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On Writing And Words Art Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Art

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Details | Rhyme | |

Seductive Disarray

I didn't crumble or drift off into a fade...
I shrugged off goodbyes faster then they were made...
Watched as they were dipped and soaked in my poetic rage...
As I threw a fist full of words against a framed blank page...
I sat and watched my emotions scatter artistically...
Like candles on a wall it poured in colors so intensely...
A portrait of a misguided soul that has lost its way...
To a poet who paints with a pen in seductive disarray...

Details | Couplet | |

My Pen Collection

As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder

Details | Acrostic | |

My PoetrySoup

M y eyes see what your heart is feeling
Y our feelings you write out as poetry

P ain, love, joy, wonder, inspiration
O nly you can help me see, hear,and feel you
E ven though only words you have written they
T ouch my heart and mind deeply from within
R equiring me to write a poem so full of feeling as
Y ou become my poetry I write from my heart
S mile, laugh, cry, whisper, or shout
O pen your heart, mind, and soul
U tter your words on paper or screen
P oetry is where I see and feel your soul

Tons of comma fun!
contest of Russell Sivey

Written by: Carol Brown
3rd Place Winner

Details | Rhyme | |

Frail Paper Etched With Words

Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.

But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.

And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.

So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words. 

Details | I do not know? | |


are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine

Details | Free verse | |

A seed of poetry

Like water that flows in a river
Time will not stop and wait
It comes and then it goes
And now will soon be late
The sun will not rise
And forget to set
Today will not stay here forever

Time was born and passed away
While I was chasing dreams
I never dreamt of
Dreaming of things that were 
Not for me to dream about

I didn’t know at first 
That in my inside
There is a seed germinating
Deep in the roots of my heart 
Where veins and arteries
Carry blood in and out

The eyes of my eyes
Could not see
The ears of my ears
Could not hear
The tongue of my tongue
Could not taste
The nose of my nose 
Could not smell
The mind of my mind 
Was uncounscious
As this seed
Was patiently growing

It was watered by tears
That couldn’t fall off my eyes
When I cried
It was fertilized by my deep thoughts
That denied me time to rest
The pain I felt within
Was manure to it

And now it has grown
It has grown into a tree
it has grown into a green looking tree
A tree that sprouts colorful flowers
And I am hopeful
Hopeful to reap tasty fruits
Of this seed of poetry
Sown in me by God

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Attention: WORD NERDS--------- The Eight Parts of Speech

---------------------- "Word Nerds" (like me)...
************Please Have Fun & Read VERY Closely:)***********

now and again
a word 
sneakily obscure
approaches the fog in me
screams its name 
apropos adverbs appear
precarious adjectives
slick little nouns
caught hiding 
beyond babbling brooks
sent to exile
defiling crooks
"pro"fessional nouns
beneath eight parts of speech
pre'fixed subjects
elusive predicates
slithering suffix'ation
turn-ing key
through holes
freeing vocabulary
within prison walls
pen bars 
filled in the past 
like Job's tedious job 
of siphoning
homographs from heteronyms 

words never mind...
they wind the mind
in the wind...

Details | Blank verse | |

All I See Is Beauty

All I see is beauty in the burning of her words,
The flickering of flames,
Constructs of fires licking at the night
From snow white sheets of dreaming.

The senses of her bleeding, ink and roses,
Sensual vibrancy,
Gliding rails streaming to the stars,
The links between the earth and heaven’s tide.

All I see is beauty in the visions of her art,
The tenderness of angels,
Architects of chapels wrought of lace,
An arbitrary grace of love.

The impressions of her breathing, saffron breath,
Exhaling of her soul,
Bestow of sleeping kisses to the lips,
Priestess of the mind and loin.

Details | Couplet | |

Our single soul

As the trials of life come and go
Accept there blessings into your soul

Let them become without a doubt
A model of what you're all about

Don't let them get you all depressed
All things in life need be addressed

Let your spirit be like the wind
Your unseen dearest friend

As I see the lines in my face
Each a reminder of certain place

Do I wish they would go away?
Or that my hair wasn't turning grey

I have no desire to regain youth
For I have learned to speak my truth

When I was young I was so lost
I let my soul pay the cost

Running hard against the grain
Using drugs to kill the pain

Now I feel each and every day
Use the Lord to take the pain away

Do what I can accepting what I get
Treasure blessings that come of it

Thank the Lord through the poems I pray
Use what I need give the rest away

I seem to be driven by a single goal
Can you feel my heart and soul?

I slice them open in hopes they will bleed
Something that someone might need

The single fear I know so well
The fear that my words will fail

So once again I face my fear
As I write I shed my tears

Because these words are spoken true
My heart belongs to all of you

And through it's love I hope to show
We all share a single soul

A soul that is bound by love
Given us by the Lord above

Details | Quatrain | |

The Lonely Poet

Paste on your passion smile
Crisp all your words
as you settle yourself 
to be self-consumed, heard
Whisper sweet nothings
which only you know
Don't stop the banter,
the words or the flow
You've reached the summit
of the loneliest point
You're king of the vacancy
best in the joint
Write all your poems
on the back of your hand
and read them at supper
of cream pie and sand
Your siblings will stand up
and whisper applause
You've felt all emotion
and ridden all stars
They bid you good-bye
for you're out of their league
and to think you just wanted
to be heard, succeed...

Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Won't Hold Her Tongue

Poetry won't hold her tongue
When desperate times
And the little men they breed
Would counsel silence.

     She bursts instead Athenalike
     From out the wearied brain
     Or grows painfully from every vein
     Like ivy's tiny tendrils
     Pulling monuments to ground
     Inch by inch
     To let in the light and rain
     From which newer monuments may grow.

She cares not at all 
For their inconvenience.

     She shows herself so many ways:
     As the boldly topless Priestess,
     Snakes coiled about her outstreatched arms

     As the nun in golden sunlight
     Falling through cathedral stone

 This lady is a child
 All innocence of face
 And Ageless eyes
 She knows all that remains of purity,
 And every excess she also calls her own.

She woos the soul with its own music;
Her skin of sunsets draws her devotees
Towards her embrace
Her sweetcool breath like snowind calling
She comes again unbidden
Whispering her sweet nothings,
Bearing words to work

     Creation     Destruction     Change

Upon her restless,

Details | Blank verse | |


Always fleeting,
you tempt me with beautiful words from nowhere,
convincing me they are my own.
In the corner of my eye, a Muse
& suddenly anything is possible.
You haunt me;
sending visions of dark ink 
flowing from poised finger tips.
Finally, i give in,
relenting under high expectations
& promises of genius.
Reluctantly, i put pen to paper
& find that you've moved on.

Details | Free verse | |

My Sudoku Life

And I walk
across numerical figments
speaking hyperbole dialect to their imaginations.

Numb, blocky gaps
whisper invitation to secret club.

Enticing my stature
to belong
to become exponent’s side-kick.

So they can welcome me with open arms.

Coating my digits with inoperable tumors
double-knotted in hot pink laced bow
and baby-breath scent.

They even left a Walmart Rollback smiley face sticker
with crack residue on right cheek
and a comic-style bubble caption, “welcome home puppet”.


This is exactly how Mother 1 told me it would be.

Kinda like marriage,
but less detail-oriented.

But, I could never fit in.

For I am neither positive
nor negative
about their (cult) ural ways.

Timing would always be off.

An arm from the clock that suffered a stroke at Midnight…

They’d never understand,
how they’d alter this unevenly, odd numerical figment.

For they’ll just calculate,
my sum with rusty protractor.

This Zero, into a fraction...

© Drake J. Eszes

Details | Diamante | |

A Poet Never Faultiers

I drank my words from the cup of evil lately not holy water
Like many I sit in my dungeon of doom on earth trying not to my addictions faultier
I'm sitting knee deep in the shitted down reservation sewer street water 
Im looking for wisdom daily with sinners with calls that I shouldn't be trying to call her
I know I be looking for a life filled with silver and gold when I know Im living in copper
I know I got a crazy  coming my way so I best get on trying to stop her
I remember the first time I was in love with lust when I first saw her
I know without the water in my life I would scream silent as I would quietly holler 
I know I been like a bunny moving around in life that sometimes people call me a hopper
I know I been kicking it in the field so much that people tell me I should start playing soccer
I should be more of an actor of actions and less more of a talkitive talker
I know I got what I got so I will be a poet that will never ever faulteir

Details | Ballad | |

Unanswered Poems

Don’t send me more 
Of your tragic poems
My dear 
Covered in blood
Of your monthly flood
Of tears

Don’t send me more 
Of your angry poems
My dear
Carved with the knife
Of your molten spite
And fears

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

Don’t send me more
Of your bitter poems
My sweet
Forged in the fire
Of your endless ire
And grief

Don’t send me more 
Of your hopeless poems
My sweet
Ripped from the womb
Of the lonely room
You keep

I’m just a peddler 
With a cart
Bringing discount words
To hearts
Broken hearts across the land
Woman left without her man
Broken hearts throughout the world
Anguished boy and crying girl

Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to read, for me to bear
Your poetry’s too heavy, dear
For me to get from here to there

(You see that shadow on the road
Trudging ‘neath its heavy load
A heart weighed down by sands of time
And your poems only make him cry
And he won’t add them to the pile
So he can walk another mile)

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear 
Too heavy, dear
For me to read 
For me to bear

(They make him sad
Make him cry
Beat him down
Deep inside)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

They make me sad
Make me cry
Feel as though 
I want to die

(And he won’t add them
To the pile
So he can walk 
Another mile)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

(A heart weighed down 
By sands of time
And your poems 
Only make him cry)

Too heavy, dear
Too heavy, dear
For me to read
For me to bear

Details | Dramatic Verse | |


I never knew I'd be in heaven
In the autumn of my years,
Or that I'd be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.

I never thought I'd meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet's surrendering grace.
I just know that I'm contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.

© Connie Marcum Wong

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 | |

POET - STAND - Your name is your seal

                                                    Poet, stand up! 
                                             Your name is your seal!
                                     Your works let their story reveal.
                              Though you be enamored by great poets,
                                   don’t shy away or get disheartened.
                           Rid your heart of nervous anticipation and forget
                                            about word-perfect dictation.
                     Through your internal debates and bouts of indecisiveness
                                      Find a style that’s uniquely you. 
                                        Make your stance stronger.

                                                      Poet, stand!

                                     Stand aside when it comes to gossip.
                                       Stay away from petty jealousies.
                                Too much connectivity hampers creativity.
                                                     Stay focused!
                            But by all means know when to pick up a fight.
                           Stand back, ponder, and align your ammunition.
                                        Then be ready to stand up for
              what you believe in and make a passionate defense for what is right.

                    Accept correction – it is the heart of positive retention and
                  the means to sharpen your abilities and enable your work to
                                              stand up to 
                   Smile at genuine curiosity but never tolerate ignorance.
              Or how will you stand up to bullies intent on creating havoc and those
                                    quick to impose their sense of ‘correctness’?

                          Build yourself up but desist from putting others down.
                     Identify talent and stand over a budding poet, gently giving
                   them directions but be careful to let them choose their path.
                               And when the time comes when your light dims
                    and all you can do is ruminate mentally on things already past –
                                                 Poet, stand down!

                                          Yours is a life truly well lived!

Details | Free verse | |

Flinging Poems Into Wind

We seine them up
like dust
in pollen-stained hands,
briefly weight them,
balancing them in minds,
determining worth,

And like those before,
we toss them absently
into wind—
winnowing maple seeds—
whirling them from us—
as we shape lives,
change destinies.

they seem to flit
to nothingness,
like us—
pale night insects
opal moons,
infestations of night
thickly settling
on the liquid glass
of our tongues.

Details | Rhyme | |


                                            Only those who will risk going too far 
                                            can possibly find out how far one can go. 
                                                                                         T. S. Eliot 


Come, pity words that sleep on walls
or beg before a form’s low fence
with dread instead of deference. 

Chained and well trained, they weakly crawl
on even lines where hard rules whip
and nip at just one tiny slip.    

Until we let verse freely fall
from sonnet, ode or kyrielle,
all deeper art we will repel. 

Though meter bids us to recall
by means of rhyme that reader's hold
like fairytales a child is told,

the heart is drawn to looser scrawls
like the bold script of Eliot*
in flourish I can not forget.

Come, pity words that sleep on walls,
chained and well trained, they weakly crawl
until we let verse freely fall.
Though meter bids us to recall,
the heart is drawn to looser scrawls.

*T.S. Eliot, free verse poet extraordinaire. 
**Click on the about this poem link if you can for a sample of Eliot's 'scrawl'

Details | Concrete | |

The Nose

                                  I like it
                               For I 
                      For my soul!

Details | Verse | |

A Coffee Bar with Orange Paint

A coffee bar with orange paint --
   Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
   A neon sign hangs by the door.

I come here sometimes just to write.
   A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
   I do not see it as a taint.

Tonight an artist's work is hung
   Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
   Allows her dreams to have their say.

I like the color in these walls --
   A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
   A coffee bar with orange paint.

Details | Haiku | |

It is now

Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust 
for things start to be.

Details | Ballad | |

Poetry Soup

Since joining just yesterday,
I have not had much to say,
As I sit here idle,
Waiting for a title,
I watch as you pass my way,

I am honored to be here,
While a select few may jeer,
Mostly I can see hope,
From the end of my rope,
Bringing about a joyous tear,

For all poets who have been called,
Disenchanted or enthralled,
Our mission always true,
We inform and move you,
To make you act or make you halt,

To rise above and expound the truth,
Or to lose ourselves in a groove,
Whether blatent or far out,
We live to learn - live to shout,
About love, laughter or the blues,

For although I may be new,
To this small poetic group,
I see what you've built,
With talent and skill,
Namely this Poetry Soup,

Details | Couplet | |

Words Not Heard

When words can't be seen and smiles aren't felt,
we fall onto paper and drip and melt...

We spread colors of blue and grey to highlight
an early morning sigh, and splash and orange tint
on a late afternoon high...

Late at night I will paint my sky a dark black, and
with just my fingertips sprinkle stars that stay intact...

When words finally return and a Poem is read, the background
is my painting of colors from a dreamer not dead....

Details | Verse | |

Enigma's Calling

Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart

Details | Quatrain | |

Tried & Tested - into the sunset

I am so far out of my element
It almost seems unreal
When in truth, which I always seek to find
Pretence is all that I feel
In this, my second language
I aim to express the glistening skin
That hides the shallow graves of conscience
Trapped so deep within
The pottery I shape in craft
Though pedistilled and on display
A camouflage that’s merely drafted
words of wisdom most portray
And in the spirit of fairness
As a virtue which we all possess
Accept my resignation
For this sport has had its best 
I’m off to party hard and waste
My life as best as I know how
The animal within this chest
Needs freedom to survive for now
The playing game of words
is but a winding road that’s filled with stone
I’m parched in parts unheeded
As my cluttered soul heads home

Details | Free verse | |

This Poem Stinks So Badly it Doesn't Deserve a Name

This poem stinks.

It doesn't rhyme 
It doesn't do anything 
It has a little alliteration


it will have some

because that's the easiest poetic element to incorporate 
and if it didn't have any poetic elements 
it would not be a poem 
but would be prose with 
carriage returns...

(are carriage returns extinct?)

and that would be dishonest. 

This is not a lying poem. 
That would be oxymoronic. 
It's a stinky poem.

And when I finish writing it 
I'm gonna print it out 
and tear it up 
into little bitty 
teensy weensy pieces 
(if I have enough patience to get that small) 
and flush it down the commode 
so it can join all the other 
excrementally effluential essences

(note the alliteration)

of all the other stuff that stinks 
almost as badly as 
this poem.

Details | Free verse | |

The Artist's Tower

The Artist’s Tower

In a tower a lonely poet sits
Memories of his past life elude his thoughts
The stifled scent of burnt paraffin clouds his thoughts
There is the light from candles which lit thousands of works
Flickering against paintings stored by unknown artists
The beauty of an eighteenth century meadow
The stark reality of people starving in a depression
All tell a story through an unspoken language
Reams of paper piled against the wall
Stories and poems long forgotten by those who created them
Did anyone ever read even one of them?
The poet sits, thinks and fantasizes in his own prison
Isolation to help him find the right words
The candle fades and grey smoke fills the air
As the light of the North Star filters through a dirty glass window
The poet writes the last word to his newest piece
It too ends up on the piles of discarded work
Because the piece is finished the poet rests
The candle waits for the next artist
There is always another artist who will hide in the tower
There always will be another story, poem or painting
All hidden, unseen in the tower

Details | Rhyme | |

My Friends in Poetry

Dear Alliteration, 
First friend, foremost;
Forgetting not,
Shy Allegory, 
Dressed in Allusion; 
Sweet Anaphora, 
How I need thee! 
How I need thee!
And Assonance; 
Never deep asleep, 
Nor rest Refrained, 
By Caesura; 
Clever Chiasmus; 
Who has pause to write, 
And write to pause; 
Cheeky Consonance, 
Time needs its tick-tock, 
Rocked at chimes; 
How Didactic, 
An Ictus, 
Is that?
Clink — tinkle; 
Cubes in a glass; 
Bourbon mist; 
Onomatopoeia is back, 
From visiting, 
At Lake Oxoboxo, 
Madam Eve, 
Our favorite, 
Not pair a ducks, 
Nor Parataxis, 
She quacked not; 
She waddled not; 
She flew not; 
End stopped; 
Did not, 
Run into Enjambment, 
On foot nearby; 
Rhyme Royal chanting;
Prose babbling, 
Out of line, 
Vers libre!
Vers libre!

Pity me; 
Scan not,
My prosody;
The coins are tossed;
O my dear friends, 
In poetry, 
Therein lay, 
Our Eulogy, 
Paradise Lost.

Details | Free verse | |

Poetry is Poetry is Poetry

A lot of people seem to love fabrication
I won’t judge
That’s just not me
A true poet is to each his own
It’s still poetry
Mine is MY life and MY story
Yours might be full of hopes and dreams that I can’t see 
But if imagination is key
It’s still poetry
I won’t dye or perm my hair
That only masks your essences’ bare reality
Living this way 
Writing that way
To each his own
It’s still poetry
Poetry is poetry is poetry
An artistic expression of ones feelings and ideas
Creative . . .
Not your everyday average
Therefore, it can be make believe 
It can be real
Either or, it should appeal to the audience 
To seal a crowd of many zealous listeners or readers
I write for me though
If one can REALate, that is a bonus!

Details | Acrostic | |

Magnum Opus

Man of words, strange creature of fiery intention,
Amplifying pictures with that restless imagination,
Great are the images spurting forth from your pen,
Nothing holds you down, working alone in the den; 
Unto the night you toil, pushed by an alien power,
Mastering some inner demons, taming your fear.

Oh how you search for truths floating up in the air,
Producing tremors with the raging force they stir,
Until at last your labors come to a perfect ending, 
Shaking humanity with the hard lessons they bring.

Details | Monorhyme | |

From One Poet to Another

From one poet to another
Your words in me are a thunder
That fills me soul with wonder
As my open heart you plunder

Though I cannot see your face...
Through my poetry covered lace
Your deep feelings I can trace
My heart beat quickens a pace

Your every line scintillates
My wayward heart subjugates 
My inner thoughts punctuates
My very soul confiscates

Your heart’s rhythm and rhyme
Not bound to moments of time
Makes each encounter sublime
Holds me with imagery fine

Addiction is my sweet game
And your poetry is to blame
My life is no longer the same
My high begins with your name

Each word is just meant to please
Makes me fall down on my knees
My hunger I must appease
Oh, feed me now, if you please!

I travel the paths of your mind
Treasures of worth my great find
To all else I am now blind
Our twin souls have intertwined

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Free verse | |

Night Poem

It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light

Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come

To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.

The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.

Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest 
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.

Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -

To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.

So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.

With merriment's ink: 
A Kiss; 
A dance; 
A song etched deep: 
Art carved out of sky.

Title: Night Poem

Details | Free verse | |


Bless me
with the fluency of fury
and the articulate voice of anger.
Spare me though,
of its affliction of aggression.

Let my pen paint
the reflection of my thoughts 
like a mirror.
Thus my lines become
clones of my imaginations.

Let creativity be 
the stubborn shadow
of my verses
and let not inspiration
fly out of my window.

Details | Free verse | |


I don't know how to abandon 
This maniacal world 
Where electric words stalk my nights, 
Devouring my mind. 

Volcanic images appear 
As uninvited guests, 
Wrestling atrophied concepts 
Into structured rhythm. 

Metaphors tease unrelenting 
As sounds tickle my heart, 
Disowning my need for respite 
From red saturation. 

Yet I feast upon each moment 
Of inspired reverie, 
Count each hour of sanity 
An insulated gift. 

I fall into meek thanksgiving 
For voice of expression 
Even as I hear the approach 
Of mystified ideas. 

For what would I be without art 
Conveyed in written form 
But an aching, unfulfilled soul; 
Derelict and deprived?

Details | Pastoral | |

A Painting of Words

Let the paper be a canvas and the pen, a brush
The words fill  the mind like a young girl’s blush
Every color on the palette of the imagination
Becomes a vibrant idea of luscious creation

Open a door of stained glass with swans of white
Made more brilliant by the glowing sunlight
Surrounded by a pool of sapphire blue
Water lilies afloat with teardrops of dew

Beyond the door a walled brick terrace of burgundy red 
With a gray flagstone floor in which to tread
Terra cotta pots at the edges with mixed colored flowers
Above a dogwood in blooms like a canopy towers

Wide steps lead to a large flowing fountain
Three flowing tiers sparkle like a crystalline mountain
It towers within a large oval pool
A goldfish swimming like a small orange jewel

Beyond the fountain, a cobblestone path
Followed by a fence of latticework lath
An open field on the other side of the fence
Beyond the field is a forest, dark and dense 

Two Belgian horses graze on clover patches of red
Near a large gray stone two-story shed
Nearby a pond of sparkling blue
Reflecting  the clouds of a dusky pink hue

The blue sky fades into pink streaks of sunset
Turning the forest trees to a darker silhouette
And the grass to bright emerald green
All to create  a tranquil pastoral scene

The words fill the mind like young girl’s blush
With the paper as a canvas and the pen, a brush.

Details | Free verse | |

Yes, I am Poet

Yes, I am a poet
A metaphor to the universe
A moment of spirit
Out of flesh, the first converse
Of reality ... the prophet
Writing history
Struggling in the net
Of a butterflies vanity.
Look out
I make webs too
Using pen for pipe and mouth
So ancient ... I struggle to be new.

Details | I do not know? | |

Clad In Imagery

Suited in great attire
With superb shape and perfect form
When you see through 
Naked emotion hidden in rhythm
It stirs the beating heart.

Dressed in sophisticated words
Sharp and bright
Clad in imagery and intelligent thoughts
Rhyming with good reasoning
Fitting tone and matching style.

When you begin to play with thoughts
Embedded in expensive fashion
There is a price to pay
Outfitted with costly devotion
Bringing tears to the eyes 
And questions to the seeing mind.

As you peel away layers of metaphor
They come deep down to
A single body of thought
And a vivid image emerges
That is expressive and unique.

Details | Verse | |


When I whisper, what do you hear? Is it the softness in my voice, that draws your heart so
near … can you absorb me with understanding… or love in faith with out a word … was there
ever more than a whisper … in those whims we deemed absurd.

When I whisper … what do you feel … is the emotion in my voice … ever really real…can you
taste the flavor of compassion …or express the words your heart desires …Was there ever
more than a whisper … in your heart felt fires.

When I whisper … what do I want … am I searching for a gentle answer … given in response
…Can I ever even ask for love…or show the love in my hearts beat  … is there ever more
than a whisper …from which we have to reap.

When I whisper … what do I mean …when the words that cross my lips…were spoken in a dream
… can you tell your midnights sleep… from the breaking of the morning light … is there
ever more than a whisper dividing wrong from right.

When I whisper…what I whisper… matters dear to me …words of passion whispered …will always
set me free … understanding compassion whispered … brings my heart a peaceful power …will
there be only whispers… in our finest hour.

When I whisper… come close to hear… are the words I love you whispered softly… pleasure to
your ears… The stars that inspired Galolaos whisper in my dreams… There could never be a
greater love… than that which I receive.

Details | Couplet | |

God's Concrete Poetry/Art

Man is an excellent work of God---
His visual poetry or art, out of mud.

Being one of God’s many creations;
Man must not forget his obligations.

Thou, man know God’s everywhere;
And yet, he does not bother to care.

Either man lives by God’s command,
Or, he will not live in a promise land.  

Man must take this into consideration,
If indeed his heart craves for salvation.

Details | Quatrain | |


He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.    

Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears, 
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!

I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!     

I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father; 
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?

He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!    

Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep; 
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!  

Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "

Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Rebellion

What makes good poetry? Well, few can say;
But it's not up to the few to decide
One rule of thumb: don't be cliche
Or readers and critics will toss you aside;
But one must wonder: 
Can you rewet the dried?

If I rhyme, for example: 
I love you and blue
It's anyone's guess what the readers will do
But the way that I write, it is not repetition;
Consider it historic; poetic tradition
That only needs to be given new meaning
The words themselves will be redeeming.

Consider also:
I've no words to express...
I've seldom seen it, but cliche nonetheless.
Would it be so boring if I used new words,
Like: I've no words to express my love
Of  the birds and the way that they fly
 Across the sky.

Perhaps this approach is rather rash
I feel it may displease some
But inspiration is born when ideas clash
And I welcome what ideas may come
Even if this work is seen as trash,
Some poetry is better than none!

Besides, if everyone tries to be original,
Just like every other individual
Are they really being new?
How will they be part of the unique few?
I think  recycling the "old" is a solution
To making Poetic Revoulution.

Details | Free verse | |


Cavemen thought only of self preservation and sex.
In someway evolution was faltered.
Man learned to measure:

You cannot hold an inch, or a mile,
you cannot see a pound, or a ton.
They are but measurements.
They do not exist but in our understanding 
our understanding of what they are.
You can hold a stick that is an inch long.
Yet, it is only a stick, and not an inch.
You can see a tree that is a mile away,
but it is a tree and not a mile.
A pound of butter is only butter and the pound 
is but the measurement of its weight and is invisible.

So is the same for innocence and evil ;
Innocence is love in ones heart for others
and how far a heart can stray from love is evil. 

Measurements of love.

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry Soup

This is a dish not made in a pot;
It may be cooked with whatever you've got.
The tools that you need are emotion and mind,
This dish can be cooked with whatever you find.

Begin with some words that blend fairly well,
Add in the senses, like taste, sight, and smell,
And if you're concerned about your nutrition,
Add in some words that have rich definition.

Stir in some morals for a flavorful treat
(poems without them are seldom sweet)
And consider having some humor, too;
Laughter is oftentimes good for you.

Add just a pinch of rare inspiration
And you will find, to your elation
That you've made a soup of poetry;
Serving size: infinity.

Details | Free verse | |

In a Risky Rhythm

She kissed the kiln and fired her tongue
in sparks which lit the rhythm stream
and reeked of rancid gasoline
and the blue of honest fire
She danced in shoes of kerosene
her heels in flint, her soles in sheen
as barefoot she would always be
to tattoo the earth with toe prints
She missed the mark and shot the sun
(which swallowed the fire come undone)
and swept up ashes noon 'till night
with anklets of turquoise and jade
She riddled wars and froze the moon
In silence, she slept on pitch and ink
and gained momentum for her dance
on edges burnt risky with rhythm.

Details | Bio | |

Pain In The Neck

I'm very happy I found this site, is a lot of fun,
I spend so much time on the computer now
I have time for no other one...

It's a rush, a blast, a challenge...
I'll love it till I die...
Only one thing troubles me,
And that's the reason why..

I spend so much time hunched over,
typing in my silly poems,
Hoping that they'll soon be read
In many far off homes...

But I do appear to have a problem...
A physical one at that...
My neck is hurting so severely,
By hours looking down,
writing and reading..
In the spot I sat...
I gotta make a judgement call...
Is the fun worth more than the pain?
Compared to the fun I have, the pain begins to pall
Who would not prefer the sunshine to the rain??

Details | Lyric | |


"Good sir, for playing the piano I thank thee."
"But for you I did not play, but me."
"That not matters, only you were here."
"I just wanted to play, why is this so dear?"
"I could not write, the atmosphere was dull."
"Perhaps my deep melodies helped ignite the soul."
"From your great sing a poem came to life."
"Thank you friend, for us musicians go through much strife."
"But I play not music, but write verse."
"It's the harmonies inside that cause us the curse."
"I thank thee again sir, you've taught me more new."
"That I did not, it was always in you."

Details | I do not know? | |

The Unsung Life

For what is life,but today
A tale as old as time.
But no mater what men can say,
Or put it in a rhyme,

A life,no man can tame,
And destiny lies wait.
For here tomorrow not the same,
Is twisted by our fate.

But what can man see today,
That shall be on the morrow.
Will it bring joys my way,
Or bring eternal sorrow?

Details | Quatrain | |

Entangled In Ivy

Oh, what a heart this one does have
As she writes words for us all
Left for reading, while heart is bleeding
Yet, able to make us feel tall
She pours emotion, honestly, wonderfully
Allowing us all to be a part
So, for this, I say to my dear friend
Thank you for sharing your heart

Details | Free verse | |

Rough Draft Disposed

Diversified, she sat upon the page
a tiny dot of incoherence brushed into the ink
She wondered how she got so small
and stretched to reach an "A", 
the brink
which started the sentence of her life,
a thousand words to hide away.
While she studied the paper rift
she noticed the fibrous weave
of every white of every letter
to chalky dust inhaled to breathe
She split herself into twenty times two
and walked the page a struggle
So tired and broken of breath and lung
she scattered and sunk to ink
to sleep, to weep, to wallow and keep
every thought that she dared yet to think
And while the wind caught up the page
and settled it into a pond
she gathered herself in her incoherence
and wrote herself into beyond.

Details | Free verse | |

The Pen is Just So Much Mightier

I could never explain how I feel
On air, waves of sounds escaping what I could no longer hear
Aggravation lingers on the tongue
How it burns, perpetually, embedding anger on taste buds
I will remember the taste of defeat, eternally 
Dull, so Dull, hums this high pitched 
If I can't tell my story in the voice that I want to
I’d rather be silent 

The pen flows so easily
Blackest  inks stain my felt tip
Passion! How it twists my heart into complicated
Mazes, interlocking, crisscrossing
		Things I’ve never thought of before
The blood of contemplation runs clear as diamonds caught in eclipses  
Torrents of ecstasy, 
		Free	falling 	
    Ged rocks, waterfalls, creating Prisms
		Bam, Bam, Bam 
Relives pressures on joints that hold
Industrial hearts together, oil may no longer ease this
New age technological emotion on addictive highs
I never even knew of until I thought about it 

Two Double Oh Seven for sure

I consider myself to be something
I’m not really sure of
But I do love to imply mystery in reflections that others see
Honestly, complexity isn’t my best asset, only others believe this is what I am
As long as I believe in what I stand for
It is fine if my tongue flails but my pen soars


Details | Lyric | |

Let's Write A Poem

Here’s my plea: Let’s write a poem for the world to read;
And in it is a message that all can relate or heed;

Encourage others to pick a pen instead of a gun;
With this poem let people be taught to bond 

all spirits, whether in distress or in joy with a smile;
This poem we write be a reminder that life is fragile;

That peace is at hand, only if we want to achieve;
People will learn to greet enemies and they shall be received;

All of us can write, whether you’re white, black, or brown;
Just believe in what you can do; and not to aspire the crown

Of hate, if you dare tomorrow comes without tears,
Nor will there be worries of living in fears;

With this poem, people will burst not
In paroxysm of rage, but, be inspired to share a lot

Such as love, hope, or maybe, just give a friendly kiss;
You know, it’s easy to write a poem, than writing peace.

Details | Verse | |


In breathing her scent, her decorous compliment,
Through words that arouse and inspire thought,
A sensual lament, her rhymes circumvent 
Mediocre, and genius is wrought.

In feeling her mind, her beauty so defined
By sentiments incisive and fabulously clear,
A sculpted design of promises divine
Aspects attract and endear.

In drinking her sight, her visual delight,
In gulps that sink fathoms and cry out for more,
A vision in flight, aesthetic and bright,
Artistry formed to adore.

In touching her dream, her breathtaking scheme,
At instants both vital and blindingly fresh,
A beauteous gleam in a subconscious stream,
A feminine poem made flesh. 

Details | Free verse | |

Dreamy Haze

Grasping my soul into its mystery,
Leaving me motionless, breathless,
Wanting to breathe more of its
Aroma, its sensation, its 
Mystified, encrypted feelings…

It’s my devotion, 
It’s my colorful ocean,
It’s the web of my emotions…
Smiling, as I meditate
My uncontrolled enthusiasm…
My beautiful fervor, my passion…

A-h-h! As its hymns play,
Harmoniously, its words begin to say
All the things in which I want to hear,
Words that draw my manifestation…

Between the hazy mists I sit,
Watching tiny droplets of water
Condense with tenderness on my skin...
Slithering, as new worlds of words
Begin to form within…

Dreamy haze in which I feel alive,
Take me into thee,
Where no one can revive
Me from this ecstasy, from
 My life’s fantasy…


Everything in me,  and
Everything destined to be…


Details | I do not know? | |

Starless Night: The Art Of Giving (Rhyme Incorporated) part 2

Thinking of O, Ms. Jill Martin was in her solitude “Quietly…breathing”
That, she just waved her hand greeting April Lewis “Without Speaking”
I spied humorist Donald Meikle, writing a “Note to a Lady in Waiting”

Let’s party! exclaimed silent Sami Al-Khalili, but not “Only In Winter”
That’s a real cool idea, and I said, how about in “The Field Of Summer”
Dame Marcyle Beer offered her place, called “Welcome To Fort Beer”

A rising star Taryn Melville proudly breezed in: saying “I Am From…”
But, party guy Anthony Slauson showed us his “Fingers of Freedom” 
Leaving noble Alyssa Finley’s young mind fixated in “Dreams Come”

A free verse expert JeanMarie Marchese of Homosassa, uttered “Slow”
Let snow lover Linda Smith tell us first her “Footprints In The Snow”
Indeed, we’ve our time to introduce ourselves, before “The Cockcrow”

Sweet Elaine George arrived, when the night still had a “Tender Heart” 
With a special gift, for Raquel Nicholson, ‘cos she has “a broken heart”
I learned that Big John Tanaskow did not wish to go “Back At the Start”

The party made poetic Mark Hansen expressed himself, in “Cloud Nine”
Perhaps he had consumed much of shy type Nicola Steel’s “Plumy Wine”
For he was too excited, to meet a bright Seema Ali, on a “Poetry Online”

Before the party was over, Juanita Ganir, sprung from her “Sacred Well”
And, old Londoner Matt Doe spoke, of his mighty “Showdown In Hell”
To a sexy Tamiviolet Manchas, but, she xoxoxo urged him, “Don’t Tell”

Many thanks, to photographer William Jones, for his “Living In Color”
A souvenir that reflects my own plea to “Make Me Whole, Once More”
A plea to everyone, to all friends, to remember that “My Name Is Thor”

Details | Rhyme | |

Tired Words

My mind is haunted again.
By my poetry gnomes.
Plagued with imaginary men.
Filling up my empty homes.
Inside this head.
Chained to my mind.
Sleepless in a dirty bed.
Nothing redeemable to find.
No sympathy.
Nothing to care about.
Just my apathy.
But that's nothing to gloat about.
Looking up at the dusty walls.
Illusions and stones.
Watery graves of make believe falls.
Presence of my loans.
Offering to my sacrifice.
Piece of mind.
Seclusion - my only vice.
Within my images, I get intertwined.

