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Introspection Write Poems | Introspection Poems About Write

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Details | Bio | |

Unwritten Conversations

He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with 
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says, 
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out

                “Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
                                 “Everything is beautiful, baby…”
                 “But what is beautiful to you?”

Beautiful.
Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows, 
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything. 
Everything is beautiful. 

                      “Just write about that then..”
                                 "Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
                                  live it out.."
                      "What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies 
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and 
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
                                "Mmm, I suppose."
                        "What's real poetry to you?" 
                                 "Everything..."
                         "I don't understand."

I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…
Together
Silent

                                     "This, baby, This is real Poetry.."









 



Details | Personification | |

MY POEMS

.                         ‘Violin’ was written on a soft dark velvet night,
                As I drifted - in the dreams -  of the flickering -  candle light;
           Ne’er pre-planned -  nor pondered - nor was she - pre-conceived,
        She came from deep within me, appearing  on the screen,
               As did my favorite poem - my darling ‘Cannon Lee’.

                ‘The Love of a Gentlemen’ -  and ‘Where the Heart Resides,’
                   Came from treasured memories - I tried to keep alive;
                   With words - chosen carefully - to create solidity,
                          I brought them back to life - to live eternally,
                  In vivid hues - more beautiful - than all the autumn leaves.

                   Others - fell like drops of dew  - from flying fingertips,
           That raced across the keyboard  - in hopes they wouldn’t miss,
                The chance to share the beauty - my eyes now fell upon,
           Through the kitchen window  - across the river -  and beyond,
            Where fields of liquid diamonds - glistened in the early dawn.

                    Others came in metaphors -  disguising secrets held;
                      To painful in reality - for me to ever tell. 
                ‘The Rose and the Thorn’ -  poured herself upon the page,
                     A sonnet of over-whelming grief  - rising up from hidden rage,
                         Releasing me forever - from my gilded cage.
                                           
                                                     ~~~~~

                        These poems I write - come day come night,
                                  Come candle or come neon light,
                       Come wind, come rain, come joy, come pain,
                They are the life - the Great Creator -  breathed in me;
                                         They are my breath! 
                                          They are my poetry!

                                                      ~~~~~


                               Author:  Elaine George
                               Written:  January 13th, 2010

Inspired by:  Deborah Guzzi's contest 'How Do You do It - How do you write your poems'?
PLACED: SECOND

Authors Note:  This poem was written on route to Bath, North Carolina via Ferry 
crossing.  It was written on a note-pad from the' Hampton Inn' and transferred 
to my lap-top after returning to Swansborro.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seasons and Imaginations


Wind so cold.
Blowing.
Fondles my face.
Tickling.
The tears from heaven.
Pouring. 
Tapping. 
Dancing.
Unrelenting.
I wonder if i wish
    to stop them
From numbness,
    to waking,
          then sensing.

The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
                                                  I'll play.
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin 
     with the pure coldness that you bring.
Unusual,
     like it's my first time in the snow.
Somehow, 
     the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
    that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.

The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here. 
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
   And again I fold.



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 | |

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 | Rhyme | |

The special gift

writing a poem isnt that hard 
just write what you feel straight from your heart 

all you have to do is sit back and think for a minute 
dig around inspiration and grab whats in it 

remember the thoughts that swim in your head 
and intricately weave them on paper like thread 

and with each thought that you write down 
remember that feeling is key when emotion is bound 

the flow from a poem is like the flow from your heart 
conveying emotions and thoughts like a painting in art 

if it wills you to do so use instinct instead 
let your senses be your guide for the thoughts in your head 

you can even reach deeper into your subconscious mind 
and write about dreams and visions in time 

poetry is a gift that only man can convey 
and no other species can express it this way


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 | Lyric | |

Through Mundane Clouds

To make a word mean something new,
With some uniqueness  -
O what genius!
These words are washed of all their color
Black and white, lo, gray
With boredom.
So what’s left to write about,
When words mean nothing more today
Than they did  one thousand  yesterdays,
Where lyrics sung like gentle sparrows
Lifted on a feathered wing
To heights I dare not envy -
                   O such jealousy I carry!
What utterance can be invented 
That will strike a brand new language in me?
Woe, to have just one new word
To write across the clearest sky… 
Mark, until it breaks through  mundane clouds,
I call upon a devil’s darn to sew my lips -
Until righteous words rain down from heaven
Where I shall  taste sweet nectar of fresh letters
Falling into gorgeous arrangements
On crisp white sheets.


Details | Carpe Diem | |

When No One Reads

July 16, 2014- Inspiration for
 "When No One Reads"

When no one reads, keep writing
right now just might not be the right time.

Poets are currently considered
lowest of low, scum of slums
but that doesn't mean things will always be this way.

Be patient growing your poet trees
persistent, 
doing it for the right reasons
dredge that sludge of truth stuck deep within your gut.

Get it out, get words down
just don't try so hard
and please pay no attention to those lacking appreciation for your goddamned art.

When no one reads
please...keep writing.


Details | Narrative | |

Call Me Gonzo

For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes 
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.

I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.

I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women 
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.

I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.

Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the 
empty range for my return.

I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone 
stale.
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a 
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.

Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and 
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.


Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Words Like Wine & Water

It's difficult to fabricate a verse
whose words convey like water in a stream,
but one should try, for there is nothing worse
than words that cannot flow nor form a theme.

I wish to write with words imbued with spring:
the kind that bloom within the reader's mind
and linger with the scent that season brings;
no better words than these can writers find.

Though, words of autumn also can console,
and so I'd like my words to warmly fall
as different colors toward a common goal;
and, like that season, may such words enthrall.

Upon my page I wish for words like oil:
acutely bold and never poor in point,
the kind that gurgle under ivory soil
and long to meet the eyes that they'll anoint.

Have not you ever yearned for words like song--
the sort of dialect that sings when said,
or maybe words whose voices carry strong
within the reader's mind and ring when read?

I want my words to thrive like fervent fire--
engulfing every eye that wanders near,
to dance with little match and never tire,
for words should last and never cease to sear.

It's also my desire to write like ice,
with words akin to water-- smooth yet sound,
the kind that naturally form and gleam concise
when brought to light where thirsty eyes are found.

But every word at least should taste like wine:
a flavor fermented and rightly earned--
the kind when sipped again, tastes more refined,
the kind that urges readers to return.


Details | Couplet | |

SOUPS ON

         Writing is my challenge each day
     But it's not the words or what to say.

     It is the connection with other writers here
     Because I feel I'm not worthy or equal I fear.

     The talent expressed by so many others
     Often makes me want to hide under the covers.

     The gems that are written and ones that I read
     Are so inspired, personal, and give me a need.

     That's why I come here every time
     To see what others have put in their rhyme.

      Carolyn always has a message for me to ponder
      And others write things that make me wonder.

      I often race to the "New Poems"  just to see
      If by some chance there's one by which P.D has destroyed me.

      And Carol, Bob, Nick, Emily, Wilma, and "the Sweetheart"
      Write things that sometimes I just can't pull apart.

      The Doc has written so many things
      I am amazed sometimes at the thoughts he brings.

      Others are here who write so well
      Their words do me so oft compel.

      For like unto them I want to be
      Writing words that have meaning for others to see.

      Will they be worthy I say when I'm done
      Or will they be read by others, as I've intentioned.

      You know I feel so many emotions just now
      Because of all these writers, I just don't know how.

      For they are a driving force for me
      And part of my challenge each day is to make them see.

      That because of them I have to write
      Sometimes into the wee hours of the night.

      To pick a favorite writer is...well a difficult choice
      So I pick them all, because they shout with one voice.

      "Write, you fool, then write some more"
      Words I hear and cannot ignore.

      So I choose them all...all here in this group
      The ones who have made me hungry for Soup.

      There, I've said it...and you know that's not in haste
      The Soupers that are here are the best of all to taste.


      



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 | |

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 | Narrative | |

A Story

It was on a Christmas Eve
early in the morn
into a world so often cold
a little girl was born.
Her parents, they did love her,
the way that it should be
but her father, who's a good man,
had been raised with cruelty.

When he doled out punishment
for all her childish ways
the lessons that he taught her
would stay with her all her days.
Growing up was never easy
and she grew up so confused.
Other kids did more than tease her
and at home she was abused.

But she grew up all the same
then came to that time of life
when she thought she was ready
became a mother and a wife.
They faced a lot of hardships
but tried to love anyway
and her husband, who does love her,
has been so mean along the way.

Yes, life is hard for everyone
this woman surely knows.
Hate and misunderstanding
seems to follow where she goes
with so many quick to tell her
that she is always wrong
so many times she has been shown
that she just don't belong.

She tries so hard to understand
the reasons for her tears
and is punished for her feelings
as she has been all her years.
She knows that there is more to life
than what always seems to be.
All she wants is to be loved
without the cruelty.



Note:  My dear friends, this is not an easy write for me but a necessary one.  I was at a very 
low point in my life and I prayed for God for direction or to let it end.  I wrote the poem I Am 
then joined PoetrySoup.  I know God led me to this wonderful site for a reason.  I may still 
have a long way to go but I am starting to move forward.  I want to thank you all for your 
encouragement and kindness.  Being able to write again is helping me and as fellow writers, 
I know you understand.  Thank you for sharing with me and teaching to become a better 
writer.  God bless you all and Happy Holidays!  Love, Robin.


Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

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


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 | |

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 | Narrative | |

My Motivations in Poetry

My love of poetry started when I was still a five- year old child When my parents asked me to memorize verses and rhymes With all my feelings and actions, I recited my poems in front of a crowd Innocently receiving adulations but not a handful of dime The first piece I memorized was entitled, “Cradle Hymn” I was a small girl sent in a poem competition, so naïve When I’ve grown up , I realized it’s a song lyric with Christmas theme So, I sang it and started to develop my good voice quite a bit When I was a teenager, I memorized speech and declamation pieces My teacher sent me in a poem contest for a campaign against drug addiction I tried to deliver my piece like a candidate for a star award actress Acting like a drug addict teenage girl longing for parents’ love and attention As years went by, I turned out to be quite a flirty lady With puppy love and sweet crushes to some guys around me When one of them got me, so happy until I forgot all about reciting poetry Relationship went long but when we broke up, it created another life’s story All my heart brokenness has turned me out to be a poem writer I also wrote few poems for my family, dreams and for close friends’ requests My passion of poetry blazed and turned out to be greater When I found a writing spot, motivated and inspired by my friends-the great poets
Feb. 6, 2013 First Place Contest: Who What Where Judged: 4/23/2013 Sponsor: Poet Carol Sunshine Brown


Details | Rubaiyat | |

Why Poets Write

Why Poets Write


Why do poets write?,
Why does the moon shine at night?.
Why does water fall with such grace?,
Why is a rainbow such a beautiful sight?

So, why do poets write?
Do they write because the moon shines so bright?
Do they write because water falls with such grace?
Or is it because of the majesty of a hawk, in flight?

Poets write because that’s what we do,
Whether it be a Sonnet, Etheree or Haiku,
We see things through our own prism,
And write about it in our creative point of view.

This is why I write,
I write because I see beauty in the moonlight,
I appreciate the splendor of a waterfall,
And the majesty of a hawk, in flight.

I write because it feeds my soul,
Writing the perfect poem is my ultimate goal,
I write, I do my best,
The rest is out of my control.

The perfect words, in the perfect order,
Follow the rules, no pressure,
Slowly see your creation come alive,
When it works, there’s nothing better.

Poets, generally, don’t write for the glory,
We heal people by proxy,
We are emotion peddlers,
And we do it all for free.

I can’t speak for everyone, nor would I try,
My urge to write is something I’d best not deny,
Or things go drastically wrong,
Like ice, in the middle of July.

So, regardless of why you write,
Keep your vision in sight,
Take criticism with a grain of salt,
Never get discouraged, never get uptight.


© 2011


Details | Lyric | |

Lacerated Wings

They are bound to the Earth like trees
Suffocating under the weight of an icy grave 
Reaching to be free, but only their limbs are seen
Hoping that one day someone will see:
They can't escape with lacerated wings

The ocean surrounds me, covering everything
Nothing will be clearly seen; confusion overwhelming
No-one can save you, you're on your own, left to die
Manipulating every bleeding heart you can find
I can't escape with lacerated wings.

Swarms of nets, waves of screams 
Entangle: your captive illusions and dreams
The mask has be seared - The truth now they see
The Liar - Vampiric Fiend; lowly thief
And now they know you can't escape with Lacerated Wings

There's reasons for your rejections:
Your Heavy heart's transferred oppression
The scars are too deep to pass the trials
But you can find peace in your cage of empty spirals
You Cannot Escape With Lacerated Wings


Details | Rhyme | |

The Real Me

I want to show you the real me,
Not just what you think you see,
I like to dress in black, not pink,
My dark poems will make you think,
I can't always be happy like you,
For I am sad, and often blue,
My soul was dying to break free,
To be the person I wanted to be,
I have hid my true self for many years,
While deep inside, crying many tears,
But, now I am showing the real me,
And you are just starting to see,
I'm emerging in the dark poetry I write,
The difference is like day and night.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: V

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


Details | Bio | |

I Am Poetry

I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation 
                     of words cascading from a nebulous eye 
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto 
                     a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,

and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly 
                     sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades 
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry 
                     fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,

Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion 
                     itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so 
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever 
                     careering from caustic career path to another new low,

Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s 
                    counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the 
                    fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp 

Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent 
                    with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering 
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond 
                    farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering 

Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and 
                    gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the 
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed 
                    existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a

Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding 
                    gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of 
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels 
                    in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love. 


Praise no other; I am poetry.


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?


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 | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: IV

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


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: VI

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


Details | Villanelle | |

Pursuit of the Impossible that Leads to Discovery

Why do I visit here, it’s mostly for self-reflection
First through my reading , that I’m able to explore
Then writing with the goal of reaching perfection

This not possible, but I still do tedious inspection
Over time I do notice that I am better than before
Why do I visit here, it's mostly for self-reflection

This pursuit does require the very finest selection
Time passes, less and less never more and more
Then writing with the goal of reaching perfection

Although not attainable there are many a detection
New truths revealed, I’m a kind in a candy store
Why do I visit here, it's mostly for self-reflection

What I read, what I write, in me it causes reaction
Patience I didn’t have before, allows me to endure
Then writing with the goal of reaching perfection

Many reading this might react with some rejection
What does your soul and mind ask you to implore
Why do I visit here, mostly it’s for self-reflection
Then writing with the goal of reaching perfection

penned 2/3/2013 by Wayland Bunch


Details | Couplet | |

all about Sashi

Jan2012
By Sashi. Prabhu (ZEAUOXIAN)
I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I have cheated my fears alright, I have broken up with my doubts uptight. I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I got engaged to my faith last night, I married my dreams at the sight of first light. I am not afraid to get up today, I am not afraid to wake up to another day today, I am not afraid to open my eyes and see today, I am not afraid to climb out of bed today. I am ready to walk into the gardens in the heavy rains, I am ready to open my nose and smell of mud from wet terrain I am ready to face the world all alone, I am ready to do anything to walk up the stepping stone. I am ready to say anything to anyone, I am ready to talk to anyone under the sun. I am ready to yell from mountain tops, I am ready to dive from ravine drops. I am ready to walk for a cause, I am ready to run to protect environmental laws. I am ready to touch taboo objects & subjects I am ready to work on regressions of y on x I am ready to understand tangled issues, I am ready to wipe all tears with tissues. I am ready to taste tropical fruits, I am ready to chop, boil and eat bamboo shoots I am ready to jump out from a moving truck, I am ready to pull my allies from loads of muck. I am ready to be creative again, I am ready to write and spill out my joys and pain. I am ready to sing and hear my own songs, I am ready to correct my own wrongs. I am ready to throw a stone afar, I am ready to play my own music for all with the door ajar. I am ready to write notes about me, I am ready to put them up for all to see. I am ready to whistle whilst I walk down the alley, I am ready to bring out tunes and them create verbally I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more.


Details | Rhyme | |

YOUR LIFE DOESN'T HAVE TO BE EMPTY

As God guided my hand to write this poem with black ink.
With love and favor He gave me words to write this in a wink.
I’ve learned that an empty heart has no compassion;
But an empty heart gets no satisfaction.
Some of us see no meaning or purpose in life.
I think because we stressed with problems and strife.
Most people appear happy and confident.
But many people still try to fill up their own void with achievement.
Faith in the life of a person is that the word must become a living force within the 
soul of a man.
I put this in the poem hoping you can understand.
My mother always told me this, “that an empty heart doesn’t care,  
“And definitely that a empty heart has no love to share.”
I’m not selfish but I'm doing this for me.
So I can be free and just let be.
See a part of me knows what to do.
But another piece of me has no clue.
In my life I'm making my own path.
I've sat around for days and done the math.
Having faith and believing is the only thing that keeps me going,
So I just keep positive people and things around me that is what keep me moving.

Romans 3:19-20  Now we know that whatever the law says it speaks to those who 
are under the law, so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may 
be held accountable to God. For by works of the law no human being will be justified 
in his sight, since through the law comes knowledge of sin. 


Details | Rhyme | |

A fresh start a new beginning

 by : Sashi.Prabhu (zeauoxian)

 
The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way, Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away. But today is another day, New stuff to think, do and say. Today I will brave the world all alone, And enjoy my freedom full blown. I will live life with zest, Try neverto do things second best. I will live to be sensitive, Towards others be more receptive. I will live to be forgiving, Be more tolerant and caring. I will speak to all who walk my path, Make peace with all and unnecessarily not unleash quaint wrath. I will correct all my wrongs, And tell this to all by making them my songs. I will proudly write notes about the new me, And publish and upload them for all to see. I will work to be creative, And learn to open my mind’s eye and not be obstructive. I will always proudly wear my own neoteric attitude, To succeed, master the skill of gratitude. The day before yesterday was laced with dismay in every possible way, Yesterday was better but has into the backdrop faded away. And today is the right day, To commence these fresh new things that I write and say
theme: a fresh new start date:9th march 2012,


Details | Sonnet | |

My Shakespearean Sonnet

What Shakespeare didn’t write he left to me
In this, a brand new world and century
The English language lives and breathes, alive
A poet’s job is helping it survive

The Muses use us, soul and body, mind
To write of things that can not be defined
The subject matter always stays the same
It’s love and hate, it’s greed and fear and fame

New words evolve to name the things we see
But subject matter stays through history
Our hands the only instruments of worth
To help the Muses speak and then give birth

Their words are bridges crossing deep divides
That bring to man the peace that truth provides


Details | Ballad | |

Silent times

Silent times

Sometimes, I really do not care
About anything at all
My mind goes kind of quiet then
My mode is kind of cool
And all I really want to do
Is sit here looking in
Forgetting all the world outside
Forgetting all the din

There’s a time to send ones energy
And circle it around
But then there comes a sacred time
When the harmony is found
Waiting there within the dark
To hold one cozily
A time to be in her soft clutch
And bask there happily.

Then when the muse has been recharged
It’s time to wander back
And let the words come pouring out
Cause just along the track
The wind, the flowers and dancing trees
Have replaced the mystery
So now the words they may flow free
With much more energy.


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

What is it to see the soil of home again?
A welcome, snow-struck and a return
To cold; sharp white contrasts sunburn.
We converse in broken tongues to men

We know, hooked on holiday language
Comprised of wandering hand signs.
Collect the car and pay parking fines,
Drive through towns and over a bridge

Until we reach the Western gateway.
Oh when will we arrive at our house?
No camels there, only field mouse
Which are eaten by our cat anyway.

The plane flies for an age, slyly yawning
Through the stretching, pealing sky,
A knife through air; what it is to fly.
Our travels over; a new day is dawning.


