cannot just wait til the morn?
Must we now decide to reanalyze all we are, 
Figure what we shall keep and discard?
You have broken me now, twice, just today!
I have left my principles for your sake!
See how I write, 
This is not my way.
The wearing of days without rest adequate
Has done this, and now I changed my musics?
Let it go, let it be,
My spirit is willing, yes
But my body is weak.
Let the complexities fall away,
Just for this moment.
Be simple so that I do not wander about a labyrinth.
One way in, one way out,
Both ways dealing with all you wish to talk about.
Free-verse and country, what is becoming of me?
Neither true to form no, but that is my sanity.
Holding true, holding fast,
Waiting for my sleep at last.
Take a pill to make me sleep,
We both know I can’t.
But Susurrous Mind, 
If you will to keep me awakened
Can it be useful and have studies be undertaken?
Of course not, no!
You must be in control.
Pick up a book and be sent right off,
But it isn’t the rest that I dream of.
This write is from the insomniacal side of me.
I am aware also of my repetitive neology. 
Goodnight, goodnight, but not before the fight.
We will wrestle, you will win, 
And I maybe get my prize.
Susurrous Mind, keep it down!
I sleep heavy, yes, but your screams silence cannot drown.

Now it is time for a sleeping spell. 
Blessed sleep, come and my cognizance quell.
I shall lie and await.
I shall quietly hate.
These moments before the slumber, I detest.
Hasten your pace, pacify my unrest.


Details | Free verse | |

Hibernation

Muse has neither gone limp
In me like a manhood 
At the peak of its use
Nor did my pen run dry
Like Esisi tributary in dry season.
It was only a period of hibernation
To prepares my wits
For the coming season.

Now my pen is erect
As if you were a naked maiden
Ready to ejaculate seeds of fire
Inside every open heart
Just the way Muse 
Have been doing in me.


Details | Free verse | |

From Thoughts to Paper

I like to write poetry, for my mind it soothes
If my writing is read, hopefully i have reached out and introduced me
 
My writes are in rhyme with a dabble of others
Its an apprenticeship i am in, more learn-ed i become
 
I write at my desk on my laptop and PC
Browsing for information to add credence to my work
 
My writing follows no agenda its as free as my words
My portfolio of themes comes from inspiration of many
 
I may see a picture and words grace my eyes
If i read a poets poem, their words can induce an idea
 
So when you read my work, its from the recipe above
Its more than a hobby now, its something i love
 
 
My entry into Deborah Guzzi's " How DO You do it??? contest "




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-4.php


Details | Free verse | |

Tell us, you say

Tell us, you say, in your profound complexity
Prophet, griot, artist, word maker
Why do you litter our hearts with song?
I do not write for the crowd in Dubai
For the poetaster and rhyme maker
I write for the discriminating eye
The unweaver of magic images, breaker
Of spells, and wonderment of the child.
It will read a poem and understand
The archtecture of history is better built
And when the books are all torn up
And tradition of lies is unveiled in the night
The masses will come candleness
And light a upon a page and find light.
I write to rage
In paradigmal shifts against the loss of things
Including the plucking of my own wings.
And sometimes in my rage I sing
And sweet the tongue to sing along
Thinking of freedom as we die ... without a song.


Details | Free verse | |

Wordsmith's Diet

A Wordsmith's Diet
                by Odin Roark

The thirst hour
Where dark caramel movement
Swirls its spell among icy shards
As today and yesterday's memories
Wait to cut loose their syllabic flotsam
Ink's endless search
For shoreline discovery

Just as Time knows so well opportunity
So too imagination refuses confinement
Remembering primitive grunts
Vernacular's ancient primate sounds
Made legible by centuries' evolving accent
Rhythm
Pitch
Tempo

Until

Symbols simmered themselves into words
Offered snacks for tweets
Sumptuous main courses for tomes
Desserts for savory genre sweets
Aperitifs for poetic thought

Such teasing
For creation's palate
Only ups the appetite
For lexiconic feasting

To understand life's metaphoric appetite
Is to be not frightened
Even as I eat you to live


Details | Free verse | |

Stars

When I look at the night sky, it seems they are aligned over my head with the stars spelling your name. I stare and gaze and wonder is this a sign from above. I told myself I wouldn’t believe in signs. There’s something about you that makes me wonder. As I ponder at the sky and see your name in the stars. I start to write, write something for you. The stars give me inspiration, to write about you. Something so pure so sweet so pretty is something that every guy looks for and its everything you have. I found myself thinking that the stars are the hints I have been looking for; for so long.


Details | Free verse | |

The Other Language


There are words that avoid the paper,
That hides from the pen,
That detest the ink,
That cannot be typed down,
That I cannot grasp

That is my heart,
That speaks without letters,
That still comes to life,
That articulates when let so,
With the language it invented,
With a vocabulary that is pumped through my blood.


© Gry W Christensen


Details | Free verse | |

MERRY CHRISTmas POETS

May the Arch-Angels , from CHRIST’S BIRTH,  Sing Hymns and Halleluiahs
MAY YOUR GOD , YOUR Higher Power ,YOUR CHRIST, Bless YOU with 
Prosperity
MAY YOUR Pens Write the Spirit of the season, YOUR CHRISTMAS cards be 
Pleasin’
The POETRY  YOU Write this season will become the Archives for Posterity.

TO all the POETS, Present and Past, I wish YOU, SEASONS GREETINGS.
TO my Family of POETRY SOUP POETS , each and everyone : “JOYEUS NOEL”
Thank-YOU for YOUR support this year, Thanks: with a very Merry Christmas 
Cheer.
May YOUR hopes and dreams become reality. The NEW YEAR : be an 
INSPIRATION.


Details | Free verse | |

Cautious State of Mind

I write what I want to do, but I don’t. 
I write what I could do, but won’t. 
But you wouldn't know that. 
All you do is read, 
All I do is write. 
I entertain, 
You be entertained. 
Be cautious on what you read, 
And I’ll be cautious on what I write.


Details | Free verse | |

Complex strong willed Prince of priorities

we get over everything
naturally
but the weak need the strong
need someone to lead the way
we need to find a strong mind
a smart mind to study 
an accurate mind to probe
and test our subject
and get our answers to heal ourselves

Strong minded intelligent child
just passed the test
handed in his test
they know whose mind is stronger than the rest 
thanks to wars and terrorism of generations we forget

the child once had a happy home
mommy daddy breaking up
 
but remember life is a test
they keep pushing him and pushing him still
watching silently looking 
action for reaction


the boy grows old ignorant of such fame 
to figure it all out
how everything is a test
all the abuse he went through
was due to him having a strong mind
 for him to write it down and help others 
in other words for lamens to lamen term the genius at work
whose finished balling his eyes 
emotional scars
waiting for round two

strong willed prince of priorities

god complex
perhaps even multiple personalities
schitso effective mood disorder
depressive manic bipolar
 very hard on himself
while going through these tests

his names are songs
the movies haunt him because he speaks his nightmares freely
and this is your entertainment
all the way to i hate white rabbits at the campfire
why you say it to make him cry

how do you prioritize what complex to diagnose first
ask the multiples
prioritsed strong minded will of man
the one you all beat half to death mentally for answers
and see if he humbles himself to fix you
to make his problems worse
or to give you the hand thats let him go soo many times
 you want to rock the boat up this famous creek
 look who has the paddle the whole way

so his life has been defined
foreshadowed the whole way
when dealing with multiple complexes the only way to deal with them is naturally
which ones the infected resolves first
thank goodness we pick on the strong willed to lead the way
thank goodness for the test i took in fourth grade that changed my life forever
it all makes sense to me now

or the last 19 years of my life you have been my game
i had you figured out
im a genius remember
i tried to fail the test
but if you want to prioritize your complexes
anger management
mental abuse has to go first
Jesus alone cant go through all this pain alone to write it all down to heal you of 
all that ails you

as you throw me away to be your joke dressed in suicide


Details | Free verse | |

Of a Living Poetry

If you, are against rules,
It isn’t necessarily a sign of immaturity.
Rather, disregard 
for lessons learned, left
by ancients to posterity.

Poetry is a living balm,
with immense power.
Changing by the hour.
It is what you make of it, being one of many,
expressing freely your form, 
thought, or deed
worth remembering.

Do you like Haiku, then write Haiku.
But write to preserve 
heritage and soul.
Not to intentionally weave your mind
and fingers into it’s history
not yet birthed.
Change will come in its own time. 

Each contemplation
of the most tiny morsel
ekes change and morph, degree by degree.

Stay within the norm. Cross your t’s 
and dot the eyes.  Soon enough!
That time will come when no matter how
hard you try, you can’t make your point
from within the box.
You will have to go outside your bounds
and when you do hands will clap
and thunder roll in admiration. 

We can’t stop it, nor should we want it
ever to be the same tomorrow. 
Rotting stagnant with bygone
meaning and innuendo,
gathering moss on words no 
longer germane, 
now not living.

© Jun 15 2010   Charles Henderson





Details | Free verse | |

A PASSION FOR WRITING

Written for Jack Horne's Contest---"Comments"
____________________________________________

A Passion for Writing

A comment that really lifted me up was from a writer in Florida
She was a writer from a newspaper
She said, “You’ve got the makings to be a good writer one day!” 
She even signed her comment “love”
I was so energized by this professional writer’s comment that it made me dig 
deeper within my heart
I wanted to write poetry that had meaning
I wanted to write poetry that explained something unique about me and how I 
understood the world to be
Her simple comment changed the way I felt about my ink pen
It also stirred a new passion within me
She is a novelist and she is a well- known writer around these waters
We have even written a few pieces together
I will keep her name secret (since Jack requests this)
But she knows who she is and has even invited me sky-diving
I have the most special place in my heart for her 
And one day we will jump out of an airplane together
She is my Devonshire! (oops! was that a clue, Jack?) 
So here is my entry for your quaint little contest, Jack
I hope that it is received well
For whenever I write I try to write something uplifting
And whenever I comment I try to "write" unto others as I would have them 
“write” unto me!

Always your friend across the pond!
My humble lil entry for your contest!

Gwendolen Rix
8-20-14


Details | Free verse | |

The boy who ran with the stars

There once was a boy who ran with the stars.
Stardust gathered in his hair and fell into his eyes, making them glisten 
as he streaked across the heavens- Aimlessly and lazily 
meandering through heavenly bodies, not much different from his own. 
As they moved about one another, and through one another, and knew one another,
Sending colorful showers onto our feeble heads in the hopes that
they will make us dance as they do
to the rhythm of some all consuming and omnipresent whisper of music.


Details | Free verse | |

The Story

The Story

I look at my keyboard
What could I possibly say?
How could I tell the story I see?
The characters are so strong
The lines maybe say too much
I want them to be believed
Yet, I know that they will not
It is a story of a world I see
One of pure good
One of the purest evil
How can I write it?
How could anyone see what I see?
What words could speak my words?
My thoughts are so different
Never the same as everyone’s reality
This is a story that needs to be told
My fingers have to move
The keys have to click as I touch them
The story will flow onto the screen
The words will come
The story will be told
If I could just move my fingers


Details | Free verse | |

MERRY CHRISTmas POETS

May the Arch-Angels , from CHRIST’S BIRTH,  Sing Hymns and Halleluiahs
MAY YOUR GOD , YOUR Higher Power ,YOUR CHRIST, Bless YOU with 
Prosperity
MAY YOUR Pens Write the Spirit of the season, YOUR CHRISTMAS cards be 
Pleasin’
The POETRY  YOU Write this season will become the Archives for Posterity.

TO all the POETS, Present and Past, I wish YOU, SEASONS GREETINGS.
TO my Family of POETRY SOUP POETS , each and everyone : “JOYEUS NOEL”
Thank-YOU for YOUR support this year, Thanks: with a very Merry Christmas 
Cheer.
May YOUR hopes and dreams become reality. The NEW YEAR : be an 
INSPIRATION.


Details | Free verse | |

Being and Living

There is a difference between “being” and “living”. You won’t always be able to act a certain way all of the time, because we make mistakes, but you can always strive to live better each day. It’s easy for us to “be” in love, because it makes you feel really good at that time, but to “live” in love is a daily expression of your spirit that you’ll know is true even on days when you may be feeling bad. That’s what keeps me grounded every day: knowing that regardless of how people may feel towards me, I will love them anyway because it’s how I live.


Details | Free verse | |

I Don't Know You

Do I know you?

I see you watching me, and every word I write, you read, but I don't know who you are.

You sometimes comment, often vote, tell me how you feel about what I wrote, but I don't
know who you are.

I write these words, and while I write for me, I post them here for all to see. People
come and people read, some come back, some just leave. There are those I know I touch with
words, others read, but their emotions are undisturbed.

But you don't know me.

You assume you do when you read my heart, displayed for all through my emotive words, but
in the end, they are only words, and there are many things who make me who I am, and those
you will never touch.

To add to this, I don't know your name, and while in the cyber world you are called a
'friend,' I know that we will never meet, and I wouldn't recognize you if you passed me on
the street.

Yet, you think you know me well enough to respond to all my posts. You think you see the
demons inside, those that haunt me like a ghost, because you read the words I write, when
I do feel sad morose.

But you don't know me.

You can say you understand, but you truly don't know who I am, anymore than I know you,
just from reading about the things you do. Sad to say, but very true, friendships are
based on more than this, and while your words can mean so much, they can't replace an
honest touch.

I don't mean to take away from all the encouraging things you say, and I want you to know
how much your words mean. It's nice to feel shared understanding. However, when the chips
are down, if I were to look, would you be around? Your words are all you have to give,
when you don't even know where I live!

And I can say this much is true, honestly, I don't know you. I can offer you my comfort,
send you virtual hugs and grins, but you too will know that all we can ever be is only
cyber friends.

Yet, even though there is much distant across the wires, through the screens and LAN
lines, there is something realigning about friendship in these modern times. For even
though I know that I may not matter to you tomorrow, you have been there yesterday and
shared my joy and sorrow. Even though you do not know me, you still come here and my words
you do read.

So I guess that in the end, there's nothing wrong with cyber friends. So feel free to
comment when I write, and I'll thank you with much delight, and I will read what you write
too, even though I don't really know you.


Details | Free verse | |

Comforters

Before you were a nightmare
You were comfort.
You were the soft rocking that lulled the newborn to sleep.
You were the feathered pillow absorbing the flow of tears from the heartbroken girl.
You were the overplayed song that poured out the secrets of a lonely soul.
You were the relentless whisperings of unkept promises.
You were the quiet voice pleading with the broken soul to keep moving.
You were the lover who kept trying although it was hopeless.
You were the blanket of snow covering the shivering, abandoned, house.
You were the piece of chocolate the small child bit into after a bad dream.
You were the warm blanket covering the shock victim in the shrieking ambulance.
But while you comforted, you felt other’s pain.
You felt the pains of
Sleeplessness,
Heartbreak,
Loneliness,
Living in the shadows of endless lies,
Being shattered,
Hopelessness,
Abandonment,
Weakness,
Nothingness.
And somewhere between the comforting and pain
You lost yourself.
You lost the desire to take other’s pain away.
You lost your ability to comfort.
You became another nothing.
Until one day,
You were a nightmare.


