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Introspection Devotion Poems | Introspection Poems About Devotion

These Introspection Devotion poems are examples of Introspection poems about Devotion. These are the best examples of Introspection Devotion poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? | |


           I dream of you
           I fantasize
           I see you when
           I close my eyes
           I speak your name
           With every breath
           I vow to love you 
           Unto death
           I think of you
           All the day long
           My love expressed
           In verdant song
           I speak of you
          To all my friends
           I long for you
          When each day ends
          I see your smile
          In every face
          In my heart you hold
          A special place
          I know that we
          Were meant to be
          And that you're the only 
          One for me
          And when I go
          To sleep at night
          I know this love
          Is more than right

Copyright © Kathy Littrell

Details | Acrostic | |

Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 

©  2011  ~JSLaM    


* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Couplet | |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”

When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Free verse | |

Beauty in my Palm

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

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

Copyright © Samir Georges

Details | Couplet | |


All that I had, just yesterday
Has suddenly, been taken away
Me yes me, a foolish man of clay
Suddenly I have so much to say
When instead, I'd be wise to pray
Why oh why, me oh my
Take me now I want to die
I liked it better, when I was perched on high
My wings were strong, I loved to fly

I was given much, I gave no thanks
I sat upon lush river banks
My ship majestic, I watched as it sank
Now this world seems cold and dank

My cup was full it over flowed
Yet gratitude I barely showed
Instead of narrow, I chose wider road
My love of self it barely slowed

If only I had seen more clear
I wonder if I'd now be here
Feeling alone and filled with fear
Oh please dear God, I need you near

I heard him say, I'm sorry son
Your life is over, now it's done
You chose your god, I wasn't the one
Love of plenty and pleasured fun!

So down to Hell my soul is brought
A place of pain both cold and hot
My insides squeezed inside a knot
Now what I treasured doesn't mean a lot

From this nightmare, I thankfully awake 
My soul and being begin to shake
Please Lord forgive me, my mistake
Help me learn to give, instead of take!

I try to be thankful every day
With God's help, stay on the narrow way
It's not about me and that's okay
Vision much clearer, when to Jesus I pray.

This poem was inspired by my brother Roy. 
He sent an email that asked "What if you only woke up with what you said 
thanks for yesterday?" what a great question!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Free verse | |


Come and gone like small twister like the cloud of debris he’s left. Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen blow through the cobwebs in memory. Left over coffee cups replacing Transformers still dumped in the attic. Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less, lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse. The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done the never paid chauffeur collapses… Ah, to have him always near, So, each kiss was not quite so dear. The last fair maid on parade has wandered across the home front, wondering about her predecessor, still tacked with magnets to the fridge, still part of my heart and his… Sons…they say, do not cause such angst. Couldn’t prove it by this mother. This maternal blimp of unused helium was not permitted a girl child. One did come and fleetingly leave before formed. We’ll never know the sweetness of her. Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son.. into the mist as his Father’s has… to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need, for to do anything else, would be to rub salt in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi *the day after Christmas

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Couplet | |

The Dog Days of Summer

We let down the top to soak in the sun
Now that the harshness of winter is done

As you let back the seat and put your feet on the dash
Saying, “keep your eyes on the road I don’t want to crash”

I truly must admit that I’m torn completely in two 
The coast has its beauty, then again so do you

As the beauty of the Sun is absorbed by your skin
Like a kid at the candy store I simply want to dig in

If life is a candy store sweetheart you are the treat
All the other candy I tasted, never tasted so sweet

The reason I love summer is because of the heat
The skimpier the bikini, the greater the treat 

I can’t begin to express how wonderful you are
Saying, “hey take a look at her I’ll steer the car”

At first I truly had no idea what I should say?
Though now it’s, “ok sweetheart, have it your way”

I think that is because you know these words are true
I may take look at her but I shall forever belong to you

Summer is a time that is as bright as the sun
Out goes the cold as it’s replaced by the fun

We have our barbecues and sit under the stars
Let down the tops and go for rides in our cars

Go tend to our gardens in farmer John clothes
Truly amazed at how fast everything grows

Go hang out at the river as well as the lake
Cover ourselves in oil than let our skin bake

Embrace the moments because these words are true
The days last much longer and the sky is so blue

The dog days of summer I reckon that’s so
We bark and howl at folk we don’t even know

If life is banquet then summer is the feast
I think we should gobble it up, to say the least

Written for john's Summer contest.