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 | Rhyme | |

The darkness returns to gray your once blue sky

The sky opens and rains your tears
Your heart is broken from all your fears
Your mind is clouded and there is no sun
You ponder perfection but I’m not the one

You search your soul to write your life’s story
But you cannot find the words as you sit and worry
A flash of love inspiration blinds your spiritual eye
But the darkness returns to gray your once blue sky

Pictures of hope adorn your world’s dreary scene
The white future is now all but a shattered black dream
You swim in the ocean of black sadness and pain
Clinging to the normality of being insane

You search your soul to write your life’s story
But you cannot find the words as you sit and worry
A flash of love inspiration blinds your spiritual eye
But the darkness returns to gray your once blue sky

An umbrella of lies covers your once true head
You wander from the path and with others often misled
You contemplate the journey you hold in your hand
Your heart and life are your own and only yours to command

You search your soul to write your life’s story
But you cannot find the words as you sit and worry
A flash of love inspiration blinds your spiritual eye
But the darkness returns to gray your once blue sky




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 | Couplet | |

bucket list of wants

Tons more I wish to do, Much more I want to do, Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue, Much more I wish to do………. I want to scale scary heights, I want to bungee jump without any fright. I want to travel rough terrains on bikes, I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes. I want to wander singing songs, I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs. I want to be creative again , I want to write about my joys thrills and pain. I want to pour my heart and passion in my works, I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks. I want to take many a calculated risks, I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks. I want to contribute for a good cause, I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross. I want to untangle messed up issues, I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues. I want to work on taboo subjects, I want to solve regression of y on x. I want to listen to my music loud, I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd. I want to sow seeds and many a plant, I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant. I want to drench in the rains, I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains. I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth, And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth. I want to boldly write about myself only for me, I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see. I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me, I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee. I want to be happy about just any small thing, And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring. Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre, I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire…. All this I want to do very soon, Before sets into me dreaded gloom. But the life I live is taking its toll, I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole. Time is just right to set aside, And take a ride Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow, And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago. Now I don’t want a moment long, And I will do what I want and sing my own song, And do what in me I let grow, Many, many years ago.
by: Sashi.Prabhu


Details | Blank verse | |

Why Do I Write

Why Do I Write?
I was born in an era when Shakespeare, Shelley and Wordsworth were kings. Reading them was like hearing beautiful music and after all these years…it still is. Then I fell in love with Emily Dickenson and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam…what wonderful words of wisdom they imparted! I write because it allows me to express myself…my thoughts, my compassion, my soul… much as my singing has done all my life. Now that that part of my life is waning, I can still be a “diva” in my own eyes! lol I write, because my heart tells me to in the wee hours of the morning when sleep eludes me. I write because these thoughts and words which are choking me...screaming to be free...must be released. I write for those who mourn, or who suffer illness, to console them and say I understand. I write for the lonely, for those who have no hope. whose stories tug at my heart. Since I can't hold them close to me, I try through my poems to convince them there is hope and tomorrow will be better. I write to be heard...to show I am still relevant and have viable thoughts and opinions to share with the world. Experience is still the best teacher. I write to protest injustice wherever I find it. To be silent would be cowardly. I write humorously about inconsequential, everyday situations, to bring a laugh or two into our lives. I wrote my memoirs for my grandchild, to preserve the past for future generations. I wrote poetry to release grief and sorrow when death came to call, to help me find peace and acceptance. I write my religious poetry…not to flaunt my religion…but to praise God and thank him for his sacrifice for me and for the peace his presence brings to me. I also ask his blessings for my friends and loved ones and for the heavy in heart, so that they might find peace and deliverance from the evils of this world. I do not expect my work to be published…I have no illusions about my talent…I write for everyman, most of whom would shy away from the literary world and consider it elitist in the extreme, but when tragedy befalls them, they take comfort in simple words of encouragement and consolation. But most of all, I write for the sheer joy of it and because my soul requires it!
Copyright©2008 Beatrice Boyle (All rights reserved) For Frank's "What turns you on" contest


Details | Rhyme | |

Paper Thin

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
For kicks is why I do it now.
You tell me to love but I never knew how.
Our feet hitting pavement,
We spent the day in sunny California with sun kissed skin.
I’m learning to forget and how to fade scars,
And you let me let myself down so hard.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
And now I just do it for smiles,
We’ll never see flower girls stumbling down aisles.
I’d lose my head just before that chance,
But if you want we can still have a first dance.
Cause I think I say things that I don’t mean,
Once upon a time you meant the world to me.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
But I’m trying to refrain,
To make this not all end up in vain.
Maybe I can learn to love like some people do,
And you can learn to love yourself a little too.
Or it is in all fairness to let this go?
I guess we can try but then we’ll never know. 


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 | Quatrain | |

Jack The Quack



Timothy Hicks recently suggested I write one called “Jack the Quack” Who better than the quacker himself Who's wheels have left the track I've never professed to be poet In the ilk of Browning and Keats A rebel, a renegade, a enigma of sorts Marching to a different beat A bit of a “quacker” I've always been Take pride in being off beat Don't have a choice, it's who I am Travelling down a different street Always write in the purest of forms Simple quatrains most of the time Since a very young age, always thought Of poetry as a needing to rhyme Forever been one to revel in creativity Searching brand new vistas each day It sure turns my crank and floats my boat Wouldn't be happy any other way Thank you Timothy for the inspiration To express what makes me tick We're all cut from the very same cloth Till we find a pathway that clicks © Jack Ellison 2013 Timothy suggested I write this one appealing to the kiddies along the lines of "Howard The Mallard"... I chose a different route!


Details | Verse | |

I Write

I write about the things I know
Sometimes it’s places that I’ve been
Or, maybe places I would go 
If I’d find time to now and then.

But mostly I write what I see.
A description lives inside of me
That forms a picture, but in words,
To reproduce in simple verse.

It might rhyme, if I’ve the time.
But, mostly I’m an artist poor,
With words for color, nothing more.

Poems that must have rhyme and reason,
Sometimes, just don’t fit the season.

Poets must be given freedom
To express feelings without borders.
We’re not soldiers given marching orders.

So I write of nature and man,
And try to rhyme it when I can.

But sometimes trees and birds and clouds
Will send me to a place I go,
Deep within my mind.
And there, with pen and paper, 
I’ll see what I can find.

Like ships and trains and oil rigs,
I scribe around the clock,,, tic toc….
Like books and babes and butterflies,
Just because,,,that’s why,,that’s what…


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 | Rhyme | |

Will You Travel With Me To Heaven PART ONE

Poem: Will You Travel With Me To Heaven?

When you wake up in the morning
From a dream you think is okay
You see your spouse and family
Get ready for another day


The dream you saw, the things you see
The bed on which you soundly sleep
Your kids all grown up, your husband
And old memories that you keep


Who do you think created them?
Were they created from nothing?
If there is no god who made these
All, then what's the point of living?


D'you think we were made from nothing
Then from nothing we live for fun
To eat and drink, to love and hate
Then when we die, what comes is none?

The eyes with which your body sees
Those sockets that keep your eyeballs
The mouth you use for food and speech
The way you answer random calls


The languages you use to speak
And another –your mother tongue-
The way you carry yourself, and
How you breathe through your heart and lungs


The muscles that stretch when you smile
Your friends who often make you laugh
The words you try to understand
And how you sign your name so fast


Your kids who once stayed in your womb
The months you carried them in you
Your feelings when you saw their first
Walk and when they smile back at you


The food you eat and cook each day
The rainfalls that fall from above
The earth you walk on each night and
Day, and the things you've learned to love


The blood that flows 'neath your skin each
Hour, the foods you eat, sweet and sour
The clouds you see above your head
The scent of various plants and flowers


The many colors of people
You see, and many sounds you hear
All things in this universe make
You think that a God must be near


A God who is not in this world
But because of Lordship –Above-
Above the skies and on His Throne
Above anything you can think of

A God who is the Most Powerful
A God who does not eat or sleep
A God who is Above all things
A God who does not sweep the streets


A God who sees us all the time
A God who knows our hidden thoughts
A God who hears us all the time
A God who gives us lots and lots

A God who made this universe
A God who is the King of all
A God who knows the good and bad
A God who causes rain to fall


A God who made all kinds of colors
A God who rotates day and night
A God who knows all languages
A God who gave the moon its light

A God who knows the past and present
A God who sees the future of all
A God who gave all kinds of sounds
A God who gave all forms –short and tall

--->PART TWO


Details | Couplet | |

Flying With The Birds

If I were to believe in you, would you believe in me?
If everything that I promised you actually came to be

If I were a beautiful rainbow, a reflection in the sky
Formed by the rays of light as your tears you cried

Sweetheart I am just a simple man with a complex plight
My blessing is you’re here with me, as this quest I fight

Sweetheart you know I’m a warrior, though I live like a ghost
I fight and write living my plight, inside the belly of the host

From shore to shore, a forever war, that will never end
Just today I got the word the host has taken another friend

Another soul another goal of course another wasted life
God I am a lucky man to have become one with my wife

Pains insane it shreds my brain and tears my heart into
I’m left here asking myself, “Was there anything I could do”

I have to write a eulogy though I just don’t know what to say
Here is a soul, another hole, for someone who lost his way 

Sobriety is really great but at times it is truly rather hard
You watch them take another friend and plant him in the yard

Another smoke, another joke another party has reached its end
Here I sit in a spiritual pit feeling totally lost about my friend

I hope someday someone reads what I say, takes another course
Pass on doing that shot, love it or not, death upon the black tar horse

So I shall write my Eulogy falling to pieces about my friend
Who made fun of the man I turned out to be, until the very end

But that’s ok it was just his way, right up until the day he died
The one true light shinning bright, lives inside of you and I

So will all of you join with me let your spirits pen my words
About a beautiful soul, who found his goal, flying with the birds


------------------------------------------------------------------
Very few people in this life that I love enough to let make fun
of the changes I made in my life. Addiction (The Host) took 6
friends in 2007, 5 in 2008 and this is the first in 2009. He didn't
overdose he was shot a couple of days ago in Chico, Ca during
a home invasion robbery over his heroin debt. I used to always
pay his debts when it reached this point with bags of Meth. This
time I couldn't go there for him and now he is dead. This is my
life, my gift and my curse. God Bless you all, mj


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rambling of a Faith Poet

Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every
thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with
how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm 
worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far
above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of
course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the
Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and
dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make
himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not
qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do
what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will
hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my
"rambling worries" to Him.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Road My Thoughts Lead To

Laid up in bed these couple of days,
I’ve seen the passing of the sun’s rays.
Much time to think as each night time nears,
I search the state of my hopes and fears.