Details | Free verse | |

Center of nothing

This is the center
of all my work
I write one line
before and after each line
and you will see
when you place my lines of other poems in between
this is my reality coming undone
for this is my center

For I am but a fool
out to trick myself
I am a clown
stuck in the middle
of something
and somewhere
wondering what else?

This is the key
of what i said before and after
the reality of my craft
and the solutions
to all my upcoming endless 
psycho babble chapters
of genies and wishes
and batters and pitter patter

This is the center
I'm spiraling out from
a line above and below
to read between
each piece
a true obviousness
of limited wonder and laughter
and hanged men

For this is just the middle
of everything
but it's not really
so this is my disguise
of a confession

Details | Rhyme | |

In the Spire to Be Inspired

It's the taste of clouds
the purr of words
the whisk of wind
we thought we heard
It's everything
rolled up and sent
a package filled
with sugar mint
It's now and then
it's years gone by
It's every thought
which makes you cry
It's passionate
It's salt and stone
It's the moment I leave
and you're alone
It's "Call me now!"
It's "Leave me be!"
It's all of you 
and some of me
It's hands to hold
and songs to sing
It's our first kiss
It's everything

Details | I do not know? | |

Poetical Gratitude

You have refreshed my soul today
with your liquid lines and your soulful sway
with the image you pour into listless words
which shakes them to action, vividly stirred
I may never meet you or greet you in person
but you have defused much incredible tension
You have lit fires in dark unused pockets
and filled with head candy you've left my brain sockets
To ring off the bell that you've started to pull
or join in the song till it's harmony's full
To slip into the sunset in your memory lines
or break out the camera to hold your designs
To lose my emotions within smoldered embers
of loves you have lost and committed to paper
in moments caught frozen, turning for masses
to understand just what your heart does encompass
I thank you for filling my pool back up
with pure creativity straight from your cup
for sharing your art cross the ceilingless room
of the cavernous ‘spanse of the poetical loom.

Details | Free verse | |

Mental Magnetism

I'm somehow quite sure
that somewhere, on the way
be it a turpentine, brilliant lit day
or misty and fog eaten sky breath induced
that we've met without words,
without glances or nods
but with my sleeve barely quick brushing by yours
You transferred to me a barrel of emotions
some light like popped bubbles
some wearing molten lead shoes
sunk with black river troubles
carried in even the sleeves of your coat
And I, in my haste, responded in kind
and ran jumper cable straps from my prickly mind
Overcharged something, in some kind of thoughts
and bolted your skin off the moving sidewalk
Somehow, I still think we are connected some way
it's wrapped like a gift in the words you convey
and I'm eating velvet from the weave of your coat
weeping your tears from the things that you wrote
I'm somehow quite sure
that somewhere we'll meet
eyes to still eyes lacking motion complete
In visions worth murmuring while we're asleep
we'll sing with one voice fully captured.

Details | I do not know? | |

Tanichka 's Gifts

  A sparkling thought
you threw
I caught
safe now in my pocket
When I get home
when I'm alone
I'll put it in my locket

  A keepsake lives
and always gives
more joy thru the years
I need your thoughts
the ones I've caught
protect me from my tears

 Though rash and wild
I'm still a child
who swings out on a dream
please give me one 
when you are done
for mine has lost  the gleam

 the gleam of youth
of breathless truth
that passioned life alive
sits on the floor
outside my door
asleep tll you arrive

Details | Verse | |

My Words

Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words

Details | Sestina | |

My Words

Burn upon my heart 
Your words of venom 
Lash upon my soul 
Your thoughts of ice 
Stab upon my mind 
Your emotions of chaos 
My pen flows from chaos 
Controlled ink of the heart 
My parchment sliced from my mind 
Untouchable by mortal venom 
My warmth to thaw your ice 
Thick and bound to your soul 
Yet my soul 
Consumed in all chaos 
Not a hint of ice 
In any corner of my heart 
Veins flow free from venom 
Unleashing the will of my mind 
Unbreakable is my mind 
Beauty is my soul 
Unchanged by your venom 
Grace in the chaos 
Which surrounds my heart 
Guarding from you ice 
My hate for your ice 
May sometimes blind my mind 
Your bitter heart 
Your empty soul 
Crashing in chaos 
And dripping in venom 
How you drown in venom 
How you suffocate in ice 
Swallowed whole in chaos 
Darkness engulfed mind 
Blindness endangered soul 
And emptiness in place of you heart 
My words of chaos, flowing from my soul 
Untouched by your venom, and lonely heart 
They will melt the ice, which controls your mind

Details | Free verse | |

My Love---a very special original Japanese poem

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Blank Verse Rhyme

Blank Verse Rhyme

The master said “create blank verse in lines of ten”.
Form five Iambic feet without a rhyme.
“These five Iambic feet you must achieve”.
The verse will have a rhythm you can hear,
when studied closely this will be revealed.

For, lines of blank verse rhyming discontents
the master. “Do it over, take all night”!
The lines of blank verse sing a little song,
each syllable, each rhyme, you’ll hear them ring!
You’ll sing the tune of verses blank and pure.

And now I keep up with this blank verse trick,
I hear its tick ten syllables per line.
It rhymes so soft; I have it mastered now,
so naturally it falls right from my pen.
Oh, where will this blank verse rhyme find an end?

Yet, twenty lines of syllables came out
much faster still than I had thought they should.
I love each rhyme, the timing so precise,
I hope it pleased the eye and ear. I turned
it in, it came back very clearly signed


-Tiffany R-2009

Details | Haiku | |

An economy of words

What a good poem is
found in a mocking bird's burst,
cutting to the truth.

Details | Free verse | |

Child poet

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

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

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

Author's commentary:  

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

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

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

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

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

Details | Free verse | |


Planning on crossing over
where footprints of night
are ne'er seen...
There fish are spawning
in clear blue stream ~
Surrounded by verdant green;
Nature begins speaking to me.
An antiquated chine-wood bridge
gracefully arches it back
with sturdy braids makes a path ~
That I may cross  to a place serene
Where nightingales and crickets sing
It's a place where I do my thinking
Unafraid to shed my skin ~
by dusk as honey bear I may roam,
by dawn take flight as an eagle
I may be found soaring toward home.
Upon opening mine eyes
I come to realize the colors of the skies
Yes, I've crossed that bridge before

Details | Terzanelle | |

Memoirs of Legacy

"Memoirs of Legacy" in hopes of leaving written legacy behind words of inspiration with creative flare mellow moments fashion in sweet phrases to unwind. absorbing potent messages ingesting with great care phases of poetic art emerges to embrace words of inspiration with creative flare. lines of legacy infiltrate blank page to grace thoughts convey emotions elegant with rare beauty phases of poetic art emerges to embrace. writing instills a pleasure plight relinquishing mere duty a parallel synopsis of life and love and hope thoughts convey emotions elegant with rare beauty. exquisite remnants last in legacy as memoirs cope delighting readers who partake of finer arts a parallel synopsis of life and love and hope. the final goal of any writer is in touching hearts in hopes of leaving written legacy behind delighting readers who partake of finer arts mellow moments fashion in sweet phrases to unwind. *For Craig's Hope Contest. *Nov.12, 2012,

Details | Free verse | |

Good Poetry

Good poetry
is deeply felt,
is clear and musical --
not muddy and confused,
not inept and thoughtless;
not mere dumb prattle.
A poet must
shape language
to his special needs,
understand its proper uses,
harness its power and,
above all, use it
to display, to celebrate,
to glory in his own innate
creative spark.

Details | Quatrain | |

A Poet's Pen

“Paper lavished with verse by poetic quill” 

Write me a line or two,
like feather on a breeze.
Words with emotion true
that quietly floats with ease.

Make my lifeless heart swell
with joy that does surpass.
Like crude gushing from well
merit of royal class. 

Inform me of annals
to smile from verses light.
Woo from diverse channels
to make dull days feel bright.

Pen words of rainbow cast
lift spirits to great heights.
Leaving cold heart aghast
from what a poet writes.

Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Fifth Place Winner ~ "A Poem Please” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: A Rambling Poet
Sept. 20, 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Poetic Robbery

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Details | Light Poetry | |


I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is 
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not  done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am 
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing 
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the 
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside 
 a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...

Written By: Christina A McCullouch 

Details | Free verse | |

To The Beat of Jazz Poetry

From bebop, swing to hip-hops thing
True poets had it best
For there is a rhythm in the soul, 
Which they all just had to express

Some could not control
This powerful thing 
 Was so often put to the test

It began to dawn coming on strong
Within the birth of a thing 
Called the Harlem Renaissance 

That jazz, that poetic-jazz, of intense birth 
Possessing syncopated rhythms 
And chronic expression of surreal tunes 

That perfected blend of jazz-poetry 
Developed into what it is today. 
Thanks to poets like Carl Dunbar and Langston Hughes 

That jazz, that jazz, that wonderful poetic-jazz
Being bred of pride, lyrical form and grace
Transcended cultural barriers 
Readily accepted in the 1950’s by the humane race 

Therefore, the mantra had begun to be 
So freely expressed within poetic lyrics 
To syncopated beats moving on through the 60’s and 70’s
By way of beat poets like Amiri Baraka

Returning strong throughout the 70’s and 80’s 
Thanks to artist like Gil Scott-Heron
Oh, snap he was one of the founding fathers 
Of spoken word poetry known to youngsters 

Borne to free-styling or hitting the beats 
On stage or in the streets
Yes, you’ve guessed it, most def its rap
Re-educating the poet in me, thanks to that thing 
In which made many a heart sing 
As these icons did their thing

Starting with something called modern day jazz-poetry…
Born during the Harlem renaissance and still going strong

Comments: I hope that you have enjoyed this free verse
tribute to some of the greatest modern day
founders of what is known as Jazz-Poetry.

Details | Narrative | |

Scarlet Portmanteau

Duke Luke by his bateau
Arrived at his chateau,
Had he travelled through large eau!

His mysterious rendez-vous 
with Henry Thoreau
Yielded him a scarlet portmanteau.

Entering his bureau,
he took off his manteau
and opened the portmanteau:

The Snow Man was inside
And though not well could he sing,
Sang he a song of himself:

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
He met Annabel Lee on a large shelf,
Frightened he was by the raven
And took the road not taken:

Crossed he the mending wall
And hearing the anecdote of the jar
To noble savage Billy Budd an honest fare he paid

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

Self-reliance: the idea he hath
The American Scholar guided his path;

He slept a long time
In a clean well-lighted place;

One winter he woke up
In a station of the metro:
He fastened his tender buttons
and found a red wheelbarrow;
'No ideas but in things' -
A lovely image this brings!

To his disappointment and sorrow,
He never saw the snows of Kilimanjaro.

Duke Luke in disbelief
Wiped his eyes
And pinched his ears;

The Snow Man disappeared.

Duke Luke
Took a look 
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something

He found


Details | Rhyme | |

I am not SAD

I am not sad!

While most of my poems may be SAD
They reflect the experiences that I’ve HAD
I promise you I am not MAD
In fact most days I feel GLAD

Whenever I do feel DOWN
Or sadness is AROUND
When pain and fear are ABOUND
I write to release my inner FROWN

My writing is the skeleton KEY
To all things that make me - ME
It opens the door and sets me FREE
To document my life’s JOURNEY

I write today to tell you SO
Just in case you did not KNOW
My memories are clear and PLAIN
On my journey there’s both joy and PAIN


Happy memories are all I SEE
When I reflect on my girls and ME
They fill my heart with such JUBILEE
And now my life has UNITY 

Alaya and Saen adore me SO
I love them and this they KNOW
They repaired my heart and helped it GROW
In their eyes I see love’s GLOW

A love like theirs is INCOMPARABLE
This makes the pain of my past - BEARABLE
They fill my spirit with joy and GLEE
They are the reason I was meant to BE

Each and every day I PRAY
I look in the mirror and I SAY
Thank you lord for this DAY
Watch over my children as they PLAY
And please show me the WAY
To be a better person - TODAY

This eases the sadness in ME
So I can live and be HAPPY!


Details | Verse | |



Abomination scorn Affection Passion Yearning
Struggle Attempt Cherish Relationship Flame
Taste Tender Inner soul Bloom Bamboozle

I was a woman scorn 
Unknowingly  cherished a relationship
where the flame was no longer existent;
where time flew by in the distance and I missed
everything in my life I intended 
because I was accepting a me that depended
on him
I made an attempt to bamboozle the truth
and convince myself that he wasn’t screwing Kim
Ultimately I faked passion and lustfully feigned for affection
since I’d been betrayed
So, I got down on my knees and  I prayed 
I began yearning for knowledge of my Inner soul
I began to taste freedom and feel whole
The healing began and my consciousness rose - fresh bloom
It was no longer a struggle to end an abomination that would 
prove to be a path of doom

Details | Free verse | |

Thy Name is Poet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

And so we write.
Thank the heavens above,

we write.

© Kristin Reynolds 2008

Details | Shape | |

O h i o

*OHIO*     O     O     OHIO     *OHIO*
 H     H      H     H         !         H     H
 I      I       I---- I         !          I      I
*OHIO*    O     O      OHIO    *OHIO*

Details | Sonnet | |

Sweet Inspiration

As if the words beg to float from my throat, But only spill with the ink of my pen; Only with nature's embrace and sweet coat Do I feel truth form in words and begin. Solitary confinement- I'll find peace; Only within, I can feel the soft hum . . With each stroke, and spill, a gentle release To nature's sweet music, pluck, and soft strum. Nature shall comfort, wherever I go; No matter the warm breeze, or the cold bite. . Caressed by nature, rocking to and fro' While I admire each beautiful sight. So now that no one's here to inspire love, I'll find it around, within, and above.

Details | Crown of Sonnets | |

For My Unborn Seed and Girlfriend

Dam girl when Im locked up you set me free/ 
When Im not myself you set me free/ 
Im behind the lock and you got the key/
 Im blind with hate but you helpmy love see/ 
WhenIm lot and alone you take the lead/
 Without you I could have never planted my seed/ 
I hate to say it but you make me better/ 
You know I love you even without this letter/ 
When Im cold with sadness you my comfort warm sweater/
 I know I can be a bad boyfriend but Im going to be a better father/
 I might have wanted a son, but it really didnt matter because now you having my daughter/
 Im guess Im too stubborn girl with me why you even bother/
 my heart gets heart gets colder but for you it only gets hotter........

Details | Personification | |

I, Artist

Soft spring winds, or a harsh winter's freeze we all write in our version of simplicity an artist makes passionate love to his canvas a musician strikes cords in longing hearts With this moment of our very being we give birth to what is hiding the mixture of people and their dreams with an artist's heart we see them clearly Every minute of every single day one cries look at me, see who I am, create my destiny through eyes that see in every color, we dare to dream giving birth to that part of our personality Our thoughts are alive, begging for sweet release no one understands who we are, or all those who live inside but an artist's soul can be bestowed in imagery some of us kill them, stab them with our quill, or brush Some make love to them for extended lengths of time as creating a bust out of clay, removing the hate we add, we take away, but in the end it breathes and each of us knows of that work, we call a dear friend We go where no feet dare to tread, our very souls bleed the parts that are kind, evil, sexy, smart, ignorant, or unheard of this is the stuff life is made of to us the many personalities that live within delivered by the artists who dare to dream the UN thought of...

Details | Free verse | |

Dripping Pages

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Details | Concrete | |

Please Don't Asked For My Decision On Anything

Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
The difference between, the Concord or a Jet Plane
The Republican or the Democrats, 
White lies or some faker boldfaces fibbers 
 The donkey audible or the gold $$$ signs
Each of them has his or hers agenda to threaten small businesses
Like our MA & Pa's Country Stores
What is next to give city contract to street whores?

You stole from poor and you gave to the rich
how unfortunate:
investing billions of dollars into useless political funds 
let wait and see which canidiate is going to get the job done

To send a man to the moon is costly 
taking care of a homeless shelter is leisure: and tax deductible
However, giving millions dollars companies a hefty tax break:
                                                                       not so sensible. 

Please don't anybody ask me to decide anything. I do not know
How is the weather outside, it is raining? Sunny or simply gloomy
Because I guarantee one day someone is going to sue me.
Either for libel or slander

 Or just for being a party pooper: Like our famous America future 
Sarah P
Please don’t anybody ask me to decide anything.
 because my views on world politics is shilly-shally.

Details | Personification | |

Birth of a Poet

The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”

Details | Rhyme | |


Inscribe it all down 
Just read it do not make a sound
Leave nothing behind 
Poetry is the world of creative minds 
Some words quite short-lived
Support and respect is what you need to give
Poets are possessed of senses 
That allowed them to perceive
Read it with a thoughtful mind and you will receive
For tomorrow is never yesterday
Far beyond what words can say 
Or any eyes could see 
Keep reading just do not believe me
We have perception and knowledge 
That is what makes us skilled and polished
Like water the words flow 
Very gifted as a prophet as well;
Friend to Gods and heroes, 
With so many tales to tell? 
I do not depend on man’s well-being or material prosperity
It is like trying to cure the outward symptoms and neglect the main cause of the malady
Poetry is generally viewed as the look of human joys and sorrows
I will always put pen to paper whether it is today or tomorrow
Poetry has reached a higher level of consciousness and inspiration
There is no other explanation 
It renovates a satisfying experience and delights
That is why I love to write

Details | I do not know? | |

Crucifier (poem story)

On the day He died, I felt ashamed.
Quiet and remorse, I wanted to remain..
Why did I follow the ways of the worldly men?
When they mocked, scorned and spit on him?
I was the cause for what He went through.
I tried to find comfort; but, guilt was all I knew.
I couldn't eat or sleep, knowing He was dead.
Wishing now, I could take back everything I did or said.
When I had no one, He took care of me.
Set in my ways, his caring; I couldn’t see..
When I was ridiculed He didn’t take part.
Every kind thing He did, came from the heart.
He showed love to the rich and the poor.
To the lonely and the broken hearted, He restored.
How could I have been so prideful and blind?
How could I have been so cruel and unkind?
Sadness and guilt would not give up.
I wanted desperately to have taken the cup.
Why did I point at him and yell “Crucify!"
Part of the crowd, I sentenced him to die!
Oh, my Judas heart what have I done!
Oh, heavenly Father, I have betrayed your Son!
Crying and weeping, my heart slowly withers away~
So ashamed of what I took part in and witnessed that day.
As the days and nights slowly wore on.
I knew in my Judas heart what must be done.
In my heart I no longer wanted to live.
My own life, I wanted to give.
I bowed my head, feeling laden with sorrow.
What is the future of man's tomorrow?
I lifted up my face with tear stained delight.
There beyond me a beautiful luminous sight.
Was that Jesus standing there? Or was it a dream?
I wanted to run and tell him those things I said, I didn't mean.
I walked up to him crying and at his feet I knelt.
He looked at me, knowing my heart; what I felt.
He showed me his nail pierced hands~
Why He still loved me, I didn’t understand..
What I did I could no longer face.
But, in loving arms, I realized I was saved by his grace.
He said, He loved me and all men still.
That He died because it was His Father’s will~
That, through him, all men might be saved.
I knew then, in place of ours, his life He gave.
That all men may repent and be forgiven.
To be in heaven eternally~
Not In Hell, forever condemned. 
To reign with the heavenly Father~
For all eternity, where unconditional love abides~
To be with Christ forever~ by His side.

Details | Quatern | |


Her way was so graceful -- yet bold...
She'd left her mark on many hearts,
With soft spoken words she controlled...
Refined beauty ne'er to depart...

He looked upon this beautiful face,
Her way was so graceful -- yet bold...
He thought that time had slowed its pace
She heard his thoughts and took control...

Dressed in lace she had caught his gaze
The initiative would be hers...
Her way was so graceful -- yet bold...
This left his head spinning for days.

Have her he must, this beautiful thing
Possibilities un-foretold....
Essence was caught in his paintings
Her way was so graceful -- yet bold...

Details | Rhyme | |

The Soup Hall of Fame

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Details | Ballad | |

A Little Crazy

My poetry is normally thought provoking that its insane 
Word rhyming that can rip up the direct thought line in the brain 
Words so hard they concrete steel bars locking on the mind with chains 
Words bleeding that they mentally leave thought with stains 
Writing my life away before I die in a world with no change 
I take *****in poetry so serious its my only range of life written about our past experienced death pains
 We all going to die someday in someway so we best look for someway in this some kind of day before you lay your head down as you pray past this darkness looking at the sky gray so please Lord help me do something the people can face with the uttermost respect regardless of gender sex or race
 because someday we all going to go A Little Crazy in this crazy place.......

Details | Elegy | |

The desert was a beach.

I stood by the periphery… 
gracelessly doling derivative remarks 
(all that is rhetorical in rhetoric and blatant in denial) 
upon my comrades, the dust shot Sandinistas of midsummer masochism, 
the caliphs of ‘Baltic Bay’.  
“The armistice laid flowers upon 
the salt seasoned lip of the hatch-backed hawk…” 
Blood fell passively between his heartbroken legs, 
siphoned from each and every available pore; 
the oxygenated irony of pneumatic Gnosticism: 
“The desert was a beach.” 
They say that war is a catalytic catharsis, a palatial reprieve,
without languid logic or porous rationality, 
the emancipation of masculinity, 
castrated by the wire… 
I thought it was hell… I was taught to think otherwise… 
The torrential shards of verbal promiscuity 
stole light unto the fore, 
anxiously negotiating 
the parochial labyrinth of incandescent egotism, 
intrinsically denied.  
Rare, poached howitzers… laden with anxiety 
bore slight from the barbed-wire battalion 
of ill-fitting idiots, 
shuffling their feet, settling their nerves, 
sealing their fate with 
slack pot meandering midst snip sniped surprise.
“The technicality of principalities, dukedoms and deceit, 
tune the tuneless melody and save your soul from hate. “ 
Their calibre unknown, their reasons unfounded… 
the calypso calling cantaloupes of entrepreneurial acumen 
shot black with dusk… slid unto the night. 
Corporal rationale: “Half an hour of ambiguity…” 
Lieutenant liquidation: “Twenty minutes of woe…” 
Collective privacy: “Ten minutes of philistine philanthropy…”
Collective piracy: “Five minutes of... … ….” 
Towel clenched soviets, eager and resentful, 
scape-goaded the photographic horde into meagre submission… 
subverting the course of justice. 
Rented Kalashnikovs rattled ravenous replies… 
once, twice, three times a corpse… 
“Androgyny and xenophiles, the pasteurised provocateur… 
draped in Prada propped dynamics, mechanically aware…”   
Desiccant faeces flew five feet into the air; 
the aluminium gilded lavatories received the short end of the stick, 
figuratively emasculated… 
literally liquidated within (without) the… humdrum humidity. 
Gabriel dictated the proceedings. 
The abortive restraint of sycophantic silencers 
and Hassidic hallucinations, 
graced by a political patriarchy… 
urinating upon the synthetic soil.





Details | Free verse | |



Your sunset-sanctioned skin ignite melody to boredom world
Your gently pearling smile charm the attention of morning sun.
Your charmed souls burn in nuclear passion
To absorb the bombardment of your ink
You are the unsolved mystery of existence 
                By pd
The sunrises 10 feet off the ground
This place carried the eternal light I need for my soul to soar.
Like the clouds every poet brush away my blues with one simple smile
Writing ignited my heartbeat to flicker like a candlewick non-stop.
I hold that piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete
Elegantly you walk, Venus-like
Printing glory-of-gods on excited earth
Holding hostage your admirers' eyes
With your Gabriel-censored attire
You are truly the mystery of existence  
               By pd
My eyes I keep holding on tight.
Gathering dangerous looks, from every poets eyes.
Striking like a speed of thunder bolt, 
I fell weak like an addict to my admires streak of rays'
I'm the piece of puzzle that makes my own existence complete

Oh beautiful empress of poetry soup.
Wake thy muse and shake off the dust of block
Your fans are in inferno hunger of your welded words
Feed us again, your poetic meal that somersault the arrows of critic
For you are the unsolved mystery of existence    
                 By pd
A great source to gather the best light here on the soup.
I found my heart beating like a rush~ spontaneous 
Imaging every poem that helps me get lost in the moment
I wrote against and among the best to be like the rest
For I'm that unsolved piece of puzzle that makes my existence complete

You are kinder than nature, more hospitable than mother earth
Man and woman scramble for shelter in your cheerful hearts
For your contest, all thoughts erect pines of words
With rush of the sea storm
P.D. ((  Linda ))  is the unsolved mystery of existence  

                   By pd
Losing myself to reality, this is not like me to fall into deep.
Times maybe hard, not even a simple song to poet my mind.
The truth is, the sun has blinded me with love, and I have no SUN-BLOCK
Until my instincts tells me otherwise, I will find my way back to all my fans * true or not
I (IRMA~LINDA) am responsible for the happiness of my mysterious existence.

For Pd's  collab with me contest

Details | Free verse | |

One Spark To Burn My Forest Down.

Cinder snaps
Lightning wings
You are this
and many things
Wrapping print
paper ink
Caught amongst
the lines, I think
Pomp and light
Candle wane
On the verge
but always sane
Liquid sugar
Sweet intake
Watching ripples
in your wake
Rainbow glow
Air to touch
Catch my ears
It's just too much
Marble mind
Cinder skin
Wishing you 
would let me in...

Details | Free verse | |

Darn You, Mister


Darn you, Mister!
You drag my heart to yours
Chain my heart and throw the key
Force me to be your shadow

Darn you, Mister!
You sit me on your deepest heart’s layer
And hug me even harder
As if I will leave you suffer

Darn you, Mister!
Don’t you know?
Unnecessary to beg me
To bow to you,
Is what I’m willingly to do

7th place in P.D.'s Contest 'Free Verse' :D

Details | Rhyme | |


Poetry is pure emotion
It speaks with pure devotion

It tells a story of feeling
one that can be quite revealing

Words that simply come together
Phrases forming without tether

A picture painted from the heart
To have all visualize in part

A depiction of our soul
A poem that makes us whole

Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: Sole On Soul

Click clack; Sole on soul.
Swaying shoes to the rhythms 
The beat makes you whole.

Details | Lyric | |

I Can't Say It Without You

I was your never ending composer
We spent many a nights, and many an hour together
But now you’re lost inside
And I can’t find my way, again.

( chorus )
Cause I can’t say it without you		
It hurts to be without the feeling		
Never knowing when it will return		
But I know that you would stay with me	
If you came back, again some day		
But till then I’ll wait till you appear.	

I really miss the way you make me feel
People said we were meant to be together
Why’d you leave me so unexpectedly
I hope you come back soon.

( Chorus )

It’s been two months since I’ve written you
All I’ve got to show is crumpled bits of paper
The passion and creativity is now gone
So come back home so I can work it out.	

Details | Rhyme | |

SOUP Spoonin'

Online tonite
looks like 
a whole lotta' spoonin'
goin' on in the "Soup"

nosin' around the comment coral
I see love 
amongst the group

hot Soup!
not shaken
marriage scent in the air
no fakin'

where it leads...
we shall see
I know some 
are dippin' crackers in the "Soup"
but Lawd' knows 

Details | Verse | |

The Poetic Blues

I think I self-sabotage unknowingly 
because of fear
So my message goes unheard because I’m afraid to let the people hear
And end up drowning in the poetic blues
doubting my ability to write about the truth;

I dug deeper and deeper into myself trying to write a poem good enough to be free of judgment
Then I stepped out on faith and suddenly I was triumphant 
and my writing grew 
and I was loving it
I had finally passed the fear of speaking and caring about who the fu*c! was judging it

As I wait to be inspired for the next poem, 
I sit and think alone and drown in my sorrows
Listening to jazz, blues and a.m. radio
trying to find an excuse not to perform at the SLAM 
because again I can’t think of a damn thing to write…..
Drowning in poetic blues
Will this be the one that will be thrown away and never be used 

Or will this be the one that transcends the others  
and finally prove that poetry is blues and blues is poetry and hip hop and jazz and r&b, 
Poetry is music and the words dance around in my soul 
and I am free once they become spoken 
In the meantime the paper is where the words will rest 
until the silence is broken

Drowning in the sea of proper delivery 
My voice, my stance, my intensity
How will others interpret the words that I’ve chosen so diligently?
I wrap my soul around the possibility that none of the words I choose – 
will keep me from becoming deluged and trapped by the poetic blues

Somehow my heart refuses to accept that I don’t deserve to have my words heard 
and it takes over this whole process
No more time for shrinking and feeling less
I was born to  make my words manifest light
I am a gorgeous medium to the truth yeah that's right
I was sent here to give you a piece of good news
Remember that God is with you when you get
The poetic blues

Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: The Infinite Magic of Lyricism

Pop may be catchy
But not lyrically deep
Case in point: Chris Brown.

(N.B. Poem written after hearing "Don't Wake Me Up")

Details | Free verse | |

My savior

It’s been years and I did nothing but watch the walls crack
I look everywhere and see a glimpse of things I missed
I try to go back to do things that was undone
But what’s in the past can never be undone
I’m so littler now
Stuck in the jail of my heart 
Broking to pieces 
Barely breathing
weeping bitterly for my savior 

I’m sorry for I left you for so long
I’m ashamed of holding you
You were the only one who gets me
You’ve always been here through my ups and downs
And I simply walked away from you
I always exploded all my feelings to you
You did nothing but listen 
Never judge me with a glance
I’ve hit you
Threw you
Broke you
You’ve always forgave me 
And came back 

You always knew what was really there
I didn’t need to show you for you to see
I spilled my heart to you 
Without even saying a word
You just simply knew
You helped me find my words 
To show the world 
As it is from my heart
For they need lots of words to understand 

With just a movement of my hand
You helped me draw my dreams my thoughts my unspoken words 
On these wet forgotten papers	
Gave it a new life 
A new story to share

I promise ill never leave you again 
Forgive me, My Pen My savior

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Death Of A Believer

The death of soul steals slowly through the years
the fog of mind that's never known to be;
brought on by laughter, love, and hate and tears
the fate of all that few can ever see.

It brings the withering of life, and all its leaves,
once green and shining in the morning sun,
now setting on it all, in evening grieves
for lack of interest in what life has done.

Compassion leaves the mind, once fired and prime
and old and tired now beats the heart we knew
life now mundaned by passing of all time,
there's nothing left the heart would like to do.

     Old man, you're numbered to your final breath
      and no one cares for all your sweat and tears,
    your rest is not until it's done in death,
      but keep the faith in what you've done for years.
            © ron wilson

Details | Free verse | |

Paper Clouds


                            ~Flying free above the still sea where ideas drift onto~
                                                    paper clouds where the

                                                               by Michael

Details | Rhyme | |


Human language is used for its aesthetic 
To me writing poetry is prolific
It does not matter if it is oral or literary
Just keep it simple and ordinary 
Conveying emotion or ideas to the reader's or listener's mind or ear
When you read this tell me what you hear
All these effects to generate meaning is what marks poetry 
Beauty is found more in the balance of ideas than in specific vocabulary
Poetry was created to escape the logical
That is when my pen, words, and paper become so magical
I write with a combination of elements like theme tension, complex emotion, and profound 
reflective thought 
With my words I weave that trap so now the reader is caught
There are several poetic forms, such as ballads, sonnets and rhyming couplets
Compared with prose, poetry depends less on the linguistic units 
Alliteration and rhyme, use poetic structures
Poetry is used in several sacred biblical scriptures
Rhyming verses are frequently used in songs
That is why it so easy for us to remember and sing along
I always write more for the eye than for the ear
I want the reader to be animated and be full of cheer
Love, understanding, and hope that is what I'm giving them
Poetry to me is life's need rhythm

Details | Rhyme | |

Holes I have Fallen to


How my life got this bitter
Only one can be blamed on
Everybody says I need to move on
Huh!-move on and hurt won’t go together

Inside too many holes I have fallen to
But never found which one called true
Once I was drunkenned in the hole of blue
By his deep stare and charismatic hue
I was sticked on him, one-so-called love was the glue
Then on my heart, he nailed a trace
Bleeded to struggle, I climbed off the hole
Yet, still I believed of love itself was grace
I could only pray of better love for my soul

Another time, I fell into twilight colored hole
Inside was a man full of intrigues
He made me feel I was a whole,
Before my fragile heart inflicted by his conflicts
He pushed me away off the cliff
My heart was getting stiffer
I cried inside, he shooed me to leave
He loved me, not as much as to his liquor

The third, fourth, fifth and so on
Never led me to pure heart to open
Tempted by false lusts always happened
How can I get to be this bad?
Blinded heart is a high way to that

Details | Didactic | |

Realm of Reality

Introduction: Life is a mystery with many ups and downs throughout the journey. The
journey filled with thoughts of tranquility and turmoil. But the perfect sensation is the
time when you get to feel closer to your Almighty, the one who understands you the best,
your closest friend, your hope and light, your solution to every problem, The mystery you
came to life to solve and to believe in.
Even in the happiest and the saddest moments, He is always there when you need Him.

Right now I am, thinking what to write
Holding my pen, it’s almost midnight,
I’m truly out of words, to express my whole life,
It’s so absurd, cut all pain through a knife
And I wish I could feel, Your presence in my soul
I know that You know, what I am going through
And I’m not sure I believe, unless I really feel
But I know when You’re not there, so I pray to feel You near

Now I can see, what this life is about
Now I do know, I’m too lost without,
Diamond in the rough, that’s what I was
But now I’m reborn by the shower of Your bliss
I’d die to satisfy, I’d do everything I can,
No matter how tough, after all I’m a man
I won’t fall apart, You’re always in my heart
I’d swim oceans and more, only to be Your friend

This undying grace of Your creation,
Time and space, more than perfection
You’ve opened my eyes and showed me the truth
You’ve blessed peace to my soul; I know what’s my role
I see two key coins, one black and one white
And all I have to join, the one with your light
Life is as it is, we make it our own
Hard or easy, full or alone

Everything grows, as they all involve
With the rose you put down, to show us what’s love
I wake up early, to see Your beauty,
Throughout the morning sun, I feel complete and done,
I drive all the way and see my problems solved,
By Your love from above, I stand still so firm
Everything I do, everywhere I go,
Every moment I breathe, I remind myself of You…my Almighty.