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Rhyme | |

Stormy Heart

Alone in loneliness Amid forever nights And these four walls In faint, whisper soft your name I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains "Please not another nightmare, no more storms" But, answers are merely glimpses of light From lightening... Filtering through the pane Empty sheets... Cast empty shadows on the wall Of places where you used to be Eyes wide open Now asleep, afraid I am to fall Trapped within this never ending dream I cling to all the memories that I have Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed A fire for you still burning inside Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last And silence your unrescued suicidal screams Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass Or is it of your wandering spirit Mockingly knocking? Haunting with its vindications Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp All this amidst lost stares into black windows Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains And I swear I see your reflection Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face And for the first time You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"

Copyright © Michael Smith

Details | Quatrain | |

The Ending of The Show

Have you ever listened to the silence?
Alone in the giant trees
Have you ever experienced your soul?
Being totally at ease
Have you ever stood atop a volcano?
Felt its trembling power
Ever smelled the sulfur boiling in the pits
Man that sure is sour
Have you ever loved with all that you are?
Holding nothing back
Have you ever completely lost who you are?
Trying to find your way back
Have you ever stood atop a mountain?
Cursed the Lord above
Have you ever sat alone in a Prison cell?
Accepting his forgiving love
You know I have been an evil man
Every sense of the word
In my memory I remember screams
Tormenting to be heard
So much I wish that I could forget
So much I have to tell
About the emptiness you feel inside
The pure solitude of hell
My life no longer belongs to me
I am on a quest
To show the world a man can be
Beyond any test
My pain is deep and my spirits are high
Eagle gliding in the sky
Brave enough to fight any man
Strong enough to cry
A rock to those who know me well
A leader in the night
A warrior that would never run
God I love the fight
A tender man of true compassion
My wife taught me well
That’s why everything that I can be
I offer to her spell
Angels come with big brown eyes
Strong enough at heart
They encourage you to rise above
Finish what you start
Sometimes when I start to write
I fall into a trance
And the poem becomes a partner
Gliding in a dance
Where the poem goes is with the flow
I just tag along
I try real hard to keep the beat
Swaying with the song
Some parts are good and others bad
Some are in between
But from the first word to the last
The soul in me is seen
I pray before that final curtain call
I will have left my mark
That people will think back and say
The light rose from the dark
Everyone must choose their own way
I am no one to lead
If you wish to make your life a garden
I have some real good seed
Always be totally honest with yourself
The person that you are
Space is a place full of dark matter
Grasp to your own star
Be strong enough to always open up
Let go of what you hide
Because in the overall scheme of things
They’re a nowhere ride
If you wish to hold the one you love
Always let it show
Remember that they must be free
We all need room to grow
Trust in them with all that you are
Never forget to show
That they are the one you will adore
To the ending of the show

Due to the length I joined the four line stanzas together

Copyright © Michael Jordan

Details | Quatern | |

God Is Faithful

Because He's our Savior and King Let's unite our voices in praise To world proclaim all His glory Today is time to praise the Lord. Seek His face and you'll find His grace Because He's our Savior and King He's my defender and refuge And want to serve Him forever. My heart sing for Him many songs My soul in Him always rejoices Because He's our Lord and King With Him I am never afraid. He's with me,when I feel lonely And just know that I'm not alone Jesus is near,not far away Because He's our Lord and King. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 Copyright@2010 (Psalms 100:1). "Shout for Joy to the Lord,all the earth." December,20,2010

Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter

Details | Free verse | |

Dead Spiders Weave

“It’s a terrible love 
And I’m walking with spiders…
It’s a terrible love and I’m walking in
Its quiet company…”-Birdy

Three long claws enclosed around a lone beating heart
Stone talons gripping in happy malice, silently angry by its pulse it cannot feel…

The longer I stare into the hollow sockets seeing only ugliness,
The easier it becomes to break into pieces over the mere thought of you
I thought it was a dull beat- a throbbing, fading beat disappearing into the night…
Though your image, once so grainy, is becoming clearer and clearer in the fogs of my consciousness
I thought it was just a dull, callous beat…
But the more it throbs against the stone, the more the stone cracks
The more the demon cries in anguish…the more I fall