The rule of nine guides these lines I write
even as these words now come to light.
The words before me or so they seem
could make this poem a writer’s dream.

It would be nice with nothing to do
but sit and write till each day is through.
No permanent sanctum do I find
in this with other things on my mind.

I’ll write these words as they come to me
and take advantage of time that’s free.
Still, other things contend for “my view”
so I’ll search the road my thoughts lead to.


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 | Rhyme | |

heart, mind, and soul

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

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

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



Details | 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 | Couplet | |

new begining

 
Jan2012
By Sashi. Prabhu (ZEAUOXIAN)
I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I have cheated my fears alright, I have broken up with my doubts uptight. I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I got engaged to my faith last night, I married my dreams at the sight of first light. I am not afraid to get up today, I am not afraid to wake up to another day today, I am not afraid to open my eyes and see today, I am not afraid to climb out of bed today. I am ready to walk into the gardens in the heavy rains, I am ready to open my nose and smell of mud from wet terrain I am ready to face the world all alone, I am ready to do anything to walk up the stepping stone. I am ready to say anything to anyone, I am ready to talk to anyone under the sun. I am ready to yell from mountain tops, I am ready to dive from ravine drops. I am ready to walk for a cause, I am ready to run to protect environmental laws. I am ready to touch taboo objects & subjects I am ready to work on regressions of y on x I am ready to understand tangled issues, I am ready to wipe all tears with tissues. I am ready to taste tropical fruits, I am ready to chop, boil and eat bamboo shoots I am ready to jump out from a moving truck, I am ready to pull my allies from loads of muck. I am ready to be creative again, I am ready to write and spill out my joys and pain. I am ready to sing and hear my own songs, I am ready to correct my own wrongs. I am ready to throw a stone afar, I am ready to play my own music for all with the door ajar. I am ready to write notes about me, I am ready to put them up for all to see. I am ready to whistle whilst I walk down the alley, I am ready to bring out tunes and them create verbally I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more.


Details | Rhyme | |

If You Had but One Last Poem to Pen

If you knew that you’d be leaving soon
And had but one last poem to write;
What might you pen as you begin 
To say your final, farewell good night?

Would it be addressed to those who’ve blessed 
Your world with all good things?
To someone close you love the most
Or perhaps, a song of spring?

Of changing winds that swirl and spin
From cradle to the grave;
If you had but one last poem to pen
What would you want to say?

Would thankfulness surround you
For every breath you’ve ever breathed?
Or will you write before losing sight 
Of past regrets and shattered dreams?

Will your pages be filled with all the thrills
Of memories made with laughter?
Or will sadness remain despite all the gains
Of riches you’ve chased after?

And I wonder will the darkness fill
Our minds with somber sojourns;
Or will instead we find we’re led
To God’s gigantic, love-filled ocean?
 
If we have but one last poem to write
Before leaving Earth’s atmosphere;
What will we say that just might stay
In the hearts of those still here? 


Details | Rhyme | |

Poets Combined

If I were to write of all the poets combined,
these are the results that I would find.
A little love, a little pain,
a bit of sunshine, a bit of rain.
A man of the past, a man of tomorrow.
A man of anger, a man of sorrow.
A bit of summer, a bit of spring.
A bit of our life's to us they bring.
A bit of white in winter snow,
or fall colors all aglow.
Of dogs, cats, sheep and goats,
everything in life that fills our hopes.
Of oceans deep, mysteries unknown.
The sweetest of music and its tone.
The things we hear, we see, we say.
The distant worlds so far away.
The poets write what they feel.
some is fantasy, some is real.
When all the poets are combined,
it is essential that we must find,
a meaning more explicit then just the pen.
It is the wisdom and knowledge,
of all men.


Details | Lyric | |

Thoughts That Think

Was thinking long and hard about giving up writing.
Convinced myself that I'm a quitter and there's no sense in fighting
To keep the only thing that kept me far from the edge
But I can't pretend.
Pretend that it isn't my Fortress of Solitude 
That's honoured me with solemn servitude.
That it hasn't helped put me to rest, thought and mind,
By accepting the past on paper and keeping it close behind. 

I was thinking logically and analytically 
Because it seems to be the only thing I'm good at. 
Thinking about everything I've seen and everyone I've fought to keep,
They're all gone now, only to be found in memories. 
They say Poets and Artists are the architects of Heaven
And only they know it's the hardest when no one buys what they're selling. 
No one wants to listen and no one wants to see 
Because everyone's so sure of what you're supposed to be. 

But what are you supposed to do when you've dedicated your life to understanding?
When you can empathize with your brother, but your own sight you can't stand it. 
When you feel that there's a missing piece and so the wholes hurting.
Swim out long past the reef and any safety that you keep to do some soul searching.
Days and months fighting fears, love and tears, digging the hard soil.
Only to find that missing piece you desperately seek is hidden deep beneath. 
When you've found the straw that broke the Camels back
Only to find there's a million more underneath.

What are you supposed to do when you follow the chains
Long past the plains in hopes to break the link.
Kill the ties that bind and have held you for so long,
Only to find there is no ball, you were free all along.
And in your days of darkness with no life to sip or sup
All the hands around your back were never meant to keep you up
And all of those who have kept you down will fight to keep you dancing to their beat.
Any impenetrable man once stabbed in the heart, will crumble with defeat.


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 | |

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 | |

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 | Lyric | |

Good Change Coming

Written October 7, 2012


My soul burns inside
And it comes comes out to hide
When its so shocked to hear
That the darkness is here

Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I just want to change the world

Is it too much to ask
Too abstract to grasp
This idea that's been running
I promise there's good change coming

With a bullet and a gun
You'll get any man to run
But it takes diplomacy
To get a real man to see

Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I could really change the world

Is it too hard to be
The man I want to see
When I look in the mirror
Lord I pray it was clearer

With a permanent marker
I color in darker
The world that I see
Ain't what it should be

Would you believe in the words that I say
Even if they aren't diamonds and pearls
With a paper in front and a pen in my hand
I am going to change the world


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 | Verse | |

Writing Wrongs

Should I write in rhyming words
are you babies I should coo
and speak of love and little boats
of Dr. Zeus’s zoo.

Should I compose a sonnet sweet 
while prayerful folk are weeping
for war has come and killed their own
while their lulled hearts were dreaming?

Should I rave of man’s downfall
and never raise a hand
or shall I write of community
the unity of man.

Hand young and old, a tool to clone
a key to all this babble
an eye to see, a mind to grasp
let them lose the rattle.

For mind is bound to fortune
and blood is bound to pain
governments like sorcerer’s
will fall once it’s seen plain.

Take up the quill, and reach out
observe, recall, rescind
and the power you’ve given others
will be yours in the end.











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 | |

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 | Sonnet | |

Emptiness

A thought that lingers longer than it should,
Then mingles with words to know just what could,
It’s then that lines appear if poets would
Permit the pen and paper to just meet.
If poet would put the old bum on seat,
And grasp the nib ‘til a sonnet’s complete.
O poet let your words on paper flow,
In ink let all your feelings come on show,
O poet, you know you cannot say no!
So write the words, perform this task at will,
Go on; pick up the pen let the words spill,
And soon the paper will begin to fill.
But it’s not so easy to write in verse
When the mind is naught but an empty purse.





Form: Lunatic Sonnet


Details | Lyric | |

Nowhere

Looks like I'm at the end of this bottle again.
Seems like cigarettes are my only friend.
Newports, no shorts, they're still never long enough.
Man, staying here never felt so rough. 

And I'm back to about a pack a day.
I'm just waiting for my lungs to cave in or give way
To a breath of fresh air, yeah that would be cool,
But once again I'm just a hopeful fool. 

Sometimes I wish that I could just go.
Runaway, find a place that I've never known.
Yeah that would be so nice.
Think it out, write it down, and scream it twice,
But for now I'll just way more time and 
Sometimes I wish I could just go.
Runaway, find a place that I've never known.
Man that would be so nice.
Think it out, write it down, and scream it twice,
But for now I'll just way more time and

I never thought I could drink so much.
Comfortably numb I've lost every touch.
Maybe someday I'll climb out to the top
And find some new ways to every stop.

Maybe someday I'll be out of my way.
Find someone to give me the heart to stay.
Maybe someday I'll be at the top of somewhere
Because down here in nowhere I know that nobody cares. 

Sometimes I wish that I could just go.
Runaway, find a place that I've never known.
Yeah that would be so nice.
Think it out, write it down, and scream it twice,
But for now I'll just waste some more time and 
Sometimes I wish that I could just go.
Runaway, find a place that I've never known.
Man that would be so nice.
Think it out, write it down, and scream it twice,
But for now I'll just waste some more time and

I've finally had it with dreams of out there.
With my bottle and cigarettes I'm lost in Nowhere.


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 | Rhyme | |

Emily

This is dedicated to the sweetest little 10 year old girl I met once who died of Brain Cancer...