Details | Diamante | |


                                              hardcover, paperback:
                                           inspiring, alluring, fulfilling.
                     Buy one at your book store, or get one at your public library: 
                                         fascinating, thrilling, educating.
                                                        New, old...

Details | Concrete | |

Play On Bukowski--,for Linda King's Buk sculpture

   -                                                         you dirt dog                                You dirt dog
                                                    grimy as they get
                                                   Heiny in each hand
                                                  one from the ice box
                                                 other from the brothel
                                                    Slouching slurring
                                                    so clear you speak
                                         filtered through the old typewriter
                                        your "Baldwin" or your "Steinway"
                                           Love really is a dog from hell
                                         Play it again "Chopin Bukowski"
                                          Your poetic piano masterpiece!


   : a tribute to Charles Bukowski                  HERE'S a Link to the BUK Sculpture:
     and Linda Kings Sculpture of 
     this great American poet                               ,r:4,s:32&biw=1120&bih=518

Details | Free verse | |

An Artist I'll Always And Forever Be

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

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

You're never too old
Too learn new things

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

Details | Couplet | |

Locked Inside

I needed a way to release from inside,
All of the tears that I never cried,

My head was exploding from all I kept in,
While onto my face I glued a fake grin;

I hid inside my suspicion and fears,
And locked them away for many years;

They built up a wall and trapped me within,
Until I didn’t even know where to begin;

I had every emotion locked in my heart,
So I started to write, I made it my art.

Details | Ballad | |

The Artist and The Poet

There aint no other way how to put it or how to say it,Im the Artist and the Poet/
 Through my created creations I show it/ Im gonna rize to the poetic mountain top before you even know it/
 This my poetry and self-made concrete art only I control it/ So all ya critics out there behold it/
 I was gone for a minute locked up and locked down trapped inside concrete/ 
I was at work the whole time my poetic skills only got better they did not sleep/
 Now I arize through shackles and chains I now know true defeat/ 
Im here to stay Im the artist keeper the true se7en poet of keep/ 
I will do what I gotta to be poetically remembered the day I go se7en feet deep/
 But for now my life upon ya'll I lyrically creep/ 
My thoughts are one of a kind they cannot be replicated/ 
Im so relevant now fifty years from now I still wont be outdated/ 
Its your coice you can love it or you can hate it/ Go ahead haters debate it/ 
Still Im the Artist and the Poet thats my motto statement/ 
A whole empire of poetry and artwork since lockdown I have painfully with pleasure created/ NEVER AGAIN WILL MY ART AND POETRY BE UNDERRATED/
 I was nothing before all the time spent in concrete and confinement/ 
Now Im truly poetic with artistic assignments/ Anything I draw I can also rhyme it/
 There are more to my tattoos each one has a story and a meaning behind it/ 
I knew there was hope in poetic art I just had to find it/ 
All I got to say now is "F@#k ya'll who wanna Doubt me/ 
F&%k all dat shyt you judge me like Im on American Idol when you dont even know shyt bout me/
 Your vision of life is blurry and your death thoughts seem to be a lil cloudy/ 
I am a Poetistic Diamond in the rough it was God it wasnt you who found me/ 
Now I know more people from around the way gon crowd me/ where money and trouble again will surround me/
 I was a lost gem on lockdown waiting to shine, waiting to poetyically explode/ 
A natural born poet carving out my own road/ Living by my own F%$#%ckin poetic codes/
 I can't be rhymefest free when I get lost in that poetic mode/ 
My Time is almost here/ I been waiting for this momnet all f&&%&ing year/ 
I cant believe I made through many concrete shed tears and many unheard of outside fears/
 My freedom day is near I will not blow it/ 
This my time now homie I control it/ Im concretely the smartest writer even if you aint know it/

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Poetry is the answer

What impels us so late at night 
to rise up and turn on the light 
to sit down and begin to write 
a poem if the feeling is right? 

For some the answer is simple enough. 
but others must crack a nut that is tough. 
It’s more than rhyme it's that and bigger stuff. 
A finished poem, a diamond no longer rough. 

There is much to be said of many things, 
of wording it right and the joy it brings, 
a quality tone just right when it sings, 
when it ends it's as true as it begins. 

What impels us so late at night 
to rise up and turn on the light 
to sit down and begin to write 
a poem if the feeling is right? 

An un-crafted word, just like a fetter. 
Un practiced in words, we are the debtor.
And for proof, view any written letter. 
Poems fill a need to say it better. 

thanks for the recomendations Reason A. Poteet 
edited by Monty Newman on 11/25/2010

Details | Acrostic | |

The Place to Be

One or no other 

Place can
Reach into your heart as a writer and take you seriously.
Expressing yourself through poetry can
Sometimes be
Seen as not being a real writer or "too artistic."
Understanding fellow poets giving you critique as well as praise
Reminds you of how much you love poetry and you can 
Except that the written word can be a prosperous future for you.

written: 01/09/2012
written by: Brandee Augustus

Details | Questionku | |


If written by God,
Why lost rhyme, measure?

Details | Monorhyme | |

The Beauty of Gifted Poetry

There are only so many poems you can read
Then your heart just starts to bleed
Because you still have that burning need
You're trying so hard your soul to feed

Your husband is so far away
Your night is longer than your day
You wonder if God can hear you pray
Or if always alone you’re meant to stay

The words just do not come out right
You dread the long and lonely night
The joy in your life has turned to blight
Your choice? To die or to take flight

Then healing words appear on your screen…
That wash your heart and make you clean
You feel like to heaven you have been
A angel's ministration you have seen

That’s the charm of gifted poetry
Makes you live sheer ecstasy
Wipes from your heart the drudgery
Makes you taste eternity!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Clerihew | |

We can swim beyond the storms

Unknown friend immerses 
In my fullerene verses,   
And finds four allotropes forms… 
We can swim beyond the storms.

Details | Rhyme | |

Coloring Music With A Pen

                                    An artist can paint a scene with colors so abstract...
                              A musician can create sounds that flow from front to back...
                                     But a poet can play with words and form images
                                              that each set of eyes can draw from...
                                     A simple phrase that shouts to one ear can easily
                                                         hum to another one...
                                       When you look at a painting you can write what 
                                                            you see or feel...
                                        As when you play a tune you can scribble words
                                                     that will make it alive and real...
                                         My instrument is my pen and my blank sheet is
                                                                    my canvas...
                                           Together I write from dreams all so precious...

Details | Haiku | |

A Simple Rhyme

Out with the old
And into the new

Coming from black
And turning it blue

Getting through hate
Giving it with love

Coming up from hell
Going to heaven above

Your arms are closed
The wings spread wide

Telling the truth
Turning them to lies

Going from rich
Ending in poor

Never say less
Forever is more

Going from dark
Stepping into the light

What is done wrong
Must make it right

From the brightest day
To the darkest night

Losing a battle
Winning a fight

humans are weak
God is might

coming from sight
going blind

what is yours
is now mine

us wanting 
is to have

dont be sad
just be glad

do smile
please dont frown

going from deaf
hearing those sounds

what was white 
is now black

this is this 
that was that

walking tall
feeling small

maybe weak
but its strong

feeling regret
praying for hope

listen to the do's
never the don'ts

please be quiet
don't make a sound

i hate the city
but love the town

i once was born
and soon i'll die

this is what i call
a simple rhyme

Details | Free verse | |

Find Yourself.

Break and wind
the ribbons through your velvet hair
leveling the light
from moonless shadowed smiles

For all tonight will
know you for your voice
and call you for your
wisdom broken bare

while dignifying moons to velvet miles

Stare the stars
until they mirror metal eyes
dance about in tears
from oblique circumstances

For all tonight will
find you in their heart
and know you for the way
you simply care

it's this which even stars above entrances.

Details | Couplet | |

Inner Me

With a cup of raindrops I begin anew...
Lightly dropped on the floor, till my words grew...

Small petals peak out from under the light...
With only small sounds heard as we drift into night...

Morning arrives with a buffet of thoughts to write down...
They are all consumed slow as a daydream stays around...

The pages now covered in a poetic landscape outlined by the sea...
There I sit and gaze at a portrait of my inner me...

Details | Blank verse | |

Poet's Voice/The Pie Poem

How do I find my poet’s voice?
It’s like turning a cup upside down
and waiting for a drop of water to slide out, 
and it won’t come. 
There’s something there, 
but you can’t get it.
No matter how hard you try. 
You can see it going to the edge 
of the cup,
but it won’t go far enough.
It keeps stopping. 
And you’re 
but you just can’t get the water.

It’s like trying to tie a piece of string around your wrist, 
but it isn’t long enough.  
Trying to make it go farther,
to pull it a little tighter,
and it just won’t go.

It’s like wanting to hold an edge 
just a second longer while skating.
Knowing you’re going to stop.
Knowing you’re screwing up,
And that your posture is bad, and that
no doubt you’ll hear it from your coach.
And you just want to start again.
But you can’t.
So you just keep going.

It’s like trying to cover a pie with a piece of cloth, 
because you don’t want the ants and bees 
to get into it,
but the cloth isn’t big enough.
Checkered cloth,
trying to cover the lattice top 
of a peach pie
sitting in the grass.
But you can still see the crust. 
And the bugs will get in.
And you’ll take a bite,
And instead of pie,
You’ll get ants!
The ants will colonize the pie.
So you have to find a way to 

It’s like trying to write a two-page paper,
and only having one and seven-eights of a page.
Trying to 
as much as you can.

Like trying to make Noah’s hair lie flat,
and it’s always sticking up.
It just keeps on growing.
Like the grass,
teeming with ants,
who colonize the pie.

My poet’s voice.

Details | Lyric | |

The Pen

The pen
Conveys words-
Thoughts and feelings-
Onto paper.
Insecurities, rights, wrongs-
Is written on paper
With a pen
At least for me.

Details | Couplet | |

Life is an Aventurous Squirrel Run

I have my Hubby’s steadfast belief in me.
He loves how my poems are light and airy.
He’ll give me an idea once in a while…
Then he escapes to come back, later to read my new child.

He calls these run-throughs a squirrel run.
For they can take off in directions, yes, any one.
Crazy thoughts become crazier still…
And story time leads to god knows, where they will.

My thinking is kind of like chasing around a tree.
You never know where the end will be.
But somewhere I eventually become truly still.
And that is where my Hubby adds into the trill.

Then the squirrel run begins again…
Light and fluffy and full to the brim.
Each day a new adventure... waits around the bend.
Live it. Love it. Write it... You'll be happier in the end.

Contest: Emotion: Squirrelly and fun   CSEastman

Details | Imagism | |

Grey Rabbit White Paper

Grey rabbit... White paper...

I am the grey rabbit
Snared, trapped by restrictive wires
I reach for the quill of significance
Yet she teases
Just a tug too far
Ink wells spilt upon verde grass
Parchment paper
Leaves me parched
I cannot paint nor write
My fluffy tails lost it's sheen
I'm off down the burrow
To lick my wounds
Ensure my hovels clean

Details | Free verse | |

The Pristine Society

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

© 2011 JSL

Details | Blank verse | |

Creative Hunger: Pacified.

You are my split nail.
I catch you on every pair of stockings that I wear.
You snag my lip a thousand times a day,
subconsciously drawing blood.
I should spare the time to trim your edges,
to calm your pleadings, to dull your voice,
and yet...
you are my sharpened edge,
my heightened response, my after-all~
(and here I thought you were my paper quill
flowing ink to swirling black in stone scented liquid on feathered paper air... 
absorb absorb
ah, absorb me...)
but hope upon hope comes to naught tonight
as you are but a fortune of pain
on the verge of exposé,
and I simply,
have no time for you.

Details | Free verse | |

Writing Buddha

On chilly Tuesdays, I write according to a strict ethos.
Evening light is subdued in a room of primary colors,
heat on medium to ensure balance and the notes

of a piano concerto flicker amongst red and white candles 
encircling two cream-colored half moon chairs which
my mass spans from east to west - never west to east – 

although the manner in which I recline varies.
A fairly upright position is best when writing about truth, faith
or hope as my feet are distanced from my graying head,

keeping things pure, clear and beyond reproach.
For poems about love, sex or death, I find curling
like a tomcat is more conductive, allowing a middle 

to form from the meeting of extremes, that place
our mothers only wanted us to know about in theory,
a page in the Kama Sutra with the corner twice folded.

But  my favorite position beyond a doubt is this one,
the one I reserve for writing about poetry where
I lay on my left side in boxers and a t-shirt,

my length crinkled into separate stanzas, the leg bone of each
connecting to the knee bone of the next, concluding with
a Pictish-looking head bone adorned with a triad

of black periods and a parenthesis on its side,
the traditional depiction of a boat or – sometimes -
a bowl, its contents only visible from above. 

Details | Free verse | |

Not Into You

Tidak Berminat

Apa yang bisa kuharap darimu?
Semisal aku butuh belaian, mampukah kau memberinya?
Saat kubutuh pelukan, maukah kau mewujudkannya?
Tanda tanya besar wahai lelaki!

Jangan menuduhku, lelaki!
Aku tidak berminat padamu, itu saja sudah!
Karena kau terlalu biasa
Kau tak mampu menggoncang hatiku dengan sentuhanmu
Kau tak mampu menimbulkan gugup dihatiku

Kau hanya…KAU, dimataku!
Tidak lebih
Aku tidak berminat! Itu saja sudah

Not Into You


What can I expect from you?
As if I need a caress touch, could you afford it?
As if I need a warming hug, would I receive it?
-Huge question marks in queue

Do not point your tricky words at me!
I just am not into you
Too ordinary, is the first clue
Rocking my heart is not your heart could do
Exciting nervous is never your words could make me to

You just YOU, in my judgement!
Nothing more
I just am not into you! That’s it for your placement

Details | Lyric | |


They try to silence, say it's about violence,
repression, oppression, obsession,
ignorance is bliss, quess what they can kiss,
they slander, they pander
it's a knee-jerk reaction to the right-wing faction,
fear of something new (like people of hue?),
it's a sign of the times, it's loose but it rhymes,
they say it's not written-you gotta' be kiddin'-
it ain't ad libbed, you can't pull it from thin air,
I wonder what it is that's made them so scared?
It's about ANGST not ANGER you see,
poetry is art and art must be free.
So quit slamming the SLAM, those who don't understand,
it's a legitimate form, despite your scorn,
Look: I hate Haiku, but you can write 'em if you choose,
I got nothing to lose (I think they're a snooze)
you don't like it, don't read it,
but don't ban it just 'cause you don't understand it.

Details | Rhyme | |

Pit and Pendulum

Forgive if I borrow, write and craft some sorrow
Beg and steal, I give you this now and tomorrow
Pen me under stars, pit me against the best
I'll write you a sonnet, put your heart to the test

Cause darlin I gotta know what it feels like
To taste glory, bring heaven from hell's pike
I need to pen a haiku and be through 
Oh you thought that I meant with you? 

Hell, darlin, I am seeking fame and fortune
I'll pull down stars and ink a supernova
This year I no longer stand by till it's over
Pits and Pendulum's buried under sandy dune

Desert? I will cross it then, a thousand times
Water to quench my thirst from otiose rhymes
But yet, I'll pen my name in the stars for it
Bleed heart and soul for it
But you'll find me... at the edge of a razor.

Details | Concrete | |

Contradicted Convict Finds Concept

I used 2 think I know what I wanted out of my confused soul/
I want not what I have ,I want what I never had/
I want my time 2 stop, yet it still continues 2 go/
I strive 2 be good but almost always end up in the bad/
Livin in this American Struggle I was once happy, now seems like Im forever sad/
Im a man of values and peace but find myself in corruptness and fights/
In prison I had many dark days and very few bright nights/
No matter how wrong I was I am still 100% right/
Im searchin for inner peace but find myself so self-conflicted/
I want this but rather have that, Im so self-contradicted/
I find my heart fightin lovely thingz my soul so badly hated/
I want 2 be normal but find my talents by so many overrated/
I find it so easy 2 forsake that I rarely myself ever forgive/
My mind wants 2 die while my heart still wants to live/ 
I want to be recognized that I go unnoticed and lose track of the real me/
So I came 2 a concept of appreciating the fact that Im now free/ 
Now I just want to kick back an be me....

Details | Limerick | |

Another Talent Arrives

There was a man named Ed Coet,
Who turned out to be quite a poet,
He spoke from the heart,
Thus he did impart,
And now all of Soup does know it.

Details | Haiku | |

I noticed that everyone likes my random poems more then my serious ones so here's another one!

poka-dots and stripes
black blue red purple and green
these are my favorites

Details | Lyric | |

Beautiful Inspiration

Beautiful and inspiring is he,
Who sees the world through rose colored glasses.
If only he could see what I see.
His sight is clouded with unfortunate sadness and melancholy
He views the world from a birds eye perspective,
He sees the beauty of the world around him...
Yet true love and honest beauty,
Grounded in reality
He has neglected.
He soars on eagles wings,
Beautiful inspiration is what he brings.
Strong and confident is he,
Yet blinded by loves unsure indemnity.
A broken heart, the gift of his passion
Has left him standing alone...
My beautiful inspiration.

Details | Lyric | |

Sin And Poetry

As the night sets in, it's as black as it's ever been.
My soul is in ruin, and my heart is like a back pack carrying a load of sin.

In the closet my skeletons scream, and constantly torment me.
The rage in my blood stream causes me to blaspheme religiously!
I am doomed because I'm so consumed by that very rage;
Engulfs me like burning fire, wraps me like barbed wire that causes a rampage!

The malice in my heart craves the blood from a helpless foe.
I feel I'm being ripped apart like some dark work of Edgar Allen Poe!

So many sins to atone for, and I get on my knees to repent.
Again with my face on the floor, I pray I receive a love that's heaven sent.
The evil is eating me alive from the inside out.
I can't survive when I feel like I'm fighting a 12 round bout!

My greed has come between me and my family.
I just wanted to succeed, but I admit I did it selfishly!

I seduced Lisa knowing she was married to another man, I just didn't care.
As Lisa fell in love, I became her number one fan, and then I ended our love affair!
My conscience wouldn't let me continue on the path of destruction.
I think of the consequence of losing you and laugh because now I'm unable to function.

I now see literally that it is better to lose an eye than your soul.
As I write my sin and poetry, I cry knowing my heart is as black as coal!   

My new form written strictly for Constance's contest "Create your own form maybe" ? is called Stanlets because it consists of couplets and stanzas that rhyme and is a dark subject.
Jimmy Anderson

Details | Free verse | |

Shameless Self-Promotion

Here they go again.
anything to win,
in shameless 
layin’ it on thick, 
	makin’ sure it sticks,
		slappin’ it on like lotion.

“click my stuff,
and I’ll click yours too.
wanna feel like the best 
even though 
it ain’t true?”

back n’ forth complements
are so self defeating.
inflating other’s heads for praise 
is a blatant way
of cheating.

“do unto others”
but don’t lie, 
to boost their ego.
misleading them 
to raise their hopes 
should clearly be illegal.

no need to read 
a word
of their work
while scratching their backs 
all’s fair
in tactical 

poets thought to be adored 
while chewin’ truth’s gristle.
before you swallow,
broke a tooth that hurt
like a damn 

feeding on lines 
with hidden agendas 
is worse
than bein’ ignored.
cuz’ when you find 
copy n’ pasted comments, 
your hopes 
are sadly floored.

how about 
reading and endorsing work
you actually enjoy,
instead of 
feedin’ folks a line of crap 
laced with praise 
and “atta-boys!”

Details | Free verse | |

Master of Words

Oh thy, great Master of Words
Please bestow upon me great words.
These words I so desire.
Words of fancy, so I may marvel.

Master of Words,
grant me the sensuality of words.
Let them be extravagant.
I yearn for them to gush forth from my soul.

Master of Words,
I ache for perfectly placed words.
Intensely riveting verses.

Master of Words,
Bequest me my wish.

Details | Free verse | |

I Chose

I chose  
I could’ve been
A homebound hermit,
Hypnotized by the hum
And hue,
Of a high-tech 
HD computer screen.
A slave 
To the
Rhythmic rap
Clicking keys;
Depriving me 
Of much 
Needed rest.
I’d Search 
For Love 
And friendship 
In a network 
Of strangers,
Oblivious to 
The world 

I would’ve
Made a great 
Defense lawyer.
With my 
Appetite to argue.
I’d rescue 
Common crooks, 
Convicted of crimes;
From the 
Of a cell.
I’d lobby 
For leniency 
With lavish 
Litigation laws. 
Dedicating myself 
To Dissembling 
The Death penalty
I should’ve
The army,
A proud patriot,
My peers 
Through promotion;
From a potato peeling private, 
To a more 
Prominent position.
Pushing my 
Paratroopers out
Of a plane.
Parading my men
On the field 
Of battle.
I’d receive
A war
Winning wound,
Perhaps a
Purple Heart.

I could’ve
Been a detective.
Cleverly cracking
Cold cases-
CSI style,
Coercing confessions 
From criminals
And Con-men.
Collecting  a 
Cheap watch,
As compensation
For my commitment
To the precinct. 
I should’ve 
Been a doctor.
Devoting my life
To curing
The incurable,
Letting long hours
Deprive me
From family.
At the 
Beckon call,  
Of work 
Provided beeper.
Carrying out 
Curative procedures, 
On clients
That are
Scarcely clinging
To life.

I would’ve
Made a 
Terrific teacher.
Choosing to 
Live my life
Through the 
Youthfulness of
My students.
Teaching them 
To take on 
The world
With caution 
And Confidence.
Lecturing them
With lessons 
Of longevity.
My desire-
Jealous of
Their youth.

My choice,
Was not to
Focus on 
One aspect 
Of life,
But to 
Them all. 
With the stroke
Of a pen,
I walk 
All paths.
I chose
All destinies. 

I could’ve 
Been this,
Or been that…

I should’ve 
Done this, 
Or done that…

I would’ve
Made this
Or made that…

I chose to write.

Details | Free verse | |

on being called a drug addict

the wheels just thumped
a jazz beat

(and it woke me

from sleep- with my Lunch
Poems) that made me think
I was somewhere else
like the drug-
that all look	    the same

only nothing like that nausea.

(not the sweat I get
from the stale air-

not that prefab 
from offwhite
prefab aisles
that all twist 
in the same direction, all
born in 
weak perfection).

the startling rhythm displaced

its syncopated thump
contused me
and left these little ugly rainbows
on my arms

and that tattoo really goes
at the start from each station
but here 
               the cadence has slowed
(like the wagon wheels in an old movie
that spin the wrong way)

as we move backward it sounds more like a train,
more humane.
The wheels catch their groove and the pace relaxes
the bumps disappear - 
it sounds more like a train.

Details | Couplet | |

Painted Words Heard

My mind glides to stroke a color...
My hands speak in a rhyming flutter...

But my lips scream in artistic tongue...
Splashing vibrant shades of words unsung...

Left with painted chords and airbrushed words...
My soul is showcased and finally heard...

Details | Rhyme | |

The Other Side

With arms stretched I struggle to see over the wall..
My chin pressed against the stone, upward I crawl..
My fingers feel the warmth but my eyes are blind..
An endless climb as my heart feels what my soul will find..
My hands start to write words on each slate I pass by..
Leaving my mark for the next poet to see if they choose to try..
I pull myself over to see a world of art and poetry..
There I pull up a chair to and take my seat and write for me..

Details | I do not know? | |


MUM ...
































Mom you mean the world to me
It’s hard to live without you ,You were always by my side
Through thick and thin you helped me

Details | Free verse | |

My Thing

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

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

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

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

Details | Free verse | |

So Cold And So Sweet

-William Carlos Williams

For you
I hold out-
a figment of thought,

like a twig holds out juice
from the fig tree,

from branches, trunks
and roots, 
from the ground
and people draped
all around
like fallen fruit 
by their trees

For you,
the day comes
the way it leaves

a taste of fig
that was never there

Details | Couplet | |

Hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion

Kids are playing with strange blue graffiti
So, they wrote several times: ”Neffertiti” …

And drew the most beautiful queen`s head.
The whole history of Egypt written in red, 

With sacred hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion:
The Pharaons` destiny dandles a dewy dandelion…

Details | Free verse | |


When we met, we were but mere strangers 
Meeting on foreign soil 
Nevertheless, the acquaintance was so pleasantly met 
That our hearts did not recoil 

Both had been in relationships that went awry 
I was still apprehensive and 
My being was a little gun shy 
A little afraid to give this kind of love, yet another try… 

However, you understood my apprehensions 
Therefore, we formed a special bond of friendship 
As friends we flirted with all of the possibilities 
Of our being so much more 

Oh, my dear when you whispered, have no fear 
It was that beautiful night that we first kissed; 
My heart did quiver, as my soul began to shiver 
Within goose-bumps filled with pure ecstasy … 

I started to back away but my heart said stay 
I knew no need to anticipate, 
As I looked into the dark mirrors of your soul 
Your eyes softly gave your secret away 
I knew a love was forming more precious than gold 

We have started something special 
Some may say it is superficial 
But, we care not what lies that others may think, 
For our hearts have begun to drink 
The sweet nectar’s of love 
That seems to have been sent ~ 
Straight from the Heavens above… 

Yes, it feels so right as you hold me tight… 
Even when you wink as you say goodnight ~ 
We do not have to think, 
Because we know that 
Love has found its way home 
To you and I... 
Baby ~ 
This is it! 

Details | Lyric | |


My heart aches for the love I deserve
I cry for this one I love
but I lack the nerve

I know not what to do
i know not where to go
but this fact I do know
I love with all my heart  and soul

I love with every part of me
for this reason, I'll challenge destiny
My future holds my secret reality
I have opened my heart for all to see.

Details | Tanka | |

For a new Tanka

For a new Tanka
Thought of dinka and funka
Even Treblinka
Ere I could plump for my own
Punka,  ended the Tanka.

Dinka: A member of the pastoral people from the Nile valley
Funka: An east Asian herb
Treblanka: A Nazi concentration camp in Poland
Punka: The Indian name for a kind of  fan used in the past.

Details | Lyric | |

Censorship In The Arts

Frozen and left for dead
 I can speak no words
 nor shake my head
 only the sky 
moves on
 above me
© Christine A Kysely All Rights Reserved
 (December 12th, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)

Details | Rhyme | |

One For The Poets 2K10

I require not brochers.  
For i've been taken aloft  
Disney-like adventures.  
I've been taken thereto Mother  
Nature's finnest edens;  
Complaments of captivating  
and enchanting pens.  

This heart has been enloped  
of poets devotions.  
This heart has simply come to  
fathom wonderful notions.  

Gifts for all to experience  
such pleasures.  
Read, write, delve further;  
There lies poets tresures.  

One has...  
The appreciation.  
One sees...  
The creation.  
One admires...  
The imagination.  
One draws...  
The inspiration

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

They are ALL my Children Part II

(Please do not read this poem if you have not read Part I posted below this poem on my page, for this is a continuation)

But I have a child…born of divine nature
As though through Immaculate Conception
He is my little God Man
Always peaceful
Serenity is in his smile
Compassion in his touch
Purity in his eyes
He remains unmoved by the chaos around him 
For he knows 
The tranquil state of his heart
He calms his brothers and sisters
Pointing them above
And in his very presence
Is the atmosphere of heaven

They are ALL my little children
A living part of me
How can I banish any of them?
Some are rejected
Some are applauded
Others are scorned and derided
Still others are abused
My heart weeps for my children
My heart guards my children
For though they may never be fully loved
I have given birth to them
And I send them out into the world  
So others may see
The heart of the mother
Of Poetry!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Cinquain | |



Metaphoric Vocabulary
Prose Pulsing Rhythms
Analogies Exposed Through Creativity

Details | Free verse | |

The Writer

The Writer

Inspired by darkness he writes only at night;
Studying stanzas—seducing spellchecks
With the stroke of a pen he is anyone or anything
His great works are subjected to sabotage—prone to plagiarism
His ideas far exceed his lifespan
He will take them with him so that they remain unforgotten
There are times when he is repulsed by his own thoughts
Ashamed that his open-mindedness is so brave— so brazen
He must be careful with his words
Disguising them to avoid unwanted attention
He masters this skill by the memorizing
His important blueprints: a dictionary and thesaurus
The only two books worthy to his cause
He is a word hunter; silently stalking his prey
Snatching them from songs
Taking them from television 
Scavenging from scripts
He fishes them out in an ocean of conversations—inspecting his catch cautiously
Releasing the insignificant
Filleting the essential
He doesn’t waste words by packing them into passages
He displays them attractively on a canvas of possibilities
He raises them from lonely letters to surprising syllables
He rescues them from reckless writers—saving them from abuse
His message is vivid and clear, he refuses to practice the art of confusion
Without writing he is nothing; another drone in a misguided world
With it, he is unstoppable
Creating creative carnage
Amongst freethinkers and immortalizing injustices…in print
He sees he world in rich detail; analyzing the outline of all creation
Nothing is missed— from the tiniest atom to the utmost wonder
His memory is impeccable—photographic and precise
Every element, since childhood, is engraved in his mind
He has a fetish for fountain pens—collecting them like trophies
Never using them, only worshiping their power, it is mightier than any sword
Writing is his purpose 
Even though he will never be satisfied
Every draft s a rough one— susceptible to alterations
It is his weakness 
He is forever troubled by the idea of revision

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 | |

One Heart, One Pen (Why I Write)

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

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

Details | Lyric | |

Keep Me Awake At Night

i never thought i would say
these words are so true
but the fact still remains
i'm so in love with you

i keep thinking about 
when my world is nothing
you take away the grey
with all the things you say
and baby my heart will stay the same
i promise, ohh yeah 
you keep me awake at night

so as long as it keeps pounding
your words will keep on reminding
me of your love, while they keep on lying 
and i know no matter what they say
i'll be yours forever and ever 
as long as you want me too

i never thought i would say
these words are so true
but the fact still remains
im so in love with you

i keep thinking about 
when my world is nothing
you take away the grey
with all the things you say
and baby my heart will stay the same
i promise, ohh yeah
you keep me awake at night

boys and girls sometimes 
say things that are so fake
but baby when you speak
your words i'll never throw away

so let's kiss
just one last time
before you leave
i want your lips on mine
and i'll always remember
ohhh,  hell yeah
you keep me awake at night

i never thought i would say
these words are so true
but the fact still remains
im so in love with you

i keep thinking about 
when my world is nothing
you take away the grey
with all the things you say
and baby my heart will stay the same
i promise, ohh hell yeah
you keep me awake at night

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetic Toxins

I write what I know, and know what I write.
I travel through time, every rhyme with might.
Ruminating the past; its wrongs and its rights.
Any time of the day, and any darkness of night.

I pen history and its future, as small as it seems,
Inking a mission, my pen shadows my dreams.
I engrave bits of pain, through every extreme.
Inscribing a passion, my script and its regime.

My pen is much mightier, than an army indeed,
it slashes its victims with a whimsical need.
It destroys its targets, planting a poetic seed.
It preys on cruelty, and the abusive it feeds.

Feeding a toxic dose, of words and rhymes,
serving a deadly concoction of ink in time.
For the tongue is more lethal in words of rhyme,
the triumphant work of a poet; yours and mine.

Details | Free verse | |

The transformation of the skeletal soul

Winding winding
Today Now now 
now now
Sex SEx
hey hey 

seasons winding 
hey hey
wicked wicked wicked
baby baby
Sex Sex Sex

anybody anybody
hey Sex
Sex Sex Sex SEx
hey hey
seasons anybody 
winding winding
hey hey hey

Details | Free verse | |


Onion skin pages and empty windows
Repel us as much as attract—
Possess brief images locked fast in place—
Memory melded in faded photographs of thought.

We are things we once were—
Frozen kaleidoscopes of dreams
Cupping eyes and pens so tightly,
Casting free flaxseeds of imagination.

Still, sepia leaves seem white-boned
And open windows let in absences.

Details | Cinquain | |

Vini Vidi Vici


I came-
The world tasting
Like raspberry candy,
Our orb a snowglobe of which to
Shake up.


I saw
Lightening skies,
Dawn breaking over roofs-
I sighed, inhaling the beauty


I conquered
Worlds with my pen!
Filling pages with ink;
Filling minds with words that speak
Of tomorrow.

"Vini Vidi Vici"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad

Details | Free verse | |


For nine months
With love and pain
With joy and suffering
In her womb she carried me
A mother she is 
And a woman of virtue.

When there was no one, she was the only one
Even left alone, she never leaves me alone
Indeed, she’s a mother 
And a woman of virtue.

When toddling, she cared
And still directs when I could run
She is a mother of the child and the adult
In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come
Many names will I call her; “A mother of all”
And a Woman of Virtue.

Details | Free verse | |

Words No One Hears

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION


Details | Nonet | |

The Nonet

The poetic form of the nonet
Makes one count syllables, and yet
Flows from one line to the next
While making sense of text,
Each line reducing
A terse

Details | Free verse | |

Writer Cafe

Chai tea latte warming my soul
The view from the window
Full of freedom and desire
Colors of serenity of peace
Stir deep around my heart 
Embracing it in balance

Dishes clatter in the background
Smells of spices tickle my nose
The furnace vibrates and hums above
People walk by and I remain unnoticed
As if I am one with the scene
My entirety melted into one with the café

Details | ABC | |

MidNight Wishes

Even though i did not hear your voice tonight i'm still ahit,
I will go on like this for ever, i wont go out without a fight. 
I'll fight till the end of this life to win your heart,
All you have to do is tell me when to start.

The music blarrin in my head phones at 1:52 AM and i'm lovin it, 
cause it helps me remember your gorgeous smile like it was meant to fit. 
Wanting to feel your touch and kisses all over me ignites the fire in me,
Wanting to take you by your hand and run wild in a big sea. 

There aint much i can say to express myself but this will have to do for tonight,
I think its just that i haven't reached height.
You no I love you and that's all that matters or will ever matter to me,
I will love you till i die, like I told you before, cant you see? 

Details | Triolet | |

That you sense my vibes

That you sense my vibes and moves by it,
Doesn't make all my maze the masterpiece,
And doesn't judge loyalty and modesty.
That you sense my vibes and moves by it
Doesn't guarantee pounds and majesty.
Call me back when I err. Therefore,
That you sense my vibes and moves by it,
Doesn't make all my maze the masterpiece.

Details | Free verse | |

Dim the Lights to Encore.

I'm not unhappy with occurrences there in
where moving there upon the silent floor
in undercurrents rippling, marble still
I find your voice as never found before

I'm not uneasy as we dance this dance
where silence reigns the air in static still
as all the sleepers break in dreams at once
You hold me here but not against my will

I'm not unwilling now to take a chance
to blow confusion's wrist a solid kiss
and silently insure the moment's pass
if you would grant me solitude in this

I'm not uncertain as the curtains close
wherein we find ourselves behind the stage
as often what takes place behind the scenes
will pique an interest longing to engage~

Details | Tanka | |


Today I dropped words

between cracks in the pavement:

half-written screenplays.