Details | Free verse | |

thursday night

watching bears in the woods,
on a screen
ofcourse 
eating a cracker
out of plastic.
everything must come out of plastic
everything that does

people buy
eating until full

bears in the woods,
they were interesting
at peace with their 
place

just surviving 
sometimes running a
nursery

i want passion like that
to survive 

does the mind make things so complicated
that it wont let 

or is it just my surroundings?

thank the grass for being
my surface

run to the heaven river
to appreciate the skin
of fish

im always interrupted 
in my gaze
someone riding my ass
always in a hurry to be there,
to always get that

when my hands are on the wheel i dont even drive


my mind always wanders without
being told

first time i have wrote without a plan

i like it

throwing baggage on a screen
infont

ive adapted to the screen,
almost moving away from my pad
i dont know why?

maybe, because i can type faster than write
but does it mean more to physically make 
the imprint with the so guided message

life is life
people spend lifetimes
trying to discover what it is

am i trying too?

i cannot cover my curious
tent 
questions, 
i ask so many unanswered questions


Details | Free verse | |

The Spectator

Should I here ...
Knowing full well ...
Whatever such phrase as this can mean ..
Yet I contemplate
That you may have no teeth for it
This in me a sudden swell
To tell and tell and tell
Without the telling of a tell
I can see you now
Trying to see me
More than I am
I shall not let you crucify my mind
Purging the bleat of the lamb
Yet here I am
Arranging sound upon a paper
Writing a nut without the shell
Making you think
What is he doing today
He is broken down
His words scattered like stones
From a former wall
And perhaps mad as hell
But to be polite
Just say insanity is our knell

I saw a poem today
The yolk of the egg not gold at noon
But white as nothing there
This blazing incandescence of air
And I did not write it
Could not write what had no words in it
Just images that could be tin foil
Cut and shape a certain way 
But it was more than that 
For congruent cells were in it
Bundled in the sensibility of my skin
And beneath them, way beneath them
The crows like a triumvirate of the sky
Circled the expectancy of death
Wating for either one
The planes to invited to tragedy
By the hubris of our genius
Or myself, precarious on time
Expired like a line 
The punctuation forgotten without meaning
Where do we get all these words from
In which we wrap memory
Like things?

All these distinct borders of things
And their familiarity
Shadows of time, perhaps
When the planes are gone
Just gone, where I do not know
The buzzards remain
Twisting from light to light
Against the sky
Strand by strand weaving me
Upon their expectancy
Such a poem has not tense
No right
Except me, willing things be so
And yet none of us know
If all of life is ever so
Is ever so.


Details | Free verse | |

Why Do I Write Poetry?

I like words. I like the way they can be mixed with other ones
to make a sound soup or a puzzle
or something that sings and resonates with me during the day.
Writing is hedonism, too. It's very personal, and private.
Not all solitary pleasure-making is auto-erotic, you know.

I don't care if anyone dislikes how I say things
-- although I am careful to watch my language…
That would be letting the cat out of the bag.

I am careful not to let my true feelings about religion
or politics
or popular culture
or rap music or
media sweethearts
or ignorant bozos and bozettes
get free on the page
that others might see.

Writing is cheap. It costs nothing.
You can borrow a pencil from the cashier at the counter, 

or the guy at the next table.
You can write on napkins.
You can write on the edge of the magazine pages
or the newspaper that someone left on the other table.

Writing doesn't require you to buy paint
and brushes
and turpentine
and an easel
and canvas
and have a room with good North light.


Details | Free verse | |

The Poet

~*~ The Poet ~*~

Creating letters
Creating thoughts
Designing sequences
The ultimate plot
The world’s greatest Poet
The universe’s most powerful Pen
The ink is His love
It has no end…

He is the Author of time
He is the Finisher of this age
The Creator and the endeavors of His heavenly pen
He poetically painted my life with love
He designed it in rhyme and with compassion
He walked me through each stanza
He even made a refrain when things were good
He cut a sentence short when my heart was in pain
He is the ultimate Poet
He is my Heavenly Father
I am His greatest audience
I try to read every line of His work in His Holy Book
Amen...

Written for Guatami Phooken’s contest “Poet”
by Gwendolen Rix
9-1-14


Details | Free verse | |

Write for Right

World is full of intellects all around
Writers among many wearing crown
Winning the glories with titles and prizes
Honors each year various societies.
Everyone writes for his own cause
Some spell mystery, some make fun
Inscriptions are numerous in stores
Libraries inspire many and many more.
Write for right everyone proclaims
Who wishes to listen the truth
Each and every entity disdains
All want happiness shuns pain.
Reality check is tough to go
Many do write for the right
Bring the world to true light
But result is shameful to abide.
We live in democracy proud to say
Hope it was really that beautiful
Writings can actually revolutionize
As in past…but now is a fearing world.
Faith has died a thunderous death
For all of the major section is corrupt
Who can dare to write for truth…
It’s a beautiful world for silence.

 

 


Details | Free verse | |

Another World

Long lines converging upon long lines at right angles but from different views, 
one plane from above connecting with the side 
connecting with below 
connecting with right in front of your face like a dream scape, 
seeing everything at once in omnipresence,
 taking it in, and moving throughout a slowed down space. 
Of archways there are four.
One archway is evening
Another archway, dawn breaks over the desert horizon.
Gravity does not exist here. 
The mantis perches upon the chest of the saint
And we know rapture. 


Details | Free verse | |

Butterfly Net

Searching for a notion, an idea
To capture in my butterfly net,
Eluding the hunter 
With weightlessness,
Form like smoke
Or haze on a summer’s day.

Like an eel swimming underwater,
Avoiding the rod’s cast and reward
By burrowing into mud,
Obscuring, hiding, disguising
Itself; turning into circles
Within circles, ripples.

But then sunshine overhead
Sharpens my view,
Vision arising, lit with tone
And form and shape:
I write and write
As the salmon leaps from the deep.

Perhaps it is catching insects
Or glorying in exertion,
Afraid I’ll turn again
To the butterfly net
And write about a
Red Admiral instead.

There is envy amongst thoughts:
They compete for space in my mind
As I search for a sentence, a phrase
That is unknowable, immutable;
Like a butterfly in flight,
It will not be pinned to the page.


Details | Free verse | |

ONLY THREE ECHOES

Notes:
1. This simple poem works like a mantra.
2. Each stanza has 3 words in 3 lines. 
3. Each stanza can be used to catapult your 
feelings, and jumpstart your feeling-thinking 
mind bridge.
4. All you need to do is to select a stanza that
appeals to you. 
5. Just read the 3 words for 3 times, aloud to 
yourself. 
6. Then close your eyes and say the words out 
loud, slowly and deliberately -- for 3 times.
7. Once again, read the 3 words for 3 times, aloud to 
yourself. 
8. Your mind will conjure visions or ideas that will
help you unleash your own insights. 
9. You can use these stanzas as a writing prompt 
to channel your own creative impulses in a 
spontaneous way.
10. Relax. Have fun. Let your inner guidance speak.
Your poetic impulse will emerge without needing
to think or strain so hard. 
11. Try it and see amazing results. The idea is
feel the images and ideas that come to you. All
you need to do is to write what you feel. Enjoy!)

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


Pulse 
Impulse
Contrast


Flow 
Glow
Show


Nudge
Touch
Much


Give
Live
Breathe


Look
Book
Nook


See
Free
Be


Lost
Cause
Toss


Line
Fine
Sign


Coast
Boast
Toast


Live
Love
Laugh


Space
Place
Face


Time
Chime
Rhyme


Tell
Spell
Dwell


Truth
Proof
Groove


Taste
Haste
Waste


Ploy
Toy
Joy


Learn
Earn
Yearn


Aspire
Inspire
Conspire


Conceive
Believe
Achieve


More
Pore
Explore


Mind
Find
Grind


Piece
Ease
Peace


Fear
Tear
Dear


Birth
Worth
Mirth


Sense
Tense
Hence


Mine
Line
Fine


Ready
Easy
Crazy


Zest
Test
Best


Real
Zeal
Feel


Mind
Kind
Find


Leon Enriquez
25 Apr 2014
Singapore


Details | Free verse | |

The Quirky Seeker

There are times when I feel
That the best place 
In the world
Would be at my guru’s feet
And then at other times
I feel being on top of the Eiffel tower
Won’t be too bad either.

Such is the situation
Of us modern seekers
When we feel we should fast
The ad of a woman
Licking chocolate comes on 
To test our steely resolve.
We melt, and decide once again to evolve.

We meditate,
Amidst the sounds of blaring horns
And rosey thorns.
We chant,
To the sound of whatsapp doing its
Routine round of ringing the bell,
A true devotee, I can tell. 

Beloved God,
We want this,
We want that,
The meditation,
And the latest Mercedez,
A new brand of seekers are we, who want it all,
On bended knees, we ask you, “Yo bro, what’s a good time to call?”


Details | Free verse | |

Phosphenes

I close my eyes and the world dissolves into little stars.
Windows and shadows taper off into unknown distances of space in sickly, bruised, yellow greens and poisonous magenta. With whisps like ghosts that arrive in clouds and vibrate in the center of this not vision. 
When they are sliced by imposing rings of pale blue and green from the left, 
washing away like a beachy horizon. 
Until it fades away once more into a grotesquely stained carpet pattern crawling with ants
That moves as if on a conveyer belt.
There is a fine black point in the distance that radiates with a distinctive sting.
It begins, with instances of light that stretch and vibrate like sinew under beacons when the squinting makes the vision ripple
And flattens floating amber orbs until they burst. 
The prickling landscape advances.


Details | Free verse | |

Why write when you can pray ?

Writing is a form of prayer, the writer makes with  his pen.
He puts it to paper,
 and lets it all go
When writing there is no time, 
  no space,
 everything stands still,
 while the writer writes.
Why does he write ? 
 Why do you not pray? 
To have someone to hear your inner most thoughts to look for answers,
 to ask for help ,
 to let go , 
to just get it out.
Sometimes he writes out of anger,
 sometimes out of loss,
 others its out of desperation ,
 sometimes its just because .
Now the writer writes in hopes
 that the answer will be come clear .
He knows all he has to do is wait long enough,
 and it will appear. 
But what say you of those who do not write ? 
Are they lost, broken or just forgotten ? 
No, they are not lost, broken or forgotten
 instead of bringing down the pen to paper , 
They choose to speak their silent prayer 
But one thing is for sure 
Paper and pen 
Hands clasped and kneeling
Someone, somewhere,
 has heard your silent prayer 


Details | Free verse | |

A New Love Poem

Today I write a new love poem
Of longing for the form of her perfection
That men home from weary fields
And bloody wars see only in their dreams
There is no constitution to match your loveliness

The perfect breast like mountain pillars
Where I can bury my face
Smell the freshness of earth's perspiration
And hide from life's ugliness.
O that I am sheltered here eternally

Today I write a new love poem
To drink the pure milk of your fountains
I taste again childhood's freedom and happiness
During earth's dismal rigors and loneliness
O let me my place inside thy love's nest

To rinse my tongue, my mouth, my soul
With your honeyed tongue
Know your words alone does affirm my trust
And your white milk is the only whiteness 
That will not pierce my eyes with blinding light.

I have wind's hands ripping and twisting trees
I have seen the surf's tongue gnawing rocks
I have seen the sun's eyes bringing castles to their knees
But your laughter like a comb its honey drops
Heals the skin dessicated by burning breeze

Today I write a new love poem
For a country come to right its history's wrongs
And there shall be no more marching, nor songs
Pining for liberation, but you strip to nakedness
Clothing my heart with all your loveliness


Details | Free verse | |

How Poetry began for me

How poetry began for me...

Lost in the cobweb of the worldwide web loop,
One day, I stumbled upon a site called Poetry Soup.

Since then my fingers won't stop weaving.

I play, I move, I drool over my set of words,
I mix them and then serve dish treats my way.

A glass window curtains the distance,
Like water, it reflects all nuances.

Every time, I login the blind lifts.
A pandora box opens up.
I unearthen the jewels inside,
Introspection reveals a soulful sight.

I write, I type, I read, I re read the words on display.
I get inspired, then I weave a rhythm another way.

Sometimes, the creation is a hit,
Most times it's not a fit...(lol)
Ummm........does it stop me.
Nahh!! I still carry on with my inklings.

My scribbles are still scribbles.
It's a cold soup yearning for a nice coal wood.

Dancing flames, heat my soup.
Stir it once a while,
I'll string the chords to chime.

My poetry is a shadow of a mirror,
A mirror frozen with thoughts of an era.

Poem, is stringing words according to me.
Art relative and subjective to beliefs.

Words are as empty as a black spot,
Until the time you see the meaning from my spot.

Poetry, is a scientific calculation,
It becomes an art after deduction.

I guess poetry began once the same way,
..........Black to block................*A wonder wall*............... A world of imagined construction free from any restriction................vivid and myriad.......................INFINITE in expressions..

I thus chord the chalk...........

..........................that's how poetry and me prance these days.

I create, I jubilate. 




Details | Free verse | |

The Heart, The Hand

With shaking hand I write in dimmed light
Strings of words robust burst and slip from my pen
With a grave heart I write
With a frail heart I forgive
It mimicks the sound of life
     Of love and such things
Such fragile things which tend to burn in the sunlight
Things that are made all the more deceiving
A heaviness that lasts
That sticks to the ribs and heart now heavy
That rewrites itself till mad
Drawing circles around itself till silly
It punctures and weens
By elastic grip it clings
Turning right what was once impossible, or so it seems
In again, gone till forgotten completely
I rise on unsteady feet
Overseeing all that lies around me in heaps
Careful now not to impose or create hostility
     For the hand is sensitive and unreasoning
By strike of silent blow it extends
More willing than most and less willing to forgive
What's scribbled in haste and panic hard to comprehend
Yet to the hand it stands on its own merit
For hope it seeks-
In the words it creates
Like prayers from an incompetent though loving beast
In braille it signs all of its messages plain
For fear that I may shrink
     Become pale in its presence
For its divine love I seek
None other than that which the hand so frivilously speaks
From sleep I awake
To pages filled and marked
Dressing myself in them
As if talismans or some form of holy art
To make me, to REmake and refashion me clean
But never doing away completey as so I'll not forget the beginning
With shaking hand I scribble unpredictably
Lacking grace and intelligence and formality
But this is all I know
This pen and its speech
What it feels and the depths from which the words come from
These words, unlike any man, now standing up for me.


Details | Free verse | |

Poetic Justice

The rhythm of these words
I am praying
When I say it
You will play it
Over & over 
Until you learn it
& not fear it
When you hear it
It will appear as
If you understand the meaning 
That's behind it
But your blinded
& reminded 
Of the lyrical content
In which I comment
This is my system
Not a victim
When I'm on the throne
& in the zone
You can't condone
How I feel
You cannot seal
This is real
So am I
This is my high
In my poems I tell no lie
This here is my waiver
What craver
I'm just doing you all a favor
Here's my substance
You can trust this
This is my Poetic Justice


Details | Free verse | |

I'm A Writer

I’m not a poet

I’m not an author

I’m simply 

A writer

This is my outlet

My way of venting

I write about what’s on my mind

What I’m feeling

I write the things I want to say

But don’t for one reason or another

Because 

I’m a writer

The person you see everyday

The face you see

It’s a mask

Just another character of my imagination

It’s what is needed to maneuver through my day

In an attempt to realize my dream

I’m a writer

In my writings I get to be myself

Expressing myself in a way that I believe gives you a true and honest piece of me

In the rawest form possible

While at the same time 

Recognizing that it doesn’t matter that I think I have something worth being heard

But that you think I have something worth hearing

All because

I’m a writer

My pen and my paper are my only true friends

Never faltering

Never judgmental

Never disappointing

They are there from the first word to the last

They support my thoughts and ideas 

Even the bad ones

And they are always within reach

Waiting when I have something to say

Because they too know

I’m a writer

I read everything I get my hands on

Soaking up every iota of information it contains

From the random trivia to abstract literary technique

Absorbing it and allowing it to manifest itself through my words

Hoping that it is making me better at my craft

Because 

I’m a writer

I put my heart and soul into my work

Adding a little piece of me in every line I write

Opening myself up to your criticisms and critiques

Of my thoughts

Of my ideas

Of me

And when the rejections hurt

I wear yet another mask 

The one with the big smile

I turn to my friends; the pen and paper

And I write

Because it’s what I’m supposed to do

Because

I’m a writer


Details | Free verse | |

When I am, When I'm Not

When I am,
I see the world's little beauty and life.
When I'm not,
I see the world for it's disease and death.

When I am,
I have lave, happiness,
and a joy to be alive.
When I'm not,
life's meaningless,
causing me great pain.

When I am,
I write of love
and feeling full of life.
When I'm not,
I write of the world
decomposing from
 pollution, cruelty, and death.