"Memories escape from you,
Ones we do not want to lose"
She whispered to me softly
When I felt all confused,
As our moment slipped away,
She made me want to say,
"Angels walk beside us all
Each slowly passing day"

As she walked away from me,
Unafraid to let me see,
A shaven head, she covered up,
Where her hair used to be,
So much courage for her age
Not empty and full of rage,
A miracle, in modern times,
She chose to turn the page

She has chosen not to grieve,
Instead she just believes,
A higher power watches her
and keeps her mind at ease,
Unburdened by her fate
She accepts it unafraid,
Barbie dolls and fancy clothes
Will rest where they are laid

There are times I can recall
When the pebbles made me fall
With boulders on her shoulders 
No complaining comes at all
With a smile upon her face
She achieved a state of grace
The only thought inside her head
"God please protect this place"

She will see no wedding rings
Or the change her presence brings
She will close her eyes, a final time,
and receive her angel wings
No emotions toss and turn
A peaceful place she has earned
Contributing an unseen verse
To songs she will not learn

When her body is no more,
And her spirit starts to soar,
Memories will live through,
Stuffed bears upon her floor,
She will let her mother know
Goodbye is not letting go,
Saying " I will run back to you
With every found hair bow

Every time you stop and see
A daughter who wants to be,
 Everything her mother is,
The emotion felt is me,
When the wind begins to blow
That is me trying to show,
The picture of your baby girl
Running carefree in your clothes"

When her final breathe is gone
Her last prayer lives on and on
"God watch over mommy now
If I leave her all alone"
All her family will cry
I will hold my head and sigh
At the death of a miracle
With no answers as to why

Though this piece will not be heard
I write every single word
In hopes of saying thank you
For the honor of meeting her
She will never get to see
All the words she put in me
As I write for you, rest in peace,
Beloved Emily

By: Audonus Taylor


Details | ABC | |

Inquisition poetry 101


I stopped to stool siphon sip on a cool blue 
circumstance in the means between the in 
times loath listening to complacent
poetic prostitutional practices of stir my friends 
ego echoes doing the same f. u. c. k. e. d.
favor dance for me when I ego envy enter 
exist your contra content littered with
manic moronic mentaloronic maladies
of entrance entrocities. Lining words
pentamhextamater, rich rhyme, cleaveage crotch
clearance, colic c.u.n. t. coffiure
frantic fascist frames, abounding with 
wok out at me sillo sounds
composite of cruel crisp compound
cumulo capsules of I, me, mine
mousy miniscules in drop dreamy
lovelorn lostlust learned
limitations lauded longevity living
linguistic liquidlovelorn light
leaking lanterns, which bequeath 
*****in broth biscuited breveties
lucid laminated with word wornwaste 
catagorical crass. Leave wailwall  
enough alone when yr tackless 
trash talent is way less than spittle,
your poor prowess less than dodah duh, Po e tree?
So, my wordful children of BS, when writing yr so called pitypoetry,
devoid of dream dance diminutives coinciding correctly with wrenching wraps
of prostitutional ponder relentelessingly revealing a rapture 
of vast vile emoelements of comprosotory 
composites of fecalfroughtfrightfolly of fantasies in 
poet emeritus of urineyourns  a 3 way stretch non nobel poetlorietsupreme
goodfistingluckwiththatcrap;therefore u either play the game or 
risk reside in the zombie aperature camera obsecura word death orbit; therefore 

Assimilitate before u ass umulate, 
Build before u bridge buldge
Concentrate before u cumulo capsulate
Decide before u dildo dick tate
Engulf before u evo enevelop
Fragment before u fracture fantasize
Grasp before u geno germinate
Hallucinate before u hasty hippocrate
Initialize before u initiate
Jackulate before u Jillulasm
Literate before u laud luminate
Mentor before u mirror menstruate
Nurtuate before u neuro negate
Obliviate before u oogle obligate
Postulate before u priest present
Question before u quotionent quest
Recreate before u radical resonnate
Saturate before u semen sacrlidge
Tintalate before u trick translate
Utilize before u usurp ugly 
Victory before u vile vanquish
Want before u willful waste
X-turn right @ W follow the X signs
Yuletides before u yell yeildtides
Zeusotide before u zonk zerozilchotones. 
 
 


Details | Quatrain | |

My Bedroom

The door of my bedroom is closed
Sunlight filters in through the curtain
I quietly lie down in bed
In this my sweet little haven

My cozy warm bedroom is safe
I feel my soul is truly free
No one dares to harm me in here
The whole world can just let me be

I pull up the covers real tight
As I hug close my teddy bear
I revert to being a child
A child with no worry or care

My eyes wonder around the room
But focus on a memory 
My rapid breathing evens out
As I relive sweet history

The people outside of my room
Leave me filled with stifling fear
I am left confused and unsure
As I brush away a stray tear

I’ve forgotten how to mingle
Socializing just gives me stress
Whatever I may say or do
Leaves me an emotional mess

Yet here in my room I am free
To converse with great eloquence
I talk to me, myself, and I
With such amazing confidence

I simply write and write and write
I resolve to love, laugh and live
I have not a single worry
About what I should do or give

Do you think that I’m a recluse?
A modern day hermit, you say?
It could be, but this I do know
I’m having a wonderful day!


Details | I do not know? | |

Your Whisper

You whispered in my ear,
a breathy secret, hushed.

“I love you”, you murmured.

I said nothing,
lost, in your arms,
I found a home. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
I said nothing,
lost in my thoughts,
I found peace. At last.

“I love you”, you said,
words failed me then.

They still do.


Details | Quatrain | |

ME, MYSELF, AND I

   I guess you could call me a silly guy
   For humor is how I get through the day.
   I love telling stories, writing poetry, and romance
   Each in its own separate way.


   I could be called a "Hopeless Romantic"
   As I have always been sentimental inside.
   I learned that feeling growing up
   Watching my parents, and their worlds collide.


   I knew my Dad better than anyone...I think
   He and I worked together for some time you see.
   And when he died at an early age
   Everyone seemed to be in tears but me.

  
   Of the six kids in our family growing up
   I had a brother named Ron that I was closest to.
   He had a sense of humor and devotion to his family
   And he would always find strange things for us to do.


   We loved driving around in his old MG
   When it worked it could do no wrong.
   He took me for rides I'll never forget
   To teach me his favorite Irish drinking songs.


   His death really put me on the writer's path
   As I eulogized him with "Remembering Ron".
   But afterward I could not stop the words from coming out
   As if a spigot had deliberately been turned on.


   So I have written poetry, stories, and a few songs too
   I'd like to publish something some day.
   Getting to read and write here on the Soup
   Pehrhaps, I will finally find the way.


   I believe in the goodness of man's inner soul
   And that God intended for us to be happy here.
   The love of Wife, Child, and Family
   Just make me want to stand and cheer!


   I'd like to see us not have wars
   Or even have cross words with others we meet.
   Sometimes I plead my case in the words that I write
   And sometimes, the proverbial "Dead Horse" do I beat.


   I look at history as a great learning tool
   For I've studied Antropology in college you see.
   And all the past comes into the present time
   At least, it does for me.


   So I will write works about historical things
   As much as I write about family, love, emotions, and silliness too.
   Just so others can get some insight into me
   And perhaps their own lives as they should do.


      I don't know who will read my work
   Or if they benefit at all from the things I say.
   I only know that this passion to write
   Is one that is here to stay.


   Some people think I'm kind of grumpy
   I guess that is also true.
   But the words I write fill that void inside me
   This is but one more poem...for you.


Details | Acrostic | |

A POETIC CONSCIENCE

                    Dan Cwiak -  Dedicated to *** Constance ***
 
                    The Rambling Poet's work titled: Throbbing With Life

      
                     In thinking of a contest poem with ~~~ RULES ~~~

                     Consideration must be given to them,

                     Or the poetry written will not fit

                     Under their *** UMBRELLA ***

                     Lonely, the poet feels encumbered by

                     Doing his work for such a ~~~ CONTEST ~~~

                     Nothing else can upset the delicate balance

                     Of words, rhyme, and *** METER ***

                     To enter a contest is a challenge

                     For any poet to attempt ~~~ YET ~~~

                     In so far as subscribing to the rules

                     Necessary, he must make the effort with

                     Devotion, thought, and ***STRONG WILL ***

                     This is the strength of the poet's 

                     Heart as a writer and wordsmith,
                     
                     Endeavoring to complete his ~~~ TASK ~~~

                     When I try to write something clever

                     Or get on with my writing as a  *** QUEST ***

                     Rigid are the thoughts that cross my mind,

                     Descriptive are those that only ~~~ ESCAPE ~~~

                     Such that I am mindful of the burden laid upon me.
                     
                     To some, it may come easily to their *** BEING ***

                     Others, like me, have a more difficult task as the 

                     Disharmony of thoughts, words, and feelings

                     Evolve into an imperfect type of ~~~ PERFECTION ~~~

                     Very often, the expressions are only those 

                     Of the emotional guilt I may have for the subject.

                     Too often, however, I begin to use *** Poetic License ***

                     Even though, I should not take that liberty.

                     To those who can claim the poet's glib words,

                     Or the gift that they have,  often proceed to ~~~ GIVE ~~~
                     
                     Yet, such is my life as poet.  Such is the ~~~ CONSCIENCE ~~~

                     Of my soul.  Oh, but to shed myself of these thoughts,

                     Under the banner of the poetry that I *** WRITE ***
                     
                    


Details | Tanka | |

ilan pang tangka sa tanka

watching the leaves 
touching damp earth
I walk on, (pondering)—
how graceful they fall
     so unlike me

************************************************************

                                            
feathered silence folded in paper tickled— with the sound of your laughter
************************************************************ holding the plum bowl glass shatters as my fingers slip my heart along with it ************************************************************ listening in entomology class I yawn…. swallowing a mosquito ************************************************************
creased with silence letting go of that paper boat— I write your name in water
************************************************************ a few (ilan) of my attempts (tangka) at writing some tanka some time ago, they probably don't even qualify as tanka? these aren't related with each other though... Also me just trying to see if formatting will hold this time? The other day when I tried it, it did (even from Word) now, even from notepad, the formatting is all aligned to the left? Lemme see center now if it stays as centered (ok, it actually does). But aligning it to the right doesn't seem to stay though?