My muse, a cappuccino,

conjures romance while I sip.

Details | Free verse | |

Fabrics of Words

Fabrics of Words We are the weavers, the weavers of words… Our tools in trade are inventive pens in hand With these tools we create yards of unique blends as colorful threaded words are created from within and woven into the fabric of our creative world. We are the weavers, the weavers of words… With closely woven strands of soul we spin our wares Blending from our senses and lifes golden threads Some soft, some rough, some marked with tears All found in the cloths of our creative world. We are the weavers, the weavers of words… We ply our trade on the eyes of like minds We spin our verse yards and send them soaring across the miles of wires and signals sharing our art with other writers weaving words By: Debra Squyres, 2/01/13

Details | Free verse | |

Lines To Music

Note the difference
in tone
a song, a poem
the flute denotes 
subtle sway
the piano plays
and the harpsichord.
Cymbals clean
and sweet.
Note the joyous mood
and the dancing fools
the children’s laughter.
Note the change
as the magicians rearrange
the cord, the bridge
the end.

Details | Rhyme | |

Still My Mind

With my brush in hand I stroked
a line across my screen...
The letters were colored with bright
emotions that sit so serene...
And now today there are musical sounds
that ride up and down my words in tune...
Its the construction of a painting with poetic
lines and song to follow soon...
A paper canvas is a playground to create and unwind...
Whether on the ivory keys or across the strings
my favorite instument is still my mind...

Details | Rhyme | |

Beyond Words

Flowing words that show a story well
Rhyme a delight to see upon a veil.
Poetry soothes the soul, tells of feelings.
Lines in metaphors, inspirational dealings,
Verse that is free, describes virtual history.
Acrostics can deliver any kind of mystery.
Poetry more graceful than a flowing brush,
Creates pictures and forms in breaking hush,
Haiku surrenders nature’s beauty so short.
Senryu captures humanities truth and tort.
Paint captures sight; poetry feels the scene.
Writers develop spirits, feelings felt and seen.
Sculptors captivate realism, fantasy supreme.
Poets bring joy, sadness, life, love, in a dream.
Whether rhyming or not, a good poet shows.
Few or many lines they create properly flows.
Poetry rings out in emotions of various forms.
Lines of any verse go way beyond the norms.

Details | Couplet | |

The Letter, 1660

These rustling humans, how they jabber!
With their smudged and crinkling ink dabber

I lie here resting while their investing
Their moments in this blabbered pestering

I've seen their pages scribbled in rages
Of inspiration by their sages

I hear the parchment, crisp and crackling,
Depicting marks pronounced in cackling

And wheezes of a breezes sighs
Read in secret by her eyes

Here in this secluded corner
This one was sent by a foreigner

The rounded man, all clad in fur,
Hears some code, it makes him stir

The thinner man sprouts in his chair
Which creeks beneath his squirming dare

The glamour creature, thin and frail,
Seems neutral about the true tale

I hear a fist pound on the table
Shouting that this could be a fable

"What if it's true?",  the other asks
While in fascination he basks

They analyze it for a clue,
This letter, to learn if it's true

The chamber, while closed, is secret, airy
While echo's this secretary

The scribbled riddles held in hand 
Are esteemed to be so grand

I might chew them if I could
For I bask in my puppy-hood

Details | Rhyme | |

I speak poetry

she says i speak poetry and its true
knowing me i must have flowed for you
look to my eyes , a full soul in view
words all the moments your love would do

spare hearts for those caught in thought
the difficult twist that rips and knots
the lines i gave, a brave, soft spot
when the queen of my hearts fell from the top

forgive but yet i shall never forget
faith in no faith, but its best if i slept
rather dream than see worst outcomes at best
create a new love for some hearts Ive kept

i dont know why I must speak as such
a rough young man, can eat nails for lunch
scars and bone, dress shoes covered in dust
when stripped of my past, i whimper at a touch

Details | I do not know? | |


MUM ...
































Mom you mean the world to me
It’s hard to live without you ,You were always by my side
Through thick and thin you helped me

Details | Free verse | |


Quodlibertarians excel at obacerating
And are skilled in the art of obganiating
They drive people nuts,
No ifs, ands or buts,
Even their perscrutation seems nothing less than excoriating!


The Art of Arguing About Anything

People who argue about any subject excel at contradicting
And are skilled in the art of irritating people with constant reiteration
They drive people nuts,
No ifs, ands or buts,
Even their thorough search and diligent inquiry seem nothing less than condemning!

Details | Rhyme | |

Award Winning Poem

Award winning poem crafted with precision, 
From the finest word smith's concoction, 
To capture the readers eye, 
And move them to agree with I, 

Every golden letter mellow to the core, 
Molded to tell a tale untold before, 
Veni vidi vici; so say I, 
A pen and paper in hand till I die, 

Swiftness in wordplay like a sparrow, 
Able to set the mood right from happiness to sorrow, 
Blowing the theme as wide as the clear blue sky, 
Not forgetting stylistic devices to make the poem fly, 

A poem that will stand out for all ages, 
As the king of modern day poetry outshining all written pages, 
Bringing out soliloquy in a persona, 
So sweet you wish not to end it sooner,

Details | Sestina | |

Head Lines

The traffic was strident, lanes straight
the cars lined the street and froze rigid.
The cop with a glare of pure hate, directed
a line of gate crashers cutting.
The sidewalks segmented in rows, false
lure more tourists into a queue.

Cowed were young folk and old folks all queued
a ménage which was quite far from straight,
all had come for a peck at the Bard, false.
even a librarian or too, who waited with spines rigid,
and scowls on their lined brows like cuts
their critiques would be most direct.

Teens kiss in a clutch most directly 
their faces make braces of queues 
Scalpers hawk to the latecomers cutoff,
the elite meet and greet heading straight
for the red road with a rigid
line of bull filled with falsities.

Inside the antiquated theatre under false
the foot lights lining the aisles direct
Mayor and matron, gran and child in rigid
alleys to velvet seats also queued.
The stare of critic and patron glared straight
64 toward the author so pinned and cutting.

A bright white light cut
the chill air so false
and focused on drape lined straight
each fell open as artist directed
and orchestra swells filled their queue
and the author he sat stark and rigid.

His fate would he find in lines rigid
on the page of tomorrows review, they’d cut
make or they’d break his heart’s queue
these piranhas with smiles so false.
No fate could be more direct
this tonic he must imbibe straight.

So like dominoes, they fall lines rigidly, piercing cuts
Filleted be he by queues false,
in the end words directly aimed, straight to death cue.

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry About Poetry

Shades of color bounce within
Singing their hues dancing in place
Vivid lines colored outside
Rules broken with empty space
A midnights dream heard and seen
Gleaming from the twinkle of a eye
Wings touched flown and plucked
Gliding like a bird up in the sky
Wishes from pennies thrown into tears
The reservoir over flowing with pigments of pain
Drowning from the shadows 
The flood paints the day
Words speak volumes of silence hidden
Their sounds blind to what they see
Mirrors of nouns and verbs 
Their meaning and secrets lost at sea
Emotions ruled by laws of language
Spelled in boxes of glass
Melted from sands inside
That voices strangle to grasp

Details | Free verse | |

Blinkink Cursor

Blinking Cursor 

Why do you taunt me so?
A hungry hatchling eager to eat from my nest of ideas
An exotic dancer alone on a white stage— taking text for tips
I cannot walk away I am drawn to your blinking body
Hypnotized by the deformed piano key daring me to play suicidal notes of an unknown tragedy
Revived by the flat line, black and brave against a pasty piece of paper resuscitating my imagination 
A weak Samaritan to the beggar that bothers me for change; and correction of my written work
My lonely lover waiting to make literary love on plain white sheets
The hero that rescues all my forgotten memories
Essential to the healing of my sanity
So why must you taunt me with endless possibilities?

Details | Free verse | |

Mating the Soul.

Uncommon me 
with rhetoric and fancy shoes.

Uncommon me
for what else do I have to lose?

Uncommon zeal
and half an ounce of courage too-

Uncommon me
and certainly, uncommon you.

(for Johnette)

Details | Free verse | |

Just writing without stopping

Random Free Write: 

Just flowing - writing
and not stopping to think
or even to lift my pen
I kept going and the words seemed to have no end
Understanding that the process is a simple one
Love everyone and 
stear free of the wicked one

I'm not sure if it was winter or spring
But, I gave way to all the flaws and  imperfections
and realized that this is me
The change came when I saw fit
and not when someone else decides

It's not hard to forgive
And even easier to forget
Does that not reflect love and also what it begets?
Except too many hold grudges and even
pretend to be angry beyond whats necessary
Caught up in someone elses problem
and not dealing with their own is a hard burden to carry
Let it go
stop negativity where it begins

Cut people short if you have to
because this is your life you have to live
Be on the lookout for those looking to devour you
Pray for those who do ill sh@! to you
Respond in a way that makes them realize they love you
and hope it inspires change

Still maintain dignity and move on to something new
Growing, building up treasures for a place greater than
you can even dream to go
It's the simple things that help make life flow
I could go on and on with this practice flow
Writing and stoping to think or lift my pen
This is one of those poems that didn't make it to the waste bin.

Details | Bio | |


Absorbed by art and poetry,he finds
The commonplace childishly surreal
Living life at one stage removed,perhaps
Old age,a wonderland apart from youth;
Out of touch ,of this world,and yet is not,
An audience to a non-stop revue
In which common sense is no more a part,
Into a world of verse,each day departs;
A place of images,imagination,words,
Separate,alone,truly at home,but not apart.

Details | Epic | |

I Have No Girlfriend

A girl of my choice is way too hard to find. Every time I see an attractive girl, I keep finding out that she already has a boyfriend or is happily married to her husband and has children with the guy. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. It seems that I'm trying way too hard. Maybe I'm looking too hard for this special someone. It also seems that I'm not good enough for any of the girls of my choice, let alone one girl who's about my age. Now that all of the good, attractive ones have been taken by random guys, I'm reduced to nothing. I should've met those girls by choice sooner rather than later. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, and no matter how many times I have to reach out to those girls from my past or whatever, I couldn't give her some St. Valentine's Day presents, let alone red roses, I couldn't ask her out on a date, I'm barely dealing with the fact that these girls each have boyfriends or happily married, and I've been rejected one too many times. I should be in a serious relationship with a girl of my choice and trust, I shouldn't spend Saturday nights in total boredom. But the fact that one of the girls I was interested in is with a guy who's way more attractive than I am makes me very sick. And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it's just not enough for any of them. And since I have no girlfriend of my choice, even one of them outside my race, I'm forced to spend the rest of my life in solitude alone; thereby remaining in a real, depressive state. And every time I see a loving couple, it makes me depressed and they shove it right in my face. It's like someone had taken a butcher knife, plunged in in my chest, and yanked my heart out, killing me in an instant. I can't bear to handle this type of rejection. Well, I might as well die a virgin because there's just no point of me dealing with the fact that these girls are either happily married or already in multiple serious relationships with their current boyfriends. Being lonely and depressed and not having a female companion of my choice to talk to on a Saturday night is sad, and it's definitely pathetic. How legitimately disappointing. If I don't find me a girlfriend of my choice and I don't get married on time before my 25th or 30th birthday, I'm going to die a virgin. When will all of the rejection and the torment end? When will I stop being lonely and depressed? When will I ever learn?

Details | Senryu | |

File Saved

I hope that you smile
haven't written for a while...
FRESH from TODAY's file

Details | Narrative | |

Title Taken

The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattos  in 
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies lowand the truth a sober mind brings 
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title 
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its 
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's 
 You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.

Details | Free verse | |

Scent Of A Korean Tea

See this not as a flattery
Thou, we both know that 
We met, only, yesterday
But truth is I am missing 
You, every night and day

You and only you
I think of no other, as
I spell out 
These words of mine 
My arts, from the heart

You told me 
To gaze the stars
Whilst I begged you 
To ask the birds
How to fly

I remember that night
It’s something, I’ll not forget
The scent of a Korean tea
Brewed, delicately, with love
To sanctify me

It was already two a. m. when I 
Walked home, from your place
Guided by the sleepy moon 
I found out, we passionately speak
Nature’s own language

Details | Quatrain | |

Poetry's Legions 2K11

Poetry's Legions, for asker's are we;  
Asking for open minds and open hearts?  
Poetry's Legions, for basker's are we;  
Basking therein soothing warmth of much hearts.  

Details | Free verse | |

Come Fluttering Words

"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
Fly though my dreams and whisk me away to a “Nederland”
Where fragrant flowers perfume the air with delightful surprises.
And butterflies dance through the trees where fairy dust makes magic.
Take my heart to the beautiful memories of childhood.
Where imagination flourishes and laughter chases the breeze.
Mend my sorrows with your soothing; vanquish pain with your sweet lexis. 
Carry my soul to the heavens where family love waits true.
Flutter my heart with generous gentleness, with understanding.
Send my soul drifting across the lands where friends hear and foes are forgiven.
Embrace my mind that I may share each part of me through you.
Caress my lips that only sweetness may pass through them.
And teach me all wisdom that I may love purely with no ire.
I have heard your fluttering when my soul wanted to cry in anger.
Your soothing brought solace to my unconsciousness, quietly.
I saw your flickering when my eyes were closed to the needs of others.
Your compassion brought knowledge to my awareness.
I felt your trembling when my heart was overwhelmed.
Your wisdom washed away my worries, wisely, willfully.
"Come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . . "
For in your fluttering, comes tranquility, love, understanding,
…And friendships are preserved, forever.

© July 26, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: What is she thinking . . . 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~

Details | Rhyme | |

track 18

thanks for the tea, heres something about me
nothing beats poetry, sitting underneath a tree
thankin' my family for a strong identity
people watching cause its free, beauty in the scene
has me staring with a cheese, a smile at what i see
possibly a dream,  caught up mentally 
imagining a few things, with this human being
who has the sweetest energy, soulfood like collard greens
all fools falling means I'm really dumber than I seem
being intelligent isn't just from memory
its handling impermanence light and sensibly
and lady I'm feeling your sultry melodies
we'd be crowded if its three, sit and be my company
must be a chemistry major cause the reactions meant to be
the love we can achieve, is safe from any thieves
 hold em from my queen, hearts tucked into my sleeve

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Do you like my raven eyes

As I walked down the street 
this morning 
I tried to be polite and inconspicuous 
You stare into my eyes; 
My brown eyes speak louder than my 
Husky voice ever will 

What are you looking for? 
Do you liked what you see 
Pain, shame or a sense of connection 
Love, nowhere to be found 
It ruthless, it vanishes, it disappoint 
By now us all know the stories 
Of lost-love, 

It begin with a smile 
A kiss, a warm embrace, 
Then tear and fears 
Do you love the raven in my eyes 
Sorry stranger! 
I paid my tithes, 


I lost my loves 
Caw, caw, caw! 
Do you love the raven in my eyes

Details | I do not know? | |

Poet Love

Never fall in love with a Poet
for they are blackholes of the broken hearted 
Set on a treacherous sea blindfolded
to distracted by butterflies to properly set up a captain's log

Never fall in love with a poet our emotions burrow themselves deeper than a naked mole rat

Exposed, Vulnerable

Just like that time in biology class dissecting the rigamortis set frog
Nailed on all four appendiges

For what???
Love is sometimes a Lie that we tell ourselves so we feel comforted.
The fairytale we read to children
The moralistic ones where the princess is a vision
and the Prince is an amorous gentleman
Walking hand in hand in the sunset immortalized
as one of the biggest lies
But what of love??
Real love the kind that drives you to a sickness
So nauseating you lose yourself in the process

Only simply to be there for them......... to eleviate any of their suffering

What of the tears???
That LOVE seems to squeeze out of your once sprite like Disposition
Like a worn out mop
that drips milky white left over mess
Lackluster like a dying fern, you have lost your glow
Resulting from the aftermath that your hurricane love 

What of loneliness....


Makes your fingers at night notice how alone they feel
Like a drug, you go through withdrawels 
You try to intertwine your left hand with your right
You know it will never be the same

Your Queen sized bed feels as if it has grown
to the size of Antartica
Where your insides grow so frostbitten from your bitterness
and you fear that you are so far gone and isolated
No one will hear your whispers

What of loves, loving distrust
Lies and Broken promises seem to defeat a person sometimes from honest confessions
Because distrust is like a math problem. 
Sometimes my friends, you have to discover what type of equation is their male partner.

But love is more like the Infinity symbol.
In that 2 bonded circles flow
LIke simultaneous toilets being flushed in Australia
Circling around sucking water into the pipes back into the earth

Love is the Infinity symbol because nothing can be Charted in Infinity
Understood or even Wanted

Love is kind but scarring. You never know if you have found your penguin dance partner that 
will always stay beside you


Ensare you faster than a venus fly trap.
Ripping you apart like a Praying Mantis

This is why you should never fall for a poet

We know Love,

and sometimes the horror of it.

Details | Free verse | |

Bittersweet Bouquets

Poetry is bittersweet
sweet when the words
strain away the angst,
bitter as reminders
that do not wane.

I take these feelings
from a moment in time,
capturing them
in flowered words
and hold them there
like bouquets for the taking.

They do not wilt,
dry and decay.
But as I hold them there
my hand tires so
but I’ve grown this stem
in the soils of my heart
and am thus bound by every word I pen
subject to this blooming realization
that unlike me
will not wilt.

If you like this, and others, check out my book "As I Write These Words", with a full preview on Amazon (available on all online book stores, as well as ebook format) for many more.

Details | Free verse | |



To get someone to read my poems… Contests there must be.
They must be bleeping nuts thinking I can follow all those cockeyed rules.
Out of a zillion types of poems they always pick the weirdest ones.
Allowed only 16 lines… I found I stopped at ninety-one.
And for a topic they want a bird throwing glitter from a tree.
How about I spank them as I put them across my knee!!!
And why must I name it… as they told me? Where’s that for creativity?
Then they want a special comment added in the poem…
I would rather not add plagiarism… I’d rather call it my own.
But, you know, I am so very needy that I’ll do whatever they want.
Well… I’ll do, maybe one or two… of the things they want.
I know this makes it harder to judge the poems that are found therein.
But to me a poem… is a funny bent on my crazy whim.
Then suddenly, Lord Have Mercy… my poem didn’t win.
But I’m happy as punch for even with their strained smile…
I’m sure they read one of my poems yet again. :)

(Meant only for fun) I'm not really complaining. Just having fun.

Details | Verse | |


Rushing here, there and everywhere,
A mind that leaps canyons and space
Ricocheting, bouncing on rock walls,
Dislocation with turbulent pace.
Scuffing up dust and then zinging,
Off at wild tangents or angles,
Darting, exploding like fireworks,
Neurological barbed wire tangles.
And sometimes, sometimes crave tearing
At the flesh beneath tingling skin,
To rip this man-suit off the mainframe
And extinguish the chaos within.

Details | Rhyme | |

It Lives In Us All

My brain is blocked off by this wall, and if anything,
I can think of nothing at all
I'm trapped from my own mind, with nothing but the wrong key,
I'm caged inside myself, where I'm anything but free

So I pick up a pen, new leaf, and I give in,
where I don't need a cut to bleed, all I need is emotion
So I bleed, and I bleed, until the ink runs thin,
then crumple it up, and start over again

It's like my escape - my outlet you could say,
a feeling that you have to experince, because it's impossible to explain
It's like you're free again, you're finally sane,
where you can fit an entire sculpture into one little frame

The world is outside of you, and you're alone with your thoughts,
everything is blocked out, and you're content in your spot
You can write a whole story, with a little or a lot,
or you can just write, with no goal, at all

But as long as you're writing, nothing could be better,
you feel like you're alive, and you could live forever

And then you run out, or you lead goes dull,
the feeling is short lived, but It Lives In Us All

Details | Haiku | |



cracks reminding us 
a calender hangs silence 
by all irony.


Practice for the blind 
circulation shutting down
shall twist towards plot


Running for their skin,
civilised sugar paper , 
for response alone.


Details | Quatrain | |

Midnight Lullaby

“I just can’t sleep,” I wrote one night
“My poor heart just longs for you”
“Sleep, my dearest; I’ll hold you tight
And kiss you the whole night through.”

And though he was worlds away
I felt his presence so near
The comfort of his arms was mine
What more had I now to fear?

Those tiny lines my lullaby
They caressed me through the night
Though sleep did not touch my eyes
My heart was illumined with light

How comforting to surely know
That he could embrace my soul
And quiet down my beating heart
With words that made me whole

I read again each little line
And saw his love written there
All alone in that dark night 
I was cradled by his care

Midnight lullabies are sweet
They are angels from above
They are ever more the dear
For they are written in love

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Couplet | |

Tale of Fright

Frigid hands of a raven sky
Capture murmurs of a feral lullaby

Terror now awakens to cleave sensation
Dismay now devours thoughts of elation

Lucid black, the void prevails
Grasping the mind into its prolonging trails

Body asunder, shattering with dread
Passionate with fear from toe to head

It is from the night... dark, viscous, and saccharine
Dissolving in sky like honey in wine

That mesmerizes thought, body, and sight
Plundering all into a tale of fright...

Inspired by Dean Koontz's books of terror and beauty

Details | Acrostic | |

Poetic Soul

Paradise of beautiful thoughts via heart
Ornamented with pure and serene art
Enlightening postings on varied themes
Teaching various paradigms supreme!
Intellectual writers love to spend days
Creations of delight coined in selfless ways 
Sharing of common passion gets rear    
Offers new chance to entrants in its sphere
Umbrella for world wide authors in one group
Long live the heaven with name Poetry Soup!  

Details | Lyric | |


I didn't know
where inspiration went
nor why it absconded!
My desire to write
eloped with my imaginative drive.

A choking crowd,
ideas stayed locked
in my small head
and I didn't know 
how to ease them out.

Details | Rhyme | |


It comes almost as quickly as it goes.
But I know that if you feed it, it grows.
It is a brilliant spark.
A flash of light in the dark.
Nothing that I can see, touch, or hear.
Perhaps it has always been there.
Waiting to be brought into the light.
Waiting for wings to take flight...
Ready and ripe, to be cultivated.
Just willing to be motivated.
There waiting for me to breathe the life into it.
Prepared and ready inside of my own intuit.
Calling it to life, setting it into motion.
Created from a spark of my emotion.
Molded by my own creation.
Brought to life out of my imagination.
Blossoming is the seed I have sown,
Now it takes on a life of its own,
And it burns with light from my fire,
To go forth into the wide world and inspire.

Sarah Comstock

Details | Free verse | |


Who can break up this circle of wonderful friends...
called amateur and professional poets?
We encourage each other,
suggesting modifications where needed,
and we shouldn't be upset, 
but appreciate that they've noticed our mistakes:
such as wrong forms and typos... 
because we don't see what they see!

I have taken their invaluable advice,
and seen my poetry in a new light...
even small changes can improve my lines.
Now, words flow and mistakes are few...
I am glad to receive their sweet comments
and be honored as winner in their contests!
Joy and pride are inseparable emotions:
as pen and thought, or mind and heart!

We should thank God for having found
these brilliant poets who inspire and guide us,
what they have achieved, we can also achieve...
persistence and passion are the golden keys to success.
Everyone is unique in their own way,
some write in a contemporary style which flows with simplicity,
and that we all understand, but others
choose a classical style as the Great of literature
to dazzle us...while their words make us pause and reflect.

Whichever subject or form you choose, create your best poetry
by taking in consideration the effect it will have on all.
Famous poets wrote the masterpieces that survived the ages,
ours will not be read until someone discovers them
as these poets us encouragement and praise,
then who can break up this circle of wonderful friends?.    

Written By Andrew Crisci for Carol Brown's contest,
" What I Love Most About Poetry Soup "
January 15, 2012

Details | Free verse | |


Biding peace laid for some pariah, 
spinning all mind's lie.
Vision gliding ever higher, 
	soaring ecstasy; exquisite sapphire sky

Yet wing Wired,  we catch earthbound, 
	nothing but shifting twilight sight.
cutting thy hand short. 
	Records wake, flash bright white.

Formed half here, half there.
Lost by laughter and fear, 
	A stolen shadow's
		 path to nowhere.

Within this vista of pure visual;
	,  ghostly green shine. 
		lit from MOON'S far dream.
The soothe sayer of dazed worry, 
		forgetting past fright of 
yet another scene.

Igniting matters .. all grey 
		coloured shock. 
 slumbering his career
spent, clinging by the scraps
		 scraping slow dawn 
drawing ever near

to mislead by a prized pun .. if not ... REMember. 
	gathering with a shaded kind,
left now, dust, dry light. slipping as a fade out mind

dashed on mourning 
	stealing yet another oblique view.
Aimless day-walker disjointed from the world; 
		so bland and blue.
Joy bursts from chest when ever pen hits
nothing compares to thy writing; 
			Alls elated fits.

Details | Classicism | |

twenty four hours O'raisin deter-:

Senseless sensibility, 
they eolith dualist monopolies all too sudden… 
a true contradition; sentries of, 
as already sated… 
senseless sensibility… municipally… 
you-will-seize… day after deign… 
night after umberellian echoes… 
aversely cyclic… 
for if the wakean lent voice o’er hop itself, 
dost veer cane tray nether realm as well? 
Neigh… endomorphic; anthropaedophilic lust… 
steadily endures romantic inflammations… 
a rash once fought… 
until the moral ambiguity slides back 
unto tenuous tense and marathon… 
as if the end was already soon, or had passed…? 
For that as it seems is all too rhetorical in rhetoric, 
and misconstrued by puncture floundered fallacappy… 
gently top-plead due to intrinsartistic licensing… 
twenty four hour raffles, tambala sable… 
twenty four hours O’raisin deter…:

Details | Free verse | |

Poem Inside

There's a poem inside me,
I've been trying to get on paper
But I just can't write it down,
Though it fills me like a vapor

Cause this poem is more than words,
It's a feeling deep inside
And although it wants to be set free,
I cannot reveal it to the outside

I've tried and tried,
Although it has yet to work
I'm still trying to grasp it,
This feeling is one I don't want to shirk

Yet how can I simply put into words,
Something that is so heart felt
Just the action of thinking of it,
Makes that very same heart melt

Cause there's no words,
For such a feeling as this
There's no way to explain,
What you do to me with a simple kiss

So I'll try and fail
To tell you what is true
These three words seem the closest,
So I say again: I love you

Details | Free verse | |

A Series of Common Characters

I'm writing a series;
it goes like this:
"iting a series;"
"it goes like this:"
I just wrote a series.

Details | Free verse | |

The Problem With Poetry , or, Harvesting the Pea Patch

I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:

Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud

Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under

Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale

Poetry is practical,  prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause

Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful

Poetry’s a  mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible

Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster

It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock, 
Poetry promulgates poems! 

Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist

Poetry perpetually propagates poems

And that 

is the problem 

with poetry…


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

No Title of Write

I apologize, for all writes.
At least once, I broke someone’s rights.
That’s why freedom of press.
Nothing written, make lonely nights.
Words written will always start fights.
Be aware, don’t suppress.

Written for
Sponsor Barbara Gorelick 

Details | ekphrasis | |

A Picasso ekphrasis

each stroke of dye
a journal of my mind's eye-
It is what I am

Details | Sonnet | |

On A Detail In A François Boucher Painting

Poems ascend in luminous sapphire skies 
As prettily as any Boucher dove
In flight eternal.  The artist's strokes devise
Each beauteous form to represent great love.
How many shades of light, how many hues
Playfully linger on each feathery wing?
Such subtle shadows!  Gentle tones infuse
The senses, sweetly prompt the soul to sing.
Cherubs frolic, blissful, plump and pink,
Companions to each poem or lovely bird,
Painted in Master's oils, or pen and ink,
They celebrate that now their song is heard.
Once seen, once read, no one can rend asunder
These artefacts portraying Nature's wonder.

Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 15

As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.

So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .

While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps 
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws 
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.

While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
	Man Sleeps....

Details | Acrostic | |



P-------Production of deep 
           thoughts is my job!
R-------Right in front
O-------Of my old desk; I
U-------Uncover things; Things 
O-------Operational progress of 
           other things!
B-------Being blessed by God;      
          who has
E-------Easily made poets to be! 
           To be nothing but
A-------A lover of His mighty 
O-------Otherwise; no other 
E-------Effort, would have 
T-------Taught a 
meaningful                  deep 

Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

Metered summer days quick-dry the fresh mirage
 so just because, we'd ring the bell,
 and opened every door no matter where we'd been!
 Except for in my den
 but, things all ended up well;
 I'm the sincere poet.
Magic muse that abuses my every suffering
 leave me be in silence, from my cell;
 be honest, tell me should I "post"?
 I'm really, just the host;
 be too dark, and your poems may not sell;
 I'm the tortured poet.
Chairs of stanzas quietly grinning
 be seated, and we'll change to the channel,
 it's all in how I read it!
 I'm trying to conserve my spit;
 I'm reading just as fast as a gazelle;
 I am the puppet poet.
Treating paper and ink as oxygen,
 shuffling sheets during the changing of the well.
 I can't imagine what they'd think
 did he have too much to drink?
 he was truly great before he finally, fell;
 I'm the retired poet.
Memories housed in dissarray, posthumously
 be patient for I have a tale to tell,
 deciphering will take time
 don't say now, I should have, rhyme
 your hunger, I cannot seem to quell;
 I'm the dead poet.

Details | Tail-rhyme | |









Details | Rhyme royal | |

To Write

Blood spilled, tears fell
sadness would not dispel
Eyes cried, words sighed
laying bruised because I tried
Still I bled into this bed
of slain memories and pain
sheets so red and hearts so dead
is it any wonder now that I write
late into this lonely night
Have I given up this fight?
a heart so wrong, can it ever beat right?

Details | Rhyme | |


Carolyn is that unique friend
who imparts encouragement
by restoring a thrill that was dead;
her uplifting comments have made realize
the worthiness of my talent...
it's a friendship that motivates and surprises!

She could be a thousands miles away,
and still finds time to respond and even pray
when somebody's heart needs solace...
there she smiles with the kindest eyes!

Carolyn has a passion which amazes us all;
her poetry and stories are full of human comprehension
never hesitant to reach out and intensely love...
who wouldn't want to be her friend and get her attention?

She's not afraid of admitting her physical pain and loneliness,
searching for miraculous ways to cope with her boldness, 
but she'd find much comfort, if we consoled her with our understanding...
lessened the burden of her worries by reaching out with a happy feeling!  

Details | Free verse | |


A desire of a mind noetic Into ample authors What hence may be poetic If soon imagination will enter in Thus, inspiring set hands off Into accelerated motions Conscious and naissance As these, now expressions Are more to personal words Then, creating newer realms of reality Or even more, embellishing What were once, merely less distinctive worlds

Details | Rhyme | |

What lurks within

A mystery within the cottage sublime                                                                          Whose the villian whose the hero                                                                                 The stranger looking in a view of time                                                                            An assassin or trusting soul                                                                                         The harrows of perspectives force                                                                                     When swooning the lampoon                                                                                       Not lest the heroine of course                                                                                          When crooning the attuned                                                                                              All the while we wait to see                                                                               Doomsday or wedding day                                                                                            As for me let mystery lie where it be

Details | I do not know? | |

No Grey

Hearsay on what love is today
Lives stretched thin for parchment paper bridges
Twice over crossed
Trampled, trodden, lost hearts in clouds
While rain was wringing out my hair
Let down my gaurd
Tasting peppermint Chard ment to
Cling to a tree until my help arrived 
At mydestiney without you
Speak to me over shallow tones of flesh
Glistening nipples to nurse a drink as I sit
On this step and contest how much you don't know me
And him on a pendulum 
Swaying choir sings at your wedding
To the kind of bleeding it out
With the Rugrats on a network of Carnies
Laughing at the man in the Emporers clothes
Worn tight hanging on to mornings light
Turned on then blown out
For renowned satisfaction
Due to your lack of actions
Speak louder than words
On a new world order 
Signed on as the Natural Selection

Copywrite©Ameaca 2012

Details | I do not know? | |

Poetry Means Life Means Poetry (Palindrome)

Means life
Sharing always
Moving and touching others, inspiringly
Delicately, emotion spilled
Spilled emotion, delicately
Inspiringly, others touching and moving  
Always sharing
Life means 

Details | Free verse | |

Why I can't Write

I have carved seventeen years into this notebook
Dragging Mondays across the paper
Saturdays exploding from the nib

It is not enough now
To take a hair from his head and rest it on a page
Sacrificing my heart to the wind
Praying she might not take it from me

It is not enough now
To take a reflection of his smile and scatter it across these sordid lines
In the hope that they might trap it for me
And not keep it for themselves

I want to pen myself into him
Carve myself deep into his skin
Curl into myself
And live there
In the space between his heart and lungs.

Details | I do not know? | |

I Really Like Her

Her smile and personality just builds within
but unlike my heart i dont know where to begin.
I wrote her poems and told her things.
I made her smile like no other human being.
Her curly hair and intelligence
made my heart so irrelevant 
to the point in which i sat and cried 
and sung some lovely lullabies.

Her beauty started our world
with a few men and alot of girls.
I want to scream her name right now
and if i do i will say it loud. 
Please believe that i got diss
that girl who talks just wants a kiss
but in the end i will always miss you.

One Love<3

Details | I do not know? | |

To rap critics

You all seem a bit bias and foolish in what you say
a true rapper dream is to change da worlds ways
You may consider this talent forlorn to skill
but it's an equal form of music that you could never kill
you come to your little group and hate artists expression
your i.q. and wisdom must be in a recession
in every lyrist there must be a livin poet
yall's sittin here actin like we can't show it.
and making music ain't about repeatin the past
if thats all you can do your name will never last
as far as write read and play have you seen da machine
it's an art to itself if you'd know if you've ever seen
you sittin in your fourm thankin ignorantly
we don't clown you just spit ours eloquently
If you can't respect art in it's entirety
shut the hell up for peace and serenity

Details | Lyric | |

Between and About

Twixt And between
Never quite there
But never will I stop.
I work and ponder
Forever moving 
Searching around and about.

There are times I wonder, where I really am?
Will I ever achieve my goals?
And what are the goals I’m searching for?
Are they really what I want?
Do I know which way to go?
Or should I start all over and begin again?

We’re all here at times in our lives…
Till every thing will finally become clear.
Then, some how I’ll be there again:
Twixt and between
Never quite there…
Here I go again.

Fluff Contest: This poem is definately full of fluff.

Details | Couplet | |

Rhymes Are Fun

Anytime I rhyme, I climb, ascending higher and higher
It clarifies life, it fuels my fire

Words constantly cycling through my head
Some I made up, most have already been said

Like: feather, wall, brick, or tambourine
Question! How much for that submarine?