Details | Free verse | |

The write thing

Now comes the time when I no longer speak- nothing
But my blue blooded vessel makes the speech
I'm not faulty, its the write thing

Now comes the time when my programmed Homing Pigeon no more function
Hard it may be
But its the blue blooded vessel that gave me unction

I may be called but refuse to dine
I just don't have appetite
The blue blooded vessel had put the 'write' food on my canine

Now comes the time I'm thirsty
But need not water
The blue blooded vessel produces plenty

Now comes write communication with FAEO
My right hand master
And OLA WRITES my coach behind the scene
The blue blooded vessel made me feel I'm a hero

Now I know the 'write' deal is the 'write' thing
All my might I am investing
Gripping the vessel with my thumb and supporting it with the next finger
I'm emerging a flying writer


Details | Free verse | |

The Specks

7/16/12

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

A single life dangles on a string tied to billions
Can not one notice that speck within the crowd?
Is it even worthy of acknowledgement?
Every speck represents the whole being
The body—without that speck it isn’t worth seeing
I write for the sake of the ignored
I write because I am abhorred
Ever does the wind blow
As the blackened specks began to grow
The disease is spreading in the mass
And suddenly all attention is on that dangling speck
They watch as it falls out of their realm
But the sickness is still there among them
They watch the speck fall
You blame one—you blame them all


Details | Free verse | |

Vasava - An Untold Story 11/Many

Vasava – 
An untold story                                                                        11/Many



It appeared that Rati* the wife of love God Cupid
Had come before the Shiva* the God of destruction
To charm and disturb his meditation
Thus taking the strength of God Shiva* 
For saving her husband the Kamadava*

By expressing shyness through her beautiful eyelids
She had added only more charms to her lovely face
And by filling a touch of passions,  in her slow movements
Vasava was adding only more restlessness among all those
Who were watching,  the legendry Vasava on the stage

By listening the heart touching sound of her Gold Noopurs*
All became enchanted, while listening the sound of its music
Even the lamps which were burning to spread the light
Increased their flames, as if they too wanted to see the beauty
Thus illuminating the beauty of the dancer more and many fold

King Udiyan and King Suyodhan, both were watching Vasava
Almost spell bound, as if her beauty had charmed them completely
As the beauty of a full bloomed flower 
Often takes away our heart and mind together
Udiyan was feeling as if, Vasava had stolen his heart completely

She started her first song of the day, by reciting a welcome song
Attributed to King Suyodhan, who was lost in the dreams of Vasava
She sang ‘Priya Tum Aaye ho dwar hamare, Vandan Abhinandan Hamare’*
The Alap* which she started from the slow pitch of voice 
Went high enough to touch the hearts of every one who was there



Ravindra 					26th March 2010


Copy write protection as per Poetry Soup automatic Copy write provisions also.

* The song lines are in Hindi which can be recited in English with its 
   Explanation in English

* Priya Tum Aaye ho dwar hamare, 		
   Vandan Abhinandan Humare’
   Nagar Dwar Sub Sujre Savre
   Aathitya Sewkar Karo Tum Humre

Translation 
You have come to our door, O dear 
We welcome you and greet you 
All the houses and doors are set a new  
And are ready to welcome you, ( O God like) Guest of ours
You have come to our door, O most dear
Please accept and be our Guest. 


* Shiva		Constituting the trinity of Hindu Gods, Shiva performs the function 
                                    of the destroyer so that new life is created once again.

* Kamadava	Cupid or Kamadeva, the Vedic deity of Love astride his mount the 
                        parrot, whose form embodies Rati, his consort. Together these two 
            deities, Kama (Love) and Rati ( Desire) signified each other. 


Details | Free verse | |

Write


Write me with full meaning not incomplete,
Do not put me on the door of meaning
Then under the pretext explainers..
Raises a whirlwind of criticism.
Do not crowned me by poems,
Then by letters tighten me to the bed of thoughts.
Do not extracted sweet talk from my lips,
Nor liquefied musk from my neck,
Do not mobilize armies of language in my ground,
Nor warble your poems,
My doors are closed, wrapped in silence
You are too close to letters
Too distant from heart.


Details | Free verse | |

lost writer

Dark thoughts controlling my brain
I’m going insane
I’ve been growing with pain
Here he is writing poems again
About how he had it so bad
How he grew up in care, self harmed, the death of his dad
That ***** Rebecca who broke his heart and left him sad
He needs to talk to a therapist not a ****ing pad
These are the words the demons screaming in my head
I’m dreaming that I’m dead
I don’t want to wake up
That way I can accept that me and my family will never make up
We had to break up
Poetry is something I wouldn’t have to take up
Self loathing and full of self hatred
You ever been fully clothed but felt naked?
I just don’t have the strength for the problems that face me today
Please someone just take me away
I’m just a writer lost
Oh *****now I have writers block
Cursing every rhyme, lyric and poem I’ve ever wrote before
How long will this inner self destructive demon control me for?
Come on Alex you’ve wrote hundreds of poems before just focus
Put a few rhymes you’ve used before, no one will notice
Hold up I see a scribbled rhyme on a scrunched up piece of paper
Damn it’s too small I can’t read that
Maybe this is god’s way of telling me I should just relapse
Thank **** I haven’t got kids I don’t need to set an example
So it doesn’t matter that I just punched a wall and flew off the handle
Anger and pain burning up inside like a candle
I’m always the first to blame myself
For all the hurt and pain I felt
 A few times I even tried to Kurt Kobain myself
I’ve been working on myself
But it may take longer
Maybe I should be searching for help
But I guess when it’s all done I will be made stronger 


Details | Free verse | |

Bridgeport's Nocturne

As I sit here in the dark of night,
Street lights shining ever bright,
I write my heart out, with no contrite.

A peaceful moment I’ve been waiting for years,
For the first time, no hints of anger, no tears.

I write a song, estranged, with this moment of chance,
An Ode to my hometown,
To whom I never gave a glance.

I see with clarity, to finally think a second,
With no disturbances, constantly peccant.

Piano is my life, I play this song for God,
Everything he gave me, everything I shod.

I end this piece on a harmonic note,
I shall leave the past behind,
Grab life by the throat.


Details | Free verse | |

FROM THE MIND TO THE HEART

Where does one begin to write,
away from the streets' nioses and children's screams,
forgetting those bouts of loneliness
that evade the inner peacefulness?
One starts with a pad, jotting down appealing ideas...
never having to fear they'll be lost.


I have a private place where I compose
a new poem, then read it aloud to myself;
such a place has a window that opens 
to the brilliance of a blessed day,
and sunlight impinging, highlights its words
to amaze me of a would-be greatness. 


After midnight I refuge to this quite corner,
when most people sleep and the luminiscent moon
projects her beams to enlighten my dreamy face,
I stare back at her and wave as I do with friends;
moon as eternal as unseen planets more colorful,
do you have the faintest idea why I indite?


Some write for fame, others to empty their souls of painful reasons,
or to glorify Heaven and love for their continous existence,
but invoking death instead of life is so detestable and inexcusable;
and from their voices I reckon the useslessness and torment...
may I never become like them, to burn hope in blazes of smoke,
watching its incineration until it turns into hot ashes!


I write out of an urge, which swells inside and needs to burst out,  
leaving my psyche, to let it land on prude hands that welcome my gift,
until I pulsate with satisfaction, and purging those who show dissidence...
might raise questions for them who are easily aroused to anger;
I create more in quietitude....not being disturbed by airplanes' roars,
or trains speeding on tracks making all windows vibrate.

 
From the ancient to the modern poets, their intellect is stimulated
by urban or rustic sourroundings, and I have choosen them both in my writings,
and they manifest themselves glowingly, enticing this reason for existing;
open my pages and read all the passionate verses exciting the eye and pleasing the soul:
these are from the mind to the heart, a testimony of an enthustiastic life...
streaching out to every boundery and race, making everyone savor my delights.


Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Free verse | |

We Write...

We write for kings
We write for paupers
We write for gold
We write for pennies
We write for nothing at all
We write from our hearts
We write from our deepest thoughts
We write to show love and hate
We write to show hidden truths
We write to show the world as we see it
We write not for fame
We write not for glory
We write because we have no choice
We write because it is who we are
We write because it is who we’ll always be
We write because it is our life


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Soup Group

Poetry Soup Group

This is quite a group, 
the people at Poetry Soup.

They make me feel 
like a part of their troop.

No matter how much bad 
poetry I enter in their contests 
they still encourage 
me to write until I poop!

The State of the 
group at Poetry Soup
Is that it’s a great 
place to regroup,
Eat soup and write 
poetry late at night,
When you can’t 
seem to sleep.

It’s a great group of people,
Good company to keep.
They make me want to
Leap for joy each time
I log on to Poetry Soup!


Details | Free verse | |

Why do I write

I do not know why I write again
But I know 
I do not write for schoolboys
You think nights are diamond studded 
Black lace,
I do not write for fawning girls who
Adore sunsets, but grimace
At the thought of umbilicals and blood.
I do not write for old ladies
Gardening, and pulling up weeds
While let the protected serpents live.
I write only for the undefiled,
Those who see sin and start a forest fire
Burning evil in its desire
I write for love of children
And the rivers in their eyes I long to sail
Hunting abusers like men hunt the quail.
O but tell me,
Why do I write again? Why?


Details | Free verse | |

When the earth was not round

Volcanoes dignified this land
barren and deserted
Bound to be an abaddon 
scared and agitated

Fed on flesh and corpses
hungry and underfed
Needed more to devour
lustful and crazed

But this lust for blood never ended
when the earth we lived wasn't round


Details | Free verse | |

writers block

with writers blcok i feel like i'm locked in a curse
time goes slow.like looking at a clock that doesn't work
feel like a paramedic that can't stop all the hurt
should i write about my dreams of Kaley Cuoco or Pixie Lott in a verse

my minds blank as i hold the page
think about all the scribbled out rhymes i've thrown away
is it my fault? a talent i chose to waste
the papers blank.it just has my name and shows the date

the pain i feel,the thoughts i think
i will deal with them later
cause now it's like the ink
is having an allergic reaction to the paper

some people are too stupid to understand
i only have poetry and music no other plan
i sit staring at the blank page
thinking i can't return to my past ways

you can call me mad
but this is all i have
i may not be able to write,right now
but soon my pen will call me back


Details | Free verse | |

Red Ink Of Madness

Often I have dreamt of words..
Embellished with stitches...
Amidst the red ink of madness..
Like an octopus's arms unfolding..

Whilst hearkening to the quivers...
Of voices jade and eager to settle
Mid the overawe grasp of a nettle..
A sleeveless cloak childishly clear...

Cunning apt untouched by tombs..
Sifting 'pon undressed and pure...
Ere the labored throb of passion..
Left to lie 'pon the sleeping tongue..

Only to be sewn and drawn by poise..
Highly-wrought amidst winged dreams..
Awaiting their native strands of soil..
Worth mentioning twixt stage and pen...


Details | Free verse | |

Vice

I drink rivers of rum
for an unquenchable thirst,
or a hope that I may drown.

I build castles out of dreams
for some temporary glory,
or to preside over their ashes.

I love, like a Victorian loon,
for knowing no other way to feel,
or to revel in a shattered heart.

I give away everything I possess
for nothing, for indifference,
or because I’m a self-righteous bastard.

I write poetry in tattered notebooks
for you, or for no one at all.


Details | Free verse | |

Poet To Poet

You make it flow

And you know

How to use words

So they are read and heard

You write from the heart

You write all about

Love, Life, Tragedy and Fame

You can write about Game

The words that flow

Spoken word at a show

Your talent is cool

Making rough edges smooth

Tuning the crowd in

Making them your friend

Snap, Snap the audience goes

You are the highlight of the show

Your words on print

Giving off hints

Readers are mesmerized

Yet taking on a high

From the verses used

Like a crafty tool

Making sense of things

For all human beings

Bringing words to life

Day and Night

Because of what was wrote

That started from notes

Many people wonder

About our thunder

How do we do it

Each and every time

Rhythm and Rhyme

Keep blessing the pad

Keep blessing the mic

Continue to write

Your words are priceless

Pieces of your mind

Experiences from life

Wrongs to Right

Keep doing what you do

And so will I

Keep the crowds coming

Standing then sit

The beauty of our work

Poet to Poet

 

Copyright © 2008 – Keeping It Real Poetry, All Rights Reserved. 





Details | Free verse | |

The absolute silence

Silence befalls                                                                            
Don't know what to say                                                                    
Shh...it's a grave decree                                                                    
It has possessed me                                                                          
For me to speak...it's you no more                                                     
I besmirched thee                                                                              
Begone! The absolute silence                                                       
Because I seek you no more


Details | Free verse | |

One of the Ha-Ha's from Old Staball Hill

One of the Ha-Ha’s from Old Staball Hill
 
  		Ballyheigue
  		County Kerry
   		Ireland
 
That man over there
with his head in the well,
his thumbs in his ears
and his arse in the air
like a zeppelin at moor,
if he can write poems
the Ha-Ha’s will read,
all of the Ha-Ha’s,
no matter the breed,
even the Ha-Ha’s
from Old Staball Hill,
if he can write poems,
then poems he will.


Donal Mahoney


Details | Free verse | |

moments went

sun sauntering, sun filtering
streaming through most moist silver branches
and I hear in the distance calling,
a tune most sad, to be remembered
most assuredly.


Details | Free verse | |

White Flag

Not powerful enough
Not strong enough
Just not good enough
Surrendering my will
Passion is gone
I'm defeated


Details | Free verse | |

Word Congress

Now children let us try again
Certain we are the canvas of earth's joys and pain
We and not I, let us try
And the find that universal voice
Outside the personal boundary 
To tell the common things of history
For we poets are much more
Than the memory of footprints on a shore

Take this thing a level up
I have no antidote for victims
But have drank applause
To victors - the heroes of our dullest hope
Rage and write the syllables of pain
From bitter shallow words
Demand a sentence fit to love
Use what you feel to say you know
Our meanings are metaphors of the world
Our words are painted canvas of the soul

Find your theme, feel where the vulture flies in you
Make dead things serve a greater purpose here
A sort of candle showing where
Our footsteps shall not stray
We are poets
With compassion beyond the worth of words
Travelers with a special light,
A gift for mangers and for cross
My flesh shall write on skins of desire
The deeper glory of the truth


Details | Free verse | |

When I am Old

I will drink coffee in the morning and a glass of wine in the evening.
I will laugh and tell stories of my youth like my forefathers had done.
I will write treasured memories down and look back on the journals
I have written and admire how my life was shaped by fate and luck.
I will wear my hat with pride though outdated by decades,
 I will live with no regrets.  
Life is what is. Created for me to create.
I will write with strength and wisdom of my own experiences,
And what my elders have taught me, keeping traditions heart beating.
I will share my life and those I have known, by words of rhythm and rhyme.

I will go the barn and smell clean hay,
Watch my horses play.
I will love the sunrise and admire the sunsets,
When I am old.
I will smell my horses sweet breath, feel his whiskers on my cheek,
I will listen to their soft nickers in the morning, 
Promises never understood, but known.
I will wear hay in my hair as if a halo.
A gift given by such noble friends.
I will sit and listen to the steady rhythmic grind as they quietly eat. 
Watch their breath steam lazily into the frosty morning.
As I look into their bold eyes, 
I see they are patiently waiting 
For me to know, what they know 
And waiting for the woman I am yet to become.
As for now, 
I am just learning how to walk.



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 | Free verse | |

If I Could Write The Words To Say

My mind is flustered, beyond the means.
As to ask, "Where do I go from here?"
Tick, tock, tick, tock. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
 
Tremble, tremble, goes the skeleton of my hands.
If I could write the words to say.
Lets just start by saying, "Hey."
 
I reached out, and fell short of too many words.
The words I could of used to turn this situation around.
Fell dead, lift up, break down, stand up.
 
I've used to many words tonight.
Vocabulary struck the soul of my being.
I balanced out the meaning of what had become between the two of us.
 
If i could write the words to say, Let us begin with, "Hey."
What is there to become of man kind, but a normal day in reality.
I reached out, fell dead, i lifted up, just to fall back down again.
 
I woke up one morning, trying to find out what was left of you and I.
It only gets worse when i scream, when i cry, the too many words that i've used 
tonight.
But  I fell short of the three words that were ment to be spoken.
 