Details | Couplet | |

Quelled Woes and Afflictions

I have lived in a contest with life until now, Not to be afraid in anticipation I now solemly vow.................. I have cheated my fears alright, I have broken up with my doubts uptight. I got engaged to my faith last night, I married my dreams at the sight of first light. I am not afraid to get up today, I am not afraid to wake up to another day today, I am not afraid to open my eyes today, I am not afraid to climb out of bed today. I see beyond and am not afraid any more, I see beyond and am not afraid any more. I am ready to face the world all alone, I am ready to do anything to walk up the stepping stone. I am ready to say anything to anyone, I am ready to talk to anyone under the sun. I am ready to yell from mountain tops, I am ready to dive from ravine drops. I am ready to walk for a cause, I am ready to run to protect environmental laws. I am ready to understand tangled issues, I am ready to wipe all tears with tissues. I am ready to jump out from a moving truck, I am ready to pull my allies from loads of muck. I am ready to be creative again, I am ready to write and spill out my joys and pain. I am ready to sing my own songs, I am ready to correct my own wrongs. I am ready to throw a stone afar, I am ready to play my own music for all with the door ajar. I am ready to write notes about me, I am ready to put them up for all to see. I am ready to whistle whilst I walk down the alley, I am ready to pluck the fruits from the orchards of Sally. I see beyond and am not afraid any more, I see beyond and am not afraid any more.


Details | Couplet | |

My Walls Covered


                                              In these four corners lines lay empty..
                                  Waiting for this pen to spill thoughts that are plenty..

                                         I hope I finish before the water washes it away..
                          While trying to keep an upbeat write before a tear takes the day..

                           I can smear words of love and sadness on paper to line my walls..
                            No spot left uncovered , just waves of thoughts that will not fall..

                              With my words that have color and a color that speaks words..
                                My playground to write is in peace, and hate will not disturb..
          


Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Expand

When I was a kid, i believed that I would never stop growing. I measured myself, and knew that everything taller was a glimpse of the future. 
We would all be giants eventually. The tallest man that ever lived was named Robert Wadlow. He couldn't stop growing. On his first day of school, 
he was taller than his father. They say, that when he tripped on the playground his knees made twin craters from falling so far. By the time he was 10, the dirt in his home town was pot-marked like a second moon. 
Size always seems to matter most when we are falling. An ant dropped from an airplane will survive with no injuries, if an elephant slips 3 feet, 
it's legs will snap beneath it, and or us, it is those dreams that we remember most. The ones where the harness breaks. 
Where you step from the roof of a building without knowing why. When a plane rushes back toward the earth like a lost lover. We always wait just before impact, unsure of shattering or survival, 
and unable to accept our own size. 
Maybe this is why we hunt the large animals to extinction; To make ourselves seem greater. In the end, the victory of the atom bomb was not in the arms raised, but it's ability to topple all of the smallest creatures. We dream of surviving as mountains; of never having to look up again. 
We long for longer conquests. 
The ship vaster than the ocean. 
The fire dwarfing the fuel. We expand. We expand,. 
Weapons add more than just inches to your arm span. When you fire a gun, you can touch someone a thousand of feet away just think of all the giants our wars have already created. Cemeteries are like an infinity of white cross hairs. Mass graves that are just twisting of what we have always wanted; A mountain built from our bodies. We expand, we expand,. 
Our empires, stretching like red lips opening into the widest sssmile, and then swallowing the face whole. We build our largest statues for our war heroes, greater your conquest, the taller we will make you. We are taller than our fathers now. We cannot stop growing. Robert Wadlow did not want to be a legend. He wanted to train as a lawyer, but his hands were to large to 
write and type with. He died at age 22, half an inch short of 9 feet from an infection he never felt, because his nerves could not transmit signals that far. So stop trying to be statues. 
Walk. 
Feel the signals your feet send back to you and say "It is good to feel this close". It is good to live in our own bodies. Our bodies are whispers. Are bodies are matchsticks in the dark that light the small parts of us; The parts of us that can accomplish impossible things.


Details | Quatrain | |

Night

I love the night from dusk 'til dawn, 
It's the only time to carry on 
with thoughts and dreams still unachieved, 
my whole life plan at night conceived. 

No light's distractions, no buzz of sound, 
my conscious clears while ideas abound. 
Sleep does not come for me with ease, 
Time hypnotic is knowledge less seized. 

What is it that makes me insightful those hours? 
Is a great truth revealed by some higher power? 
I think fate is set when the mind is most clear 
of petty thoughts which by night disappear. 

But as the hours count down to day's early light, 
some find it ironic to be enlightened at night. 
Yet I find strength to arise and start the dead day, 
knowing that night is not far away!


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 | I do not know? | |

I Don't Write Poems

I don’t write poems.
I also don’t sleep.

I can’t write poems.
I also can’t sleep.

I won’t write poems.
I also won’t sleep.

I write stories.
I also stay awake.

Maybe I should write poems.
Maybe I should try to sleep.


Details | Couplet | |

Why I Write

Written expression is my own personal therapy.
It keeps me sane and gives my thoughts clarity.
My brain comes alive whenever I write poetry.

Self-expression is my way to self-healing.
My poetry at times can be so revealing,
Letting the reader inside, no longer concealing.

Inspirational verse allows me to witness
My belief in God and Jesus Christ to confess.
Open my heart, share His love like a caress.

Humorous rhymes let my inner child breathe.
Creating laughter is a magical gift, I believe.
I am truly blessed with each smile I receive.

Poetic forms with syllabic counts intrigue my brain.
Sometimes finding just the right word can be a pain.
By writing senryu, haiku, and tanka, my mind I train.

Love poems are my favorite poetic genre to explore.
Regardless of how many I’ve written, I write more.
Happy love poems seem to make my heart soar.

I also write sad and broken-hearted verse
Where people are loving then leaving or worse.
There are no happy endings, just the reverse.

If you should ever encounter a poem of mine.
Perhaps it does not have the perfect rhyme
The rhythm could be off a beat you might find.

But know this one thing for sure about my musing,
I don’t believe you’ll find the words confusing.
Many of my poems can even be quite amusing.

I write poems for me, so I write just for joy!
So when you read my poems, I hope you enjoy!



Details | Rhyme | |

I am not afraid any more

Jan2012
By Sashi. Prabhu (ZEAUOXIAN)
I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I have cheated my fears alright, I have broken up with my doubts uptight. I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more. I got engaged to my faith last night, I married my dreams at the sight of first light. I am not afraid to get up today, I am not afraid to wake up to another day today, I am not afraid to open my eyes and see today, I am not afraid to climb out of bed today. I am ready to walk into the gardens in the heavy rains, I am ready to open my nose and smell of mud from wet terrain I am ready to face the world all alone, I am ready to do anything to walk up the stepping stone. I am ready to say anything to anyone, I am ready to talk to anyone under the sun. I am ready to yell from mountain tops, I am ready to dive from ravine drops. I am ready to walk for a cause, I am ready to run to protect environmental laws. I am ready to touch taboo objects & subjects I am ready to work on regressions of y on x I am ready to understand tangled issues, I am ready to wipe all tears with tissues. I am ready to taste tropical fruits, I am ready to chop, boil and eat bamboo shoots I am ready to jump out from a moving truck, I am ready to pull my allies from loads of muck. I am ready to be creative again, I am ready to write and spill out my joys and pain. I am ready to sing and hear my own songs, I am ready to correct my own wrongs. I am ready to throw a stone afar, I am ready to play my own music for all with the door ajar. I am ready to write notes about me, I am ready to put them up for all to see. I am ready to whistle whilst I walk down the alley, I am ready to bring out tunes and them create verbally I am not afraid any more, I am not afraid any more.


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 | I do not know? | |

Who I am

7 Jan 2011  7:18 AM

Who I am well lets see
I am son to God who set me free

I am a scholar of sorts
I still study life and write reports

I am dad I have two girls
I love them so more than all the world

I am a freind to very few
And to those few I am very true

I am productive in my life
I produce in the words that I write

I am a writer and write I do
Of life experience and things that are true

I do not write of that which I don't know
I only write of life as I grow

Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009


Details | I do not know? | |

I Don't Write Music Anymore

I don't write music anymore
And I'm not dancing alone in my room
The mirror reflects nothing but still life
And the speakers simply shout static
My bed is empty and unkempt
And I no longer rock, nor roll in my chair
Still, it moves
With aid from a ghost or perhaps,
The wind
For the window is shattered
Like ear drums by blaring bass lines
So, no, I don't write music anymore
But I'm still stuck on stanzas


Details | I do not know? | |

I Wrote Our Beginning Now I Write Our End

I carry broken building blocks back across
Rivers of molten feelings / this cracked bridge
Begs to crumble beneath steps embarrassed
To raise their arms in protest / my stance weeps
Under the weight of all the tears I’ve never
Cried so I stumble towards Nyx / maybe I fall / I
Can’t really remember cause then I had an 
Epiphany / like waking in a cold sweat when
My body grasps for your concept isn’t 
Here: that fractured bemused hummingbird
I wrote about in my poem isn’t you and I 
Didn’t understand it then why my eyes were
The ones bleeding clear / I can see now it’s 
Me I was crying about cause it’s me who’s
Crying now without hesitation / I trade gladly 
Consecutive night sentences with Morpheus
So he’d release me from my dreams and I won’t
Have to cry anymore over this moment when 
They leave /our hummingbirds die / butterflies
Cocoon back into caterpillars / have I angered the
Angels /do my Gods hate me / your lips kiss my 
Fears farther from away and I know the answer to
These questions taste yes / bitter and salty / waves 
Call to me as I jump off this bridge with no safety 
Suicide net to catch me / I’ve fallen against this blank
Wall you've erected to have me love / but The Fates 
Come as friends / they whisper in my ear as they
Cut our strings away from a love that isn’t mine / no
Longer shines my escape is sill half of that dark 
Path sketched in caramel complexion etched in
This hurts yesterday’s reflections / I pray to live all
Our memories not just the dreams you want me to
Own / or the poems you have me write / there’s no
Reciprocation in an empty bed / there’s no reason
To say goodbye if we’re already dead to you /  no
Tomorrow so I’ve fled your elephant’s graveyard
With a pen in my hand / I wrote our beginning now
I write our End...