Back to el point; writing, specifically in rhymes, purifies my mind
It centers my soul, bringing me closer to the divine

Details | Free verse | |

And Her - Of a Friend's Muse

Out of the depths of my soul comes  my Lady
Across heart and mind to spread a light
Radiant as the slender moon as she
Floats the still black waters of the night
The universe comes into being
In the shadow of her presence
And seized by the vision I am seeing
I'm drawn by a longing so intense
Entranced I would fly to pull her to me
And could I hold   or would I
Overwhelmed by her mystery
Tumble back down the dark sky
With all of heaven too far above me
Condemned to the earth beneath
Imprisoned in this small life I create
Bewildered by this bitterness and grief
And left in the deepening silence to wait
My soul locked and chained within
Without her my spirit unable to rise
Denied the grace of inspiration again
To see the world with merely human eyes
So far from the one that produced 
Wholeness of vision   beautiful   divine
The heart of the unseen reduced
To words once made to live and shine
By love of light from which they sprang
Fashioned first by woman and as fine
As any woman's child who lived and sang
The songs his mother taught in lullabye
While still enfolded in the arms of her who brings
This joy from which I stand apart   estranged and shy
To suffer love   perhaps to learn to love all things
And recognize in the lowest and most mundane
Forms hidden behind her often closing door
Are echoed and mirrored in the most arcane
Authority  that I have honored so much more
And charged with the burden of my own success
Required to learn what silence has written
Is more than any tongue can express
Or struggle to contain and fit in
The emptiness of words if stirred to verse
When all is her   and her eclipsed I find
The eloquence of love can be a curse
So much greater than this little mind.

Details | Free verse | |

and we are gone

... And be one eye , one soul 
as the world recedes , gone ,
away far climbs. Vanished like a 
driven cloud.
		He is merely flesh and blood Reality ;
slaughterhouse stumbling through script
	typed in selfless pursuit.
Wanting only quickened wit & Pupil's Needs.

Mortal simian image, which we , the living 
only feel and bear and tremble and 
are gone. 
Upon my Darling's beaming eyes The summit 
of everest slurs into a bog or quagmire , deep 
and dank.
	So gazing with the boldness which prevails
love, and peace and gracious mirth.
	with a voice less loud though its 
joys and fears show wool in dissembled 
colours shine.
	As the passers by near us drew 
the Need to know from our stares, going further...
	" O Merciless Lady & Vulture Poet
when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall
I will turn my bewildered eyes out 
of soil and darkness , to run through 
every alternate scene 
Where I  used to play on the green
in goodly colours gloriously arrayed.

And a voice less loud brought me 
breathless to Aphrodite , throned in 
flowers beyond this pale picture ; 
be the dream. Roaing with laughter 
as a fallow deer is clear cut through 
the sun seen peering out the skull.
vast lilliputin language cannot describe
an Echo of the Time, after the rainbow.
Then , as if some strange mystery aware
that you should remember & be sad.
Now memory feels itself grow weak , I can 
not endure,
	I am merely flesh and blood "
"it will be found once more , I say to
thee with furtive flagons , white and red.
Now get back retreat, depart."
	She of the tribunal did command
great at sea, and the Heaven. From some 
touch of pity which may still restrain 
she let him pass.

A leaf fallling softly at my feet,
but I saw it was not as thought , 
only inked. Falling in Heaven's crescendo.
Climax always brushing distance out 
of reach.
As to long panoramas of Visions, of 
my faith , I'd give whole to see the architect
of my dreams once more. I am 
waiting here for thee, flesh and blood , merely.

	Ne'er to be found again. I am 
like a flag unfurled in space. Oh ! Lost 
to Her and all thy race to wit
 faces of scorn , stuttering ends 
this morn ; O Weak Heart. I long 
to rise. Never being a Poet of God's making ,
laughter to thy lips, wandering to sigh 
among mortal men dust ; shall return to 
dust. As the storm cries everynight 
and those that know me confirm that it is thus.
Easing a new epilogue , tremble 
and we are gone...

Details | Ballad | |


Books are a way of learning a trade
Books tell us stories, poetry, and plays

Books entertain our vast minds to the fullest
Books are in my opinion the coolest!

Books describe people of the past
Books are abundant at home and in class

Books bring home dragons and ghouls
Books aren’t apart of uneducated fools

Books represent a means to an end
Books are there when you haven’t a friend 

Books are hard and soft sometimes
Books are in brail to educate the blind

Books will be here and with me forever
Books without you doesn’t bring us together

Details | Senryu | |

Power Pen

Ink from my pen-
a venomous sting...
murderer of thoughts on paper.

Details | Romanticism | |

Written words

Words swirl around in my head
I starts and until I write them down
They just won’t end
Writing my words on paper
For people to find significance within them
These words are very real to me 
The emotions are far from being pretend
Some say you looked right into my heart
You’ve seen my soul
You read my mind
Just how did you know
You pinned my feelings to a tee
How again could you see
Everything within me
Here’s you answer as to why
The words that I write are my pain
I’ve seen you, yet not knowing you, through my own eyes
Just because we are different, don’t mean we are still not the same
Emotions are universal
They make the world go round
The silent cries of screams
Quiet is my sound
To often of times
The struggle leaves one
Lying on the ground
The hurt so heart wrenching
And so very real
Time is never ending
Life is what the pain will steal
So breathtakingly helpless 
Is what you will feel
Heartbreakingly hopeless
Devastatingly you just can’t seem to heal
So yeah,
I write my words of hurt and pain
On the pages of paper to share with you
Many will relate and they often feel the same
At some point of time
I do hope you find some sort of comfort here
Within my lines of worded rhyme
Perhaps they will help your heart and soul to let go and heal
Cause while they do help me get by
Most times they don’t really help mine

Details | Free verse | |

and there will be days

and there will be days
that not many will count along with me
and all the clouds that follow
will neither blow, nor not borrow
near what i did not wish to furrow
for longer than that shadow
might wish to shine 'long near me
it is more than an early, easy
sun to set
and dawn on
my simple mindset
oh. . . there will be days
that we've yet. . . to met
and only traces left behind
for what we already know
we never forget

Details | Rhyme | |

That Angel Smells Like Lotus Flowers

I know not her name, 
But I can trace her by scent, 
She has driven me into a smell-at-them game, 
And am attracted to her a hundred percent, 

Stronger than my very own Chase, 
But am unable to keep the pace, 
The scent, be it expensive, I'll buy on higher purchase, 
I just want a glimpse of her face, 

Is she a material girl in a material world? 
Who taught her to smell so sweet? 
Whatever the case I'll buy her the world, 
And place it beneath her feet, 

I spoke with the wind to reverse her scent, 
And I followed it to a mansion so beautiful, 
It is here that I'll pitch my tent, 
Till I see this angel that converted me to a beauty fool, 

Alas! A master piece, 
If she isn't a runaway angel from heaven, 
Then God must have really been at peace, 
And created her in days more that seven, 

Introduce myself I shall, 
Even if its only for a while, 
Am Leonardo da vinci, please Monalisa smile, 
But she disappears behind that great wall, 

Details | I do not know? | |

My Tea Stained Heart

And written on top of my sonnet – a note…
Hey babe – working late see you soon…

All those lonely hours... 
Writing to capture the thought for what?
 A soulful rite...

My life left gashed and dripping as her aimless pen slashed my heart…

The tears cried over each line and verse...
I knew these words would  let her see...
The spark carried in this ancient soul displayed just for her...

Even a fool knows that lonely passion serves no more purpose at all...

In the end your heart stands alone...
All those tear stained pages amount to no more than landfill.

Awkward feelings trying to fit into a verse...
My angel, my love, this wounded heart...
Love knows the bounds when it all falls apart.

Heaven please accept this tea stained note for it is lost amongst the living - my heart soon to follow...

Details | I do not know? | |

A poem

  Flowing along like a rushing river.
Un-sure of its' destination untill it glides to a stop.
 Along with it sweeps thoughts and hopes of a single person.
Its creator, its maker 
The person that brought it life.
What is it? 
What could it be?
A poem, a poem,
What else could it be?

Details | Lyric | |

Songwriting(I write these words)

I write these words
I wrote my feelings out
The words filled with my thoughts
Is what I am all about

I write these words
Explains everything in me
Explains how I feel
In the words that sings

I write these words
It came out from my head
I am becoming more scared
When I stuck dead

I write these words
Open myself to the world of my own
To where I have never been
In the world of songwriting

I write these words
I write with my heart out
My blood, tears and happiness
Is what I am all about

With these words I wrote
It filled with what I feel
Is what I want to be
A songwriter, that will be me

And these are the words I wrote

Details | I do not know? | |

Rejection A Practised Skill of Mine

Rejection A Practised Skill of Mine

Rejection is a practised skill of mine,
I receive manuscript rejections all the time,
Sorry your book project isn’t the right one for us,
Maybe you could add some vengeance, fear and lust,
Getting published is a near impossible feat for me,
There are thousands of books written that are better you see,
Rejection is common for writers so I am not alone,
Perseverance, talent and a heart of stone,
Automatic form letter sometimes written by the editor,
Are you sure you’re not a linguistic predator, 
I reject your rejection, it lacked character depth and wasn’t written well,
Maybe you should take your advice and revise your rejection spawned from hell,
I’ll send my book to the publisher down the road,
And maybe he’ll love every word that I wrote,
He will publish my book and it will be at the top of the best sellers list,
Now you can contemplate the great opportunity that you’ve now missed,
Sorry Mr. Editor for the great author you’ve just lost,
Maybe next time you’ll read more of my work at any cost,
Rejection is a well practised skill on mine,
I receive rejections all the time,
I’m a talented author, I just know it,
I’m also a very talented poet,
Some people do crossword puzzles to pass the time you see,
Writing poetry is a mental exercise for me,
This poem is special; it’s one of a kind,
Especially since it’s author is mostly blind,
I write with my heart and my unique inner fire,
To be a great author good eyesight is not required,
Although rejection is a practised skill of mine,
Regrettably I must reject you rejection for the last and final time.

This poem was created on March 4 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Flaw Rewrite

Problem's empty nonsense ,
	Hit of Medium derails ...

Jagged ,
	Control out of sounds swift 
insist shall back hand .
Strung statements always up to this 
	or that.

Variable constant by the enact verb
	 causing the next effected line .
Finished ; An All together Abstract swarm ...

breathless for description of technical concept ,
general to vague dials thy wordvice 
	as perpetual coin scatters...

Name that Non-Sequiter .
	Dazed Arrival ,
After announcing Day by this 
	Journal's gargle ...
A foam at the mouthpiece ...
	haywire fuse  as hand shorts ...

Details | I do not know? | |

I Am A Writer

Not inspired by great people before me
Not bound by words to be graded by this time
I am a writer for all time
Inspired solely by my spirits knowledge
Bound only by sincerity to Self
The gift, though mine, is yours to take
but always remember, mine to give
I am a writer, exposing for your theories
the coldest,warmest,deepest caverns of my being
Fear not and judge me
For I am a writer capable of timeless love
Accepting of all life's lessons
Measure my greatest pleasure
with all your spirits conviction
Leave mediocrity for those still searching
Take from me what I freely
and without hesitation hand over to you
The priceless gift of a writer

Details | Rhyme | |


i filled my me with lit-ra-ture
epic songs and pretty words
  the most important thing i learned
was all the thoughts i'd never heard

Details | Romanticism | |

Hoping my words will find their way

The snow shining so bright from the reflection of the night moon in the winter sky
My mind drifts wondrously back into the past
Remembering so vividly of you looking so intently deep into my eyes
And thinking of how we thought what we had would last

We would hold each other ever so tight
Whether it was over the phone or we were with each other right there
During the day or deep in the night
It didn't matter cause we had one another, so we did what we had to do and took it at that 
without a care

Laying wrapped up side by side I could hear your heart beating along with mine
Those feelings neither one of us could completely hide
Those moments forever captured in time

Seems our thoughts of us lasting back then however, were wrong
So we had said goodbye and tried so hard to move on
But although hiding what I felt for you worked for awhile, I've been in love with you all along
True love never dies nor is it ever completely gone

I'm here in this place with all my regrets and misery
It all runs so extremely deep hitting my heart hard and ravishing my soul
All I know is that I need you here with me
I know I need to regain, over myself, some form of control

I sit here and wait for you
Hopeing each day, what I'm saying here, soon you may come to realize
Yes I do this partly because this is what I choose to do
But also because it's never ever too late and sometimes, to get it right, it takes many tries

I write my words within these poems upon paper, they are so truly how I feel
Here on these pages are what, to you, I still need to say
In some small way they kind of help me to somewhat heal
And they help me also make sure all my thoughts that are needing to be said
Don't get trapped, stuck, and lost within my head
And to insure that to you my words will find their way

Details | Acrostic | |

Poetry contest

Poetry allows for the soul to fly free,
Opening one’s eyes to capture more then what they see,
EVENTUALLY saturating the core of one’s heart,
Tying together whatever has fallen apart,
Reinventing words with intense INFUSION,
Yearning desires are rekindled with a hint of ILLUSION,
Placing pieces together like a puzzle in your mind,
Accepting one for what they say as your ears become inclined,
Letting go of yesterday becomes INEVITABLE to embrace today,
Awaking emotions in such a powerful way,	
CREATIVITY becomes the potter’s clay,
Enlightenment dismembers any form of disarray.


Details | Free verse | |

Berenice, Where Are Your Teeth

Berenice! Berenice! 
Where are your teeth?
And where did I leave my soul?
I had it yesterday before the lecture,
Where I took in so so much,
And I’ve never known so little since,
I ran for 30 seconds and became half a man,
And drank the great imperative,
Down black leaven country roads,
I’m sure this is the way…
If not I’ll get down on bended tree and fly away!
O’er the treetops I’ll resound,
Till Alfred wakes me and I drown.
Oh father’s heart achoo and achoo, 
The black black heart of you,
The bluebird bites the hand that dares traverse the throat,
But I’ll win, when the next whores go ‘round the track,
With the fortune that I found in your eye,
Which bought my outcast state,
I visited the orange and dusty city with strong sweaty shoulders,
On whistling balloons tied to a dying light,
And down the length of a craggily arm 
To his crooked pointing fingertip,
He was screaming from his wire-framed lips,
“O Thou! O Thou!!”
And there ended my dream and poetry.

Michael F. Lewis

On poems that swim through my mind before sleep.
How many poems and poets can you find? 
Some of this is nonsense.,
Unedited at the end of my glass....

Details | Free verse | |

Soul of a Poet

Soul of a poet
underneath the purple sky
whispers of ambience
looking into the pupils of my eyes.
He writes of Gypsies and Jugglers,
coy people and old movies
with centuries in suburbia.
His life is an open book
never dull but never colourful
is it any wonder...
he never looks at the rainbow.

Details | Free verse | |

Free Range

Often my thoughts do range far and wide.
But it’s not just my thoughts that skim the tides.
When my Hubby asks and I don’t reply…
He says I’m free ranging again with my mind.
He laughs and tells me to please wake up…
But I’ve already been there, thank you, so much.

Deep in thought and so far away,
He’s still my muse in every way.
But once I get going on that thought…
Look out boys, my mind is set and lost
But don’t you worry. No Sireeee.
When the typing slows you’ll know I’m back, you see.

Those free-range chickens have nothing on me…
I way surpass them in productivity.
And as my words free range far and wide
You’ll find… others may be joyfully joining  me for a time.

Details | Free verse | |

Star seeding

How many nights awake as thoughts tumble so fast from the heavens that sense just needs to
be made?
Grab the pad always nearby, for when the rains come
and pour your heart out with them.
It’s understated to say inspired,
conversations with clouds,
allowed and understood.
Good. When that thunder rolls you know that flash is going to illuminate a lot.
All you’ve got
is a few minutes to get that down, a word a code a sign.
To remind your mind again.
It’s like that for all of us, but we,
we who have learned to pay attention,
not to mention
that we like it,
we listen. That’s all it is.
Nothing mystic
or fatalistic in it.
We like to dance naked in the rain.
And let that rain wash right through us.
We’re not afraid of lightning, we know it comes from the Earth.
And we’re rooted there. Deep.
So keep
your judgments to yourself about what’s right.
There ain’t no St. Peter checking for baptismal certificates at the Pearly Gate.
And Fate
can be re-written any time by intent.
Well meant
wishes sent to you do good and keep you strong.
So that rain of inspiration won’t burn you up, keep you watered long
After you’ve apologized.
So we let it through in verse, in muse, in story disguised
As truth. Star seedings through us all
Watching as seeds fall
And sprout in the rain
on Earth.

Details | Senryu | |

My In-Law

He roles like baby
Playing hearts like he's ready
To lose his deary

Your bro not that boy
Played with my heart like it's toy
You're a pain, he's a joy

My brother-in-law
If no heart wants you, then how?
Grow up will you now!

Prima Minardi (05/19/2011)

For '***IN-LAWS***' contest
By Dr. Ram Mehta

Details | Light Poetry | |

Fine Lines

“That’s a pretty fine line,” I said to the man drawing lines so fine,
“Would you like to give it try?” he asked, “You can add to my design.”

He handed me his fine line marker and I made a couple of quick tries,
They weren’t anywhere nearly as fine as his but that was no surprise.

Because the lines that he drew in his art came from a practiced hand,
And just because you have a guitar it doesn’t mean you’re in the band.

Then he looked at me and said, “Art is something that you have to feel,
You have to give yourself over to your art before it can be real.” 

There’s a fine line between an artist and a guy who just likes to draw,
And knowing where to draw that line was something that the artist saw.

So I’ll write lines of poetry hoping that some will turn out fine,
But every once in while it would be nice to touch upon sublime.

Details | Diminished Hexaverse | |

Simple Unoccupied Bench

The simple bench sits
Unoccupied now
Classic table holds
Intent to write poems

Light sweater blown
Onto yellow
Roses, walkway
Empty no one

Garden neat
Perfect plants
Fenced closed

Where is.......


("The Bench"(The Garden Of Versailles) Edouard Manet (1832-1883/French) Oil On Canvas)

Details | Rhyme | |


To reach real glory one must persist,
do not imitate any literary work, resist;
be original and creative,
be unique and try not to forget
that confidence in oneself is very imperative.

Rhyme Scheme: A, A, B, A, B
Syllable Count:  9/14/ 9/ 9/14

Details | Couplet | |

A quickie for two

Agile feelings all alone
Fragile living on my own 
Fickle fingers typing thought
Meaning, depth and insight sought
Drowning sorrows, quicksand driven
Floating promise slowly risen 
Words contained, but yearn to fly
Caged, the birds in my mind’s eye
Burn the rust within this soul
Combust with freedom, make me whole
Transform this canvas, recreate
Brand the keeper of this gate
As art well sculpted by brain power
Planted seeds that sprout to flower
And nurtured by an inner voice
Where roots grow deeper, fed by choice  

Details | Triolet | |

Parchment Desires

“Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,”
Blood and sweat stains between the lines so weak.
Sometimes knowing the traveling distance or goal,
Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,
While at others not knowing if it will take the toll,
Writers’ accomplishments’ may or not reach the peak.
Parchment which shows the mark of heart and soul,
Blood and sweat stains between the lines so weak.

Written for

Sponsor ~ A Rambling Poet ~ 
Contest Name A Poem, Please

written by
Cecil Hickman

Details | Rhyme | |

Undressed Poetry

                                         I write songs without a tune...
                               You hear my words like crashing balloons...
                                I had a tug of war with sounds and notes...
                         As my words lie naked in the pocket of my coat...
                       The volume control is missing but a beat is still found...
                      And soon my undressed poem danced to its own sound...

Details | Rhyme | |

A Blank Page

A blank page,
A fresh start,
A canvas for the heart.

Simple beauty sustained.

No blemish on reflection.

No telling,
What future storms rage,
On a blank page.

Details | Couplet | |

What Should A Love Story Be

What should the perfect love story be?
Maybe about the future or past history

Maybe the story should just be about today
If it were your final breath what would you say?

The Lord is the maker and the keeper of time
He is the giver of love and all that’s divine

How can any love story not involve him?
The keeper of truth, the forgiver of sin

Jesus Christ is the father and I am but a seed
Regardless of the path I shall follow his lead

I praise God for the pain that hinders my way
For it truly does offer plenty of time to pray

The more that I pray the more clearly I see
Exactly what a perfect love poem should be

It should be hot as the desert, beautiful as the snow
Born way deep in the heart so it can forever glow

It should speak the honest truth about your dearest friend
How the strength of your love helped each of you to mend

The story should be of two lovers, bound by the soul
Yet each is has the freedom to leave, if they wish to go

You see true love was truly intended for us to caress
Tell me, “How can an unseen entity ever be possessed”

Love is a part of your heart and a part of your soul
So please caress it, bless it and make it your goal

And that’s what a true love poem is really about
Cherishing each others love through all the doubt

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

the goatherd's crooked staff

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa made
tea so his Third Eye could open
to see dreams fortifying in aspiring hearts
as they reach for the next beat in their comings and goings

Socrates played the lyre by
banging on the strings while
humming and hawing about the trouble of
always stressing and straining against the chains
though he loved Phaedrus in the Symposium 
it was Xanthippe that made him a muse

Hermann Hesse spoke in tongues
while translating the synapses of a goatherd 
who arranged new ideas like glass beads 
which almost always came undone
except when Siddartha played the lute
in exchange for his crooked staff

Nietzsche saw the cunning linguist
would never solve the puzzle of the dead body 
which Zarathustra carried to his bed like a wolf
where he lay dying of syphilis wrapped 
in the wool of many sleeping sheep

Sibelius finally gave in to the seduction of despair
when for many restless nights he looked up at the
stars in the same Elysian fields where
the goatherd lay asleep

Details | Rhyme | |


Being absent even for an hour, day or week,
and not write and post anything...can make days look bleak,
some find worthiness in words and challenge themselves
to confront fears and doubts, or share their joys with new-found friends.

To us poetry is the very existence of our soul, which glorifies grace
in all its virtues through the art of art older than love itself,
so some thought of using this devise to express what the heart really felt...
and what came out of it amazed all and quickly spread to distant lands.  

Weren't I not a keeper of its illumination, or a humble poet in contemplation,
I wouldn't be lured by a pen to extract ideas from my clattered head
or search for fresh ideas to be turned into thoughts and strip them of illusion... 
as I frolic into a labyrinth where secrets unveil themselves at my command.

It's needless to say to ourselves that poetry isn't the very existence of our soul:
lovers couldn't open up their hearts and talk tenderly as if they were going to pray;
no composer, painter, lyricist, poet or philosopher could see Nature in a realistic way...
poets outnumber drug users, wouldn't God rejoice and break down another wall?

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry Soup

Today I was surfing for ways of monetizing,
I need more money, so contests I tried finding;
I clicked here and there, from Google's search result,
Until I reached a link to a contest that made me halt.

So now I am here, I just signed up today,
Poetry Soup it's called, I think it will make my day;
I do have a blog, poegging is what I do,
It's blogging poetically, my own coined term too.

You might want to visit my humble home,
365-days-of-poem-blogging dot blogspot dot com;
It's actually a challenge to write a poem every day,
This is the second for today, I'll add it there, okay?

Before I forget I'd like it acknowledged,
What a wonderful site Poetry Soup has managed;
I know there are poetry scams that linger around,
I hope this site's contest is for real, to abound.

Details | Free verse | |


Fibre pen skitter of construct ...
this british Bullday Verse. 

Tearing Back // Forth thin 
	veil of invention .
Held Aloft by these very eyes 
and so very sight .

	IMPORTANT! ya hear !
Egoes intent reporting the inkstain ,
Form thru thought's out 
	REC knock on 
beings drift of time ; spaced empty repetition.

Story's arcing over silver street 
	... exchange ...
All small talk synopsis ,
	ticking by his signature face , Mark 
of backbone bic ; Petrified lace 
relaying all opinion , flaw's deep set shuffle .
Language game wells  simply
	"I'm just saying"

Details | Rhyme | |

scholar and gent

no need to squeeze im juiced
full of concentration
nothing adjacent butting in the conversation
button up, united nations sanctions
oceans deep, i afloat better than some plankton
sweet to walk a plank, when?
off into the unknown, ready to make friends
mental states depend on how willing
you're able to have your will bend
quill or pen, keys feel my steel zen
mill and reveal sense from the appeal and zeal
when rhyme is real dense, rich from two cents
no hitch, a rose lens, word scholar and known gent 
my infatuation is immense, wordsmith with diligence

Details | Couplet | |

From the top of my heated head

I thank you all for allowing me
An astutely marvelous opportunity
To spark synopses atriums
And bounce ideas from craniums
That is the mattress under lights
Where rocket ships prepare for flight
They launch for space in peaceful moods
And head for bulbs of orbing moons

Like moths that orbit thought balloons

Details | Concrete | |

The Quill

                                                Page Seeking Life                   
                                         Blank                      Exploring           
                                    This                      Peace 
                                  Beyond                        The
                               Alone                    World
                             Travel      Joy      Unknown
                            Night      The     Letting      
                            And       Feel        Others
                          Day        To            See
                          You                Using
                             Like      Silvery    
                             Just  Quill


Details | Rhyme | |

Pleasure of Words

How curious it is a simple word
Chimes a memory with one syllable heard

Glorious pairings smoothly roll off the tongue
Tease the lips, oh, air from lungs

Notes of a sentence play a true melody
Chords together, a balanced harmony

Limitless expressions  for my soul to capture
The sheer pleasure to pronounce : Euphoria, Bliss, and Rapture 

Details | Free verse | |


On this parchment
I am forced to write
That of which I cannot speak

On this oh so delicate paper
I am enraptured
by my under lying thoughts

On this meager piece of material
And this once sharp pencil
I try to express the deepest of emotions

On this once blank loose leaf
That I now read to it's fullest
I find that though I wrote about nothing

On this one piece of parchment
About nothing at all it seems
Is full of something you feel, not just see

Details | Rhyme | |


The light of my life is the tide of the tight
Which half of witchcraft is blight to unbright?
Paper of papal intent in the tent
Fare of the fate to the wittingly went

Knives are nice, but butter is better
A flick of the wrist and a twist of the fetter
Burn through the binder and break down the bricks
The deluge of delusion that stickles and sticks

Ruptured erruptions of singing to sin
Enraptured in rapture by fiddling the fin
Won't will your wont until the wight's won
Sorrowful song of the son of the sun

Lice come less when Winter won't wrest
Sum of the Summer rests in the West
Oughn't the Autumn to singe from the binge
Swing with the Spring of the tingling tinge

Donning the dawn of the bleeding night's blight
Moon dies at noon at the frightening fight
Dust of the dusk falls to slickening breath
Bright light of deep night dreams quickening death.

Details | Tanka | |

Pen of Loneliness

My heart beats for love
But the pen’s my loneliness
Writing down the words
Painful words put on the walls
Of my aching heart of love

Russell Sivey

Details | Shape | |

A Muse

    of my heart-
    a lanterne of


Details | Rhyme | |

A Season of Verse

Days in seasons gather As due storms, above a setting sun Memories holding me in stillness By living out, in each and every one In verse, a vessel to amble on, with Or mere ways which a man journeys back As pages become the stir of echoes By outward, inking thoughts into black Some are turned, with smiles stained Others in very tender tears Evermore simply by aural laughter Freeing imagery of foregone years And in eye of mind I see thee read To turn another, then one more page And feel in your heart, my envision bleed

Details | Haiku | |

a great piece of art

a great piece of art
of the unknown is featured,
on his special day 

Details | Free verse | |


"and don't forget the pretention"

everyone nodded along as 
the first line Hit 
 cut w-/ Posh .. chugging 
stars , throats end to end slit.

	Schemes o'er everything 
I realise now that you need 
these 'things' , 
imaginary or other wise.	Anything 
to keep the Belief that 
Life is worth living.
	By their ridiculous Forgery 
to emphasise insubstantial shapes , mutilated 
text , colour & breathing connecting Heart 
to Pen under strict obligation 
to remain Nonsense
	Above seperate Action.

I just want to be Honest
	o'er the vicious Cycles of Trend
inspiring by reflection 
	We replace real life as we all 
like Motion Pictures 
	Lost within Code 
he might be you or me Beating 
the walls as we try 
	out these twillight eyes switching o'er
to Terra's Remote viewing 
	zoom ignites thy Bone's hollow Fractures 
happening, pure & simple , we errode
	in a sudden glass moment ...excuse me 
& my obvious slander .. Keeping it real may soon dismay 
at a pulse of Cheekbones ; Paper artic traces flickering on 
nervescreens before our pristine chords reciting
	"Nobody's story" revolving round 
nothing really ... simple words.

Oh Lord its so clear
	All Places & All Times 
		its just us 
trying to make faces in the sky....
		and scream no more dropping 
	your daily optic reset calibrating 
	Our CCTV standard view 
	declining to smash utterly as Minute 
	prevent such ink immediate 
between Mind & Matter ,
	Powdered Charcol , meaning the whole 
Legal Judgement satisfied 
		Logic there in  
Personal reasoning & Multi - simplicity
	Leftscreaming up the curb 
as if 
	you were just walking by... Society's Needs 
cackling inhuman . Adverts scattering   w-/ only One 
Purpose 	rocking aby sentence.
		Cast Calm to Create.

Details | Free verse | |

Life Imitates Art A Humble Tribute to Oscar Wilde

O thou proud Nature
Rolling in ashes of long-burnt
Fiery love of yourself
What are you boasting of?

Thy greenery? 
That’s nothing but
Wooden rotten figures 
With wrinkled claws
Scratching the Earth’s breast
Fumbling for manure
Water-thirsty vampires
Destined to be strangled
By the icy hands of snowy demons!

Thy mountains?
They’re nothing but piles of dust
Proud of piercing the clouds
Forcing a heavy load
On the Earth’s shoulders
Yet, trodden by every foot
Crushed by every step
Dumb megalomaniacs
Whose sole voice
A mere echo 
Dies in an instant
Not long enough to be heard!

Thy clouds?
Those plump, haughty phantoms
Wishing to display their mighty wrath
Pat each other on the shoulders
And roar to shake and shock
The creatures beneath
Yet melt in their rages’ climax
And weep for their untimely death!

Thy far stretching seas and oceans?
They’re nothing but tiny trivial
Drops of water
Gathering to form an impressive identity
By losing their own!
In the depth of their watery heart
Lay their so-called treasures
Which being nothing but shipwrecks
Make them pleased
With their great triumph
Over helpless, wooden toys!
Their anger is masterfully portrayed
By raising their eyebrows 
Frowning and foaming desperately
To impress the captains
By their magnificent personality!!!

Thy Sun and Moon?
They are nothing but boring circles of light
One too lazy to move
One too transient in mood
One entangled in the boggy kingdom of his own flames
One begging hopelessly for a beam of light
One pleased with burning the eyes
One trained in fooling the wise

Now behold
That every single monument of thy greatness
That makes your eyes glow with pride
And your heart beat with pulses of joy
Is nothing but an illusory mirage

Were it not for the sweet words of poetry
Coupled with the melodious rhythm of embedded lyres
Were it not for the winged metaphors
Hand in hand with the marble fingers of imagination
Were it not for the poet’s discerning eye
To see in thee what thou hast not
Thou would not be seen,
Thou would not be loved…

Details | Verse | |

-The Welcomed Satirist-

Most Authors and Writers of any kind
would want to avoid the sharp, biting mind 
of that mordant and poignant Satirist
whose words of ridicule, and taunting interest
lampoon the very heart and soul
of even the most ardent of Poets so bold
with all their mortifying diatribe
and instill hopelessness in the most timid of Scribe.

What most Authors and Writers of any kind
should bear and keep in mind
that Satirist's are good to have around
in keeping  Poets and Writers feet, solid to the ground
their harsh criticism should be a welcomed teaching sound
for their didacticism, is adapted for their precepts to preach,
And composition and metrical verse patterns are all formatted to teach
so as to avoid denunciative, spurious speech.

Let all Poets and Writers everywhere
feel blessed to have those Satirist's there.
For the Poets writes to free and ease the heart and soul
whilst writers of books, hopes to have his work sold,
But the Poets burden can oft' time be too vast to state
then the Satirical Satire can order put to his mind
in helping the Poet to place his priorities in line.
So doff your hat to that esteem critic, Poets of any kind
as they guide your hand towards claiming your laureled crown.

Details | Free verse | |

Abstract or Concrete

What are the words that give meaning to a page,
what is a page, what is a word.
Who is the audience that drives the poet’s ambition,
what is the desire to fulfil this ambition.
Is it the satisfaction of knowing their words are meaningful,
a line upon line rhyme or verse occupied by limitless thoughtmanifested as ink.
What is a poem but a bold statement,
fearless of interpretation.

For more poetry goodness, visit my website: 

Details | Narrative | |

Working in a Factory of Words n Poetry Soup is the Hub

A hub stays put
But around it the wheel rolls
A hub only feels the weight of the load on the road
But the wheel rubs on the surface of it all

In mud, on dirt, on tar
The wheel is not afraid to roll for it fits within its purpose
The hub always stays put in the middle of the wheel
But with it everywhere it goes

Poetry soup is the hub
And around it like a wheel I’m gonna roll
Sometimes the surface maybe on a tarmac so smooth
Sometimes I may wade through mud so sticky and deep 
Sometimes I may leave so much dust rising on my trail
But an artist is all I am
A creature of emotions working shifts in the factory of words

Mine is just to pack
The emotions endeared to me in the wrappers of words
Each day different from the one gone past
Sometimes it’s heaven is on a roll
Sometimes it’s hell in a storm
But being the servant I am 
My position at the factory
Impels me to wrap it all in the assembly line of words

So please understand
Don’t blame the packer working shifts in the factory of words
Blame the company for producing all the sincere stuff

Details | Narrative | |

Beauty and the Unpublished Author

Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored

Details | Free verse | |

i put my pen down

i put my pen down
and stop the writing
leaving the realm
everyone wants me in
stabit, beat it, stop it
the poems they are my drug,
i lose myself within them
i have laready lost myself
submerged in them
i yell out
"is my pen 
here to be for me?
yes the pen is here for me"
why are you here
still, if i am going to
put the pen down
to its death bed
to deprive it of its 
i will take life
strip it form
a lifeless force.