"I Love You."
 
I reached out, fell dead, stood up, broke down, just to stand up all over again.
 
"I Love You."


Details | Free verse | |

I have no poem left to write tonight

I have no poem left to write tonight
So upon blank paper I write a better thing
These syllables that give my soul delight
This alphabet to which your spirit clings
Let me write you pure
Let me write you sweet
Let me write you sure
As dawn on dawn repeat
For those who live living is eternal
What is mortal transpired by faith
For those who love loving is immortal
And joy becomes the bugle of fate
We are poets and dreamers
The world's first and last believers
I drink hibiscus from a dreams soft tongue
And sing the kiss no one else has sung


Details | Free verse | |

Paris

Often when I thought of you,
Paris was my first recollection.

 "la ville-lumière" 

similar to the flame you lit in me
the city where it has ruptured in art
but, in comparison to the person you are 
you make it all seem so insignificant 
the golden glow that shined on the stones 
as if the radiance like the one in your eyes 
the history of your composition
could captivate the frigid
you were a bit of the old and the new
a breath of fresh air 
with every aspect of solidity life could offer
with a goût of romance and utmost elegance

our eyes fixated on the identical spot
cigarette lit in both hands,
if only Paris could bring us closer.


Details | Free verse | |

Beautiful feelings

Beautiful things can be touched
Beautiful moments can be captured
But beautiful feelings can never be described
You were the most beautiful feelings I have ever had


Details | Free verse | |

Write Something

I have been challenged

To everyday

Just WRITE SOMETHING

You’d think that’d be a simple task

Since I call myself a writer

Just WRITE SOMETHING

Isn’t as easy as it seems.

What am I supposed to write

When all I’m trying to do is

Just WRITE SOMETHING?

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING

About how I woke up feeling great, ready to take on the day

Until I turned on the news heard the snow storm hit earlier than expected

Making the commute to and from work a complete disaster

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING 

About how for once

The CTA was running on time

And I actually made it to work early

As opposed to my standard 5 – 10 minutes late

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING

About how long my workday seems to drag when I’m in the office

And how fast times flies when I’m not 

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING

About how I’m grateful that I have a job

But really feel like I’m just spinning my wheels coming here everyday

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING

About the homeless woman I saw during lunch

And how I wondered where she’d go tonight when the ‘deep freeze’ hits

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING

About never finding the time to myself to write 

Instead settling on jotting lines down 

On whatever piece of paper is handy

Whenever something comes to mind

Maybe I should WRITE SOMETHING 

About how at the end of the day

I look in my notebook and all I see written is

I WISH I COULD’VE THOUGHT

OF SOMETHING TO WRITE


Details | Free verse | |

My Release

My Release
Hobbes

We run through eternity with our heads in our hands
Everything is distorted by the blindness of society
Nothing I see is real
Nothing I hear is true
Nothing I touch is there
Nothing is nothing but a word
It's a word that fills my heart and soul
It clouds my thoughts and eats away at what I am
We don't quite understand it but we know its there
It always twists
always turns

I see only shades of grey
If you look upon my face you will see it
All I seek is release
All I seek is comfort
All I seek is an end
But what does it mean to seek an end?
In this end who  really prospers?
I would not, for in death all comes to an abrupt end.
My family would be crushed and never be the same
My friends would suffer
My community would be shaken to its roots
Death solves nothing
It only creates problems and strife

We jump through hoops trying to please everyone
Every action planned with surgical persision
I hide what I am
I hide who I am
I hide behind lies
I can hide no more
Hiding tares at my heart my mind and my soul
My family is kept in the shaddows
They do not know my true face
I can do this no more
I will not lie or hide anymore
The truth shall set me free
Even if it kills me

It is possible that I write as a release
It is possible that all I do is appeal to others
I write to vent
I write to share
I write to express
I write because at the end of the day I always will have my words
Nobody can take my words from me
My words are what define me
I always stand strong
I always keep on keeping on
This is my release.

This is my mind
My life
My everything
Nobody can tell me otherwise!


Details | Free verse | |

What To Say

I want to write a letter to you But I don't know what to say Should I tell you I still love you Do you want me to say i'm ok How about all the hurt Or the way I spent my day Do you want me to tell you How I wished you sould have stayed I want to write a letter to you I have no idea what to say But until I figure it out I will just tell you i'm ok


Details | Free verse | |

INK SPOTS

From the tips of my fingers, they fly
and run for their lives across a white sea;
an army of messengers released by me
In an effort to let you know
I STILL  EXIST!


In a flurry they run… 
Without hesitation, these messengers of my soul,
cloaked in an armor of  unedited emotional truth,
screaming, SET HER FREE! SET HER FREE!


BUT…
Once again, ‘EGO’, stops them in their tracks;
interrogating each and every one;
deleting row after row; 
picking and choosing those that will live,
and those that will die;

WHEN TODAY,
as a thousand times before,
I tried to write a poem for you…DEAREST!

BUT sadly …
the truth got in the way.

Author:  Elaine George
Written:  November 13th, 2014


Details | Free verse | |

Trembling Hands


My hands tremble: What a misery! 
Drops the pen nor writes, 
Words spilled out from my mouth. 

Oh, for this rapid flow,
Oh for this feathers! 
My hands neither tremble nor write _ 
Why shall I care! 

If you not read my messages 

Written by © Fatima Nusairat


Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizaed wrote part five

But you cant keep this book intact its not allowed 
your soul will not bear it 
do you keep all the prophecies to be a part of the truth 
do you tear out the love and find just the directions to eternal youth\ 
do you keep the satanic metaphors to reveal the author had a horrible soul 
this test upon humanity is sitting by the riverside
Love for sale in western mail
Love for sale in western mail
Watching it all go down is given to every woman child mother father adult 
and then you create how its passed down to the future but its never whole 

one day I will write this book and you will all dream 
Pushing the limits
So many nights crying
The limits that limits that change
About its entirety 
go from house to house 
to read the book 
with pages missing to compare it to yours 
to fathom family legacies and opinions 
Born to please
to try to understand the truth of oppression and decisions and accuracy and 
creativity 
and in this book I will write stories and I will write traditions and I will write games 
and I will write sanities and insanities 
but what you keep and what you throw away 
stay away from the river man
The water is cold
Don’t ever set me free
Born to dream
Of those days of warm rays
No one has a clue
You’re safe when they hear me
But they’re gonna clue in
When they see the sneak
They clueing in
All their strength not to fall apart
Satellite secret moments shadowed in the heat of the afternoon
To the holiday
They will always want by their side

they’re cluing into the bird lady

Doing things my way
they’re cluing in to little miss daisy
is another test 
another dream another curse 
another prayer of metaphor 
another chain 
of soft spoken words
to never have answered 
something this generation had that memory can only answer 
and the death wish of not cooperating leave you upon a grave of cand’lit flames 
and hells passed on to legacies of hell the arch angels tell you to tear down 
walls to cripple you all 

Everywhere
Everything blue eyes
Unbelievable ways
Sky of white stars exotic
Magical times

Broken faith makes me
your new book of god 
And I’m running out of here
Or no way at all
Running out of here

BROKEN FAITH
makes me
YOUR NEW BOOK OF GOD

And I’m running out of here
And I’m running out of here
Come to the reason
You really got me
I wasn’t fake
come to the light
back to the middle


Details | Free verse | |

My Greetings To You All

To all friends upon this site I write this poem for you.
Down through the years you have held me up and
has helped me to make it through.
You've laughed with me and cried with me
Even taught me how to write.
When my days were looking grim, you made them look so bright.

To write your names one by one I know I would leave one out.
So I send this message to all of my friends-I love you all without a doubt.
May your Christmas be very happy and cheerful as it can be.
And May the New Year bring joy and peace,
and our love draw closer indeed.

Merry Christmas to All and May You All Have a Prosperous New Year.


Details | Free verse | |

Blank sheet of paper

I'd do anything to obliterate you,
From my heart; from my side.
I don't want to care anymore.
So go away, just go away.
Ich liebe dich isn't yours anymore,
Leave my heart, runaway.
I am a danger to your life.
I'll eat your sanity, eat your heart.
I wish I could hate you, but you're my friend.
Friends are family; I'd never leave.
We just aren't going anywhere.
In a test, I'm the blanks.
You sit and think, but you just don't know,
Where we'll go; if we'll go.
I'm that blank sheet of paper,
Just write friends, just write friends...


Details | Free verse | |

Get Off My Case

When I sit here at night
I start thinking of you,
I wonder where we were wrong
I thought our love was true.
You were the one
For all eternity,
I would have done anything
To keep you true to me.

Now you write me and say
You want me to give you more space,
I live a hundred miles away
Why don't you get off my case.

You said you were hurt
When I left you,
But if you think about it
You weren't very true.
When I moved away
We stayed in touch,
Then you stopped calling me
And my love drifted to suck.
So how can you claim
That you were there?
You never bothered to call
Or act like you cared.

No you write me and say
You want me to give you more space,
I live a hundred miles away
Why don't you get off my case.


Details | Free verse | |

Dear Moon, A Love Letter

Why does the Moon think she is obligated to hide her body from the Earth?
Does she not know her revolving mass entrances our eyeballs to her blueish, gray hue?
Doesn't she know that when she shows her entire body we all marvel at her simplistic natural beauty?
How can she expect us to continually pay attention to her when she purposely fools our light, feeble hearts?
She knows us,
She knows how to turn our emotions into her little play trinkets,
Constantly turning our minds into a pathetic mush forcing us to follow her graceful body around,
Does she think it is okay to show only a section of her texture while leaving the rest of her "confined side" in the bleak darkness?
It should not have to take a spotlight for us people too see what is behind the Moon's impenetrable black cloak,
What do you think we are going to do, exclude you from our existence?
Ignore you?
Did you ever think about how we are side by side with each other every night?
Do you think this is going to ruin our already convoluted broken-down relationship?
No matter who you are or who you portray yourself to be, 
We are going to have to by you,
You have become such a big part of us that we could not even survive without your presence,
Are we nothing to you?
We realize, yes, you are all the way up there in the sky looking down at us as if you are on the top of this ghostly cast system, rotating around without stress, surrounded by immense amounts of beauty,
and us "below-class people" are down here in the ghettos of our planet mewling and battling each other in pointless wars,
But that does not means you can undermine us just because your feign personality believes she can,
We have to be able to know you,
How can you believe that this is fair?
You have been given the ability to climb the rocky walls of our true personalities and feeling,
But you have cowardly plugged up all your deep craters with ice and darkness,
We just want to see the other true half of your beauty,
We want to dive deep within those dark abuse marks of your's, scoop out the ice, light up a fire and slowly rebuild you into your original perfectly circular self,
Why can't you understand Moon,
We are trying to help you,  
Please,
Reveal yourself to us,
Let us refill those beauty marks of your's,
And prove to us you are more than just a gigantic rock.
-Corey Gordon, 14


Details | Free verse | |

Be My Muse(Extended)

Let us write a song

write it's music,write it's words

Let us Write all day long

till the song is in our ears

till we feel it in our tears

till our heart is falling.

Let Those words exist forever,

Let those words fill our hearts with hope

So we taste it on our tongues

the embers popping from it's tune

Vibrating turns our souls askew

We've created something true

Be My Muse and help me spread it

Sending it to all with love

We created art together

Hand in hand, the sky above.


Details | Free verse | |

Self reflection

Self-reflection is an art
A two edged sword that no one teaches
No religion philosophized
my own personal goal 
to better myself 
and understand everything 
by seeing one another 
through the slide of me 
through another’s eyes 
and that person 
through yet another’s eyes

Four good qualities you truly possess is where I start
The good things about me
Actually that’s a lie
That’s what I recommend
I usually get a little bit sad sit here and realize 
That I think I’m deep and no one understands

I know through self-reflection of understanding history
and putting myself in other peoples shoes
Like a mental actor of how I would feel emotionally and mentally
and then writing it down
is like self reflection but not quite
close but no cigar I have learned we are truly all actors and life is indeed a stage
And when we learn how to manipulate the greatest acts of man for the history 
books
The next generations will be taught in school how to prevent wars and live in 
piece by us selling one perfect life or lie
And I wonder if I’m a 27-year-old psychological lie of a ghetto wizard
I’ve described

Through self reflection I know they're are things I need to change
Some things I never will
Some things I am a part of
And at least the parts and pieces of my life I live like poetry that if they were 
captured like dreams in a butterfly net
They would teach something to the future like Jesus or anybody would if they 
understood
Just how to self reflect emotionally mentally put yourself in another’s shoes and 
learn the lesson through writing a poem
or thinking it out

If each generation and the history books were all acts of men
and my generation has to top the last lie with a wisdom of the perfect metaphor 
to unlock the following generations thinking process
Is that the game of the planet?
Are those the reasons to the wars we fight today?
to teach tomorrow
When they write their essays that will become tomorrow’s politicians 
An insane asylum can teach politics and all we really want is to pay them to be 
rich and make global friends so we can have utopia
But in the history book of the essays they no longer write where life lessons were 
learned and taught through misfortune of man
there are gems to be uncovered of how to stop wars how to peace keep
How to mediate
How to live
How to heal
and every generation we discover it on our own as the teachers subtly shape our 
minds




Details | Free verse | |

Venting

You know how it is, You know how this thing goes?
So why are you surprised?
Why must You seem so shocked?
This is nothing new, Just the same old!
You tried to prepare yourself didn't you?
You tried to be one step ahead of the game!
Still, Still your thrown off balance, your sweating, your not as you should!
Stop! Stop suppressing those feelings!
Its ok to cry just know that you will never know why.
Strength is a great thing however to much strength can easily make you weak!
How? How you say?
Your trying to be strong your ignoring the true pain.
Next thing you know your a Volcano and your going insane!
You only cry in the shower so the water can mix with your tears.
So basically your masking and washing away all of your fears.
But little do you know.
What your washing away recycles right back.
You thought it went down the drain?
No no the same pain is now trickling down your back.
Im not super woman. i admit that as of now!
I can only take so much, that's just the honest truth
This harsh reality is all this emotion balancing is sucking my youth.
This has no title just a free vent to myself.
lesson is dont be surprised at what you already know!
Suck it up dust it off and go with the flow.


Details | Free verse | |

Unwritten letters

Dear self,

   The words that I have to say are not the nicest ones. I fear what my uncapped talent
might pour out. I only write truth and nothing else. So when my brother asks me to write
to my older brother in prison I resist. It's not that I don't love him I just can't
pretend that I have forgiven him. 

I cannot mask the hurt that I feel like he is some pen pal that I've just been introduced
to. When the events were all too real how do you pretend they didn't singe through you?
How do they expect me to become a pathological liar over night? If I were to sit down and
write a pretend letter I wouldn't get a complete though out or anything right. 

In a real letter I would yell and release and maybe write him off forever. If I really did
write to him It might reopen some wounds that are still fresh like just made french
vanilla ice cream. If I really did write I wouldn't be awaiting a reply. Some things I may
say would hurt like a dagger slowly slicing you to death. 

I won't be writing to exchange pleasantries because being real is all I've ever know how
to be. My brother doesn't understand how such a lover of writing can have not a thing to
say. It's not that I have writer's block it's just that I refuse to pretend everything is
okay. I also refuse to inflict that kind of pain even though he deserves it I'd rather
just leave these thoughts unsaid. I'll live with the heavy shoulders and the extra heavy
burden because I really do love him. 
     
                                        Love Shahana Jackson


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 | Free verse | |

I Spit This

You're the recurrence of sweet dreams 
that fall from heaven and form chocolate streams.
Writing and sipping create extraordinary rivers that 
rival the length of the Nile, and are more exotic than 
the Amazon or the wonder of a woman named Diana. 
 My Flow is liken to the Rio Grande,
 crossover and understand me.
 Wade in the Mississippi and dredge up my history. 
Y'all don't feel me. Started me out at the Delaware 
but I didn't originate there. I was water collected in goat skin 
trekking across barren land in search of  promised lands. 
One drop was all I needed to sustain me. 
Now you know me. Forever flowing. 
From heaven to the ground, 
I rise above my own level and wear my own crown.
  I'm liquid with this. Words I spit form rivers.
 Let's commerce it and go to the bank with it.
It ain't about money, it's about the utilization
of a gift.