So deeply in love have I become,
I can barely breathe in this misty embrace
The suspense of your blows make my innards whimper…make my mind shiver
My tearful eyes cry for your assurance
My body changes through the peeks of your light

It is all a joke!
This is all pathetic, low, meaningless! 
Surely these claws over this heart do not exist
Holding onto nothing but dead spiders who once weaved miracles
Dust and spider legs….spider eyes…they had seen so much…felt so much with their prickly appendages
Through a lovely peephole beyond the three stoned fingers…
I see the entire world where they must have crawled
A world holding you…
If only I could hold you too…

Something tells me I would never let go if I had the chance
Something tells me I would crush you
I would turn you into dust and spider legs…
And yes, as all demons enjoy, I would lose you
In the grip of the three stoned fingers

You were that heart I thought I had seen…
The heart that continued to beat long after it was ripped out
The clenched heart that throbbed despite its crushing cage
The very heart that bled and bled for no body and all for the sake of love
Beating and beating, cracking those frigid fingers
Into dust…
And all of the fallen limbless creatures would gather round…
And they would tell me… “He lives yet still…”
Weaving in their webs the very bloods and salts you pumped
Within me…and beyond me

Dead spiders weave and weave and weave…
And unlike human hearts, their ideas never tire

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Free verse | |

Word Sage

When all of youth flees and even the whitest eye reddens, rheums, words, fair words, dispel the gloom. When hands are mapped with age and knurled, still, they transform the page, the eye, the cage, for where words flow, the mind goes, to the pristine smiles and the smooth curves which once were yours, your cheek, your neck, your hip. Deny me anything but the word for it’s magic will soon be all that remains of fleeting youth.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Rhyme | |

Little Yellow Socks

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.

Little Yellow Socks
       by Amy Swanson  12/5/2008

Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!

Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.

Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!

Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.

Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.

Copyright © Amy Swanson

Details | Free verse | |

Wondrous Kite

She walks away.

Girlish and glorious
through air
like a kite on a string
that pulls
tautly slipping through tightened fingers,
burning a little,
and slicing through 
if ever left unattended,

so preciously tensioned
against the cold

Tears begin to flow
but I do not know . . .
my heart?
or the wind?
If my heart, then am I sad
to be here on the ground
or joyful
to be watching the kite

In answer, a quivering.

A wisp.

"She will not fall or float away while I hold her thus. 
She will be beautiful for me."


Copyright © Jonathon Paarlberg

Details | Free verse | |

Unshed Tears

Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy, 
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
My Oblivion,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
Cocain Addiction,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Dancing silhoutte,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
Dying joyfully,
With my last sight of you. . .

Copyright © Jay Loveless

Details | Lyric | |

pseudo artistry

Blood that screams mixes with tears of fears,
Over your hypocrisy and useless years.
Fresh cuts don't matter - your attentions yet wane.
It's just too easy to shut down, I could end this pain.

But, escape artists aren't artists at all.

When life ends the real journey begins, the journey to be
Above imperfection and glorified weakness everyone sees.
Life trickles into the drain of the sink, wash it and pretend
The veil is burning off,but there is only so much fire can mend

Besides, escape artists aren't artists at all.

Copyright © Lyndsay Dupont

Details | Pantoum | |

A Womans Gift

She laughed as softly  as if she cried
Her smile revealed things only I could see
My love and joy swelled up untill I cried
I wondered  though would she ever love me

Her smile revealed things only I could see
Now would I tell her of the things I thought
I wondered though would she ever love me
What is this feeling that has made me taut

Now would I tell her of  the things I thought
All other food but  love I'd surely spare
What is this feeling that has made me taut
My life I'd gently give to her  with care

All other food but love I'd surely spare
Then I would be hers and she would be mine
My life I'd gently give to her with care
I'd love her dearly throughout time

Then I  would be hers and she would be mine
A life together we would have to build
I'd love her dearly throughout time
I'd be her love, companion and her shield

A life together we would have to build 
My love and joy swelled up until I cried
I'd be her love,companion and her shield
She laughed as softly as if she cried

Copyright © Charles Reese

Details | Free verse | |

Take Me For Granted

Take Me For Granted

Maybe I'm just crazy
or my views are slightly slanted.
But I love when you don't have to ask.
When you take me for granted.

I need it when you're needing me
when push comes down to shove.
I love when you take it for granted
that I'll show you my love.