Details | Free verse | |

big brother german

"My Big Brother" nach oben und unten auf der Straße
  Er konnte jeden treffen Sie sein
  Bespitzelung von Ihnen von der Straße
  Suchen in aus jedem Takt  "My Big Brother" ist das nicht süß?
  "My Big Brother" und ich weiß nicht, warum

  Gießen von oben in den Himmel
  "My Big Brother" der kommunistischen Spion
  Zuhören in Friss Vogel oder stirb
  Bringing sein Buch in  unterrichtet innerhalb
  My Big Brother, 1 - 800 - LET-US-IN
  Gefangen mit Papier und einen Stift Alles nur, weil, "My Big Brother" ließ sich in"My Big Brother" up and down the street
  He could be anyone you meet
  Spying on you from the street
  Looking in from every beat
"My Big Brother" isn't that sweet

"My Big Brother" and I don't know why
  Casting in from above the sky
"My Big Brother" the commie spy
  Listening in do or die
  Bringing his book in
  Taught within
My Big Brother,             1-800-LET-US IN      
  Caught with paper and a pen 
All because, "My Big Brother" let himself in

Details | Free verse | |

Her Silent Seduction

Her mind wanders with every pause, every space Between the lines he writes She is taken to where she never thought she’d travel To where fantasy seems a reality As eyes so affix themselves to the words, the meaning The heart gets a hold of emotions It races, increasing, with each word, each syllable With deep breaths, to this place she returns The heated midday sun is cool compared to her now As words transform her quiet day Into a raging pool of need and want She so succumbs to the overpowering lust of sensuality As her discretion is cast aside Her eyes close upon the very last word read Her heart and body tremble As a quake, undeniable to all, Takes her to the apex of poet’s mountain And back again Returning her to her world And to the next poem to read

Details | Free verse | |

To the beginning and over but Never Out

Oh please, I plead
Listen to my beseech
I raise my hands out to you
take them please

In this dark void I walk through
there is no comfort
no warmth
no joy

slowly it leaches out all that I hold
when will I ever reach the end?
Do you know where the end is?
Is the end where the end of the end is?

Lost, dazed, confused
Did God pluck me out
and strand me here?

three doors, three paths, three choices
one Mundane

ransom me out
an open cage, such as this atramentous nightmare
no end
no path

Is there hope? 
Hope is where light is
is the light at the end where darkness is not?
is the light where the light always materializes from?


Details | Free verse | |

Heartless Fire

In my fervent heart,
You knew I treasured you
But you didn’t return those tender feelings
Just see the fumes arise from the consuming fire
Because my wicked desires wasted away into embers
I love you…I love you…These feelings are ever so new!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…These feelings are always true!
You knew I honestly adored you…oh yeah; I always did from the start
But you don’t consider those mild feelings—you wrecked those bits by bits
Ah! Now I’m crammed into the ascending fire, splintering me with the strokes of death
Because of my virtuous desires, I’m wasting away into the pit of corruption
I thought you were encompassed with my passionate kisses
But you wanted to chase after your callous blisses, now I’m faced with crises
I detest the thought of adoring you…but I have to admit—I love you!
I love you…I love you with all of my heart! Do you love me too?
I know the desires that I have constructed for you never occurred in your heart
I know in the bottom of my heart that you were only enticed by your sick pleasures
You’re dumping me into the raging fire and you’re a sneaky little liar
Because I ain’t lying like you do deceitfully to me—I’m in love and I can’t draw back my desire
You brought magnificence in my eyes, comforting angel
But I’m subsiding into the cavernous fire
Because I surrender to my legit desire
How could I free from the embrace that yanks on to me?
You brighten up my dreams and set me free from reality’s calamity
I love you…I love you…These feeling relieve me from the blue!
I LOVE YOU…I love you…I adore your every existence—do you get the clue?
You knew I kept this feeling inside for so long
Nevertheless, I feel that I belong
In your heart…In His heart…
In my heart…we’ll never depart!
You are my true endeavor
And I wanna win your heart forever!
You’ll always be loved because you’re above beautiful
But, you don’t believe this love will survive in this stranded palace
But I’ll attempt to win you with all of my might and I’ll defeat the malice
Our boundless love is like two fireflies floating in the midnight sky
But you disturbed our greetings and you didn’t even accept the feelings I felt for you
Why did you blow away our interweaved feelings of passion
And blew them away into the heartless fire?
My precious love, why did you diminish my eternal desire?
You knew I worshiped you
In my sensitive heart

Details | Free verse | |

Metaphysical cutup

It is not that I love you less
When first my lines of heavenly Joyes
made mention 
	through regions farr divided 
see with what simplicity 
      see! With what constant motion
Philosophers have measured mountains 
Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries
	Oh wearisome condition of humanity !
Oh might Nothing ! Unto thee 
O Joyes ! Infinite sweetness! With what flowers
	Must I then see, with what busie heart 
	Heare mee, O God!
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with teares
				Busie old fool , unruly sunne
    Absent from thee I languish still 
O sweet and bitter monuments of paine
	Out upon it , I have lov'd  
Sweet day , so cool , so calm , so bright 
	where do these voices stray 
like to the falling of a starre
Poet and Saint ! To thee alone are given
A ward , and still in bonds, one day

All my past life is mine no more 
	How vainly men themselves amaze
dazel'd thus with height of place 
	Here lies wise and valiant dust.

Details | Free verse | |


Brilliance is the thoughts
So I search deep
Poise and Style
Classic with Flee
For floating words to page
A Master piece

Fragrance to scent
From distance beyond the lands
On the bosom of beauties
Soothing lyrics of truth
A Master piece

A write, I search
To purely enchant
A Master piece

©Kofi Asokwa-Nkansah

Details | Fibonacci | |


ideas are born-
each day can begin a new dawn

Details | I do not know? | |


Art is art is Art,

and as such it will be confrontational to someone,

and will at some point in it’s existence, 

piss someone off every minute of the day

( CLiPiCs AKA Kriss Lee: 03-06-09)

Details | Sonnet | |

The Heart of a Poet

The heart of  the poet bleeds words of  the conscious  
Strung like beads  into a design that is precious
A collaboration of the senses and the mind
To the poet heart. the two are entwined
When the mind begins to see,  touch or hear
A feeling  may provoke a heartfelt tear
The poet heart may strike a unsettling chord 
With the thrust of  word-filled sword
Into the core of the one who may read
And begins to sprout a poignant seed
In a heart that that was living blind
Or unsuspectingly to remind
Of the memory of a time long past
The reason why the poet heart’s words are cast

Details | Tail-rhyme | |

Read all about it

my short poems on twitter
art ekphrasis on Flickr-
and blogs in this soup

other efforts in Sketchbook
so come now, take a quick look-
and keep in the loop 
COMMENT HERE BELOW if you want to know more

Details | Free verse | |

World Cutup

what from the founder Aesop fell
	vital spark of heavenly flame
	unto my thinking thou beheld'st all works

	Who ever weeps somewhere out in the world
	Yellow butterflies 
A dream of Venus 
	let nothing disturb thee
	music first and foremost of all
Mystical Strains unheard 
No, I am not, as other are 
since I am convinced 
	hoping all the time 
I arise from dreams of thee 
	Here , Where the world is quiet 
	For many thousand ages 
	Break Break Break 
	Far as Man can see 
lest you should think that verse shall die 
	A Thing which fades 
	I found at daybreak yester morn 
 low on chromed cloud 
		open to me 
		Remember what past 
Pity! Mourning plaintive tone 
Since I am convinced 
	That time , I see you passing by 
Thou art one , The first of every number and foundation of every structure 
	Break Break Break.

Details | I do not know? | |


Like a trap,was a pit dug,
On a peaceful journey,my heart fell in love.
Bounded with shackles and chains,
my poor heart felt banes.
A sweet memory,that i never wish to re-
like the pains of Christ on the cross,hence.
The earth lost is complexion?
my heart lost its sane state?
Gone imprisoned heart inmates,
i voice out into he winds,please pay attention!

Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 6

Now ... tell me the truth at 80 spaces .
Oh yes monthly at no extracted cost ,
trumpet swans announcing "All-New" "Chases"
... Gameshow w-/ only purpose " Just stay lost".
scratch that ... start at the count ... three Faces.
flicker on screen , once more , spider webbed frost.
Pulse of cheekbone ; paper Artic traces ...
Hailing to the Fanatic's RoseArm crossed.

	... Why just imagine , All times // All places ...
Daydream reality clearly embossed 
by Our pristine chords reading "All's Debased" ...
Job to do ... hands join ... Avert as off tossed 
I may stain ... lip gloss ... gulp of life wasted.

All Presents, Our Situation Hostage .

Details | Free verse | |


withpen in hand awake, apparations of immortality
consumed inward. This straight heart's delight 
yelling Tiny Nicaragua's a big threat 
	to undernourished Mexico.
By common sense , common law , common tenderness
& common tranquility I want to know what
happens after I rot. 

shooting Gasoline electric speed ; empty soul'd 
exploding at viaducts heavy bound and 
manacled upon the City's Heart.

	... Was that a shot ! backfire 
or cherrybomb? jiggling yr knees there blankeyed
	in the rain.
While each flower Buddha eye repeats this story 
with teenage boys , The Red Police and grunts &
screams & shouts ...
	... eyes , tongue and heart ...
theres' just too much to see ; world-wide 
and full of money. Count yourself Greatness 
in their pointy empire accumalating on the margin
with broken plumes of sensation. As 
I lie 
here naked in the dark , dreaming....

Details | Rhyme royal | |

The Orange Rhyme Challenge

Thusly, as per Good Sir John's contest prize contest, I humbly submit the 

Dear Sir John,of your poetic rhyme request,
I will now do my very best;
Sir John's  Poetry rhyme request,
Though some may consider it rather strange,
And, perhaps, to some, a mighty challenge,
I think I might be able to arrange,
With a pilgrimage to mystic Stonehenge,
Where I may, in fact, rearrange...

those lenticular aspects of your family flange,
And, though the poetic quality may appear...
Somewhat mensa- menge',
I trust you'll find my work of acceptable range.

Once again, Good Sir King John the First,
Congratulations on a job well done!!

Your humble serf servant, tom bell.

Details | Free verse | |


I am the pen of life
Held between the fingers
Of a much greater power
I flow my footprints onto pages
Even glass, wood or the roughest surface
Engraving a non cryptic legacy
Bleeding in cursive inkblots
Embedding confusion into the psyche
Of the psychological
And stain with smudges the white card backdrops
Where all but the unknown remain
To taint and blemish
The nature of the purest liquid
Rolling, tumbling, leaking
Crying mascara from start to finish
To leave some memory
Of any sort of acceptance
While in a putrid state of lucidness
Gliding, striving, soul seeking
For purpose and repentance
My greatest fear
Is that it will start to rain
Before the ink has dried

Details | Free verse | |

Threshold -Zelazny-

"I know you are
	specially designed for this operation"
	the man twisted as the Old Stories 
streaked gold across the wall opposite.
	When the lights went out a 
moment later , touching his throat , like
a piece of ice dictating :
	' Lies about Man's psychological &
biological make-up.'
	"I know ; I wrote it , seldom happy
& junk sick" Laughter from 
	the Alcatraz of his eyes
	asking someone for The Synopsis of ;
Flight , wordless.
	Hate , an active verb.
Fury , the inside of a furnace.
	Pain &

Details | Free verse | |

Face Take Two

understanging nothing 
of radios,
cars or aristocratic
past to
w-/ out figures
turning from 
an ambigious image
To suggest 
it is easy to concede 
behind barbwire fences.

...Years ago ; memory....
sober in the spotlight
Facts that 
are for once 
cherished in a world.

Reluctant to 
beneath democratic 
just Hold you 
a foreign face.

Details | Couplet | |

Ceremony Today

There is a ceremony
But not a time for bologney

Where I will be inducted
Not instructed

Into a program
One that I'm not sure serves ham

Called NJHS*
And I've heard it's one of the best

Along with other scholars
Some bearing a couple dollars

Will accept this invitation
With great emancipation

And this will look amazing
Not to mention far from cows grazing

On future high school applications
Along with my unique creations

So yes, I have a ceremony
Where no one will serve boloney

I hope you wish my luck
But do not mail me a duck

For I am to read my poem Followerª
And I hope I don't feel like a wallower

So yes, I have got to go
And get ready for my show

*NJHS - National Junior Honors Society
ªThis poem is included in my list of poems, although the one being read has some changes in it... I will make sure to post the revised one in a few minutes :)

Details | Free verse | |


I circle,
Attracted to cracked mirrors and medals,
Slyly hidden and somewhat shy in those exposed 
ribs and bloody folds.

Your thin lines seep with
long, careful narrative and description that build suspense and then
just break and the transition is as unexpected as 

Verse drips with golden, persuasive pleasures, 
Deep, evasive meanings that will leave
subtle, yet permanent stains. 

There is your heart

Open to the thousand desert windstorms in
my ravenous eye

If I look closely
I can see inside that abused muscle ….
How it was stilled by

Adultery, miscarriages and
misgivings, replayed train wrecks and pipe bombs,
The beast outside the closet holding an angry hairbrush,
Empty pantries and the view of a dumpster,
One endless night wrestling angels,
Goodbyes unsaid,
Red tears.

And yet despite your rawness
it’s your words I gnaw,
Some I’m barely able to glean


How aptly you’ve condensed 
Regrets, atonements, and those disguised fears,
Lost kisses, scarecrow dreams, ten years of gargoyles.

I craw on clever alliteration, sinewy themes, rhymes, 
personification, mummification, copulation and 
whiskered metaphors twitching small, padded feet.

It’s all just too tender,
Beyond expectation and I can not resist
all those hammered strands of your life 
which I consume, shamefully.

Poet to poet,
I admire your skill and competency, yet 
my crafty eye is too rapt, and I'm deaf to your poem’s cry.

Please forgive, callous me,
This raven has no alibi
for taking every bit of flesh I can,
From you, fellow poet,
and precious


I'm going to post a blog with the raw, unedited version of this poem. I though some who are wary of free verse may enjoy seeing a poem's transition from rough draft to finished (? LOL) piece. Comments are welcome here, or on my blog. Hugs! Cyndi

Details | Cinquain | |


with a nom de plume,
Charlotte,Emily,Ann died much
too young

see their portrait by their brother Bramwell @

Details | Free verse | |

Pro Predicament

Circuitous circular departures cleverly Sequester and  
embrace Inexpressible  moments of time.

Reexamine status, prevent  consciousness apathy, 
fabricate and reflect acceptance of self. 

precisely propose  to expose fallaciously filtered 
fantastical trickery touched theories.

Turn tasteless translucent tall tales into stable, sturdy, 
structured strands and threads of reality.

Penniless pocketless Poets put the points paralleled 
and placed above onto pure white pieces of paper.

 Once they find the ramble in their role they carefully 
command,Clever creative content to appear from thin vapor.

Amusement, bemusement, a resplendent  daring drawn 
out dark dance down a solitary diabolical descent. 

Lingering Layers let love live in a finely spun web of 
lazy, lofty, lyrical linguistic letters; lost lurking spiders cant
 reach the heights that sadness fled.

Poets are pros, pronounced proponents, that precisely 
reconstruct a feelings components that fails to leave any 
audience in a stoic state of stoney discontent..... 

Though they tirelessly endeavor to gain a fans approval 
and respect, they fail in fortunes favor. 
 Yet each day they commit make their art 
when most would be right to quit. 

Anyone can become a pro poet, 
you can tell we are devoted, though it should be noted 
if that's the readers intent, not a paid pro among us can 
come close to turning our 
thoughts into rent!

Details | Rhyme | |

The Poet

Living in the fragment
Shards keep me stagnant
I’m both plaintiff and defendant
Daily tried in my own lament
Choices within myself I resent
Down on my knees I repent
No answers leave me discontent
Or are angels ever sent
Pulled by the devil so evident
Mired in midlife not my intent
My poems where I vent
Giving and taking advice lent
Days slowly pass and there’s no dent
Lost souls are my life’s precedent
Sickened by my own ailment
Painted with emotions so transparent
Love adds to my abandonment
Pain penetrates like an insurgent
There’s no way to circumvent
To trust again I’m ambivalent
The pleasure of pain coexistent 
Looked upon as an embarrassment
Dreams realized are only a figment
My story no one could invent
These words written are blood sent
Of a life forever being spent
Seeking a valid endorsement
Blood , sweat, and tears are a requirement
For we have to be diligent
So all can understand what we meant
The life lived unknown as the  poet…

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

It's the time of the day...

It’s the time of the day
When my friend lurking all day came alluring
Pulling me on to the bed of romance
Lost and caught in her cobwebs of passion
I cuddled her with artistic hands
And with a lover’s deft touch, I caressed her
Struggling and wriggling with pained-pleasure of love
Her skin so pure, so pristine 
Light, rich and fluidy was her black blood
Oh! It was her first time!
Oh! It felt like it’s my first time 
Lone long evening, in a desert of a house
Lone like survivors of plane crash in middle of a nowhere
Save for a peeping white fluorescent
An indifferent radio set
And a compromising notepad
It’s the time of the day 
For my new black pen and I
And our copulation conceived for us:
Creases of these poetic lines.

Details | Narrative | |


Speaking from the podium, to thank 
all for my Poet Laureate Award;
overwhelmingly glad to receive it
from the hands of a famous critic...
I discern how the audience loves my lyric!

I have never spoken so openly
about the idealism and realism of my poetry;
and they are listening, focused on my lines
recited softly to them with emotions and tears,
and their positive response is my reward. 

Applaud me for creating new rhymes and rhythms,
poetic words inspired by the wilderness of frontiers,
by the truthful insights I expressed with my momentum;
unlikely other poets, who are perpetuate in memoriam,
and lie into tombstones never having been given honor.     

Entered in Brian Strand's Poet Laureate contest

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Details | Monorhyme | |

A RETURN TO THE PAST -Triple Monorhyme

At the arrival of the winter storm, stretching for a mile,
a bockout occurred in a rural town famed for its exquisite wine;
it became very dark as the lights went out in every house...
I felt scarier than a hopeless prisoner in bondage,
but an idea struck me while I stepped on a fleeing mouse.

And while the moonbeams filtered in invitingly, and the crickets sang me
their awkward melody...I couldn't live in darkness and feel safe!
The willows of the reef seemed phantoms moving towards me...
I had a red candle never being used and its glow could have safeguarded me;
at least, I would have had some light shedding on me to keep them away from me!

Didn't poets of long ago write by dim candlelight? Weren't they often taken by rage? 
They used quills to make their work even harder writing in medieval style!
I wasn't expecting a return to the could have caused a disastrous fire...
if I had fallen asleep! But for Heaven's sake, I lived for passion, not waiting to flee!  
My sonnet had to be written throughout that time for my inspiration to survive!

Entered in Russell Sivey's contest,
" Candlelight "

Details | Free verse | |

Compton Ghetto Art Christmas

youd have to see it to believe it
but im making compton famous
a medusa mask
leave a candle burning
and a wall of clocks and mirrors
and a wedding day gift i painted

so you walk to your car
or into your apartment
and my window do you see
the blinds always drawn shut

but this artist game is open season for criminals like me

there is a candle burning beside the book 
with exactly that title

a kite and a flag of rainbows
and several mirrors to haunt your soul
kept safe by the hands of time
in case you have shattered one

but the grinch of the ghetto christmas is reminding one and all to behold
the cracks that keep us cold in the winter
the pots and the pans
sure it seems messy
but there is such a method to the madness

a pet nmaed rock
and no cats are allowed
but when you wlak by or drive by this view of the closed curtain of lights 
and delights

we're onto the mayor of the surprise holiday now

remember loose lipped sunken shppied

Details | Blank verse | |

trick of light

dark glance from the table in the corner;
she stares & you stumble
half drunk from the second's hope
or trick of light that trapped you in her eyes.
but what's a muse if not a trick, a risk, 
some fleeting moment of unknowable fear?
go on, sit down
take the empty chair an arm's length 
or heart beat's distance away from her;
make an ass of yourself,
make something of yourself-anything.
you look back & she's gone,
what's a muse if not an illusion,
man's desires made manifest
in flawless impossibility,
or flawed perfection blurred to new proportion?

Details | Free verse | |

Pens 'n Needles

Ink spreads, Forming A pattern your Heart understands. Lines that Make up your Mind. A trivial Victory A battle betweem Body & Mind. Heart & Soul. Eternal on Paper...

Details | Quintain (English) | |


This is another modern age,
the one others will dream about;
a free spirit out of a cage,
a balladeer creating art.

Many ages ago they used plain paper and ink,
I use a keyboard and a computer at all times;
it's a powerful hardware that makes me occasionally blink...
then it's time for me to go to bed and wait for surprises.

Pens, pencils, pads and note books now are things of the past,
what if a power loss occurred and the screen went blank,
who could recover any work...wouldn't some beat on their chest?
Get used to saving your work, be diligent and don't strain your shank.   

This is another modern age that will flourish as fragrant lime,   
and to lead one must be determined, motivated and accurate:
counting syllables, checking iambic meter, stress and rhyme...
and the author will have a chance to become a Poet Laureate.   

Details | Crystalline | |


technique enhanced by gifts from above

flower a craftsmandship of love

Details | Free verse | |


While back to the head in the 
sand tricks 
	Mountains become just another 
comma ; diagram.
	Caught by this flash....

Daylight surfing past my window ,
	drawn , 
please to our begging. Sailing 
out to record.
	Rooms congealed w-/ smoke 
as the last cigarette falls from yellow
fingers , a cough ignites the body ;
left ventricle collapse and the rest is...
Profit ... Mr billion dollar money suit 
falling flat on his face.	Punishment 
always for the capital.
		They say 
As LOGIC above 
	shoots this expected expression....

Details | Cinquain | |


Adelaide Crapsey
Versifying unknown souls
With tinge of dawn

Details | Bio | |


I should be writing books,
Screenplays and sitcoms
But I'm not...
Sloth has dug its claws into me

I shouldn't be watching
Have I Got News For You
From 1999 on UK Gold
But I am...
Sloth has dug its claws into me

I should be doing something
Better with my free time
Than slowly vegetating
But I'm not...
Sloth has dug its claws into me

I shouldn't be content
With the easy answer
Instant gratification, copping out
But I am...
Sloth has dug its claws into me

I really should write
Another verse in this poem
Something witty and insightful
But I won't...
It's that infernal sloth again

Details | I do not know? | |

I Love Writin




Details | Lyric | |


Thoughtless is my mind in this eclipsed night.
Poetic urge has not yet aroused in active yen.
How would I write poem when it is writing me?
Mind has turned into a blank untouched page
And it is writing its reflection upon the sheet.

Without topic a poem is expressed in words
In the soft unspoken shrine of the white leaf.
Yet in the inner river of thought, the stream
Is flowing without motive, as if it were dead,
Though I am seated on table with poetic pen.

Mind is tuneless still creating rhythmic poem,
Hand is numb yet digging with a pen-dagger.
A Poet can’t stop its impulsive flowing hand.
Life can be boring yet goes on like waterfall,
Death is aching yet comes with enticing call

Details | Villanelle | |

The Coming

I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
I feel my intellect in what I cannot understand.
I know by going where my heart and intelligence leads me.

We learn by doing. What activity is there to be started?
I hear myself jumping from eye to eye.
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.

Of those helping me, who are you?
May God bless the Helpers! I shall give back to you,
And know by going where my heart and intelligence lead me.

A Letter is written on a Page; but who in the world may know what’s next?
The author goes on an imaginary dream come true;
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.

Fate leads us into a whole world of unknown
For all who know, so don’t be afraid,
And, exceptionally, know by going where the heart and intelligence lead.

This dream supports me in a lovely manner. I must believe!
What goes around comes around. And is waiting.
I come to learn, and make my coming prompt.
I know by going where my heart and intelligence lead me.

Details | Free verse | |


You can't say 
months or years 
w-/ out trying 
to grasp the scale 
of Time
Rubber bands 
pinging off one 
two three 
kidneybean cans,
chosen simply for 
occupation of space
line space,
in a cage. Thats 
how I'll write 
from now on
pacing the 
paperbacked floor
fingernails my only fuel.
Scritch scratching down
the blackboard.
If only to make you 

Details | Burlesque | |

The Reason Why There's No Market in Poetry

"Only other poets read your poems"
Said my father, to my great appall
So I plastered a poem in spray paint
To the side of the town's harbor wall

Then the bobbies saw my piece of artwork
And they dragged me away to a cell
Then they threatened to brand me a vandal
And they called up my parents as well

When my father showed up, he was yelling
"What in blazing God's name did you do?"
I replied "You were wrong 'bout my poems
The policemen have all read them too!"

Details | Rhyme | |

Writing Art

Picking up my pen, I begin to pursue my purpose,
slaving away, I sacrifice subjects until I submit work,
suffice with a deeper surface.
Gaining growth and wisdom within my writer’s gravity,
I am grateful to gaze,
and watch as my words wonderfully unite
to whisper and shout in worthy ways.
Drawing artistic dreams,
I dictate and decide the next topic to describe,
whether venting anger or reciting vibrant value;
I aim to paint a victorious vibe.
Masterminding the masterpiece of matter and material
in a meaningful lyrical marriage,
I continue to contemplate and combine careful words
to convey emotion and courage.
Bountifully blessed with creative beauty and belief;
I became the poetical blacksmith,
fabricating fabulous fables
with a sense of fearless frailty forthwith.
I am amply able to inspire ambition and accordingly achieve,
with my notepad navigating toward noteworthy
after being notorious naïve.

I think therefore I am,
I write because I can.

For more poetry goodness visit 

Details | Verse | |


Girl with a jug or necklaced
with pearls,lute and guitar
over the centuries seen from
afar.In intricate detail,a patient
design, of portraits in time.
These looks of love into
eternity’s mirror.Their beauty
his art with a delicate touch,now
frozen in time.Which muse shall
we choose,and which to lose.

Listen to me read this and others at this link         

Details | Concrete | |

The Bird

                                        Soaring high, 
                                                         Up into the
                                                                  Limitless sky,
                                                                          A traveler,
                                                                    With its red feathers
                                                                 Exploded, into force, like    
                                                                An airborne ranger, enjoying
                                                                 Its freedom and it never 
                                                                   Worries what to eat
                                                 And, what to wear like a poet
                                      With his silvery quill, glowing
                    Inside, his soul, yesterday….…
                                                   Tomorrow and forever!
                                                   A master, of his words
                                                     His life, free to write
                                                    And, never worries
                                                 When to stop, nor 
                                                   To die, for his  
                                              Poetry, will be 

Details | Ode | |


Our modern world has become
so advanced and sophisticated,
and its technology is at our fingertips;
unlikely yesterday when everything was slow-paced,
now fast-food and credit cards are a convenience...
and poverty is the plight of low-income!

Some will know greatness,
for having made unthinkable strides,
and they will be honored or even immortilized;
and I like to be one of them...simply remembered!
The great minds of the past, like those of today,
struggled to come out of obscurity,    
until Popes and wealthy people recognized their genius;
and those names became so glorious!  

Each one of us is born with an amazing gift,
and through vocation and inspiration,
it can grow in size and scope...
if it's used with good intention!
Painters choose the colors of their images, 
writers create the words of their moods;
sculptors carve out  faces with a chisel,
and  composers imitate the feelings of the soul!

Some will know greatness,
and though riches may not ever be theirs...
their works are the reflection of themselves,
or of others who made a difference;
we have seen them, admired them
and applauded them with excitement!
And they are as detemined as we are,
fullfilling a mission beyond compare!

Details | Rhyme | |



Calliope comes with a gift I open the slender box Words flutter forth to quickly lift Oh, how these free-born thoughts now drift o’er creative locks Then Sappho brings her full bouquet ~ Buds bloom before my eyes ~ Unbidden riches, these lush sprays Each mine and yet none my array ~ Art is a mused surprise ~
By Cyndi MacMillan For Nette Onclaud’s Rumi in Rime Couee Contest Calliope is the muse of Epic poetry and Sappho is the “tenth muse.”

Details | I do not know? | |

Embrace Me

I have the mind and strength of love
My hands has an arkward touch and movements
My eye's has the sight of beauty 
 and love that goes skin deep
My breath that touches the side of her right ear
Sends a tingle up and down her spine
My heart pours out the most touching and loving words
That really has never been heard
I feel hypnotize by her sexy perfume and her sexy legs
crossing each orther in those sexy steletose
The night is getting late
The feeling awaits
The touch of her is untouchable
My mind began to hesitate
As i began to create
The motion of real love attraction
Getting a good satisfaction
This is not a production
I'm just feeling the seduction

Details | Rhyme | |


Digging the silence of the night...
Just for a heap of words...
Toiling in the middle of the night...
Not expecting any lavish rewards...!

Squeezing emotions...translating thoughts...
He writes the stories of his heart unend;
& creates wonder like earthen pots...
Alone without a dear or a friend !

As the only reward for his sleeplessness...
People castigate his style of living...
Critics bark in their usual business...
As though he is an useless thing...!

He never wants the world to read...
His painful plots of heart rending grief...
& how his heart is made to bleed...
Or how he is destined to weep...!

Hmm...But the civilized class...that has no time...
Finds time to dig the beauty of the art...
Looking for loopholes in words sublime...
Viciously stabbing the poet's heart!

But still the genius doesn't mind..
He is indifferent & uncomplaining...
Smiling at the assassins unkind...
As if he is purely detached...from each & every mundane thing...

Details | Epic | |

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day

Shall I compare thee to a hellish hound?
Thou art more lovely but of the same mind.
Rough winds may shake you but you won’t be downed.
As summer divided us, I was blind.

Details | Fibonacci | |

As Often As We Can (Fibonacci)

                                           Still dance 
                                            As often
                                    As we get the chance
                                 Beneath a lovely moonlit sky
                      We allow the rhythmic sounds to take us on high
Like flying through joyous clouds filled by love and sweet romance kindled through the 
art of dance~

Copyright Adell Foster© 2006 Adell1

"Dancing is good for the soul"

Fibonaci: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21... Poetry: 1 syllable, 1 syllable, 2 syllables, 3 
syllables, 5 syllables, 8 syllables, 13 syllables, 21 syllables... 
The number of syllables in each line must equal the sum of the syllables in the two 
previous lines. So, start with 0 and 1, add them together to get your next number, which 
is also 1, 2 comes next, then add 2 and 1 to get 3, and so on.

Details | Blank verse | |

Too Many G-D Poets

Too many poets. 

Yes, I too, am a guilty poet.  

While I sit and wait for my soup to arrive, I read a few pages of Simic, and the Seattle
The noodles cook and drain.
Mrs. Green slices the smoked pork.

I fight to tune out the background signals, the  laughter and static, 
while I scribble arthritic sentences 
in my composition book.

I never run into anyone from the old days.  
They are all far, far away or dead.  
I don’t remember the last time a pretty girl 
made me laugh, or an old friend 
told me a good story.

The bowl of Pho came, hot and spilling over the side.  

I watch a skinny teen with bad skin, scribble in her binder for fifteen minutes, and I
wonder what she is saying.

Details | Free verse | |

Art Imitating

is better found in the voices of lovers.
merely play with words and
search the canvas for visual seduction.

Details | Narrative | |


Come dine with me this night
Upon the  bread of sweet thought
And the wine odf delight-
The invite to William's select few
Spiritual friends,his mind's eye drew.

Tribute to William Blake-Artists & poets of his past,who he felt compatible with and referred 
to as his spiritual friends (see more about William in my blog today)

Details | Choka | |

Artistic Language

Poets speak in ink,
Musicians speak with music;
Artists speak through dappled paint.

Sculptors speak in stone,
Actors speak in their actions:
While everyone else...listens.

Details | Rhyme | |


No metaphors
Simply raw
Hit the jaw.
Revealing marrow
Broken rules,
Many poems
Simple phrases
All my jewels.

Details | Quatrain | |


Since childhood my vivid and alluring aspirations
painted my rainbows with different colors,
not the ones I was after and truly adored...
who has ever heard of a teenager being bored?

Anytime I saw a train leave the station with its smooth rhythm,
I wanted to be that conductor who could never fall asleep,
and at every stop he would look carefully before closing the doors...
then, laid-back, watch the changing landscape and whistle his tunes!

If imagination had not been there to tackle my reflective tendencies
that were, indeed, rooted in all aspects of the present wilderness,
I wouldn't have cultivated this passion and turn it into a realistic dream...
which allowed inspiration to enter the subconsciousness of this thinker's realm!    

The fast-paced postman delivering mail to mailboxes seldom locked, thrilled me;
he looked so sharp and handsome greeting folks, and it would have been an honor
to chat with them, listening to their suggestions and helping them thoroughly...
I visualized myself as such, and even practiced it daily in front of large mirror!

If tons of ideas hadn't fed the urge to jot down details with ebullient imagery,
unless I wasn't aware of their poignant meaning and powerful message,
I wouldn't have let fantasy create an extraordinary dreamer out of someone so ordinary...
to adorn dullness with my cheerfulness and change winter to spring!

Details | Haiku | |

Building Blocks

The Invisible
Framed the worlds by faithful words
For visible proof.

Dedicated to my son Caleb.

Details | I do not know? | |

Mental Affair

I gaze a stalky single-helix cradle,
Squished so in seemingly hydrous blue cover,
Attracts square substantial planes in a bundle.

I embrace now feather's mass helve to ladle
Psychic portraits siphon to it in wander.
My fist fiddles as it scribbles on oodles.

Cuts of a suckling tree, soil, river fondle
Paper, pen, poet in cahoots as lovers
Rupture of a skeptic smug gnostic noodle

Details | Quatrain | |


Putting thoughts on paper, connoting their portent;
contesting guilt by being lyrically concordant
with symphonic tones of poetical elegance,
expressing a mere necessity rather than extravagance.

Details | Rhyme | |


Gentleness invokes kinship,
more than trust's oft biased recommend,
that fills my warranty for beauty's own in crypt,
I thank thee God, for measures in contend!

Forever, in that beauty were love's tend,
the faith between true friendship might erupt,
still it is forceful, deft attainment's quip,
mere looking gives to Soul, some filling up!

And see thee still, in all my eyes do ground,
wherein love's mercy must have contemplate,
if it were loathsome in some vile resound,
my heart would not have of these words found state!

Oh beauty, you are mine, not underrate,
the vestige I did yearn to so expound,
when will is chastised so, the quiet sedate
does moisten my eyes swell, no more impound!

Thy beauty love, be love, in nature's gate,
the seaming center of this garment's strung
holds empathy as moment's turn belay
the love that I do feel, be inward sung!

Details | Dodoitsu | |

Timeless Graffiti

There’s a little background noise Timeless telling graffiti Imprinted beautifully Directly on wall
Russell Sivey

Details | I do not know? | |

I'm still hearing the voices

They say 'you've got it kid',
but first you gotta rid
yourself of all that fakery,
the constructed rhyme
like rye and flour primed
to exit out the bakery,
and you cannot, should not
loaf, or doubt anything
you ever wrote, it's progress-
but what path to take?

Should I break apart,
the seeming apparition
of life and love that is gained
and lost in boxcars moving 
across the prairies in
spiritual unison-
   What is to be done
with this poet who I found
   hiding under a flithy sheepskin?

And what of our Sanfrancisco flower
blooming in scattered graveyards
where the pounding Beat has died,
and decomposed decisively
around small parts of the world,
inside the mutant hearts 
of shivering canadian poets
who continue crave the corpse.