Details | Free verse | |

The Game

A room shrouded in a thick curtain of smoke
Conceals a blue man, a red man, and a purple man as they sit in the round at a modern table
And flick cards between their fingers in a stalemate. 
The moment is pregnant with anticipation,
The steady flaking of cigar ash burning little stars into the cheap dark velvet table-top. 

There the petrified sit,
Abled only through the gnashing of their teeth against the bitterness.
The pursuit is at a impasse,
and the treaties of man momentarily hold face.
These are the trenches. Here lie the stalwart and the un-blossomed;
Brimming as they teeter on the edge 
and all at once are stilled by the threat of spilling over.


Details | Free verse | |

The First Sign

when you've developed a formula
that's the first sign
that you should go back and rethink things
when you've come up with some way 
to write the perfect pop song
that's the first sign
you'll never write one

when your dreams have become
a part of your everyday routine
that's the first sign
you should drop them
if everything you want to accomplish
revolves around the possession of money
that's the first sign
you should shoot yourself


Details | Free verse | |

A Poet

I love a lot about who I am....
A Mistress who has come into her own
A sister that LOVES her sisters no matter what
A friend who will fight to the end for loved ones
A hard worker that does what needs to be done
A mother who REALLY misses her cubs
A lover...enough said there
An ex wife who would love to be mean
A moderator who has to be fair
A college student wanting a new career
And I am a poet....
A poet that writes MANY different ways
I write happy and sad
I write fantasy and haunted
I write about my past and my future
I write humor when I can
I write how I want and when I want
I write for me and for others as well 
But MAKE NO MISTAKE...I will not
Change any of my work because it 
Does not make sense to you...
You see some of what I write is not meant 
To make sense in a logical way....but hey
If my work or that of any other is not to your
Taste...you do not have to read what I write.
I am a poet...a poet who will write what
I want any time and any place...that is what a
Poet does....we write poetry that is for us 
And makes sense for us......
I will take the good comments as well as the bad
Just do not expect me to change for you.....
After all I am....A poet......


Details | Free verse | |

My Poetry

Once poetry was just a hobby,
Then I grew to love it,
My poetry is dark,
And sad and angry,
But I never feel happy enough to write anything else.

My poetry is my feeling in words,
Expressed in a non-harmful way,
I write about love and passion,
But nothing stupid at all,
Because my poetry is real,
And I’m not stupid.


Details | Free verse | |

Perfect Harmony

Perfect Harmony


I'm free 
your open
together we create the perfect harmony
together,forever is what we promised
now where have we gone since that day
farther or closer.you should have stayed
I'm working your playing but together we 
create perfect harmony.I will write the rhymes
you'll write the music,then we shall create perfect harmony.
now we'll be together forever at least that what we 
promised.like glass dolls we sit side by side alike in so many ways
and yet so different in others,and yet we create perfect harmony.
everything we are is because and will always be because
we create perfect harmony together.


Details | Free verse | |

I

i don't use spacing in my poetry
because it feels like a gimmick
i don't dabble around in various forms
because they're trite and they bore me
i add little flourishes
that no one notices
so maybe i should just stop?
not

i dig around inside my head
for things that might matter
for a second but not so much
a minute later
i am fickle when i want to be
and do not apologize for it
i despise cliches with all my heart
yet more often than not
splash around in them
i am lazy, and incoherent
and stupid and smart
and couldn't give two sh1ts
about what you think i should
or should not do about it

i take feedback like a b1tch
but rarely ever listen to it
i swear because i believe
the entire human language
is free range
i write about drugs
because they interest me
not because i do them
i write about life and death
and everything in between
but i still tend to repeat
myself
i write about life and death
and everything in between---
you get the point


Details | Free verse | |

New Phase

Last year's 

Tears 

Followed me into this year 

Still here 

As if after 365 days

Would mean a new phase, 

When it's all the same time line 

The same life yolo right? nine 

For the cats who I envy, 

My heart on no calendar can be 

For it understands not time, 

Just love, 

When there is none

Time is glacial sublime, 

When it's present like a glove, 

It's camera flash after flash and gone,

Before I can even register

Like skipping the steps

And sliding down a banister,

But I still feel it in my insteps,

I know it wasn't a dream,

And so; I cry as I silently scream,

Cursing those joyous around me

Filled with New Year's glee...

APAD13 001


Details | Free verse | |

Hell of Addiction

I was real tempted to write this in a rhyme
Because it’s just the most natural to me
However the pure hell I feel this morning
Keeps me from doing so
I have over five years clean and sober
Five years clean after twenty-five years
Of being a Junkie, convict and a cook
I have tried so hard to use myself as an example
Of what not to be
As well as what to be
If that makes any sense at all
You see I’m trembling as tears flow this morning
Freely down my face
Last night was the hardest night
In my life of recovery
I had a dream and in my dream
I made up a big shot, my own special speedball
Then I did the whole hundred CCs
As I went out in my dream
I woke up in my life
Shaking like a leaf on a tree
Right as the hurricane hits the shore
My wife woke up because suddenly I was hot
As lava flowing from an erupting Volcano 
And I got violently ill
This was around midnight last night
It’s now eight A.M. and I just quit shaking
Enough to write this out
Sometimes the comfort I find in my poetry
Is a comfort I haven’t felt
Since my mother last held me in her arms
When I was just four
I wrote this out as a warning to others who follow
So they can mentally prepare themselves
For the simple fact that long after
The physical addiction is gone and forgot
The devil will crawl inside their dreams
Trying to lure them back into the pure
Hell of Addiction


Yesterday I made plans with my daughter
Sarah to spend a few days together at a 
Clearlake midway between where we live.
My earlier post I wrote yesterday after her
i and I talked. The Devil knows that my 
Children and my desire to be the dad I 
should be for them is the main motivating
factor in my recovery so he tried hard to
take me back out last night. Praise be the
power of God for today I'm still clean and
stronger from the test. I'm sorry I was 
compelled to write and post this for I know
it can't be enjoyable to read. I've cancelled 
all my appointments today for I just feel I
need to pray and rest. God Bless you all


Details | Free verse | |

Archive 99

lines are 

pale, details...

sporadic

 

aureate filth

ensconces the 

casing.

 

tag yellow 

and withered

with time

 

yet...

bares the

twain figures 

 

number 99 


Details | Free verse | |

Can't Pretend Forever

I can't pretend forever;
cuz forever makes me cry.
To remind myself of the reality...
too many days have passed us by.
Please my God be forgiving.
You've been in every prayer...
Foolish I have been,
still yet-
this is an attempt to show I care!
How can I stop to think of you?
Or wonder on your behalf?
Pray God gave you what I asked of him
But who's to prove he has?
It's been seven months of this 
lonely hell.
Seven months since you've went away.
My hopes and dreams 
are still just that-
Guess they're only meant to stay.
Mother what have I done? Again?
Was this life meant for me?
What happened to the little girl
who held onto our family tree?
I'm not even sure anymore
of what "family" is!
If blood really is thicker than water...
Cuz I have no family!
I have no friends!
Yeah!  I wrote that-
Cuz it's how I feel!
But I know deep inside (not true).
I'm done with feeling like a living dead girl,
I want my Mother back!
I Miss You!
Is that okay?
Because I do!
So before I go off into the deep end...
I had to send what's left of my love to you.
Damn!  Everytime!
Can't write a letter no more!  Cuz I can't write to you without
tears falling to the floor!
Because you were right and I knew
Six months ago too.
So I hate myself for doing
what I already knew I would do.
And just as every battle,
I knew I would always lose.
I have yet to back down
Regardless of what may
Permanentally bruise.
But I can't go on anymore
With acting out this realm.
Cuz thats just it-
it's all pretend
People only see
what I let them see.


Details | Free verse | |

Nice

She says nice
But I know better;
Like ice sculptors
I shape words
Out of the rough
Like out of the blue
From me to her;
Watch it all
Take form
Right before
Her very eyes;
Like sandcastles
And graffiti murals,
But unlike those,
My art will never melt,
Will never fade,
Will never get washed
Away with the next tide
If this was a pen
It would glide on paper
Smooth like
The curves on her...


Details | Free verse | |

A Poem for Sister

If I could write a special poem,
I would write it just for you.
To show how much I thank you,
for all you say and do!

For all the times you helped me,
for all the times you cared,
it always made me feel good,
to know someone was there.

I will never be able to show you,
just what you mean to me.
But happiness and harmony,
Are my only wish for thee.


Details | Free verse | |

ruins

here is what I hold in my hand.
tales to be told. written  unknown, how there
is no origin. there is nothing. to be made
of these old bones, creaking. just brings
us closer to the end, the way stories begin.

and voices, which can no longer be heard. 
they stare at images conceived by memory. humanity,
it is the way we breathe. through this science
flowing through veins in blood. quickens 
heartbeat, adrenaline rush.

and mouths fill with the blood. no words, never was.
way we subside in our ruins. filth and decay
linger just as dust, not ash. something foreign
and the sounds echo dully as if escape could
drown the whole reasoning beyond existence.


Details | Free verse | |

Opening Season for Spring

Caress of morning sun
gives the day a wake-up call.
Winter has set aside hr wraft of cold...
The highways are crowded again with
Hurried drivers, like before, although
there is no snow to impede or ice for crazy crashes.
It is almost spring-like, forty degrees and
we are all pleased to have it so.

Our chatter is easy with no loud cries of
"Watch what you are doing!"
Yes, easy riding; when I get home
I shall write a poem about the guy, just passing by,
wearing only a "Tee", wow, look at me, layered still,
blouse, vest, sweater, coat hat...one of us
appears to be crazy!
Ha!  What a laugh,
I must be daft, minding someone else's business
on how he is dressed.

After all spring is just around the corner and
I'll write another poem, just off the top of my head.
The leaves are dancing again, soon to be wearing
Spring green and laughing, dressing trees in nature's colors of spring splendor.

2/12/11

Cynthia



Details | Free verse | |

Poetry

Poetry is philosophy treated so unlike philosophy
Once the discourse begins
There is no return to the conversation
Just an endless flitting to everything
I want to open words like arms
And go deep down between their legs
Until I am all quivered and done.
For what are we 
But the countless, endless germination
Of words spoken
But I write them to create thoughts, not worlds.
O for a T. S. Eliot
To steal a thought and opened it like a flower
O for a W. B. Yeats
To write and write until the conversation has its power
O for minds like crows
That will not let the thing go
But flash it, shake it, shred it
Until it is only strands of meat between the teeth
Minds that will not yield but even in death 
Conquers defeat.


Details | Free verse | |

love pain

Poetry writing isn't my expertise...
But I have learnt to write...
Writings that write out my pain...


Details | Free verse | |

Why I Write

Take a walk with me
Down this street that is in my mind
Past the houses, past the sidewalks
Past the children's playgrounds and ball parks
Walk past all the things you see
And wander into my memories

The past, the present, the future
All rolled into one event
Inside myself I control my destiny
Beyond the physical boundaries
Into that part deep in my soul
Lingering in places only I know

When you read the words
Written and meant to be shared
You touch this place inside
Experience the tears I've cried
See the love and anger too
The disappointments and the dreams come true

I don't write for me
And I don't even write for you
I write because I am compelled
To share a story I must tell
It's not a talent I have been given
It is ordained, predetermined

I write because I have no choice
I write because God gave me the voice

For every heart my words will touch
And for my own heart too
I write to share compassion
I write with fevered passion
To show the world the human side
Of conflict, anger, pain and pride


Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizard wrote part one

one day 
it will tell you from page to page 
lose no mater how cool play
Kung fu loose
Kug fu loose
but cut it loose
This pace is just holding me down
not knowing how many blocks or miles, when everything is going to hell,
And I’m going down

Ill get out of this trap
I’ll write a book plant the seed to think before you act
and in this book 
we’ll make it right
it will give you direction in your life 
 what to do 
you’ll lose
it will guide you from room to room 
to leave your house 
and as you carry this book with you 
Even if it comes as a bit of a challenge I will make it through
born to please
why you asking where ive been?

win this fight
turn right 
And I know you never lied
I want to live a good life
Guess what its like!


plant the seed to think you’re beautiful
you can play by all the rules
turn me loose

the book wont let you pass life by
or vice versa
hurry 


You will see what you’re doing to me
Not believing me
And I will know about your suspicious minds
Such suspicious minds


Cmon cmon lets go
 of riddle upon riddle
stop and say hello
Hollow 



to make it right 
of mysteries you’re solving along your way 
gotta do it my way
or no way at all
seven ancient wisdoms and secrets 
you know what makes this what you want
that tell you turn left to find shelter 
 to get here




As long as I know how to love
All my life to give
to get high 
such tears you’ve cried
suspicions
on a suspicious mind
Such suspicious minds

go forward for change 
live al little dangerous
and turn back for protection to discover truth in the delusion of safety 
Six Tomorrows starts today
that makes us come together again

One-day ill write that book
even on my knees
to make the right to get here 
you will be afraid to be seen reading in the streets 
telling you which way to walk in the beat box
to see me throw the kill switch
I know you love me soo bad
tomorrow starts today and everything changes





what page to read in what order 
as ever page is a poem of puzzles and riddles of a fairytale disorder
 to rage against
where everyone has the feeling everything is going to hell 
brainwash and manipulated belief of dreams and nightmare cults and treason 
shooting the five messengers
but you will lose
you’ll lose



 to me

get off your knees



Details | Free verse | |

Why do I write

Pain of existing without vocation
Lead me to a mystic,
Breathing in one accord
With the stern saint
I was filled with the wisdom: Wait!

So I waited, on sunny beaches, sipping 
Cool cocktails, attending charity balls,
Shopping for churches or spirituality
Until age took over the flesh:
Forcing to my own devices

At death door, descended for mercy:
Silence whispered 
"The word creates!"
Each time I descend: a topic is given:
In order to became, while I wait


Details | Free verse | |

What does that mean

Amoxicillin....What does it even mean?                        
Diclofenac....You're total maniac!                            
Paracetamol....Doesn't even roll.                                                 
Alpha-lipoic....Name makes me sick!                    
Benazepril....Makes me more ill!                                                   
Multi-cobalvit....Never heard of it!                                             
Xputum paed drops....Will you ever stop?                                                                                                                       Gel Orasore....Can't take it anymore.                                    
Thank you little sis'. For this medical skirmish


Details | Free verse | |

My Life --> My Next Poem.

i write about myself
my experiences
my feelings
in thatone moment i can write my life.
somehow, i pour my whole being
into that one poem.
a memory frozen in time
not to be forgotton
whether it change
or stay the same.
tomorrow will be a new day
a new chapter in my life
and potentially
it will be my next poem.


Details | Free verse | |

Uplifting

The money, a sad face without it
Fame, its making us trade places
I don't think it would ever be changes
Still races faces
My attitude now, got me walking alone
Because I stand up for what I believe 
Also whats mine
If I was right or wrong
I still remain strong
Life is full of these playahatas
But I ain't sweating them
Now all my enemies envy me
But why its always a she 
But awkardly a he
To me I wonder if life worth living 
Someone always there to bring you down
Then I ask myself is there really a reason to clown
Thats why I see most people as distinct strangers
They come in your life and one mistake
They mess up your whole world 
I know the world is cold
Some kind of way I gotta stay holding on
But everybody always trying to put one down
Its mainly the blacks 
Im not here to hurt nobody
You only live once
Because everybody won't speak the truth
So basically everyone has lived a lie
Some nights I cry
Maybe because I don't know if I could try
Try and deal with pain
the strain, the ache of my heart
These words that you write me down in history
Like Maya Angelou says:
"You may write me down in history
with your bitter twisted lies
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise."
Even though you may bring me down
I'm still like the sun, the shooting stars, even the stars in the sky
I'm still going to have my time to shine
D--n, can I get some peace
Well when all this suffering will cease
I don't know 
For all you haters
You read what you sew
And always note that
What goes around, comes around
Cause while Im living up to my dreams
You are just a shadow of my life
thats trying to bring me down


Details | Free verse | |

Just like it for the feelings

Like it for the feelings
And like it for the words
Because you don't have to like it for the setting that its been put in
Don't hate my work because its what you've been trying to do for so long
And don't hate me because I can write it
Its the only thing I'm good at
Even though I try so hard to do something else
But this is the only thing that fits my personality
I may be joyful 
And I may be playful
But the one thing that I love to do is write all these for you
It can take me hours 
Even days at the most 
To think of something that you will like
And something that you'll love
But you still don't like the layout
So what I say is this
Just like it for the feelings
And just like it for the words
Because just like your things its a work of art that nobody should miss.  