How when you know I'll be beside you
and I'm not afraid to fight.
And how you take it for granted
you'll be loving me tonight.

Go on baby you can look away
the seeds already planted.
I love the way it feels to me
when you take me for granted.

Not everyone will get this poem.
But those that do, have known love at a depth not everyone will ever see.
They've been hurt. Taken advantage of and they have been betrayed.

Still they have known love. 

They were open to it. They've been warmed by it's fires and chilled by it's North wind.
They've flown where eagles fly. And they've crawled through hell and back.

None of it for them but for one they loved.

Because if you know love, you soon find that it's not love until you give it away.                       

Edwin C Hofert

Copyright © Edwin Hofert

Details | Free verse | |

My Baby, My Love

My baby, I love you
My baby, I love everything about you...
My love is eternal
My love for you is neverending!

Though I may complain
And act childish at times
And say a few wrong things
Though I get mad
Or argue with you
Doesn't mean I don't love you...
In fact I love
The sound of your voice
Though I may not show it
I love your body
And your very mind
I love everything about you!

Even if you're a mystery
It only attracts me more to you...
And I don't think that I can stay
Mad at you for anything!

I believe my heart
For it is the truth
Steering me the right way
Backed by my thoughts
You only seem to be
More beautiful everyday
It makes my life
More pleasant as time
Passes me by
Now that I have found
You as my one true love
I wish to never leave your side!

Though sometimes I make you mad
I want you to know, I don't mean to...
But I believe my love is strong
And it will make you see past my faults!

Even if you're a mystery
It only attracts me more to you...
And I don't think that I can stay
Mad at you for anything!
My baby, I love you
My baby, I love everything about you...
My love is eternal
My love for you is neverending!

Copyright © Samuel Obazee jr.

Details | Sestina | |


The day’s beginning is a special gift.
Given over a life’s eternity,
One can’t help but feel the daily change.
How often we stay into the evening.  An attempt to hold
Onto the feelings of joy and elation,
That made our day so emphatically special.

Are not the future possibilities also special?
That we dream of yet other gifts,
gifts  of such thought, that might also inspire elation
From giver and receiver for all eternity.
Constantly close to both, holding,
As if to say, “Don’t Ever Change.”

Does growth not require change?
Should not that change be also special?
Only if you have forgotten about holding,
The longing embrace of previous gifts,
One that requires attention for all eternity,
fueling existential feelings of elation.

Even when intentionally forgotten, holding
On to the recipient, despite elation.
At one point, this internal agony was a gift.
What could ever make this change?
This gift that could never be more special.
Now it has changed for eternity.

The re-direct of energy through eternity,
The loss of love’s forever embrace.
Love, making pain beautifully special.
Will there ever be elation?
Maybe if we only change
The way we exchange special gifts.

Our future’s eternity might fill with elation
From  holding the exchange
Of something special,
… the mere appreciation of a gift..

Copyright © Matthew Sample

Details | Free verse | |

Do You Ever Think of Me

Do you ever think of me,
though much time has passed and
we have not talked, we have not met?
Do you ever wonder how I am,
what I've done, where I've been?
Do you ever picture in your mind
how the years have changed my face,
lined my brow, slowed my pace?
I often think of you, as you were,
when I'm we two
would talk the night away then
greet the day with smiles and laughter --
ready to face the roads ahead,
the crooked miles we'd walk alone --
but, after, waiting to relax again,
to smile once more, trusting that
we'd meet some time and talk till day,
with nothing changed that counts at all...
still all smiles, all hugs, all laughter.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Narrative | |

The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to have her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore

Details | Free verse | |

30 Years of Blooms

I guess it’s time to stop asking questions,
and start answering them.
Wipe away long dead evaporations;
mined trails overgrown with new,
more current vines.

Time to remove the silver duct-tape
from the face of killed memory; (the girl
in the cavern who sits, wide eyed and bound
at her skeletal ankles and wrists at the top 
of the wicked peak, looking for a way out –
her green eyes wild and rolling
like thunder and mustangs at the edge 
of the drop ,
looking for a way out of this 
buried-alive, hell)
and replace it with white words whispered
into my own children’s ears.

I cannot judge you.
Just as I cannot judge her.
We are all together in this moment.