Another voice would say:
The hell with all these rat bastards!
True art is what you stick with,
hell or high water, so you can take criticism
and flush it down the toilet, like
the American Dream. You are your own God,
because that son of a ***** left
for good during The War,


Thy choice in art is feuled by love,
and love be feuled by truth,
so open up thy lonely eyes,
and see in thee the proof. 

There are so many voices,
and each constrain my words
to a vision of past greatness,
and new poetry, shall be
a combination, an alchemy
of fire and ice, foreign
and domestic, the self
humming in unison 
with the universe,
vibrating time and space,
in pure emotion,
organized choas,
contained and made conscious,
experienced, and purged
from the self 
in verse.

Details | ABC | |

poetry is to me as love is to human nature

A spoken art 
Trace it's steps from the paper to my heart
A rush from my mind to my soul then to the pen
I embrace this gift that from time to time lifts 
my weeping soul form pain as i gain
strength to carry on
Just as a new life is being born
Provokes a new sprit's bells to joyfully ring
Every mountain side will hear it's sing
Poetry is to me as nurture is to family
Making my dreams a reality
non fiction to fiction
wrong to right
day to night
Sometimes I argue with my mind
Only to find a new creation

Details | Free verse | |


Off the market I dashed
In search of ingredients
To soup my poetry.
To all kiosk and stall I went
Yet I find none of it.

Fagged out on my fro home
Lost in thought of how 
To soup my poetry.
There I stumbled on it
Ingredients of my soup.

On my way I paused
For the first stanza 
My thinking personified
With a poetic licence.

I smiled with an imagery of simile
All over me was a pun of metaphor.
Only in consonance with an
Hyperbole of alliteration.

Paradox became my ordeal
With an echo of onomatopoeia
Still in an irony of oxymoron
Dancing with a metonym.

I got home with more
Ingredients from my mind
Then and there, I began to
Soup my poetry in poetrysoup.

Alayande Stephen.T
17th August 2006

On my way to Apagbon in Lagos on the behest of 
IPC Chairman,Lanre Arogundade.
Specially packaged for, as a wonderful family.

Details | Bio | |

Mental Prose

Inside the poet's mind lays ideas and thoughts and plans to unwind.
In its thicket are the seeds of imagination which dares to wander out; out of her 
pen to paper and dazzle the reader or amuse herself.
Inside the metal machine of the prose queen is the craft of genius that drives her 
to write, to read and recite ...the click, click, snap, snap...of the spoken word of her 
Fine tuned but ever sharpening her tools of quick wit and quicker response to a 
perhaps, " coined phrase". Yes inside the poet's mind is justice untold and 
stories unfolded to the tender young ears of her audience or the seasoned circle 
of her lyrical peers.
Inside the imagination of rhymes an music that create her own blend of 
linguistical rhythm that moves men to their feet and yet soothing enough to cradle 
her sweet angels to sleep.
Ah yes, the mind of a poet, it holds mystery, romance, questions, history, 
laughter, and elegant language..and yet it is able to convey the feelings, hurts, 
surprises and loves of life in a simple statement.
A poetic mind? Absolutely spontaneous genius.

Details | I do not know? | |


lightnings picturesque

vehement wind full of zest

pulchritude caution

natural snarl best

do not nictate the eyes lest

it will seem to rest

a relief by waves

racketry from wave breakage

dulcet stir to ears

light illuminates

through a box it radiates

mere simulation


Details | Epigram | |



Details | Free verse | |

Two poems about poem

1. poem who killed himself

because he heard a poet saying
: what kind of poem you are?

words crying
and tears make them
turn back to be ink

2. poem who fall in love with himself

when it is read
words see their face 
changed to be a poem
in the poet eyes-lake

and he decide to fall 
in love with himself

Details | Rhyme | |

From Page to Screen

If you go to see a movie
After you have read the book,
You may wonder at the liberties
The film producers took.

For so many things get lost or changed
In media transition,
That I question whether they received
The novelist’s permission.

When a writer writes a book, he knows
How each scene should appear;
The characters and how they look
To him, are crystal clear.

Yet once those rights are signed away,
The writer might just find
That the actor on the screen is not
The face he had in mind.

Some chunks of action get left out
And details get adjusted.
It’s possible the author feels
Quite angry or disgusted.

I guess his compensation
Makes him leave those thoughts alone.
Control is lost, like parents
Once their child has up and grown.

But when I watch the movie
Of a book that I’ve enjoyed,
I wonder if the author’s
Feeling happy or annoyed.

Details | Cinquain | |


soft ice
slow freezing water
ice cold and numbing

Details | Bio | |

Newfound Inspiration

Leopard print, yellow brick
  smoke in the air, not thick.
Shadows cast upon the wall,
  people all around, some short, some tall.
Mellow music out the speakers flow,
  sitting with those I know.
Rock & Rye, artwork catching my eye.
Poems flowing from my fingertips,
  casting a sideways glimpse.
Inspiration flowing from the Red Eye.

Details | Lyric | |

The Big Apple (a brief chant)

The rooster crows at the break of dawn.
I rise to write a poetic song.
A look through the window,
and I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I say, I came,
 by the way of the creator.

Then I replied with a night out on the town.
I look and observed all around.
I seen with my eyes',
even though I was deprived of sleep.
As the crowds gather in the streets.

The crowds begin to applaud.
I joined in and started to clapp,
as these talented brothers and sisters,
 was chanting their art of rapp.

I continue to stand, 
as the crowds' expand.
What a treat 
it was watching
 these brothers and sisters
 break dance.

I observed and learned
 knowing someday it'll be my turn 
to express a poetic song.

These brothers and sisters 
sure can chant the art of rapp,
and not only that by chance.
These talented brothers and sisters,
can perform the art of the break dance.

I look through the window,
at the break of dawn.
A rooster crows,
as I write a poetic song.
I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I said , I came,
 by the way of the creator.

Details | I do not know? | |

Your Words

They’re just words on a paper,
Then why do they affect me so?
Sentences and stanzas,
Show feeling without feeling a thing.
Just simple white paper,
And jet black text,
Sending my heart into a frenzy
With simple things as words.
Boy, you drive my heart crazy,
Your words in stanzas rhyme.
You know how to make me cry,
With every poem every time.

Details | I do not know? | |

The Sorcerer and the Stone

Dry tangle of strands like leaves of a pine.
Neck-long sable yet lemon to close a beaming line.

Decked by two sharp wan visage processes.
Shut some-screened eyes and jaw- high and breadthless.

Dangling armor is woven garb of chains.
Bony hands impose his thin scrawny mien.

Spread them down to ignite an incipient
Of electric qeues like sunspot lightning

Toward a floating smooth stone before him.
Struck bouy makes a devious glow as his grin.

Growing fulgence throbbing to explosion
in lieu he is sucked like dusts by the stone.

Details | Senryu | |

Rhyming Flop

Are these writes haikus
Traditional rules abuse
Are these rhymes senyrus 

By Robb A. Kopp

Details | Free verse | |


Take a slab, roll it,
punch it, hit it once
or twice, enjoy the feel 
of wet clay in your hands.
Then make 
any shape
perfect it,
hey, maybe it
could be in the form
of  an ape,
Or  it could be into
a bowl or tile, hey,
take your time--
Having fun with art 
is like rhyme.
Go ahead, try it 
You’ll find it’s fun
and if its not right,
then make another one.

Details | Free verse | |

Poets Undying

Paving the way to dreams with words
Sailing through the sunset like birds
Creativity a consistent goal
And the joining of each soul
Displays our art
For every heart
Recognition we will one day see
The emotions behind life are poetry.

Details | Rhyme | |


Its been such a long time since I have sat down to write,
although many a word has haunted me at night,
us writers you know are seldom yet always uptight!

When the words just don't flow in a special kind of way,
we rarely have anything to say,
I'm writing today with this to say if I may.

If your one of us and need to express feelings inside by writing indeed,
than let nothing stop you from planting this seed,
we are people with a great need.

A need, infact a compulsion to speak to someone,
take time and write, don't turn away and run.

This message I feel I must get to you and I,
To Hell with writers block, don't let the ink dry...

Details | I do not know? | |

Silence of the Poem

From the twist and swirls of words within,
poetical odes are in their sudden rendering.
Contrasted with once a masters mighty whim,
part of a hearts desire caught meandering.

While the words are hence ever lasting,
resounding between a fixed earthen chime.
Passes on the outer brims casting,
hoping for a message from the sublime.

Amid constant whirring musical din,
assassinated in its illogical prime.
Silence of the poem can never win,
buried beneath impetus words of no rhyme.

Never again fronting one collective ending,
thwarts patience in awaiting primitive prose.
Unintentional in its mediocre greeting,
left here for us, worn as a tattered rose.

Where structure and art are left defining,
such rules of written English are condoned.
Exceptional poets drift toward reminding,
when gleaned, most opted words are intoned.

Belabored gist, words randomly falling,
jotted on the thinnest sheet of rice.
lightly flung about in the installing,
mutiny condoned at the intelligent poets price.

Details | Free verse | |


We open our eyes to see the world,
We raise our hands to touch the sky,
We use our voices to sing a prayer,
We love mankind without dispair.

It is our eyes that see the beauty,
It is our hands that heal the sick,
It is our voices that keep harmony
It is our love that builds this army.

She opens her eyes to remain sane, 
She opens her arms to relieve the pain,
She uses her voice to kill the shame,
She opens her heart to the holy name.

He used his eyes to see our love
He used his hands to feed our love
He used his voice to keep our love
He used his heart to forgive our vain.

Every sense keeps us here
So forever we will endear.

Details | I do not know? | |

What causes me to write poetry

It's when I am deep in emotion
That sets the wheels in motion
When my heart bleeds to the core
And my heart pleads, more...more...
My senses they race
Thinking of passion, love, disgrace
There isn't a single thing that is not thought of in my little mind
Letting the bustle of life, like a scroll unwind...
What is it that I really see?
Life's passionate reality
Forever dreaming of what never was
Thinking of what's to come...
Because life is a dream's reality
A love's frivolity
Always searching for a new tomorrow
Trying to get over the endless sorrow
Of life's pain and dissapointment
Until visions are sent...
Through the clouds of fantasy
Although it may be imaginary reality
It's the only world I'll ever love
And the only need to love life
In expression of a poem

Details | Lyric | |

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art, 
To feel how I press thy singing 
Close to my heart? 

Published first at age thirteen,
Historical stanzas
Expressions of the patriot thou art
Lyrics singing.

Your candles nightly glowing,
Great writings to impart,
Signaled from the Old north Church
Paul Revere’s Ride.

Do you revel from above,
“Poems of Slavery” roused,
Oh, abolitionist, thou famed
Compassion heard.

The Villiage Blacksmith sweating
Working his way through life,
Remembers your ancestral past.
Honored through time.

My favorite childhood poet
Sharing my same birthdate*,
You crossed the decades to my youth
And made me see.

Where lies, now, thy influence?
Embedded in my soul –
Patriotic heart and poet,
Grown from thy art.

Ó November 19, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  The Passionate Reader 	
Sponsored by: Constance ~ My Dear Heart ~

See Notes:

Details | Free verse | |

Medium of Expression

My palette is my imagination. 
I paint pictures with my words. 
Swirling colours of composition. 
Mixing metaphors - agitating them 
with the paintbrush in my mind. 

My vocabulary is my keyboard. 
Trilling notes of expression. 
Crescendo of composition... 
tumbling, falling....allegro, or 
andante, and harmonised in my creativity. 

My glossary is my tapestry. 
Fixed firmly to the frame of verbal 
inventiveness.  Stitched in synchronacity. 
Cross stitched sometimes - or 
tacked in draft for later publication. 

I cannot sing to you in thrilling arias. 
I cannot paint for you on colourful canvas. 
I cannot play for you in perfected pitch. 
I cannot hang my works of art, 
but I can write what's in my heart - 

and, maybe, I'll touch yours? 

Details | Acrostic | |

Swim With Me Tonight

Slip into the pool of season
Lose yourself in indecision
I'll shake your hand for this very reason
Purity sparks ignite...

For as much as you dissolve me
Abalone shine to guide me
Love the wind through your words tonight
Love the fall and gauge...

Swim like mad through the raging waters
Wishes liquid spiral daughter
I tread soft in the silky shallows
Moon shine - we're all star dust...

Choose my moment,  lose my spirit
Reasoning you'll tread to hear it
Every gulp of salty water
Amounts to my own birth
Tip of your tongue lights the night's blue eye
Each of your words a heaving star bite

Match me in stride and we'll swim 'till sunlight
Enter the current and ride...

Details | Bio | |


Having a Matisse colour my wall
or an O'Keeffe in my hall !

A learned ode  from Emily
or chatting with Adelaide,over tea.

To talk of art & poetry ..
for a while..just you and me

A glass of wine..
                 Rioja ,fine
and a piece of Brie..
                 beside the sea

To listen close to your voice..
read those ' favourites' of my choice

Details | I do not know? | |

Familiar Poesy

I was quiescent and reposing on a wooden chair

to a faraway distance the vista seemed nothing.

I was engrossedly thoughtful in an empty stare;

In this somber fixation i did not sound maudlin.

In the surrounding, in a room, there was naught to care

even how vociferous the unaffecting din.

I was vacant without a frown or grin.

Then, an astonishment by an abrupt interruption

awakened me chop-chop from the pensive exertion.

An instinctively soft guffaw was my reaction

and an immediate beam marked down my emotion.

From a study to a stir was the alteration;

I uttered a word or two in continuation.

It was a spectacle of fruition.

Sometimes it is diverting to father relation

of familiar episodes in consecution;

Even how minute is their banausic condition.

It can be reported engagingly in a verse

with welcome alternate rhyming association

and with no contemplation to secure confusion

so as any sage mortal can immerse.

Details | Verse | |

Cornfields Have Ears

Mother warned 
Never make love in a cornfield
For the corn-- has ears 
And they just may tell...

Upon hearing this 
I laughed and replied mom
They might have ears 
But they do not have lips 
With which to speak...

Not so fast, Careful daughter said she with a smile
They have husks that are tough 
And when shucked the silk and shucks will make you tell

Yeah, I've ran through the fields 
Playing hide and seek
The itch form those husks --
Sure did make me shriek...

Ahh… Shucks... I guess you're right Mama
You don't have to worry about me
With great bliss--I promise you this... 
I'll never make love in a cornfield.

Comments:  The lesson was corny but true to form as I will never make love nor hide in a 
field of corn -- ears and all 0;-)

Details | Haiku | |

cultivate my thoughts

            cultivate my thoughts
near the crystal stream, like blooms
              penned in a poem

Details | Couplet | |

First Couplet

Couplets are intense
Because they're condensed.

Details | Lanterne | |


the image
of God within
offer back

More @ Gn 1:27 & Acts 17:28

Details | Free verse | |

Invisible Enigma

Suspended streams caught in slow motion
thick and sparkling silver white
Yellow walls to swallow oceans
Let me know that you're all right
Feet gone green- You're in a hurry
Super nova speed and back
Like the super sliding feeling
of your brain in full attack

You, perhaps, have flown to London
You, perhaps, reside in Spain
All I have this photograph of
is the inside of your brain
You, perhaps, can dance the tango
You, perhaps, like oatmeal too
I don't know the outer innards
What has now become of you?

Feet on wheels, You've met the deadline
Whooshing past with feeble heart
Tucking words I spoke in sadness
in your pockets, to impart
suspended streams caught in slow motion
filling all you think and do
All I have is certain knowledge
that I know nothing of you...

Details | Lanterne | |


than silver-
more precious than
as diamonds-
that never grow

A tribute to fellowship ,especially here on PS

Details | I do not know? | |


Behold the pulchritude overhead exalts to about a spread. 

It is o full swift which greatly outstrips thunder and gale added, 

Yet ocular to sigh from more than a score of hillocks afar. 

It is yet not as harefooted as my head can proceed thinking, 

Wending in raining sands anyway in the world; I am, warping. 

Eclipsing, rising flowering is stalking to a lightning hark. 

Fit ratherish hebetates the wit seeing the fleeting on-dit. 

Wights excitedly get unaware and err without a merit. 

Thunderstorm is a marvel, a thrill, and opposite to a pit. 

To expand the concept in top glass, I can only compound it 

To a bit, as Oak's nether jut loud rackets; I lief bracket it 

To daunted lit fibrils in an electric, animated chit. 

Grandiosity and haste of german "Blitz" allure me pretty, 

Puffing sinew of great intensity as exit gratefully. 

No wonder Homer, a sage, enkindled Zeus with it slatefully. 

Withal, Gandalf scragged up a demon by a bolt, hit it fatefully. 

I fumble in night to kiss spits heard in my inner olio. 

To fancy, a mountain of clouds on the stratosphere sits and flows. 

Ergo, zenith and nadir fascinate each other, pitch and tow. 

Lightning is jars of macedoines of grits afloat as dominoes. 

A scad of millesimals in a galaxy: shrunk, shot, and blows. 

Such dragons breathe snows wee of infinitesimal ratio, 

So snows sock the gullible cherub in me so as hue arrows. 

A bolt o real as it speeds, is so so vivid; No nod, it glows. 

A man tranquil in a head, able or wicked, it's good to know, 

Mental heaven to if it is full facile to trow; Thor follows.

Details | Narrative | |

Thanx for the Welcome

Hey, thanks a heavy bunch for the welcome
Hey, thanks a larger lot for the welcome

My heart is duly enthralled
My mind has been positively stirred

Two days ago I had a lot on my mind
Now ‘coz of y’all, here I exist in delight

Heaven must be missing quite a number of angels
For what I read on my screen can’t be wordings of ordinary mortals

For now I don’t need heaven
For I have found myself a haven full of the soup I need to get well

A brick at a time, each with purity and love in mind
I’m certain this shrine full of wonder will rise to shine

Such are the blessings of men and women of initiative
Offering poets like me and you the mortar to build our dreams into reality

My heart fills with gratitude, tonnes of it in advance
For the doors of opportunity I’m certain to unearth, in this shelter of dreams

The beginning might be a tad bit rocky
But please bear with me as I drift off my ecstasy to clarity, as consequential of this 
new discovery

I promise to soon find my bearings
And flow at ease like a new Lamborghini on these sleek streets of many dreams

In the meantime don’t mind if sometimes I blurt
For a new soup like this always tastes so sweet, makes one reveal what he was 
meant to keep

Thanks indeed for allowing me to be a part of you
Allow me to advertise to others that you and I on Poetry Soup too

Details | Bio | |

Facing Reality

It's a hard pill to swallow knowing that something 
you worked and fought so hard for is just a lost cause 
and you can't put life on pause, all you can do is wonder
and think what a fool you are
now there's a handful of people who think they can change
who their significant other is or who they used to be 
love is blind and when you in love and want someone so bad
it's kind hard to see the light and everybody goes threw the b.s
but you try your best to make things right and you began to wonder 
he or she isn't even trying despite the fact how far y'all came 
they say their completely honest with but deep down you know their lying
and when you make time for them and they don't make time for you
tell me what do you do, what do you do when you think
every time you try to reach out to your mate the devils laughing in your face
and you finally realize all the time you spent trying to be the best man
she was never trying to be the best woman
you see you were looking for love but only found heartache in your left bosom
she was looking for a sex partner and thats whats real, but
behind this reflection in the mirror now after adding your relationship
up from it's ups and downs it get to be and seem so much clearer
she could never be the woman who you see yourself marrying
fact of the matter is she's just the woman with your child she's carrying
and the signs were there in the beginning that she was swimming in lust
and ashes to ashes dust to dust thats what the end of this relationship 
was made up of, a relationship that never should have started 
and now all you're left with is a broken heart thats dearly departed 
and a mind thats critically injured and all you can say is, its my fault
sometimes we have faith in something thats nothing
something thats not there, one living in despair and another 
just too in love to admit that despite of what her lifestyle has
always been like he's always forgive and forget, but in the end 
it was his heart that was gonna be a homicidal casualty, but 
thats just life I suppose and I'm just facing reality

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetry Soup

This is where I come to bleed.
Where I leave my heart for you to read.
So many things in my heart to grieve.
But only one place it can come to relieve.

It's where my friends I've never met,
Yet, in their minds, my feelings I set.
You relate my fears. You see my love,
Even for that of my God high above.
I speak to you of the one I hold dear.
Whenever, for her, I'm shedding a tear.

Poetry and song in the world we fill,
Leaving it with an insurmountable bill.
Though in money and riches we do not bask,
A little of your time is all I ask.
Poetry soup is what soothes my soul.
It makes even the broken feel once again whole.

I write when I'm joyful. I write when I'm lost.
I write when the world has me beaten and tossed.
It's a medicine so potent we cannot perceive.
They're words that can make weak humans believe.

So to you the readers I am ever indebted.
It's a friendship I have not ever regretted.

Details | Free verse | |


There's not a story in your soul that you wish to spill?
Not an idea in your hand that you want to see spread?

You fancy yourself a Master of Words but they evade you
Like bruised hounds fleeing a man with a stick

Do not fear the blank page nor the words that sound like echoes
Write the poetry already written on your insides

What phrases traverse the length of your intestines?
What concepts lie printed on the pink of your brain

What words cling to your heartstrings and swing
With the beat of the blood carried away by your arteries?

Find the letters that form stitches that hold you together:
The mind to the body to the soul - Find:

That it is poetry that extracts the essence of sentiment 
And makes audible the voices in your head - Find:

That it is to poetry you will turn when you can't think of what to say
To poetry you will turn when your voice is taken away

It will release you, tease you, chase you, face you
Take you by the hand, turn you - Make you face yourself

And there, you will find you cannot help but write poetry 
For poetry is you

Details | Rhyme | |

Long lost poetry found

Half empty cup,
man walking up.
 In the zone,
 staring at a half eaten scone.
  Books strewn about,
  writing without a doubt.
   More poems written today,
   than I thought I could muster.
    Before I'd be a fluster,
    now they flow freely,
    my mind at ease.

Details | Free verse | |

poetry wadi

Will the well run dry
This think and feel flow?

Or maybe there's an alchemy down here
Catalytically constructing stanzas
Like spiders to kill prey weave webs...

A little spit - that's all it takes
Voila!  Another catching verse
But is it too terse
Too trite too cliche?

Touche!  A score to the heart
With the epistemological epee
Evoking lovers truths
And could-be living issues.

Is this water fresh?
Come, make us an oasis
Where camel-backed readerettes
Store up their own ponderings greening

'gainst east-winded wanderings driving
A dry thirst through deserts without
Wellsprings of a wet word heard
By travel-wearied women.

And this poetry wadi...
A mirage maybe merely
But perhaps only mostly
Deep weeps of mad me.

Details | Concrete | |

The Dot, In Small I

                                       Ok            Is  
                                       It’s          Me 

                                  O, that’s what I am
                                  Small, less famed
                                  Yet, I stand proud
                                  Among your crowd
                                  I, too, have an aim
                                  Even though I came
                                  Yes, from the land
                                  Where all must run
                                  To the field of tare
                                  Ere storms share
                                  Us, their madness
                                  Our great sadness
                                  Still, I have a price
                                  I also have my vice
                                  Though, life is less
                                  For me, I am bless 
                                  Though, I am a dot
                                  But I am not a nut
                                  O, true, without me
                                  Like dot, there’ll be
                                  No. a small letter I
                                  Or big you, my pie

Details | Rhyme | |


I press the button and renew
The page with someone's masterpiece.
I see a so-called review
Of letters less than letters missed.
The comment's author claims to be
A bard, a critic and a muse.
This three-in-one, or none-in-three
Can't get the core of someone's views,
Of thoughts in their poetic flight.
Yes, it is hard - they tend to flee,
But it's the artist's one true might
To see what other eyes can't see,
And poets for a day or two,
Who shape a random phrase by chance,
Who haven't proved a sentence true,
Just have no right to set demands
For those who ponder, dare and speak,
Who search, discover and create.
Their fame is yet to reach its peak,
And as for you, it's way too late.

Details | Epigram | |

Catch As Catch Can (Epigram)

Roy sought to catch himself the lil greased sow…
‘Til old boar caught and made him holler~ Ouch!

Details | Rhyme | |

T'was The Night Of Thanksgiving

(Humorous silly holiday poem)

T'was the night of Thanksgiving,and I couldn't just fall asleep
I tried everything I knew,even trying to count  some dumb sheep,
But nothing happened and I was getting more angry and mad at myself,
The leftovers were still on my mind and my stomach went just bleat!

I jumped over my bed and I raced to the door with all my power and might,
And right in the kitchen I landed,where some food was still on sight,
My heart beat it so fast like a train gone bad,when I saw all the turkey leftover galore,
White and dark meat were waiting there just for me, to my profounded delight!

There was cranberry sauce,apple pie and the most wonderfully sweet, pumpkin pie!
My heart aglowed and my mouth watered all over in front of all this sight,
For there I saw some chocolate pudding just sitting upon  a tray,
So I gobbled and gobbled, till I thought I couldn't see another new day!

I felt myself swelling up all the sudden, right to the size of the house!
Then I heard this  terrible noise,and I've just burst and rip off my blouse!
As I went off straight to the ceiling like a Speeding Gonzalez balloon!
I felt again so sick and so big as I went flying right past the face of the moon

But I still managed to YEEELLL to everyone in the whole town,
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!and pass me all your chocolate PUDDING! Please!



Dorian Petersen Potter
aka laydp2000


Details | Free verse | |

My Song- (Solfège)

Do- Re- Mi-

Do..Dodo flightless bird
fearless of humans; easy prey!
Extinct so long many believe you a myth....

Re master of universe
mirror image of Ra...worshiped
by millions seeking a ray of hope..
a ray of sunshine warming heart and soul...

Mi.. Mi.. ME
Calm me.. breath..deeply breath..
help me.. bless me.. sing my song..
Do - Re- Mi-

Fa- So- La-

Fa away from everything;
everyone I love.. wishing..
dreaming.. desolate..

So- so- Sewing
Grandma's old sewing machine..
bright colors.. tiny stitches..
warm quilts... So- so- Sew!

La- La- La-
Sadness.. Dark.. gloomy..
overwhelmed.. lonely.. Tears..
La-La-La-...LA! LA! LA!

La- Ti- Do-

ti-Ti- piercing.. Heart weary.. 
Ti.. Ti.. Tea!
a hot cup with lemon and honey..
faith....hope.. a ray..

Do- stronger now!
Do- Do- Do what you have to!
find strength.. it's there..deep inside you..
survive! grow! learn! LIVE!!

do- re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do...
DO- RE- MI- Fa-So- La- ti-  do!

Details | Idyll (Idyl) | |


We, in the heart of midnight, connected, 
Charged by electronic parables spun 
Through cables and channels of fragile fibre, 
Close-knit and ambitious to be as one. 

The amethyst drape of coffee shadows, 
Heliotrope hands of praying faith 
Gathered me in and held me close, 
An avid, emotional, passionate wraith. 

Devoted, bedazzled I anticipated 
Words that hypnotically burn and entrance, 
Wings of a dove in the lavender sky, 
Soft falling rain from clouds of romance. 

I, in the heart of midnight, concluded 
Placid in peaceful superlative schemes, 
My love is the saviour of hope and salvation, 
Guardian of idylls, the keeper of dreams.

Details | I do not know? | |

Would it bother you to know?

Would it bother you to know?
That I write about you everyday
About angsty feelings that I wont let go
About things I’d never be brave enough to say
Would it bother you to know?
That I have books filled with prose
Ones that are so filled with emotions they glow.
Like a giant emotional buffet.
Would it bother you to know?
That you unknowingly toss my heart around like a football play.
And my emotions painted out are like a Vincent Van Gogh.
That you make my eyes light up like a Texas independence day.
Would it bother you to know?

Details | Epigram | |


to adorn-
the creative

Details | Free verse | |


Tony Kushner wrote plays as a telephone operator,
Kafka wrote stories at night after working as an insurance adjuster,
Grisham penned court room dramas religiously for three years before
being published.

These playwrights and novelists and poets,
Lived a dual existence-

By day,
They lived an ordinary existence,
Maintaining a 9-5 or overnight shifts
While balancing obligations like
family, grocery shopping, taxes, rent or mortgage
friends, bills, lovers

At night, 
In their precious time-

They were on a lonely, thankless journey,
Only their desk, the lamp and their pen and paper/typewriter/computer
 as company,
Communing with their muse,

Creating, Rewriting, editing, repeat

Telling stories for the mere pleasure,  to satisfy an 
Incurable hunger for their words, thoughts, voices

To be expressed, considered, read,

Without the guarantee of money, fame, recognition or success..

I remember them when verse rushes through my mind 
like an angry, swollen April river,
That I forget the words as quickly as I conceive them,
or I compose long winded poems
with no direction, shape or grace.

I remember them when procrastination and writer’s block
Prevents me from writing for days, months or years,
or when I hear that my high school nemesis is a doctoral
Candidate in poetry 

I remember and thank them for giving my inspiration
To continue.

Details | Verse | |

Breaking The Pen

You may break the pen, but not my love…for poetry

Details | I do not know? | |


Sorrow , my companion, how you bear such burden,
the weight of broken hearts,
the sea of endless tears.
Such is my thoughts, they my tormentors,
my mind, turning, wheeling,
where is there reason.

The knowing of wrong cannot change the coarse.
My heart , tis laden with delusionment, and disenchantment,
Yet the pain, by far , ouy ways these.

As I reminiss here , amongst melancholy and sadness ,
I feel such longing , torment , pulling at me,
How do I escape.

I know the heart will heal with time,
and the body will still bear ,
But not the threads of my mind ,
No stretch of fabric can mend that tear.

Clement Hardy

Details | Free verse | |

Faux Fur Jacket on a Hot Day

Starlight, star fight

I hope no one cries tonight
I hope that life 

is more than the sun

and more than that book I read

about the horses,

more than the dirt on the floor,

sitting there like a 

fairy dust covers a flower.

The flower blows in the wind

and I weep 

for the day that comes when

life no longer 

has an end

or really a beginning.

This jacket is itchy

and I itch it like my mind

hurts, it hurts when I think of 

how sick I am of

running away from 

the life that is coming

to me.       

Details | Imagism | |

Shaper then ever

you thought 
seeing me at my 
but i was just 

trying to burst
threw super stardom
from a post of dirt
you know the 
insults i dodge

the type your kin folk
just when it was dull
i scrape and scarpe 
till there was 

able bitter and cold 
now i glitter like gold 
the narrow point
seeks into everyinch 
of your soul... 
with my mouth open

i heat up 
ice cold area's like 
miss smith apple pies
i lost my spunk or did i
only to return 
sharper then ever

Details | Italian Sonnet | |

Shakespeare's Nightmare

Poor William turns and moans within his grave:
Within a phrase, one simple turn can bind
the most creative stirrings of the mind
and poet to cliché becomes a slave.
Exist but in uniqueness and repent
for rhyming verse you penned with “love” and “dove”
and last week’s sonnet found “push comes to shove” - 
the future of our language I lament…

But surely, there must be another choice
than bland insertions placed but for the rhyme
which, with their frequency, are meaningless.
‘Tis poet death to speak with borrowed voice – 
transcend the obvious to reach sublime,
allow poor William his most peaceful rest.

Details | Crystalline | |

Tennis Poetry

free versing is a scoreless, netless
                                              tennis game;

rhyming, is a refereed version 
                                              of the same.

Details | Sijo | |

Mental Poetry

With this mind I create, written words of unspoken depth
It comes freely, effortlessly, as if it were a God sent gift
The creations flow, an enraged stream, mental poetry.

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Love hurts

When I hurt,you hurt, damn this cruel world that doesn't know whether to let love be or 
die; my heart yearns to be loved but my insecurities begin to get in the way I refuse to 
be the one feeling my emotions are void. How do I love someone who only makes me feel 
like I'm the only one who cares, I feel only as if I've loved myself? I don't wanna be 
alone but I don't want my heart to be played around with like a play on words to make me 
believe a LIE! I shed my emotions like the the rain pours, heavily then lightens up and 
again begins back at a steady flow. Make up your mind why did it have to be so true that 
love is blind, hidden away in the darkness who only know if I'm being lead in the right 

Details | Couplet | |

The Healing Time

  The sign swings like the wings
of a tethered bird
thrashing in the wind
offering succor to a friend
  Before the storm you duck inside
shelter over riding pride
Lightning flashes cross the room
a face,a figure,heavy gloom
  Two candles flicker
shadows dance
Y ou crave the healing 
 pour out your pockets
spill the filling
  everything inside that's
all the rhythem and the rhyme
come on in it's healing time
  Quill and parchment on the desk
you are the invited guest
Blood red ink or black and blue
everything is there for you
  Pour it out upon the line
come on now it's healing time
  children running in the rain
dancers dance,in love again
spiders weaving webs forever
silky thoughts you thread together
   You feel the wonder wrap around you
once again your muse has found you!

Details | Sijo | |

Night Falls Suddenly -Sijo

 Abruptly, the shadows dispelled of the soft green earth 
As midday approaches, few are gathering in the heat thereof
The sunset flows, ‘cross-vast blue sea and night falls suddenly. 




Details | Free verse | |

A pen and paper

All I've ever had is a pen and a paper
take my skin off and you'll 
see right beneath the follicles 
are words, words are all I've ever 
know. I don't trust many people 
in life but my heart beats harder
just discribing what real emotion 
feels like. All day every day I feel 
like running away but no matter 
how far I run similes and sonnets 
seem to follow me. Poetry isn't going
anywhere it's like cancer in the brain
and if I try to dissect a piece out
it will only make me insane. I fell 
in love the day I realized poetry 
made me brave. How eloquently
I could discribe my deepest pains. 
It makes the pouring rain simmer into a
light drizzle and when I was sad it would
make the shame fizzle. I just wouldn't be
the same without it. It's like my oxygen, 
it has the same affect as a cigarette
without the toxins. It's a constant 
reminder as my heart beats this 
is what I live for, this is me.     

Details | Free verse | |

The Rebooting Boogie

Late one night
I decided to write...
While musing in silence
My computer was in defiance

As I scooted to the keys
My thoughts began to be un-eased
As the program stood still
I kept rebooting until~

I realized what was happening
That ole boy needed new programming
He kept doing the rebooting boogie
‘Til every virus was gleaned, and tossed away-- Happily
There’ll be no more of that boogying today

Details | Rhyme | |

Ink Impulse

Adorned feelings, inspired,
Nonchalance and serenity acquired,
Lucidity and clarity desired,
In ink, mired,

A forever-ignited fire… 

Details | Free verse | |

In Subtle

To me, 
Is romantic

The head banging music 
Of Metallica.

Sweet melodies 
Of a word traveler well spilled in it, 
In subtle.