Details | Free verse | |

Number Nine (Nonet)

Sixty-three divided by seven
Four squared plus two and minus nine
Square root of sixteen plus five
Square root of eighty-one
Three squared plus zero 
Ten minus one
Six plus three 
Three threes
Nine!



Comments:  dedicated to the mathematical wizards who would like to write a 
nonet poem, this is your chance.   This is a very understandable way to write a 
nonet. A nonet poem has nine lines, with the first line containing nine syllables, 
the second line eight, the third seven, then six, next five, then four and so until the 
last and ninth line has one syllable. The nonet poem may be written about any 
subject, and rhyming is optional. Start with a topic sentence and work it down live 
a funnel. It should be deductive and inductive.


Details | Free verse | |

Meine Deutsche Schreiben [With Translation]

Augen sehen,
Ich schribe in der Hause,
Ich trinke lieben,
Lieben sehen.

Ich scribe in der Hause,
Ich trinke lieben,
Lieben Sehen,
Augen Sehen.

In der Hause Ich schribe,
Augen Sehen,
Ich trinke Lieben,
Lieben sehen.


“My German Writing”

Eyes see,
I write in the house,
I drink love,
Love sees.

I write in the house,
I drink love,
Love sees,
Eyes see.

In the house, I write,
Eyes see,
I drink love,
Love sees.


Details | Free verse | |

Today

i don't even know what to write about today
because i can't tell what i feel
i spoke with my dad
that's one of the happiest experiences
but then, 
the bitterness is not yet lifted
because i had a fight with her
my lil' cousin taking her side
today, i never had a chance to write at home
so this work was done directly at the internet cafe
i don't think i'm better than all the rest
'cuz if i was 
i wouldn't be yearnin for affection like all the rest


Details | Free verse | |

I'm not sure you know what to say part 3

As you comment on everyone soo often and deny me a status of understanding
Whatever I try to express
So I’ll get off my soapbox and just tell you
You don’t fully understand it
I wont explain it or try to pretend to comprehend all of it
But inside of you	
I want to mention
Sometimes I need some attention
For the angels of men and women
And the demons of deception
are plaguing me all the way from the bibles of every intelligence
to the zodiac of hesitations
and ultimatums
I wish I could tell you what the stars would mean to me
instead of them being
Chinese astrology of arts of war
and masked for divination
to come together
to take over
The labels and awards of good deeds we never receive
And maybe one day
you'll read something from me
and you will see
I refuse to lie to me when I type and write and write to myself

And that’s why you have soo little to say

I hope your enjoying a spiritual awakening
And one in million waking up minds to start dieting
Can and will wake up the minds of the many
Who need to start self-reflecting
And the revolution of spirit mind and body
of the truth in-between the lies and lines
Isn’t far behind

But seriously asked the angels and demons who agree to run away from me
Is mankind crazy or really that brave?

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting




Details | Free verse | |

The world we lived

Died in the arms of cruelty                                                
mummified...                                                                                    
rests in peace


Details | Free verse | |

For My Only Love

For my only love 
If I could write you a song 
it would be like rain 

It would fall gently 
upon your sweet heart and soul 
like dew on the grass 

The words would be soft 
as a wind chime on the breeze 
hanging from a tree 

And the melody 
would be the sound of bird song 
at the rise of morn 

The tempo would be 
that of rain dripping on leaves 
of the mighty oak 

All this I wish you 
If I could write you a song 
For my only love 


Details | Free verse | |

I miss my old town

So, this morning I walked the streets of this town I live
the way everybody was talking made no since.. to me
jacked up on caffeine, some still drunk from last night
talking smack, pointing fingers at the wrong guy
throwing peace signs with one hand and punches with the other
They'll be shouting please god forgive me, and singing at church tomorrow
so many people caught up in what's in
a town of fifty five hundred and overflowing with sin
I miss the way things use to operate
respect was not only given.. it was earned
what happened... when did we all fail to learn
seems like money and greed fuels the fire
you're a preacher, a saint.. today you're a brother,
but tomorrow I'll have to watch my back,
tomorrow I'll have to arm myself...
because tomorrow you're a snake, you're a liar
you feed on the pain you cause others
flying a false flag in the name of another... not God
You say only God can judge you while you judge others
I'm so sick of the hell we bring one another
I miss the way things use to be...  
 




Details | Free verse | |

i already love you

i will love you 
i will listen to every word you say
i will laugh at every corny joke
i will hold your hand
i will think about you all the time
i will talk about you non stop
i will remember you for ever
i will write about you every night
i will hear your voice in every song
i will see your face in every picture
i will close my eyes and pretend you're there when your not
i will believe in you
i will prey for you
i will cry with you
i will cry for you
i will climb a mountain to reach you
i will write a million words to tell you how i feel and you still wouldn't know
i will count how many times we kiss untill i loose count because i'm crazy like that
i will be there for you when you need me
i will have to remember to breathe when you touch me
i will sing love songs about you even though i cant sing
i will scream your name just to hear it
i will, because i fall hard, hard in love, i dig a hole and can't climb out
i will, i know
i will find you. I hope.


Details | Free verse | |

FOR POSTERITY

I write my poems for posterity:
To be trapped and preserved
In the pages of moth-eaten books,
To be discussed at universities
Hundred years after my death,
To be selected in syllabus and taught in
Classrooms of schools in remote lands,
In schools and exams to be summarized,
Shrunk into precis or its lines
Taken out for RC, Figures of speech,
Thought expansion-
I know my countrymen will ignore me
For every poet is ignored by his times and his homeland.
Poetry, like rolling boulder, gathers
Momentum and velocity as it advances
Deep into dark valley of time
I do not write for my country for she
Considers poetry a pastime, not a profession.


Details | Free verse | |

Why I can't do free verse

I'm doing free verse poetry just for fun
Let's see how far I can go without rhyming
What do people write about in free-verse?


I don't know.

This is a completely foreign concept to me. 
Sure, I write poetry, but it's usually fun and full-of-rhymes.
				
			

						Maybe if I play with the layout like this?


No?

	Then how do I write it?


I am having trouble with this whole free verse thing... 













Details | Free verse | |

Need Some Company

So many people in here
But still
You're alone
Must be in some way better than home
Still
The TV shows what can be real
I don't wanna be aggressive
But your pull infected
Me and my instincts
Like a sweet disease

NOW WAIT NOW!!
please!!!!!

I'm sure you have a cure an anti-venom so to speak
Restore my heartbeat back to it's normal pace
I beg you miss
Don't think I'm full of it
Cause I speak quickandawfullyslick
Off hand I'll let you know it
I'm a poet
Born one going to die as one of "thee" one's
I write to en light everyday
Though I want the chance to write it for a Someone.......
If I may
I want to be paid
But my only charge to you tonite is a smile to replace
That frown on your face       Right?
If you smoke I'm going to pull out the fire
If you drink
Think of me as the ice cubes that makes it cool to sip
that tickles your lips
Excuse me, but, Is someone else sitting here?

If not can I join the table and bathe in your presence
Wash the stranger's mystique off
Let you see me as I am while we talk
Need some company?
Be mine at least ....
If I can't be yours


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


Details | Free verse | |

You write you write

You Write,you write
You write,you write till the words become a poem.
Long verse or short stories 
You write,you write.
Maybe a song or a love letter to those that read.
You write you write it must be a joy.
To see the words you wrote in a contest to be judged.
You win a few you lose a few. 
But you write you write till the ink runs out.


Details | Free verse | |

pass me a pen

Sometimes it’s like a challenge in my mind
Maybe I need to use a professional to balance out my lines
But talents hard to find
I'd rather write my own way
because I'll only write what I want to say
Someone Pass me a pen, Pass me a pad
I’m sick and tired of the words, “YOLO” and “Swag”
Started writing poetry to heal pain
Maybe I’d get more attention if I wrote nonsense like Lil Wayne
But I write for people who feel the same
A struggle from the start
But I’ll get to laugh in the end
Got some trouble in my heart
So someone please pass me a pen
Don’t want to go out
I just want to write
Let me use this ink now
Writing is my life
Sometimes I write my pain
Sometimes I use my imagination
When I write my pain
 I never use fabrication
Some of it hurt, and it’s sad to say it
But I’d rather have a pad that’s naked
Than come up with a past that’s fabricated
Sister and brother on drugs, mum and dad were wasted
No fear say anything I think
Let me use this ink
Poetry saved my life
Kept me clean from drugs and drink
Pen became a friend, pad became my shrink
While all of you are trying to keep up with the Kardashians
I’m trying to keep up appearances
Someone please pass me a pen
Let me explore my talents as a poet and lyricist 


Details | Free verse | |

Fly

I know I write a lot about all 
the things money can provide,
like material items and not 
what I'm inspired by.
Having dreams and a keen 
intuition provided by
All the times that I failed but 
I'm still willing to try to fly.
I'd be telling a lie,
If it ever compares to this
So many times I condoned 
when my actions were intricate

I know I don't wan't to be 
stressed,
I don't wan't to live a lot,
I just wan't to live my life 
without it being criticized,
there's a soft spot on my heart 
I tend to solidify
cause I don't wan't to live if I 
see hatred through either eye
I don't wan't attention just 
want to be left alone,
plus every challenge that I 
face, I use as a stepping stone
I don't need anybody's 
guidance I can live with my 
mistakes
I may not know just where I'm 
headed but I'll make it there 
safe.

A lot of times I'm feeling 
exposed and laughed at,
but in my mind I'll still be in 
control.
It's a heavy burden for a young 
soul
All of which I'm more intact 
hoping the universe can help 
me weather the storm.

Please correct me if I'm wrong,
But isn't life a question in which 
the answer is left alone?

And so I write these thoughts 
down not knowing if I'm truly 
right,
but it's what's left in my mind 
that'll give me a better sight.
A better life,
not just for me but for every 
life,
since selfish doesn't apply to 
the process
Metaphorically speaking we all 
can fly just acknowledge your 
progress.


Details | Free verse | |

Love asks no questions

And would you challenge my right to love
And you want me to write for approval
And you expect me to know some profit
Or to predict how I shall gain?
Love asks no questions to be given
It finds its own need and bloom at will
Flowers that are gifts from heaven.
And when I write my heart out plain
Do not ever scramble me again
For the one thing in a poem I cannot forgive
Is dishonesty ... a poem should never lie
It has too brief a path to find repentance
My love, forget what is to be gain
We but can give account from a balance sheet of loss
O let us dance: I like a wine with movement
It is the duller edge of pain.


Details | Free verse | |

Commissioned

Someone told me I must write poems
In the language of common meanings
Like brown paper bags
And the popped out eyes of children
What are poems I asked
The silence trickled into disgust
Not because the dumb cannot speak
But because I cannot make the mute to hear
I pour me out in words
First after being distilled to thoughts
I would not play with these words lightly
Each pourings leave less of me
And when this poem is done I am no more
That is why my meaning stay unique
And uncomprehended as I am
Sorry, I do not write that poem. madam
I write change on permanent memories
In the heart of the deaf he hears a fountain of melodies.


Details | Free verse | |

My life is not a joke

It's not easy to put yourself out like this
sabatoge your fantasies
and write down life experiences
glad you are enjoying my 15 year nervous breakdown
but you are laughing at my life
and why i write is to inform you
my life is not a joke

I am a human being
who tries probably harder than you
who sees the blessings in everything
and its unfortunate for soo many they see so few
it's not easy to inform an apathetic world
whats going on in my life
and not take it personal
when you laugh at my attempts at talking myself out of suicide

Talk about ripping my heart open
to give you a laugh
you write such pretty creative things
i write in an attempt to heal
the whole statement here is my life is not a joke
but obviously its humorous
and in time i will learn to put up another wall
i'm sure whatever joke i am fits me like a glove

One of the few things stopping me from giving the world what i thought god wanted from me
and now i'm going to stop
just thought i would inform you
my pain to me is very real
ignorance is bliss i guess
and i can't take that from you
but its been taken from me

I learned the hard way not to trust anyone
love is a trick to get someone else to do what you want
a disease is something you get when someone doesn't love you back
mental anguish and confusion of self medicating go hand in hand
leave you to surrender to the realisation
those ennabling you with street remedies are trying to kill you
and those are facts
the whole point of writing this
lately anyway, is to show myself im not a joke
you want something funny, go look at the other online books i've written 
and laugh at that

My last attempt at having faith in the world
i guess it shouldn't come so easy to someone totally destroyed
emotionally and mentally
and my diagnosis
I get it now
it's funny
lost to myself again
my life isn't a joke
but im sure the punchline of my death
will be attractive to every comedian


Details | Free verse | |

blank page

this page is bare in memory
you can write from abditory
a sonnet, lyrics, a poem of life
I read it all, reflecting

yes, I think you write for me
interpretation, of what I believe
I like to think I left a mark
tearing across your heart

renditions that I know aren't true
I've never meant that much to you
and still I read and what it seems
is all imagination


Details | Free verse | |

Knuckle Down

   (Summon the Muse)

Calliope drops sensuous
sounds from her fingertips.
My outstretched arms catch
and hold them to my bosom,
wherein they suffer death.

Clio presents her backside.
My impassioned pleas fall
on deaf ears. All the old
stories stay locked inside
aged trunks in the attic.

Where are the words,
recounting broken vows?
Erato is sleeping. Wake up!
Let us pen phrases, turn
hearts of stone into 
songs of undying love.

I appeal to Euterpe.
Her answer dribbles down
as scattered snowflakes.
I sing the songs only
to children, or myself.
No boldness here.

Thalia fails completely.
No wit or wisdom blooms,
no grace flourishes forth.
The blank page dances
crazily and begs. 
The pen remains silent.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            


Details | Free verse | |

I hate myself

I write it down
in pen
as permanent as a scar
I scribble it out
more and more
as if the more ink
I lay on top of the burning wound
the less true the words become

I write it down
the words scream at me
echoing in my brain
unearthing every truth I buried within
the coffins of dead thoughts are finally opened
the ghosts of past mistakes, alive, free
bridges rebuild between my heart and my mind
I can't take it

I'm not as strong as I need to be

I write it down
I can't take the screaming
I can't handle my own truth
Lies battle the echoes
conquering the space in my mind
the coffins shut the thoughts away 
that I never should have thought before
bridges crumble
bridges burn
nothing connects
nothing works

I plunge back into confusion
I can't take it


Details | Free verse | |

Our Love Story

If I were to write a book
About my love for you
It would be a never-ending story
If I could paint a portrait
Of how you look in my eyes
It would be a masterpiece
If I were to write a song
Singing of our love
The words would be deep and touching
If I received a dime
For each thought of you
During the course of the day
I would be rich
And share all that I have with you
No oceans, mountains, or walls
Could keep me away from you
I would risk all
Just to see you smile
To me, our love
Is the greatest love story never told


Details | Free verse | |

There Was A Time

There was a time in my life when I cried and cried and cried.
Then one day I looked up and began to dry my eyes.

There was a time in my life when I complained and complained and     
complained.
Then one day I realized it only caused me to remain.

There was a time in my life when I screamed, and screamed and screamed.
Then one day I heard myself and boy did I sound mean.

One day I got a revelation, and it has helped me to this day.
I don’t have to cry, complain, or scream for you to hear what I have to say.

I just need a pen and paper, and my computer too.
Now I can write, write and write for my words have a voice too.
And as I write these poems out, they speak to all of you.