And although I’d love to be 
the high and mighty mother who says,
“OH! I would never do that to MY kids –
I won’t. 
I won’t give him the pleasure.
The one who turned you to glass; beat you
until you were nothing but sunlight
in your own mother’s memory.
She loved me as I love mine (including
the young one who waits for her savior with 
the shining scissors; coming through 
the dark like rebirth and deliverance;
like a cool cloth on a charred brow).

So I will plant my Mother’s Day lilac tree
in her honor –
burying the questions,
honoring the love we shared
and still share.
We will leave our judgments at the door and sit 
beneath its amethyst blooms 
(my birthstone; 
                                  your given gift of insight)
exalting in the sacred heart of motherhood;
laughing until we cry;
feeding its deep roots
with memory.

© Kristin Reynolds 5 9 09

*Dedicated to my Mother this Mother's Day (I hope you are listening...)

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | I do not know? | |

Blood upon Pages

As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Free verse | |

Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...

       Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, 
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. 
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate?  If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us. 
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. 
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. 
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep 

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Narrative | |

A Walk on the Beach

Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.

With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls 
beside the vast Gulf of blue; 
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white 
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.

His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.

Copyright © Michael Santner

Details | Rhyme | |

There Was A Time We Weren't Ashamed Of God

There was a time in America, when the Bible was taught in the schools. The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.” There was a time in America, where the cross could be displayed. Even in public places, people came together and prayed. There was a time in America, there was no “church and state” separation. As people all across this country asked God to help this nation. There was a time in America, where people knew right from wrong. You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song. There was a time in America where one was proud to be a Christian. One could take stand for holiness, without coming under “suspicion.” There was a time in America, when mom and dad were together… Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.” There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.” There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say; “I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.” This is the time for America, to wake up and try to understand. We need to seek God right now! All over this land! This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear… The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near! NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found! The word of God needs to be read in every city and town! Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today? Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Kyrielle | |

Dr Rams Words Are Better Than Gold

Exquisite the ravel of his comforting quilt
a pondering notion of wisdom is felt 
I take a sip of his lovely red wine,  
Dr. Rams words are better than gold..........simply divine
susurrus hymns of love at times
or perhaps lissome words in flowing lines 
silently I sit as his words come to life,
Dr. Rams words are better than gold...........simply divine

o' the words that linger, perhaps burn inside
his heritage, his love, his grand design
I fall in dream into his domain of time,
Dr. Rams words are better than gold..........simply divine

a song of one soul
a dance for all, profound 
a story unraveling with pages alive
Dr. Rams words are better than gold.......... simply divine

Copyright © Rick Parise

Details | Rhyme | |

Lord I Praise And Worship YOU

Lord, I Praise And Worship Your Name! Lord, I praise, worship and honor your name! Into my heart… I invite you to rule and reign! Lord, I give you my love and attention! You have set me in a new direction! Lord, it is you that brings a daily reminder… Your grace and mercy is so tender and kinder! Lord, I humbly raise my hands in adoration… And lift you up in worship and exaltation! Lord, Jesus… You are the one I need this day! I appreciate you much more than words can say! Lord Jesus… Thanks for all you’ve done already. When your trumpet sounds… I want to be ready! Dear Jesus, take my life and my way of living! All that I have… To you I am giving! You are and will always be the one for me! How I long to be with you for eternity! By Jim Pemberton

Copyright © Jim Pemberton

Details | Ballad | |

The Power Of Pride

As I surmise all that is me strewn and cluttered, 
My conscious lies casually shorn and shuttered, 
For here lie the spoils of stubborn iniquity, 
I shuffle and toil, floundering in frailty. 

Oh what great havoc, what conscious so lewd, 
Creates such traffic which now spoils the fruit, 
Of truly righteous deeds committed by a scurrilous man, 
Of whom I could no better know, no better understand, 

For this terribly lost and forever forlorn soul, 
Is none other than me shivering and sniveling so, 
And as helpless as I suddenly appear to be, 
I now understand the strength pride provides so easily, 

For there is purpose in pride, yet none in shame, 
As ambition carries us blind to who’s at blame, 
And just where is the woe when the devil may care, 
For we are soon found alone, our conscious left bare, 

And as I embark into this desolate place, 
My horrors so dark, my fears crimson in taste, 
Forward I race into the perilous pit, 
With none other to blame for this simple life I quit.

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On