Details | I do not know? | |

Will I Ever?

Will I ever be the one I want to be?
Will I ever be able to fly and be free?

Will I ever write the most beautiful song? 
Will I ever feel like I belong?

Will I ever be able to mend my heart?
Will I ever feel like I am smart?

Will I ever think that I am pretty?
Will I ever stop living in self pity?

Will I ever be able to reach my dreams?
Will I ever be able to do what I believe?

Will I ever be able to write a best selling book? 
Will I ever find the piece of my heart that he took?

Will I ever be able to win the never ending race?
Will I ever be able to see his smiling face?

Will I ever be able to stand up tall?
Will I ever get to have it all?

Will I ever?
Will I ever?


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

In the Time it Takes

In the time it takes scrawl these lines…
Many new poems will be written
Many lovers will be smitten 
Many a heart will be broken
Many a first word will be spoken

In the time it takes to compose this poem…
Many tragedies will occur on earth
Many bawling babies will be birthed
Many creatures will become extinct
Many a human will be linked

In the time it takes to write some muse…
Many a celebrations will take place
Many stars will collide in space
Many discoveries will come to light
Many a soldier will stand and fight

In the time it takes to form some prose…
Many a loss will be deeply felt
Many a hardship will be sorely dealt
Many a soul will be sweetly charmed
Many a victim will be grievously harmed

In the time it takes to scribe this rhyme…
Many innocents will be raped or abused
Many psyches will be battered and bruised
Many minds will become afflicted
Many youths will become addicted

In the time it takes to write some verse…
Many a life will have reached the end
Many a person will have lost a friend
Many hopes and dreams will be destroyed
Many troops will have been deployed

In the time it takes to read these words…
Many lives will be saved or healed
Many truths or lies will be revealed
Many starving children will surely die
And so many people won’t hear them cry



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 | Rhyme | |

Yearnings

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Couplet | |

Activity #39

I hate the way there's silence
When I ask if someone's there

I hate the way I'm empty
Left to just sit and stare

I hate the way I'm lonely
When I shouldn't have to be

I hate the way I'm hated
Thrown down on my knees

I hate the way things have gone
Completely taken off course

I hate the way things are going
My screams leaving me hoarse

I hate the way I'm sitting here
Writing down my pain

I hate the way no one cares
I have nothing left to gain

I hate the way I write your name
When I write something down

I hate the way my dreams aren't safe
I wake up with a frown

I hate the way people judge
Their rubric far from fair

But most of all, I hate the way
You think that I don't care


Details | Rhyme | |

Paper Stains

The words I write are best defined
As tiny pieces of soul
Trapped within my troubled mind
An ache I can't console

The memories and the heartaches
Dripping through my pen
Tell the stories of my mistakes
And regret I feel within

They will tell you who I am today
And what I used to be
They'll tell you all I have to say
If you'll look carefully

The words I write are lifetime earned
Through joy, strife and pain
Memories of the things I've learned
Are now my paper's stain


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 | |

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 | Rhyme | |

Unfinis---

I imagine my mind as a factory,
With hundreds of people inside of me
Who work at their desks with pencils and ink,
To write out my thoughts and the things that I think.

They are staticians and doctors and men who suggest
Answers to questions when I take a test.
They are playwrights and editors who take to the screen
Movies and dramas whenever I dream.
They are psychologists and soldiers and comedians too,
Mho write out the scripts for the things that I do.
But in spite of these people, I have yet to find
What place I hold in this factory-mind.
What do I produce when I work at my desk?
Is there something that only I can do best?
Am I unneeded? A personality diminished?
Perhaps I'm a half-thought, simply unfinis---


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


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 | |

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 | Prose Poetry | |

to The Public

Not really a poem, but the truth of my being.

To the Public
WLM
Wildncrazy555
June 28, 2011

When I write the words just flow. I get an inspiration or a thought and have to write it down. 
Why, I do not know.  They just flow and all follow a story.  I write my innermost thoughts with 
the deepest passion imaginable and all are TRUE life experiences which have occurred in my life. 
I am diagnosed Severe Bipolar Disorder and disabled and draw SSDI. I no longer have to work 
from over 40 yrs in Maintenance and 2 degrees in Electronics and Electrical maintenance. I do 
draw disability now for over 2 yrs time and depression is a daily bout which I face every day, 
but try to be positive. The medicine I take is for my head and helps with mood swings and 
depression. As to date, I cannot read many of my works as I Bawl like a baby at most of 
them.  I remember when and how I felt when I wrote them.  But all of them follow a story to 
the end.  I cannot recite a single one because once written they are gone, otherwise they eat 
my Brain.  I am crying now as I write this and divulge my deepest thoughts and experiences of 
my life. I feel better now that it is gone from my head folks.  When a situation arises, I just 
know which ones will deserve recognition to be told.  I suffer from arthritis on my left side, my 
hands hurt all the time, and I practice herbal medicine for the pain.  I create my own remedies 
from my herbologist named Daryl Collins here in Okmulgee, he gives me the herbs and I am 
the guinea pig first and foremost for the experience.  Anyone else who suffers from this can 
contact me at trenton6896@yahoo.com.  I am willing to tell you the recipe for my
Creations.  I hope all appreciate this testimony of mine.  All I say is true to fact.
							William Lewis Moore
							June 28, 2011


Details | Rhyme | |

STUBBORN

My intention is to write some prose
Why it comes out poems, nobody knows
I struggle, wiggle, leave me alone
As I sit happily writing a poem


Words are created and suddenly rhyme
I hardly revise them – I’ve not the time
Give up the idea of writing a book?
I feel I’m caught by a crook and a hook


Following rules as the semester unfolds
Smothers my brain; puts creating on hold
When I find a second that isn’t filled
I’ll write a poem, ‘cause I’m strongly self-willed!



Details | Lyric | |

About Last Night - New Year's Eve Remorse

About last night...

I just wanted to write and tell you
That last night was a big mistake
I'd had way too much to drink
I was tired and it was getting late.

I wasn't thinking clearly
I wasn't thinking the way I normally do
I let my emotions get the best of me
I let you tell me things that were not true.
I was influenced by the moment
I did things that I now wish I didn't do.

When we first met last night
I could see clearly see what was on your mind.
I could see clearly read your twisted intent
I could easily read the lust that was in your eyes.

And it had nothing to do with 'Forevers"
'I do's', White Dresses or White Weddings
Long term commitments of any kind.
It all had to do with you pleasing yourself
Executing what was on your mind.

And so I let you woo me
I let you stay with me for a while
You had a sort of amusement
You had a captivating smile.

When we danced all night
I let you hold me close
I closed my eyes and pretended
That we were in love
I let myself be in a different place
I place where I was loved.

Last night's drinking led to dancing
And then dancing led to our first kiss
And then kisses led to other things
Things I engaged in
But now in hindsight
With some remiss.

And so I just wanted to tell you
If it had been in another time or place
I would never have given you the time of day
You never would have kissed my smiling face.

And so I feel that I need to tell you
On this first day of the first of the year
That I never ever want to see you again
In spite of last night's cheer.

You just happened to be there
When I needed someone to engage 
With a comforting smile
You were a mild amusement
You kept me company for a while.

And so that's about all I needed to tell you
About what happened late last night
I just wanted to write you a formal goodbye
And tell you what was on my mind
I thought that I would send it to you
And do what I thought was right.

*A Hypothetical Reflection on a New Year's Eve Tryst

(January 1,  2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved



Details | Imagism | |

A Remember-er

I am a remember-er of times long ago
A forgetter of many things having just happened
In addition, I keep thinking that tomorrow is today
And yesterday is actually today.
Things that happened in my life long past
Seem as fresh as right now
At times I know that something  
Having just happened will be forgotten
A short time from now.
I think to write things down
But forget what I was going to write about
Why bother though, cannot find paper anyway.
Wait! an idea has just popped into my head
Record what I want to remember on tape
Oh! Rats! now where did I put those batteries?
Perhaps its best I just give up
Surrender to the inevitable and not worry 
About remembering today 
And stick with remembering long ago yesterdays.
For that was a much easier, simpler time
And today, and tomorrow too
Are probably better off forgotten.
Ok! that decided! What was it I was trying to remember?


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 | Quatrain | |

penetrating

In this day and age, I want some recompense
I don't understand it, it jus' don't make sense
that we can write through our entire lives
with all of these damn defective pens

Now, you all know what I'm taking about
a thought comes to you, and you look around
grab one to jot down and just blankness comes out
a clear transcription of thoughts ain't found

Cups, bags, heck whole drawers of colored inks
rattle around days like maracas of empty thought
a reliable pen can't be that difficult me thinks
yet makers design defective models to be bought

that seem to flow like water in a mighty river
when opened and used for the very first time
effortless lines arc mind to paper to deliver
only to sputter, and spot, and splotch the next time

How many brilliant tomes, how many cures for cancer
how many Nobel-winning ideas of sub-particled find
how many deeply spiritual thoughts went unanswered
because, like a well, the damn pen went unprimed?

Maybe I'm unreasonable, and have a penchant for perfection
but if I pick up a pen it should write every curved line,
'stead of pennies, I want it to rain pens from heaven
that work the first, the penultimate, and the very last time

© Goode Guy 2012-09-06


Details | Free verse | |

Writers Block

Blank page, what do you say?
Lines, and paper.
So empty, it consumes me.