         First poem written in 2008.




Details | Free verse | |

THE HURT WITHIN

I feel so broken 
such thoughtless words 
such angry words spoken 

To suffer everyday 
in silence 
to appease 
the person to please 
anger at bay 

Everyday 
a little harder to take 
yet to endure 
days on end 
your mistake 

To write 
your only release 
your only escape 
you only want peace 
your plight 

The heart inside 
dying a little 
beaten 
the hurt you hide 
you just died 

Always one way 
compromises 
never exist 
always another day 
such things wished 

There must be an end 
sometime 
for eagles fly 
will my heart mend? 
or will it wither and die? 

I feel so broken 
such thoughtless words 
such angry words spoken 

To write 
open the heart 
the spirits flown 
released 
my plight 

To all out there 
my soul to abre 
my plight 
for I live 
in the mind 
like a bird of the air 


Details | Free verse | |

The Opening of Rusty Doors

Stop me right now if you've heard this before
there's the wind at my back and a knock at my door
there's you love me to moons but I love you much more
and we dance and we dance and we dance
Please stop me now if you know all my thoughts
as they roll on the wind in occasional bouts
as they shine in my eyes like the sun bleeding clouds
and I write and I write and I write
Stop me in summer if you're sick of the moon
for she shines less and less as the Luna de Lune
for she swells with a million hot stars in her womb
and she grieves and she grieves and she grieves
So stop me at once while the day carries on
as I open my door to the once setting sun
as the brooding of winter escapes in the dawn
and we breathe and we breathe and we breathe.


Details | Free verse | |

Suicide Note

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would kiss every inch of the page, to drench it
With my last breathings of doomed love

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would spray each corner with Arabian perfume, 
So you will always associate death not with the chilling scents of
Decomposing flesh, or freshly turned soil, but with a heady 
Intoxicating fragrance

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would use many inks in rainbow colours, to soothe 
The ache of my parting words – to paint a kaleidoscopic picture of 
My beautiful misery

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would not waste time listing my miseries,
For they were countless, and too heavy for a sheet of paper
To bear

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would compose it sitting on my bed, my legs a creamy white
Against the starched white sheet, my face lifting now and then 
To the window, to distract myself from the solemnity by
Observing my final sunset

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would use the word ‘love’ as often as my heart
Nervously beats, in preparation for the coming stillness

If I were to write a suicide note,
I would remind you that were it not for you I would
Never have lived at all

I would tell you how you lifted my soul,
How you dragged me up from the depths,
The proverbial lotus flower pushing its blooms through
The sucking black mud

I would tell you how you were always with me,
Even when you weren’t – how your memory
Haunted, gently, bitter-sweetly

I would tell you how every time I closed my eyes 
I saw your face,
Etched by angel fingers on the thin red easels of my lids

I would tell you how, to me, this feeble dying girl,
You were the most beautiful thing in the world
More beautiful than fresh-blooming roses,
Or a tropical sunset
More sacred than temples or churches
More radiant than the sun,
That blazing god 
More poignant than the moon, 
In all her melancholy splendor
More overwhelming than my frail heart could bear

If I were to write a suicide note,
It would quickly become a love sonnet,
Devoted wholly to you
And my death would be lost in the subtext... 


Details | Free verse | |

Poems are Easy

When asked how I write my stuff
I'm not quite sure how to start
It's not explanation enough
To say "It's my kind of art"
Or even to say it comes freely
To someone who speaks in rhyme
I don't want to be "touchy-feely"
For I really haven't got the time.
It isn't much of a secret
How poetry writing is done
Just write what you feel at the moment-
How easily poetry comes!


Details | Free verse | |

haiku and prose

I wrote about love
I wrote about pain
poured it out
for all to read

I wrote about passion
I wrote about warmth
on moonless nights
when I was cold

I wrote about mountains
I wrote about the sea
the monsoon rain
and lightning storms

I write it all
I write what I feel
in haiku and prose
a blogger's lament


Details | Free verse | |

writers creed

writer’s creed

this is my pen, my PC, my laptop, my ipad, my phone---
all with which i write.
there are many like them, but these are mine.
my writing apparatus is my best friend.  
it is my life &
i must master it as i must master my life.
without me, this apparatus is useless.  without this apparatus, i am useless.
i must write whatever i like, whenever i like,
for to write is to breathe & to breathe is to live.
both my apparatus & myself know that what counts in the act of writing is not
the conclusive piece written, but the process by which we come to such a 
conclusion.
my apparatus is not human & therefore it does not carry with it the flaws & errors
that accompany such a state of being.
i will learn as i use it,
overstepping weaknesses in myself &
gaining strength in that same token.  in doing so, i will make sure to keep my apparatus fully functional & updated to the best of my ability.
before myself, those who may read my own work & whose work i read,
i swear this creed---
beyond this i swear nothing to anyone, to anything, to anything that “could be” or that is still being pondered---
for we writers are the masters of the “now.”
we are saviors to no one &
victory in any sense, has never been an objective.
this is what we do.


Details | Free verse | |

What I Do

I do my best to please the crowd, 

While writing and rhyming, 

All about timing, 

Writing deep thoughts, 

Giving people something to think & talk about, 

Keeping it real all the time, 

Being original with mine, 

Making the world rethink many things, 

Just reaching out to all human beings,

My flow is smooth,

You can keep up with the groove,

Some say my flow is tight,

They love the way I write,

I try and capture the essence of life,

Things we live and see day and night,

Thoughts come to my head and with a thought I run,

Sometimes writing until my hand is numb,

But it’s all good - because I get great feedback,

And I like that,

You keep me going,

You keep me flowing,

Life keeps me focused and grounded,

So I can write all about it,

I’ll keep writing,

Because I’m liking,

The way this is moving,

The way my words are grooving,

The people who continue to read,

And like what they see,

The people – the crowd,

The noise is getting loud,

I’m feeling what you are saying,

You enjoy my realness, there is no playing,

So I continue to write for me,

And be the best I can be,

I continue to write for you,

Cause this is what I do.


Details | Free verse | |

What I Do

I do my best to please the crowd, 

While writing and rhyming, 

All about timing, 

Writing deep thoughts, 

Giving people something to think & talk about, 

Keeping it real all the time, 

Being original with mine, 

Making the world rethink many things, 

Just reaching out to all human beings,

My flow is smooth,

You can keep up with the groove,

Some say my flow is tight,

They love the way I write,

I try and capture the essence of life,

Things we live and see day and night,

Thoughts come to my head and with a thought I run,

Sometimes writing until my hand is numb,

But it’s all good - because I get great feedback,

And I like that,

You keep me going,

You keep me flowing,

Life keeps me focused and grounded,

So I can write all about it,

I’ll keep writing,

Because I’m liking,

The way this is moving,

The way my words are grooving,

The people who continue to read,

And like what they see,

The people – the crowd,

The noise is getting loud,

I’m feeling what you are saying,

You enjoy my realness, there is no playing,

So I continue to write for me,

And be the best I can be,

I continue to write for you,

Cause this is what I do.


Details | Free verse | |

loosendedly finish my sentences so they can finish yours

previously they said that was
and what were they doing?
we got here and opened 
could we go any faster someone seemed to
and there was a reply before the question

so low and so far from
you were me and i was 
we were never really found
in place of disaster where we find our
we see right through the holes
and become something
or else we turn this into god

stuck in the middle 
the researchers say you can say anything before or after
every line to make it beautiful
when you write it down
answer the questions
what does she want for her birthday?
how was your Christmas?
where does the story go?
how many pieces to the puzzle
and where did the weekend end?

Before and after mix it up Tear it up
cut it up
predict and foreshadow
end it mend it
break it fake it be inspired to inspire me and see who i inspire
as we search the lines of the database
for our arsenal
of the words we like
to add to our own to employ our souls
and play dirty with elbows to claim what is rightfully ours
together we write this chapter for the next

loose endedly
and find each line has a different tangent to say
level one incomplete
about holidays and treasure hunts
to not go on
fake plastic faces
and celebrated saints 
of yesterday
and emotionless emotive
when we celebrate the pity party of celibacy of
secrecy of masturbation

everything in this mess will mean something to you
and the joke on you8i is the joke
the joke on me
im the clown in the middle saying predict my next line
and finish he next
answer the questions
flip it skip it finish it
slide it and slip on by add your own and mix it
and bec9ome one with the vibe playing in your stereo 
behind 
that 
cant stop the me your not
to swallow the down of the pillows we sleep on to hide
and feel it try to reveal whats inside
through the seeds we leave behind

and the one who starts the layer of the one we all predict and finish
switch and play in gibberish that makes sense is the god of such a matrix
give me a chance and open season at dileberate stabs at p[poetic sarcasm to 
conceal emotion
hey there peter pan?


Details | Free verse | |

My Meanderings

I don't write as deep as others 
I sometimes can't find the right words. 
But what I write really matters 
It's a big pieces of my life, scattered 
in one special way or another. 

I can sometimes write witty prose 
and at times it can be rather silly. 
But most of the time 
there is something inside 
that just needs to get out and be known. 

If it seems to come from a dark place 
That's because it probably did. 
There's a lot in my life 
that cuts like a knife 
I can revisit, at times I feel safe 

I have memories that make me smile 
that come pouring up from my heart 
I tell them true 
when I share them with you 
That they don't make me laugh would be a denial 

So accept my stories and poetry 
as simply a part of my being 
I can't change who I am 
What you see is what you get 
I came from a diverse family tree. 


Details | Free verse | |

Lost and Alone (My Secret Sin)

I decided to write a special dedication
Holding her in my arms was soothing as meditation
I met her as a freshman
Her eyed dyed with dryness
Palm to palm 
I squeezed tightly, just so we could get by stress
Watched you laugh as I pressed my thumbs 
Up against your chubby gums 
And even as you were pouting 
Your innocence stretched a smile
And as you lay across my chest 
I soon forgot the happiness I so longed for as a child
And now I miss you for miles
But if you could just find your way home
You wouldn’t be so lost and alone
If you could just find your way home
We wouldn’t be so lost and alone
I write so much better when it’s dim
Sorrow leaks from this romantic film
Into your eyes 
I’ll charm your lips and wipe away your tears
Smile whenever your whispers near my ears
And I wish I could take your pain away
I miss you even more and that’s a shame to say
I’m lonely and on the inside I’m dying
Sometimes I wonder if I should keep trying
In search for happiness
Maybe I’ll laugh for death
I turn up liquor
Hoping that it’ll absolve my problems quicker
Not much of an alcoholic
So I don’t exactly know what one would call it 
I’m lost and alone
But still wondering when you’ll find your way home


Details | Free verse | |

Poetry

Expression, creative expression,
That's all poetry is.
Full of anguish and confusion,
Happiness and delusion,
Sadness and obsession.
I admit, I have a confession.
I'm a selfish writer.
I don't write to make someone else's day brighter.
I write to make my own load lighter.
I don't care what others may gain.
I just do this to stay sane,
And that's exactly how it's gonna remain.
So why do I write poetry?
Because it's my escape from reality.
Now why don't you just leave me be.


Details | Free verse | |

Amen

Blood-
Dripping from the head like tears
A crown of thorns
That crown representing;
Every mother, father, son, daughter, brother, sister, 
Yet to come;
Saving us
Through death-
Death that was never pardoned, never ceased
People with sins cast those stones
Who are we to judge?
Who were they to judge?
The fate of the man who brought the word of god to the earth,
Now many say I cannot write about religion,
I cannot write about my belief in Jesus, my belief in God,
The Holy Spirit,
It is taboo to say I am Lutheran-
Since I write about pain and trial,
About death and destruction,
I am forbidden to whisper Jesus on my lips,
For what I write is dark,
And what I write is taboo,
It is inhumane it is violent,
Kanye West was right when he spoke those words,
‘God Show Me The Way Cause The Devil’s Tryin’ To Break Me Down’
I hear you,
I hear you,
Jesus walks, he walks amongst us,
Dare I say Amen?
Dare I?
Amen.


Details | Free verse | |

The Things I Just Cant Say

I dont write my words because I'm angry.
I dont write my words because you're mad.
I write what is truly on my mind.
What I feel deep down inside.
It may not make sense to you.
But to me, my words really do.
Every letter of every word in every sentence.
They all work together in harmony.
To say the things I just can't say aloud.
To say the things I just can't allow out of my mouth.
I love you, you know thats true.
But when we fight like this, I can't say a thing.
Too afraid to say things I may regret.
Too afraid I'll say things I don't mean.
I can only tell you that I love you and walk away.
Maybe one day these words I write will explain.
The things that I just can't say.


Details | Free verse | |

I write

I write my feelings
I write my thoughts
I write to project
I write to express
I write to relax
I write to withdraw
I write to entertain
I write to think
I write to laugh
I write to cry
I write to unwind
I write my soul
I write my spirit
I write my love

I write


Details | Free verse | |

Opine

 I write because I can
and sentence structure doen't interest me
or what verb goes where
or when it all makes sense,
for I'm waiting for a moment
when some entity intervenes and 
seems
to 
write to rhyme
or,
time stops and a new idea
reaches within
to spin
me in a different direction than 
when I entered here.
Exactly where am I, anyway?

On this machine they call it ....
cyberspace.
"They" (whoever "   " are) have to label
every place and every time and
every other thing like rocks and trees
and a breeze 
that breathes and does the universe know
that it can blow?

From the legal tablet lined in yellow
its a different space and place where
slowly the eraser seems
to work its magic or its tragic
when it wipes away 
the best idea of the whole damn day ....

While I am here, Exactly where are You?
 Reading me or is it only another name,
another body, another face, another place and
we are all the same
busily tapping on something
called
keys .....
as We write because We can.


Details | Free verse | |

Ham hog & Cabbage

I’ve nothing 
positive to say today
Just different scenarios 
In a vacant approach
Calling me to come home
I was left wandering 
In the dark alone
The objective 
To ease the hurt
Take away a curse 
For days that we play
Reach for new heights
In a vulnerable scene 
Tip toe on mercy 
To avoid 
the split in my spleen
In love with a phantom
Hidden behind a spotted face 
Out for the souls of grown men
Those who have plotted 
Against a broken race 
Misplaced pigment cells
Only the pig in men sells
Walking on childhood misery
Adolescent years swayed
Mentally weighed
Prohibited the belief 
Of a murdered messiah
Don’t you be so careful
As to let it hypnotize you
He who believes in thee
Can only be a liar
Shall I live
Then death to all rivals
No apologies 
Its just the pledge of survival
The Quran
Your mischievous bible
I hold these latter-day saints
Equally liable
And if it gets no better
Love always
As her emotions led her
An old man as spoken for
Casualties of sympathy
Hoping for a cure
One old woman and ten dollars
Spent thanksgiving day 
Hoping for a ham and a cabbage
But we savages in this ravaged land
Think nothing of her
But you got to love her
Reach out with your cold arms
And hug her 
Rub the hurt 
To keep her above the dirt
“Yes we can”
Do what?
Nothing again
I write for life
I write for birth
I write for you
For what it’s worth
I can’t stretch my intelligence enough
To write for peace on earth


Details | Free verse | |

This Poem is for You

I am writing this poem for you, but
I don’t know you.
I don’t know what you hate or 
love, -white, red, black, blue
up, down, sideways –I just don’t know!
So, I will pick a broad subject
People, yes -maybe even you! You, you, you! 
I will write this poem for you and about you!
“You,” you are a person? Right!
There are billions of people on this planet,
tall ones, short, old, young,
fat ones, skinny ones,
some in good health some ill.
Some will die while I write this and
while you read it some will be born.
We are all the same, people are people but
we don’t think alike, look alike, or talk alike.
Some of us love each other, others hate everyone;
most do both unequally –we choose what we think,
and we think differently. 
You are smart, you can read
(many can’t,) and you are reading my poem
that is interesting to me.
It shows you have great taste.
You are perfect, smart, good taste, interesting
and I bet you are even sexy.    
I bet “You” are too large a subject 
for one poem, too complicated, too complex,

so, I will write about my cat instead, 
a car ran him over yesterday
he is dead; and I have
a half can of cat food in a plastic bag
in my fridge,
useless and taking-up space.


Details | Free verse | |

The perfect shuffle

The blind slide of Freudian slips
half and half cut the stack
face up so you can see the words 
you have written on the edges
of my three worded stanzas
an intricate complex this is
One by one right then left
right then left
right then left

A scrambled message
I know the answer to
a word on the left side 
one word on the top 
one word on the right side
the mensa geniuses might find me here 
stalking shadows and handing out ultimatums
but the game of the blind leading the blind
just got better
right left right left right left
until you run out of cards
that was One
now do it 
seven times
for this is the scientific perfect shuffle

write down the message of the threes
and lets see how long it takes them to figure out the message 
for the psychics
for the geniuses
for the politicians
for the gifted

One by One
right handed card on bottom
blind leading the blind
a victom of an intricate complex
something worth figuring to be a secret of art
as every day metaphors of art inspire us poets

One day we will rise
like ashes from the flame
we will be on talk shows and interviewed 
about our silly games
of how we teach and humble and set up the modern day
an intricate complex
to protect the world
and to wonder about satanic prevention
am I good or evil?
only one way to find out
go forth and get your deck
write the three words per card
beings dream are the jokers

and when you write your revelation of how it turned out for you
ponder the blind slide
point them in my direction
and they can write their chapter of if they followed me or
the martyr of you!
It's really the perfect shuffle
the keys are way out of reach
don't know how many centuries it will take to uncover the message
but i think its gonna be neat

blind leading the blind from one way to the next to mix them up and reveal and 
twist the same message
and I the keeper of the puzzle will claim my fame
in all honesty as I have called out to geniuses
to come help me escape the satellites i'm on
and fake my death


Details | Free verse | |

For you today.

           Here is a poem, to thank you for today,
           I enjoyed myself in every way.
           Im glad were honest you and me,
           it means a lot you see.
           Last night I was not sure,
           how could I write more.
           Today im feeling fine ,
           I will write for you all the time.
           I will try once a day to thank you,
           in my special way.
           I hope your smiling grinning too,
           because I am.
            Thinking of you.
          


Details | Free verse | |

old poem.

I found a poem I wrote years ago,
a poem of despair a broken heart and stuff I didn't know
as I read it I couldn't help but to smile,
this angry kid who spit hate was me as a child
line for line I could fill his pain inside,
pain that was mine pain I let subside,
I could remember when I wrote it,
I was angry,alone and probably loaded,
here on this spot is where a tear fell,
it was after the line" burning in hell",
as I think back at the things that made me,
I could see that lost young kid who I set free,
back then my writes were as cold as a December morning ,
now my writes are of love and peace things back then I found boring,
it's funny how times changes a person,
looking back to the 80's that was me just another version,
back then I wrote to get way from a world not to kind,
now I write because it helps me when I'm hard to find,
words written way back when my not be as colorful to you,
but my words back then were the start of some thing new,
you see I wonder what would I have become...
if I never found a poem that inspired me to run,
to write down the pain in side 
words I never spoke words I would hide,
poetry played a big part of who I am today,
and reading this old poem...I see it helped pave the way. 
  


Details | Free verse | |

Coming to grief

I must not feel this
just write it
right it?
pen to paper scribbling nonsense, no sense
it doesn't make sense
sense of taste
taste the tears
if only I could 
someone has to write this
it didnt happen to me, to me
I sleep no more 
who shall dream for the fallen 
all in my dreams
my screams
deafening silence maddening
no answers at all
almost there
coming to grief


Details | Free verse | |

ED NOTE: TO ED

 ED NOTE: TO ED     
 
 
Author Message 
Admin
Admin



Age : 53
Joined : 13 Jun 2007
Posts : 651

 Subject: ED NOTE: TO ED   Today at 11:43      

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
ED NOTE: TO ED 

ED NOTE: TO ED 

TO ED NOTE: please forgive me ED for not writing you before eye have seen your 
name on every textbook in the store just now eye got some time to answer you 
some more eye hope that you are well and feeling better in the fall your 
correspondence is so varied the things you write to me are different every thought 
is written out line by line as if something is concerning all the words already 
written down ED, please write to me another note. This poem is some fun a poet 
has a chance to even out the bad grades given him in education land a prisoner 
of the yellow van that takes us backward forth a slave to the milk money the 
luncheon tickets given him by program funding taken then by force away with 
rules and harbored grudge. A note to ED. 
 
           
 
 
 ED NOTE: TO ED     
 
Page 1 of 1 


Details | Free verse | |

Tired of Lying

Tired of lying, saying I’m alright
Tired of staying awake, every lonely night.

Look in the mirror, at the face in the glass,
Look like a question no one ever asks.  

Tired of dying, done everyday.
Tired of telling mom it’s ok

Cuz it’s not, damnit, I’ll never be fine
Cuz I live with this fear that killing’s divine

When it’s me with the knife and with the hammer
When I hold the pistol, don’t write me banners.

Don’t send goodbye presents 
Don’t hold farewell parties

The only fare that went well was 
The only quarter I threw down a well.

Well you could say he's handsome
Well handsome’s just fine,

Not if your life is stringing past your nose on a wire,
Not when the river is dry, when I am naked.

I swim naked in cold rivers, actually 
I walk.  I take these trips to go walking
I take these trips to forget
I write these words cuz I remember

And I want to get all the clouded thoughts out of my head
And I want to forget it then
And I want you to see what I write
But I don’t want you to see me
And don’t let me die, don’t let me die, 

Let me die.


Details | Free verse | |

These types of poems

I hesitate as I write these types of poems
because dare I ever say he makes me weak
I might lose him before anyone gets to see 
I am used to being disappointed 
So I shutter when a man makes me 
feel such strong emotions 
the type that makes me write these types of poems

I'm taking a risk when I say I feel butterflies
and that when he's around I feel good inside 
It makes hiding the new glow on my skin extra hard
but I fear the next poem will be entitled " It didn't work out"
I have developed many poems off of love gone awry 
so many tears I wiped cause he told me lies
So I must admit I panic quite a bit
when I start writing these types of poems

When I start writing these types of poems
It usually mean I'm sprung
It usually means I'm in real deep
and even though I hate admitting it
I am falling all over again
he makes me feel so brand new
Like the next grade in elementary
or a new pair of shoes
and even though I hate writing
these types of poems 
I must be honest with myself
I still smile when I go back
and read them no matter 
how bad the outcome 
because during the time 
I was writing these poems 
I felt so good inside.
That's something that deserves
remembering. 


Details | Free verse | |

between the lines

i wrote a poem
i worte this between the lines
the poetry is mine

We

I write a book 
i write this inbetween the lines
the book is good

Love

i write a play
i write this inbetween the line
the play is unique

You!

I write
i write this inbetween the lines
no one seems to know


Details | Free verse | |

nuthin said nuthin done

writers block what just write like fling a kite                                    
riding what oh a bike there it is again                                                
so take paper throw it write again                                                 
that"s not rip can't quit                                                             
pen has stopped what write like swimming                                             
very thin but gotta begin some where                                                   
so there i got writers block


Details | Free verse | |

Poet Lament

Poet Lament
Working out from the first line to the last
this poem was it written on a day much like this one
the theme and the rhyme scheme seems like one that eye have made
 every now and then eye go ahead and write them
sure that it was not the same as one so smartly penned then
the prose poem was created for people who make idea poems
then write the feelings deep inside
they do not always make a rhyme
but always a lament
Working back from the last line to the first


Details | Free verse | |

some thing is missing. part two

I wake to a lonely cup of coffee to sounds of silence and fillings I can not shake,
I sit at my computer wanting to write how I fill and my fingers can't find the words,
at this time of the day I wake ready for the world thankful and blessed,
today I write some thing is missing to grasp what it is I'm filling for goodness sake,
then it hits me I know what it is...her words,
I miss them and this I confess,
no phone call away,
I remember without saying a word she knew,
praises from a mother...I no longer hear.
I never hear what she use to say...
and now I know the filling of missing her grew,
filling out of place because I'm here, 
almost two years have past since I rested my knees by your side,
since I wiped away the dust from your head stone,
since I brought you flowers and asked how you been,
since I let the tears of missing you take a ride,
since I've gone home,
I really don't let others know I just let it flow from my pen,
I wonder what your doing now and do you know what I'm going through,
I wonder if your upset with me for not being there,
I wonder are you happy that I got my brothers and sister to visit,
I wonder do you miss me like I miss you?
years have past since we laid you to rest and your still my strength my reason for being
the reason I care
you still lift me up with those words you spoke so long ago and inside I fill it,
you still make me smile and I'm still trying to make you proud,
with a smile I found that some thing missing,
I know why I haven't been me,
I haven't took time I haven't looked to the clouds,
your miles and months away but home I'm coming,
and at your side is where I'll be.

     


Details | Free verse | |

A I Read Your Words

As I read your poetry,
I get a thrill,
different places,
valleys, and hills.
Some write of love,
I can feel their joy,
some of the tenderness,
of a new baby girl or boy.
Others write of sadness,
and sickness, and pain,
a few wonder,
if they are insane.
Many like to cook,
their stoves never cool,
good homecooking,
 a comforting tool.
Many have pets,
while writing of the joy they bring,
some are thinking of marriage,
and giving a ring.
Some are across the oceans,
and live in castles so high,
but many are so lost,
we read the tears they cry.
All have a message,
their way to express,
poetry is an art,
a way to rest.
All across the world,
our words unite,
write from your heart,
and have a good night..


Details | Free verse | |

Natural

This is talent that I spit,
You wonder why I’m full of wit,
You wish you could crack my skull,
Crack it,
Peer inside my brain,
Find out what really makes me insane,
Why I write these words,
Of destruction, of hate,
Of depression, of fate,
Keep wandering,
Keep wondering,
Keep on thinking it really matters,
It really matters how I write,
How I type,
Taking less than an hour on a chant royal,
My secrets,
My secrets,
Don’t think I’ll spill,
Though you may have insight,
With the proper bill,
This is my destiny,
I write,
That is what I do,
You cannot say I’m like everyone else,
I’m not,
I break,
I breach the genres,
I vary the topics,
I am the ultimate writer,
This is why I’m different,
I stand out,
I shout,
My words to the sky without a single fear,
I hold my words so very dear,
They’re worth my life,
And all my strife,
The pain went away,
When I began to write today.


Details | Free verse | |

two inside.

how could this be
     simple words written by me
             some people who read call it poetry,
how is this so,
     I write of things I say I know,
              if any one knew I'd lie and say no,
words in my hands 
     words because I can,
              words I hide for I fill no one will understand
from the lows to the highs,
       these are words that fly;
            as I laugh and wish I could cry
two people struggling with in
       as I write I fill it like a cool wind
               then back to the other again
why is it this way
       humbled by life as I pray
               no one knows the words I write I can not say.
so to you who seen what I hide
        this is how I get by
              words letters and notes...that's why.       
 


Details | Free verse | |

The Fool

Danielle my love, my sweet
What’s happening to me?
This slow knife your pushing into my chest
Wearing your shades in the pool
Hair down, post-full submersion
You make me wanna cry and scream…


You are 22 and I am 28
You speak with a Long Island accent
And I speak snarkily, blandly, minimally
You don’t even know I write these poems
Or how I feel about you
And I know nothing at all now
The torment erases everything…

You are my soul’s howling storm
Your simple, bulky walk
Like a slightly boastful child
And the easy laughing manner
An early spring eternal
Let me jump into your garden!

And your 8 million soft and subtle expressions of joy
Are enough to map over my entire desirous being from my 
3rd grade first crush to my future’s final kiss, 
That ghostly woman-to-be, in the soft sweet grays beyond,
Far forward, within the hour of my death…

All this, my Wonder, my New Purpose,
In attempt to write you out of my mind
And move on, though I fear I’m merely watering love plants

And watering on, I set out to jog
I will pound along the pavement, 
My fists glistening in the dying sun
My mind reaching for yours
Rushing! Rushing for your spirit 
Somewhere the sprawling summer city.

Here comes the fool: running, rushing in.


Details | Free verse | |

I'll Do Tonight

I’ll write tonight;
Yes, I might write to night.
Subjects, matters, situations: who cares,
I’ll write, maybe, to fight the tears,
To fight the fears, I’ll write, for our foreign affairs.
I’ll write, in spite, of my insomniac tears,
To bite the ears like Tyson on Holyfield’s;
To incite the fire – within – light up the Darkness.
God gave us the vision to – light up the Darkness.
Thus, I’ll write tonight, to night, for might to fight, bite, incite, and – 
Light up the Darkness.


Details | Free verse | |

Nancy.

You can't see the wonder I see when I look into your eyes, from the moment I awake till I
kiss you goodnight I see every thing in you I see the wonders in my wife,
to see as I do would be a surprise to you for no one truly knows what another sees and I
can"t explain what a sight you are or the fact that what I see is my life,

You can not fill how I fill -a body moves day after day working a cycle till the body dose
it without thought- staying fit,hard at work, pushing all I can to always be there for you,
to know you are why I breath,you are why my heart beats you are the soul in my music,my
four seasons you have my world in your eyes of blue.

You can't under stand what you mean to me what you've done to me what I found in you or
how blessed I am to have you by my side,
your not just a wife,a soul mate, are my best friend your my smile ,my strength my reason
for being who I am my sun,my moon, my tears when I cried.

You can't touch what I've touched to embrace you in my arms hold you in my hands kiss your
red lips are rub your soft skin,
the passion,the thrill,the warmth,the sensation I have with every brush of you face
timeless beauty on the out side as well as within,

You cant write how I fill for not even I can write what my heart fills words can't explain
how your love grounds me lifts me up and surrounds me,
how do you put in to words after all these years still being so in love how dose one say
I'm blessed from above no story,poem,are song can express my love for Nancy.


Details | Free verse | |

Idea

I am your idea,
You can develop me.
You can write a song,
You can write a poem.

I am your idea,
You can develop me
You can write a prose,
You can criticise a rose.

I am your idea,
You can develop me
You can use me for love,
You can use me for hate.

I am your idea,
You can develop me
You can use me for your benefit,
You can use me for your loss.

I am your idea,
You can develop me,
You can use me for peace,
You can use me for war.

I am your idea,
You can develop me,
You can use me for education,
You can use me for creation.

I am your idea,
You can develop me,
You can use me for richness,
You can use me for freshness.

I am your idea,
You can develop me,
If you don’t use me, you are poor,
If you don’t use me cruelity has no cure.

I am your idea,
You can develop me
Those who used me are intelligent,
Those who used me are standing in front.


Details | Free verse | |

notes...paper...words.

Notes all around the house on my desk, dresser, end table, and radio,
they are poems I write maybe just a line a phrase but words I know,
I carry a pen and this little book in my back pocket that I write on,
I don't want to miss a line, a thought, a poem, are a love song,
I see poetry all around me from when I awake until I  sleep,
on the streets, in the news, on peoples face as they weep,
I see it in anger,in joy, in a heartache, in all the seasons,
I write when I think of you, you truly are my best reason,
you make so much seem so right, you open my eyes,
and when this world gets me down and I want to cry,
I write down a few lines, notes and nobody knows,
I write of love, lost , poverty, from grass to a rose,
from a story in a paper, on the news or on T.V.
in this world there are many stories you see,
when it starts becoming to much for me,
I think of you, of the kids, then I can see,
this world we live in poetry can breath,
from the high mountains to the sea,
from the desert to the city streets,
from all walks of life at our feet,
peaces of paper with words,
a note some thing I heard,
or just one simple line,
thinking of you I find,
words I set free,
in my poetry,




Details | Free verse | |

Just For Me

I had a poem playing in my head 
A song written just for me 
I didn't write it but 
It was given to me 
From a place far beyond 
Anything I can see

Filled with strength and hope 
One step at a time it said 
You can do it for you 
Take comfort in your bed 
And anything else you need 
Trust your heart and just be led

I had a poem playing in my head 
That helps me to walk straight and tall 
I didn't write the poem but 
I can claim it and simply recall 
Every time I feel helpless I remember 
I am revived and refuse to fall