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 | Rhyme | |

Writer's Delight (My Delight)

I write to take the pain away
Releasing heartache
Not allowing it to meditate
Not allowing it to penetrate
Triggering unwanted emotions
That create the notions
That cause me to hate
Or hold malice
Malicious thoughts taint the soul
Tamper the spirit
So I write my pain down
For the world to read
Never to hear it
Writing is my weapon of choice
Shooting words and rhythms
This is what I choose to do
Rather than shooting with a nine-millimeter
 Or a twenty-two
Writing
To evoke contentment
To contrast some of the hard feelings
Given by the life
That so rarely satisfies
Allowing the pain to slowly die
Line by line
Word by word
Nouns and verbs
Which show action
The act of my passion
Causing a distraction
To everything that has upset
And beset me
To pause and redirect me
Letting go 
Starting anew 
To introduce the world to my view
What I see
My sight
This is my writer’s delight


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 | |

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 | |

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 | Light Poetry | |

words

Words

Don’t always use the right words
Make mistakes with my spelling
And don’t know the correct grammar
To use in my story telling

But sometimes it hard
To explain what I’m selling
Have a crazy woman in my head
And she won’t stop yelling

I drink a bottle of brandy
To get her drunk in my brain
And hoping she will sleep away
And never yell again

But I try to ignore her
And continue to tell my tale
So some of the things I sell you
I never had on sale

So I have to keep on writing
It’s the only thing I can do
Some of my poems are fictions
And some of them are true

And don’t know how I do it
I really can’t explain
If I don’t get it out my head
Think I will go insane

I lost my pen for many years
Didn’t even have a book
Now when an idea comes
For piece of paper everywhere I look

Words can describe feelings
And make a change in humanity
Words can open your eyes
To see peoples inner beauty

Words can bring peace
If use the right way by man
Then there will be no need 
To hold a gun in their hand

I write words bout nature
And bout people attitude
Although most of the time
Don’t know my own latitude

I like to write about feelings
Cause we all are compassionate
And every one is beautiful
No reason to differentiate

Time for me to go
My girl friend watching me hard
It has some sale in the mall
And she wants to go real bad

So till next time we meet
Now I have to stop writing
But just remember
Words are a powerful thing


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 | I do not know? | |

Writing Wrongs (Death)

Poetic pyramids 
Built on sins 
Built with lies
Stolen from within 
Lies which spin
Causing you to stay
Even when these phrases
Are really giving you
Reasons to run away
From my poems written
In a kiss
Comparing your voice
To bird songs
This is my nightingale’s song  
To write wrongs

Not one but two 
Horns the devils 
Return to their perch 
Sit so calmly on both
My shoulders throwing 
Boulders not stones at the
Mirrors in glass house 
Feelings whispering me
“re-live your evil" not
“relieve” and kill
These weasels 

Harvest feelings
Cotton crops words 
Used to prop open 
Doors to desire dripping
From my fingers my evil 
Perspires soaks defences
Get sticky and unbearable 
Fogs prescription lens’s 
My drugging offensive 

Call these phrases vines
The undermining factor 
Used to shatter defences
Picking locks on chastity 
Belts nothing like this
Ever felt so write (ing)
Wrongs


Details | I do not know? | |

The Great Pretender

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


Details | 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 | Sonnet | |

Please Give Me Some Time

I am bewildered as to how to carry on my write ups!
With my eyes all time into the bookish stuffs;
Teachers and proffessors praise me for my talents-
But still they scold me for studies making me silent.

I am bewildered as to how to think positive!
With all men in power stressingupon negatives;
They say us to be optimists-
But neither thet act nor allow us to be good artists.

I am bewildered as to how to invent new in life!
With mind in tension where I thrive;
They tell me you will do great-
But the same warns me perform or fret.

So much contradicts in this world of mine-
To write and find new please give me some time!!








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 | |

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 | |

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 | Couplet | |

Chastushkas

Chastushkas

I would love to write a poem as hilarious as could be.
But it seems like funny poems will not come out of me.
So I practice my Chastushkas in hopes I will succeed.
A better sense of humor must be what I need.
I wish that I could buy one, but they are not in the store.
I have searched dictionaries and thesauruses galore.
I have looked along the freeway and down the country roads
But the funny inspirations seem to hop away like toads.
There are so many writers that have a humorous touch.
And I wish I had it, too… very much.
I guess I must remember to write down the funny things I see around.
Like the time I saw kids rolling, laughing wildly on the ground.
But until then, I’ll use my pen to hone my funny bone.
Writing those Chastushkas until I do not laugh alone…


 © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 19, 2010

Poetic form:  Couplets


Details | Couplet | |

Poets Verse

Music is poems with notes set to sing.
Whatever the words, emotions to bring.

Some sad songs can really bring you down.
Listen to some blues, to keep your frown.

Other times it's fun acting like a clown.
Stay low for so long, then come back around.

Now most poets tend to call their work songs.
Whether or not, I just want to belong.

Rhyming with timing and verse set to meter.
Has to make sense, or I'll call you a cheater.

I cannot write any notes, to music anyway.
I can write poems,  if you listen to what I say.

Rhyming with timing without any reason.
Is hard on my brain in any one season.

Although all the old poems are considered better.
A new one by chance may strike on this letter.


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 | |

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 | Light Poetry | |

Unappreciated

Whenever someone needs advice
Or whenever there is a problem
I will be the first to reach out
And try to help solve them

When ever any one are sad
It will bother me all the while
Some times I write a poem for them
Just to try to make them smile

Feels like I am always on call 
And available for everyone who
 Is going through a tough time
And don’t know what to do

I guess they could say that 
I can handle pressure well
And if they notice the pain in me
Well they never did tell

I will do anything for a friend
and try so very hard to please,
but yet I’m left unappreciated,
and no one even sees.

And if they ever need me,
I will be there when they call,
But some times it hurt me
When they don’t see me fall

I feel so unappreciated,
and it breaks my heart everyday
that they don’t care about me,
Or if they do they don’t say

My life can’t feel happiness
So try to give it through others
And I wish some times they see
But on one ever really bothers

So I just sat here alone
Thinking of the girl I wanted
But still find time for friends
But some take it all for granted

I will write so many poems
Trying to change to the word
I will give them a blanket
But they never see me in the cold

So I will keep being a friend
And a shoulder to lean on
And though they don’t care now
They will miss me when I’m gone

But you never miss the river 
Until it’s completely dry
So today I’m unappreciated
But tomorrow its goodbye


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 | |

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 | Narrative | |

Next Chapter

Life is lived as a book, so I’m told
and we live out this story in chapters.
And we even write of the stories we’ve lived
and regale with tales of our adventures.
Our childhood is a myriad of stories
filling chapter and chapter with discovery,
wonder, angst, joy, everything in growing up.
Our teens are chapters of pain, confusion and
experimentation. Temptation. Rebellion and growth.
Young adulthood … ah, sweet love. Career, family.
First foray into independence and building a family.
Then chapters for kids, school, braces, college …
Then they grow up and move out. Weddings, grandkids
retirements and IRA’s. The book is expanding.
But this book is predictable. This is the Brady Bunch.
Where is the crisis, the divorce or the addiction?
Where is the mental illness or the adulterous affair?
Where is the poverty, the abuse, unknown calamity or death?
If life is truly a book, then we write our chapters as we go.
There is no cookie-cutter life to stamp out and imitate.
Life is fluid, moving, changing, consuming, powerful,
destructive in its unrelenting, impersonal path.
This is the end of this chaotic chapter, a fresh page awaits.
Too many of my chapters are chaotic and destructive.
While the next chapter can’t be written until it has been lived,
I will make it a chapter worth remembering.
One I will want to read again, and again.


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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | Quatrain | |

Poem Fun

I must be honest
I must confess
This is the hobby
That I like best

I love to read
I love to write
For poetry is
This man’s plight

My wife can’t see
Nor understand
Why poetry
Affects this man

I must admit
I do it all 
In silenced room
When heard, the call

I pen my thoughts
I ink my dreams
From Word documents
To PC Screens

I write for me
I write for you
I love this stuff
It’s what I do


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 | Rhyme | |

Night And Day

 


I just want to write today 
Just like every day 
But I don't really know 
What to write right now 

Chorus: 

I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain 

But anyway I should give it a try 
I got power in my brain 
I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain 

Chorus: 

I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain 

I really want to fly 
And get on in the next airplane 
Any night and day 
I refuse to be sad and cry! 

chorus: 

I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain... 

I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain... 


I refuse to be sad and cry 
And go through any pain... 



:)



Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp 2000
copyright@2004-2008


December,10,2008

 
 


Details | Couplet | |

Now And Then

I just love to read and write 
Pen my thoughts day and night. 
I just write what I like 
And now and then what I don't like. 

I thank all my readers too. 
Sometimes we share alike view. 
Your feedback is so encouraging 
My friends and poetry are such a blessing! 

Most of my readers seem to like me. 
Love what in my poetry I have to say. 
I write with all my heart on the golden sands 
Of time and I just hope that you understand. 

Readers ask me "please never stop writing!" 
Again I thank you for this asking. 
You're so kind for this requesting. 
And I never want to stop penning. 

I've met and made some good friends 
Some fine folks online I have befriend. 
All these people in the flesh I don't know. 
But in my heart I do and that's so. 

I thank all my dear readers and friends. 
Thanks for all the love to me you send. 
I appreciate so much all your support. 
All my friends are such a great sport! 

Readers tell me" never stop writing!" 
And I never want to cease penning. 
Most of my readers seem to like me. 
And knowing this makes me so happy! 

My gift of writing is such a blessing. 
And I will never stop writing. 
I thank you all my readers and friends. 
Thanks for all the love to me you send. 

I just love to read and write. 
Pen my thoughts day and night. 
Most of my readers seem to like me. 
And knowing this makes me so happy! 


Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 
copyright@2009 


January,16,2009


Details | Rhyme | |

Just Write

Just write they say
Of a bio or an article
Poetry is just a hobby
Nothing short of a miracle

Just write your essays
As you’ve always done
They say they like my poetry
But it’s merely just for fun

Just write your diary entries
Continue to nourish your mind
Your poetry is cute my dear
But it’s simply silly rhymes

Just write they say
And that’s just what I’ll do
They blindly see the purpose
And the power of a poetry debut 

© Stacy Lynn Stiles


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 | |

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.