Details | Senryu | |

Grammar Nazis part2

Rise of the third write
Marching On Haikus Tonight!
Making us know right

By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights reserved ©MMX

Details | Epigram | |

Mono Gram # 1

Poetry is easy to digest, than pride.

Details | Ode | |

Cold As Frost (Ode to Robert Frost)

            Subjective to the eyes upon words, poems are never
 the same twice. 
Quiet as snow fall you revealed the truest form of a self centered
 "October" day. 
Leaves fall in a similar pattern to unfamiliar words being recited 
around an ever-
trusting ignorant society. Perhaps the "Road not Taken" is where 
i shall resign 
my poetic beliefs and live as a reborn gust of wind, blowing lives 
in foretold 
directions. I have taken the time from time which has already 
escaped my life 
and given it too less of a friend, which became more of a burden. 
Pride bursts 
out in every direction giving reason for blame when blame insults
 the very 
essence of my reflection. One star permanently blazed into an 
empty sky can 
depend on me like clockwork, for I am the first to call criticism upon 
"Frost" in the 
winter. If it were truly that simple then the pen would lose it's importance 
as the 
tool of our trade. Who said that brilliance was not born, 
only created through 
practice? Then would be the time too call yourself gifted. 
A lifetime is lived "For 
once, Then Something" and until time is chosen none will be revealed. 
In my 
world; the sun will not shine without the loss of the moon, 
the rain only falls upon 
broken smiles, and the breeze is never as cold as "Frost".

Details | Free verse | |

poetry soup

what is poetry soup[?
IT is imaginative creative a combination of  prose, haiku, free verse, ballads & 
Combined it produces a wonderful work of art that soothes the soul and 
stretches the imagination and entices the creative juices.
It is Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes,Eliabeth Barett browning sister souljah 
and me!
it is imagagery rhythm and rhyme.
the proliferation of words exquistively  expressed
poetry soup

Details | Senryu | |

I Write Poetry

i write poetry
in a plain, simple English
am I a poet?

Details | Sijo | |

Just Open Me

Lithographed Japanese butterfly frost on the cover
Lime green unlined paper frozen and daring this Indian ink
to seep into her soul, marrying two cultures in word thaw.

Details | Senryu | |

Bonsai Poetry

Saying much with less,
 this Haiku hocus-pocus,
  bonsai poetry!

Details | Free verse | |

Ghost Writer

I am the invisible hand that guides your fingers
Before the thought has consciously formed
Your ears ring with the undertones of your muse
She speaks softly and you listen with your heart

A passionate story teller in short form and verse
Relinquishing every fragile emotion within this abyss
Of great pain and sorrow your words begins to bleed
All for the sake of protecting me

I am the child within
I am the adult that screams unfamiliar faith
One who is still
One whom you so eloquently embrace

I am the soul that whispers. no need to shout your name
I am the love you search for as you release old shame
A ghostwriter living inside a paranoid’s mind
Seeking and searching for that moment in time

I am your breaking point when all goes mad
I am the ocean that rides the tides into the sand
Sands of time, sands of stone
I am your ghostwriter that will someday
…Make you known

Details | Bio | |


of beauty,
enhancing my
and poems,
and love from my
and postings
from friends on this
enhancing my

Details | I do not know? | |

A word, men and desire

A word,fruit of poets paradise
With a touch of essence, he write his delight
of men,and all with sight
Men dreaming schemes dreaming hope
Hanging to that, gold as a rope
And his drown in waters of his desire
Desire,a blind leading a blind
its looms touches the mind
it's as a light as a fire

Details | Free verse | |

Illusive Muse

 Illusive muse
Where did you go
How long must I linger this time
Cruel sweet Mother of Songs
The wide eyed child poet waits
somewhere in a closet
behind the skeletons
behind the guilt
where confidence was spiders silk
and glistened with geometric truth
The muses danced around me
holding candles
they were dressed in primary colors
 they moved the pen
again and again and opened doors of ink
One by one they moved on
each waving goodbye as she danced away
Now I grasp at abstract straws
I milk the thick and drying sap
from strained memories

What was once a labor of love
now struggles to be a love of labor
I stare blank into a starving white sea

Details | Narrative | |

sweating inspiration

as I am here this warm evening
pressing the microphone button 
on my smart phone 
John Quincy Adams sits beside me 
at his congressional desk 
while Thomas Edison is sitting nearby
at a bench in Menlo Park and 
Archimedes is lounging 
down the hall in his bath 

none of them are visibly 
perturbed, nor exhibit
obvious genius as they are 
creating the finer 
points of civilization 
for the greater good

while all I can do is 
speak at my phone 
which flashes lines of ads 
about free online games 
and sites of single Asian women 
as I sweat to create

it's enough to consider
going to a libation establishment
and saying "hey barkeep,
give me a wallbanger
and an inspiration
with a twist"

© Goode Guy 2012-05-19

Genius is one percent inspiration, 
ninety-nine percent perspiration. - Thomas Edison

Details | Quatrain | |

About Poetry

Poetry is nothing hard,
The words just come to you.
When it's quiet, just enough,
The words come out of the blue.

Poems can tell of happiness,
They can also tell of pain.
Some tell of sunny afternoons,
As well as all the rain. 

Depending on what you do,
And mostly how you feel,
What you write in poetry
Is your choice to reveal.

Details | Acrostic | |


E ncrusted amidst sensation,
L ust, and temptation,
U rged towards frustration,
S uddenly back to elation,
I ntangible desperation, hence
V eneering mystification...
E nticing words of vocation,

                                         Pen with motivation…
                                         Pen with relaxation…

Details | Free verse | |

Flesh on the bones

SeasonThe sex skull anybody?
the spine hey
flesh on the bones of sex
the ribs hey
the arms baby
the legs of sex
the sex hands 
the feet hey anybody?

hey The skeleton now baby

hey Where do now these poems
hey the poems of sex bones of metaphors go?

where do these sex poems die?
where is the sex grave baby, anybody?
hey for the skeletal remains winding
of the dead that still linger from beyond, anybody?

The skull baby
hey the spine Now
the ribs now, anybody?
Season the arms
the sex legs
hey Flesh on the bones
the sex hands
the feet baby hey
the sex  fingers winding
the toes hey, anybody

the wicked sex skeleton

sex bones Now winding

where doet these poems without flesh go
where do these poems wander?
where season is their wicked resting place?
how do they ressurrected be?
name skeletal remains
Flesh on the bones winding
chasing a wicked soul
of the life its living
to be born again baby

wicked the bones winding
the hollow Now
wicked shallow
Now pitiful baby
today bones winding
wicked masquerading
as bones of metaphor
today of a poem winding

Details | Narrative | |

Illyanna's Dark Poetry

I wish people would quit picking on my sister. She is a wonderful writer and I know her
work is dark and creepy but that is who she is. She writes to entertain and to take you
places that make you uncomfortable. If you read her poems and you get the chills she has
done what she set out to do! If it creeps you out to much then when you see the name
Illyanna De La Keur then don't read it. This is a place where we all can demonstrate our
creativity and I would hate for her to remove her work and quit writing. Illyanna is a
writer that is an acquired taste and if not for her and my other sister I would never have
explored my own talent so please lay off on telling her to change her subject matter.

Details | Couplet | |


Mirror,Mirror,on the wall,
What character reflecs me most of all?

Am I a strong writer,
But a weak fighter?

Or,am I a strong fighter,
And a weak writer?

Am I careful or careless,
Am I fearful or fearless?

So I ask, Mirror,Mirror,on the wall,
What character reflects me most of all?

Details | Epigram | |


my severed thoughts
are connected yet
on this coupling
I am willing to bet

Details | Senryu | |

the P is common

the P is common
pen, paper, poet, poem
always together

Details | Sonnet | |


To dare to write a poem is a thrill.
The world of words all things can symbolize.
A wordsmith has to ever hone his skill,
And greater grow his gift to empathize.

To break the bonds of esoteric terms
Will free the coded secrets they convey.
By sharing truth, a poet truth confirms.
To hear their words can clear our thoughts away.

These words must spark a meaning of our own.
A special nuance to their true intent.
They speak to us and we are not alone.
A deeper guidance deepens our content.

When poets share the feelings in their hearts,
Then grateful readers flourish by their arts.

Details | Light Poetry | |

The Art of Poetry

Poetry allows you to write what you feel
Let the idea of thought to inspire you
Lets the words that you write take flight 

Watch as each line takes rhyme
Write it deep and defined
Or turn it into a design

Flowing from the pen, keyboard and recorder
Poetry is in every earthly corner 
Poetry creates the landscape for every perceived view

Its in music and movies
Its at the beach and parks
Its on a plane flying high

Poetry’s got the motion 
It allows you to vent your rage 
And share your joys

It doesn’t have to rhyme all the time
express who you are,  out of the dark
dance your write and celebrate.

Details | I do not know? | |


If you have a deep feeling, inside, write it down.
Don't think about others, what they'll say, you're no clown.
Just pick up some paper, and get your favorite pen;
Then pour out your heart, tell the world what's within.
Now, put it in verses, and make the words rhyme.
My god, your a poet! You'll be remembered through time.

Details | Free verse | |

Why I Write

Take a walk with me
Down this street that is in my mind
Past the houses, past the sidewalks
Past the children's playgrounds and ball parks
Walk past all the things you see
And wander into my memories

The past, the present, the future
All rolled into one event
Inside myself I control my destiny
Beyond the physical boundaries
Into that part deep in my soul
Lingering in places only I know

When you read the words
Written and meant to be shared
You touch this place inside
Experience the tears I've cried
See the love and anger too
The disappointments and the dreams come true

I don't write for me
And I don't even write for you
I write because I am compelled
To share a story I must tell
It's not a talent I have been given
It is ordained, predetermined

I write because I have no choice
I write because God gave me the voice

For every heart my words will touch
And for my own heart too
I write to share compassion
I write with fevered passion
To show the world the human side
Of conflict, anger, pain and pride

Details | Bio | |


in the mind-
paint my private

Details | Free verse | |

Steady Hands

They laughed at my feeble attempts to express myself,
then wondered why I spent so much time
alone in my room.

A closed door, blank paper.
A typewriter’s busy, furious clicking:

(Let me write, let me write,
let me fill up the blank skied night
with words.)

“Isn’t she ever coming out of there?
It’s not normal spending so many hours
alone in that room.”

Sweet oblivion reaches out its kind fingers
and buttons me up,
envelops me in the warmth of my little corner.

Words splash and spill
into midnight hours;
they shake their heads in puzzlement—
I am not one of them—
and I have no explanation to offer.

I kneel down
and mop up the spillage of words
with steady hands.

Details | Free verse | |

The Beauty of the Written Word

There is a beauty in the written word
When not so much of it is spoken
The verbiage lingers in my mind
Like the taste of a fine wine
The words pass before my eyes
Like ethereal clouds across the skies
And can bring tears unto my eyes
Like a joy so unrevealed.

There is a meaning in some words
That can cause my heart to break
Or cause my spirit to elate
Words can cause your heart to pound
As I ponder the mental sounds
Reverberating in my chest
It gives my soul unrest
It moves a feeling in my breast
Of the beauty
Of written words
I will never grow weary.

(November 26, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

Details | Couplet | |

Colorful Speech

            Write in color...
             start with white.
                    Catch it in a shaft of light.
           Prisms painting every shade, 
           fade to black
                    when night is made
      on your canvas or your scroll
                         red and blue and green and gold
                            signifying every notion,
                     colored lines with bright emotion.
               red for blood 
       black with dread
blue and green and gold  I said.
      exhalations all inspired
               by the spectrum
                        You've  acquired.

Details | Free verse | |

what's in your head? predict this!!!!

Did you see squares all over the page?
stars of E.S.P?
wavy lines?
blue circles?
Can we add it  with a plus sign
come a cross something few will known was here?

Was this my test for the prophets?
are we following white rabbits still?
Is this just another complex inkblot
rainbows and angels
metaphors i don't understand to throw into history
for you to hand to someone
to ask what does this mean?
what do you see?

And then popularity and polls
you become subconscious prophets 
leading the world in some direction

was it the vision of a blue rose slowly blooming
but unfortunately due to the icicles
and snow it has black specks all over it
can you see the green moon
or is it red?
can you sense the passion for insensitivity
are you taken a back?
what am i trying to express?

do the pieces fit
is there still a method to my madness
or are you just my game now?

read this please
ink blots and poems
squares and puzzles
tests and perceptions
and only the geniuses and eccentric already controlled stand out
but if you sway, stand out

be careful

is the square inside or outside of the square
is the star spiraling around the triangle that was never there until just now

here's your pen and pencil
heres your paintbrush and canvass
read this ten times
then begin

is it a vase
with angels and humming bird with shapes in eyes
with spirits, ghosts in doorways
is it resting place crowned with intuition
of spheres and other influences
a library of records
that centers around stars and stripes whited out
and denials danced around
struck out
and basically restrained smile
squared off to circle our emotions
like an angel you just met who wrote this
inspire the new muse
be studied that only geniuses
the mentally ill
certain artists can see
or be forever cursed and manipulated until 
you finish your masterpiece inspired by this confusion

whats inside
what sense is here
what is orchestrating
the fruit bowls
and wheels of the mind?
what hypnosis did you fall for?
what do they know you can help others with in the conspiracy of art museums
thats been done before
never been done before
what ghosts and traces of white and yellow are still lingering

what esoteric seeds of psychics are still circling from the squares of the stars 
sprout from the weeds of your mind
heres your pen and pencil
write a poem, draw a picture, paint a painting
what does it mean?
are you crazy?

did you predict this?

Details | Free verse | |

A Poet's Prayer

   May the paper be my canvas
     that I might with ink of pen
 paint in vivid color a world for you

                of thought
                and depth

  that will speak volumes to you
       in the truest dimension
I am able to attain in this art form.

Details | Free verse | |

my life defined

a series of acts
with a few different scenes
and the script is me knowing yet praying 
that it wont be
a tragedy

Every act i face a series of tests
each test given a name called a scene
I repeat these scenes like life lessons
and when i get them right
like a game show 
i move on to the next act

How many acts are in a Shakespearean tragedy anyway
will i be strong enough
when in this test no matter how near or far from home 
that's always where I'm pointed

I walk out one door
to find myself on set still
outside this time so it should appear
another door i walk into leads me inside
but yet on a yacht going far away
and the actors are always there
asking me dilemmas
choose this choose that
and then I'm right back at the beginning
flashback making it all make sense
like a dram of circles inside my head

the foreshadowing is thick
for we all know the circle routine of the circle of doors
that lead us around on the set
from act one of home to outside
then faraway and jail
to yacht to flashback home again

what is the lesson to be learned
depends on the actors
and the foreshadowing is thick
story lines story lines

this is my life
the show must go on
and i sit here wasting time to write
the actors of my life were never friends
and proof for look they are all on strike
leaving me to walk these circles in my mind
alone on this set blind

open the door
sunrise blue bright outside sky
open the door
I'm on  yacht
open the door
I'm in jail
open the door
I'm in outer space
open the door
I'm home again
and the foreshadowing in this scene is clever but oh soo thick
as i walk in circles by myself
the story seems to stick

how can i make their guts crawl and plan to fail soo tragicly
no one would intervene and it would make us all sick?

Details | I do not know? | |

On the Masses

On The Masses 
How do many poems start?

It is in all I think the desire for expression
The pen or the keys write the painful subject
Or wring the lips in unforced joys

From there the simple marks
The words spoken fresh and free
No longer unite these fledgling
Dreams, masterpieces, written weeping and tortured screaming

Like Eden and the apples bite
The touch of paper upon the words
Brings them to the jungles threshold

To keep your emotions a simple pleasure
Is easy and does not test your measure
Inside the deep the critics lair
Is where the forgotten hopeless and remembered greats dared

Where poems die, screams of passion judged
A flowers description as delicate as the thing
This is where they go be seen, atop the heaps are the standard few

I rarely dig deep, though that is where my own are buried
I'll read the ones seen as great
I'll dream of the ones I'm yet to write
For in a moment they are the same

Details | I do not know? | |

Definition of Form

Magically her entrance
was so graceful and mysterious,
The robe that she was wearing
Left my mind to question curious...
Her skin like golden honey
Seemed to magnify moonlight,
And every curve when she would turn
would make it even more bright..
As she sat in silence
Naked looking out the window
She rubbed her bosom slightly,
Tugging lightly at my ego...
Her legs so soft and silky
seemed to call me when she crossed them,
Would they be as exciting
If the lighting would have lost them...
And as the paint meets canvas
Mending images I've torn
I admire...her entire
Truly the definition of form...

Details | Lanterne | |


poetry in

Details | I do not know? | |

Sorrows beauty

When you thought the world was a perfect circle
It showed you the lenses beneath.
When you overcame the sadness of the truth
It told you not to dig too deep.
When you confronted it with your problems
It told you it was up to you to solve them.
Silences cruelties
Sorrows beauty.

When you were over the edge
It pulled you up, but pushes you over again.
Betrayed by your own friend
It told you it doesn't matter.
Because you didn't even exist
It told you to live your life now,
Because soon your heart would burst
Deaths unity
Sorrows beauty.

Your heart was lost in someone else's hands
It told you to move on, no one gives a damn.
Your faith in another
Was drowned by mistake.
It was a coincidental fate
No more trust to give.
So you ignore the lie you live
Loves tendencies
Sorrows beauty.

You cry your tears
In a puddle of rain.
The clouds didn't notice
It all blended in.
You scream the loudest your lungs can take
Other register them as nothing but fake.
You know it's real but they can't see
Because it's coming from you and not a TV.
Pure insanity
Sorrows beauty.

When you've fallen
It kicks your sides.
When you've recovered
It takes away that pride.
Pains immunity
Sorrows beauty.

The beauty within
The walls that don't hide
The walls that bleeds the tears
Until the veins run dry.

Details | I do not know? | |


The art of life,
a million dollar invention;
without your existence,
things would go unmentioned.

You're the begining,
the end,
a lifelong friend;
until the end of time,
words will always win.

Details | Epigram | |


to escape
the fetters of

Details | Free verse | |

Joining the Suicide Club

We have to buy our own black leather jackets,
sharpen our words like switchblades.

Poems are dangerous things.

We shoot them up.
Our tattoos read:

We die for it.

Watch out for us. We will violate
your daughters with our villanelles. We will
                  turn the street wet
                        with our deaths,
for no one cares
                        or reads these poems
held at our heads.

You call our bluffs, wave back
at us from our bridges, our windows
                              our ovens.

We die,
exploding these poems
                        like seeds.

Details | Free verse | |

Spelling Lesson

To cast a spell with perfect skill
While using words that rhyme
Is waving iron on stormy hill
And not just spelling time
The magics flicker twist and weave
Like hand tied flies o’er mountain streams
Casting spell requires skill
Hard learned by those who dance in dreams
A sharp barbed hook can circle till
It finds a novice ear
There’re spells that bind and spells to find
And spells that one can take
From using any indiscreet
To stand on steady feet
For Magic charges fees to they
Who in her wiles wade
And waits a spell like fires in Hell
For payment yet unpaid
A careful skill indeed with will
And need to weed to garden
Make no mistake and give don’t take
And ask no witch for pardon

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Writer's Block

Discounted sentiments
half truths and partial dreams
a broken life
and broken meter
no room left for rhyme

Cryptic messages
dire warnings and vain pleas
an empty soul
and listless pen
nothing written on the page

Diverted muses
forgotten thoughts and hopes
a deviated body
and empty head
no more divine connection

Details | Free verse | |

Broken Thought

A carnival of linguistic parallels 
celebrate at the ball of my pen.
Where elastic ideas are

around yesterday’s hypothesis
around today’s theory 
around tomorrow’s cognition 

I calculate, 
deliberate and
think until

Strands of comprehension snap 
I perceive only inky, illiterate hiccups 
stuttering on lines of hyphenated ellipsis’ 

      Confused by logic
Bemused by logic
       perplexed by logic 

The babble of broken thought, 
an onslaught of sensible gibberish 
That says nothing but says it all… 

Details | Free verse | |

How writing works within the unfinished seal of fate

Within the chemicals 
remain your mind 
somewhere the soul  divine 
within inspiration 
everything you say and do 
not depending on the clothes you wear 
or the shoes that define you 
you are a writer 
gift from soul learn lessons 
want to share them 
with spaces perplexed reason trapped within 

as you become an artist your soul begins to scream horrors 
cry and shout 
you begin realizing the nightmare 
 pessimism's hellfire's 
 truths wonders doubts 
don't fret my friend for this is only the beginning of your gift 
 only a matter of time 
for your brain
creativity to understand privilege 
blueprint or the script 
essence has developed 
take it slow learn tools of expression 
 when your mind notices 
you are paying attention to your spirit 
 your soul,  doors begin opening and closing 
 all tumble down this rabbit hole 

when you learn to express feelings inside 
start to understand there are many sides to this puzzle in time 
start to understand life lessons 
and the beauty of art 
you become humbled enraged 
smart stupid and full of heart 
keep asking questions  
don't forget to go back through your own pages and answer them 
don't forget to look through insecurities
unanswered prayers 
tell yourself what you have learned from them 
don't deny your lessons your heart is begging you to learn 
keep in mind as you grow to become wise  
throughout time 
great thinkers 
historical revolutionaries 
were also once blind 
reasoned with the puzzles inside 

when your brain realizes you are listening to your thoughts 
your mind begins playing tricks 
whether you like it or not 
see through the illusion  
learn which voice to hate more than you 
and offer yourself clues 
to go back on to which door 
you obviously readily did choose 
keep in mind you are beautiful and your soul 
the angels mans plans and god will pave the way 
you might feel lonely like everyone but there will come a day 
when all the loose ends fit 
and you see your piece of the bigger puzzle 
your voice of reason in the insanity 
screaming filth 
that’s a blessing to be heard 
but don't forget 
you choke on your own words. 

Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizard wrote part six

your new split second decision 
your new cult of fashion and intuition 
back to the middle

Say what you
I run away
your new dream to wonder 
around again what’s there if it isn’t love?
the stories that it creates
plant the seed to be healthy 

I set you free
Don’t ever set me free
Turn me loose
I love you
I will be with you

the tangents that you go on 
did you discover his fate or was it all fake 

My salivation

was it propoganda
it not as simple as it seems 

the psychosomatic drowns in you
was my grandfather a conspirator or a joker 
will I ever know the truth or was everybody given everything that they need
Near and far and everything
brainwashed by a political bully 
who had no answers 
be my world as you drown
I wanna fly

what are you fighting for
whose keeping score?
Does anyone understand?
When someone shouts out loud
Ask him what it turns into
I lost my 
I set you free
Say you love me
And you’ll never stop
I wanna fly

Forgot my
Lost my
Record selection 
tear out whatever pages randomly if you wish 
strategically if you desire 
\but what you do what you will 
I love you
Closer together
what you realize you will come crawling back when this book leaves your hands 
to test you and the future generations of this intellectual dance of angels and 
demons and mans 
I will be with you
plan to tease ease and escape them 
one day I will write this book 
I’ll set you free
Dance with yourself
and every possible reality will be a riddle and every direction ill guide you through 
another jeckyl and hide faked fur inside fashion mag
every prophecy possible will be in there so you decide your own fates and 
you want your family to rehearse 
and know one day someone will control them all
couldn’t get attention
\love operation
didn’t want to be ignored

You got me goin
and they tell me their diggin’ the Heroin
she’s the one they like best
Come top the place where they finally found you
 Nothing to lose
so the books will start exchanging hands 
And the change might do you good

Details | Free verse | |

Sidewalk Scribbles

CJ scrawls out
his initials
saying in black ink
this is his turf.

I dare not step
on the 4-letter word
engraved in stone
lest it ruin my day.

Some sweet child of God
writes, "GOD IS GOOD"
all over the park
in pink chalk.

Lovers carve
their lettered kisses
into hearts
set in stone
that make me smile;
love is such
a happy thing!

The dog left
thankfully only

Mother Nature
dropped some leaves
to imprint themselves
upon the walk.

I haven't left my mark

maybe I will tomorrow.


Details | Couplet | |

A single word

It started with a single word- then came another five.
When I got to my second line, I nearly began to cry.
Chapter two developed in an unsuspected way,
and the characters began to grow a little more each day.
The plot began to thicken by the middle of chapter three,
and ‘he said- she said- who did what?’ was now a mystery.
By the end of chapter four, somebody will die-
and someone else will fall in love by the middle of chapter five.
Chapter six begins with the sound of wedding bells,
and they’ll probably have a baby if chapter seven goes well.
Chapter eight needs more excitement to keep the story strong.
Maybe between nine and ten someone new will come along.
A wondering eye in chapter eleven ignites a love affair
and chapter twelve will begin with a marriage in despair.
Thirteen and fourteen will hold together the threads of a broken heart,
but in chapter fifteen they will finally decide they cannot be apart.
Sixteen will rekindle passion, seventeen a vengeful hate,
and in the beginning of chapter eighteen someone will meet their fate.
Chapter nineteen will be the greatest finale ever heard,
And twenty will be the end of the journey that started with a single word.

Details | Free verse | |

The skeletons new found soul

anybody anybody

winding winding
windining winding

hey hey hey
hey hey
hey hey 
hey hey

Now now 
now now now


Sex Sex Sex
Sex Sex Sex SEx
Sex SEx

wicked wicked wicked


baby baby


Details | I do not know? | |

An Inaudible Encounter

I was minding my own business
When I overheard a conversation
That failed to have words. 
Sounds absurd…but it’s true.
I didn’t know what to do
But understood what was said
At the same time music 
And the mute conversation entering my head,
But the inaudible sounds
And the hands moving up and down
Got me so caught up in the mute dialogue
That I forgot others were around.
So as I come to,
And I reach the train station
I realize that
I live in a gifted nation.
So I got off of the train
And those two were the only ones left
Now that was an amazing encounter
With two people that were deaf.

Details | Free verse | |

' Lost Poems '

Only A Poet Would Understand
Only A Writer Will Know…
Why I Would Feel This Disheartened and
Why I Can’t Shake Writer’s Woe… 

… I Lost 200 Poems or More
Tho’ The Exact Count Doesn’t Matter
Most of What I’d Written Before
… is  no  longer  gathered

A Circumstantial Mishap
My Family Didn’t Realize
That Case… That Mildewed, was a Map
Of My Flight thru Vision-Skies!

Eclectic, Romantic, maybe Eccentric
… also of Favorite Things and Fantasy
… Kinetic, Static or Copacetic
And Sojourns into Soliloquy

… Only A Poet Would Understand
Only A Writer Will Know
Those Exact, Precise – Phrases, won’t come again
… I can only end-up where they go…

Lost Type-of-Line, Pencil-Points of Lead
Lost Sonnets, Songs and Secrets Said
Now, Instead of Ink-Blots, My Tear-Stains Spread
Those Lost Words… Ripped My Throat to Shreds !

… Lost Track … Lost The Time …
Lost Treasure – Can’t Find Rhyme
Lost That Paper-Trail… of Where I’d Been
Lost Paper-Peace –that was Marked:  Amen

and I’d Rather Have Lost My Money
‘Cause I Can Always Earn A Dime…
Instead of My Increased Memory
that Remembers This Literary Crime ! 

… Lost Documentation of Determination
Documentation of Dreams
… My Certificates of Celebrations
… My Tickets To My Park-Themes:

… of Snowflakes to Raindrops
From Heartaches to Heartthrobs
From Whispers to Declarations
Of Best Friends, and Far-Vacations

200 Trains of Thought – Wrecked
200 Expose’ Sheets – Axed
200 Treatises, Throwed Away, Gone…
… on Tragedies, Joys, Jokes and Moans

… Yet, I Rely On God, to Resurrect The Dead:
My Older-Sister, Brother, Grandma, Mom And Dad
and … if its not too silly, vain or bad…
Resurrect Those Words, I Wrote and I Meant to be Read…

Until then… 

Only A Poet Would Understand
And Only A Writer Would Suppose …
If I Do Not Write Again
What Lost Poems You’ll Never Know…

Details | Free verse | |

The book the wizard wrote part four

one day I’ll write this book 
with every possible war in it 
with every possible happy endiNoticedng 
every possible love connection every possible philosophy and holy and evil 
worship in it 
every good and bad intention
Now you got me goin
That you know nothing at all
Gotta do it my way if id oit all
And feel nothing cause you don’t know 
and at the end of leading the believer through the streets 

right left forward back 
One way ticket back to Eden
I reveal this book is perfect but you are going to pass it on to the next generation 
and unfortunately it cant stay intact 
I wanna fly
I wanna fly

With my liscencer to love and memories chained with goldFly

so tear out what you will 
Whose loving me?
will you leave it a book to rise against the government 
a conspiracy amongst the pages I have written in the riddles 
to pass amongst the hands
Tried to break me with goodbye 
will you leave the pages of love and inner wisdom to humble the next generation 
that you didn’t see the future possibilities coming 

And I cant sleep at night
will you tear out the truth that this was all really Gabrielle’s dance 
and test for the souls to see who would climb the highest mountain 
and who would crawl with the royalty at his feet
Fast hearted angels
Hurting the easy 
and in this book all these dreams of houses and statues and gardens 

Don’t know what I’m doing
other realities to create and frontiers of lasting of propaganda sand mans plans 
and utopias and how to get there 

 The wings of changing
 Limitless operating smoothly
Listening to the bounding brook
Changing everything
Today I hold my head up high
Smoothly operating
Sitting in the limits that keep me here
And I'm in this shell
And you make fun or threaten me still

Details | I do not know? | |

My Passion

When I'm huddled up on the floor at 3 AM
furiously scribbling down any and every thought
that pours out of my mind
The question strikes me
"Why the hell do you write?"
The question is honest and relevant
For the fame?
No, not for the fame
I couldn't give a damn about the fame
For money?
Hell no, are you an idiot?
The chances of anyone reading my stuff are low enough as it is
Let alone actually paying me for it
To get your feelings out?
Possibly, it has kept me from losing my mind
on quite a few occasions
But I've kept everything inside
and let a brutal war rage on in my head
as I sat in silence
on just as many occasions
I think in the end
I write for the connection
The possibility of someone glancing at my words 
and saying,
"Hey, I know how he feels."
Or maybe some lonely, mixed up kid
not unlike myself
reading and saying,
"Wow, someone actually understands."
If I could make a connection,
just one connection
then screw everything else.

Details | Quatrain | |

An Artist and His Art

My ear is connected to,
But not limited to my art.
What I hear about my work
Will have an effect on my heart.

My heart is reflected by,
But not just shown by word of mouth.
My fingers display my soul
And raises my mind from the south.

Details | Kimo | |

Poetry Soup

I poured me a big bowl of soup today-
Noodles, veggies and chicken
In broth good for my soul.

Dedicated to all poets and those who read and comment on our work.

Details | Romanticism | |


of romance-
when sie became

After the story of Kandinsky and Munter

Details | Imagism | |



a one-eyed 


Details | I do not know? | |

Sunset Notes

Notes put to page by mage intent
Attempt at acting sage pro temp
Unheard notes of songs and hymns 
Unsung as yet unwrit
Using rythym of rhyming repeating
With rippling echoes reacting
Hanging ten while surfing brainwaves 
On the sharpening edge of reason
Activating nodes in thinking patterns
Chiselling in stoned memories 
Easily remembered by simple repetition
Pictures registered in singing words
Sunset clouds of changing color
Shaded hues of blue and red
Golden notes of symphonies 
Counterpointing purple coastlines 
Islands float in cloudy seas
Songs unheard but plainly written 
In time to changing winds
Dancing silhouettes of sunlight hung 
On shining stems of windblown waves 
Of bending blending grasses
So many strings vibrate together 
And in minor chord the brass is sung
By a thousand birds on cue
Crickets add a million cymbals
Until curtainfall is due

Details | Burlesque | |

Rotten Apple

Two broken windows
in just two weeks time 
to that I say this child of nine
shall work in the mine
a broken vase and food covering his face
etiquette school for he is a disgrace
the frog in soup
turning dinner into moup
I will enroll him into behavioral group 
for in my home he shall not roam
to his room he shall retreat
with walls covered with foam
I do but regret to this child of mine
shall be punish till he no longer nine

(This is Burleque style it is suppose to sound this way I am not like this)

Details | Free verse | |

The Opening of Rusty Doors

Stop me right now if you've heard this before
there's the wind at my back and a knock at my door
there's you love me to moons but I love you much more
and we dance and we dance and we dance
Please stop me now if you know all my thoughts
as they roll on the wind in occasional bouts
as they shine in my eyes like the sun bleeding clouds
and I write and I write and I write
Stop me in summer if you're sick of the moon
for she shines less and less as the Luna de Lune
for she swells with a million hot stars in her womb
and she grieves and she grieves and she grieves
So stop me at once while the day carries on
as I open my door to the once setting sun
as the brooding of winter escapes in the dawn
and we breathe and we breathe and we breathe.

Details | Tanka | |

When pen and paper collide

Prostitute your thoughts
All your feelings overflow
Substitute your mind
When life deals you a big blow
Do not betray your insides

Details | I do not know? | |

Heart Of Love

There once was a heart made of stone,
Made hard by the life that its known,
But the older it grew
The more pain it went through,
And was made to do so on its own.

There once was a heart made of steel,
Made cold by the love it can't feel
All tears that were shed
For a love left for dead,
Now forever waits for love to heal.

There once was a heart made of gold,
Made out of a love that's grown cold,
But no mater what's tried
All the love held inside
Still resides beneath riches untold!

Details | Rhyme | |

The Infinite Shades Of Art

You can keep your brushes and pastels, my friend

Just give me the word and tell me when to begin

And I'll paint the prettiest picture the world has ever heard

With amazing depth of field and colorful words 

But if you're color deaf no need to feel alone

You'll be dazzled by my selection of rhythm and tone

Abstract and romantic, the techniques are plenty

Forever changing portrait until the passion runs empty

Behold the gift of art and the pleasure of expression

Colleges or graduate schools could never teach the lesson

The gift lies within in the very depths of the human soul

And the world is the inspiration for the masterpiece that you hold

An artist by any other name is still an artist through and through

No matter the words or colors, free verse or light blue

Everyone is connected by the same purpose given at birth  

To create a work of art on this blemished canvas we call Earth

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Sympathetic Ink

You, a glass tear - filled with black oil
to stain, to rearrange each thought
contained in your metal nib
Scratch, scratch the pompous paper
and tend to wounds afterwards
The thoughts must come!
Must flow!
And yet you sit.
Still. A night with no moon
encased in clear horizons.
Do you wait for me to taste you?
Do you need a catalyst?
Must I stain my tongue while
I wrangle around in this licorice fit?
My fingers know you well.
Calluses you've seeped into.
And still you sit.
Perhaps you need me after all?
To lift the lid, to inject the ink,
to scratch the page?
Do you stare, Oh sympathetic ink?
Do not marvel at the likes of me.
Waste no time but come to me yet!
There are thoughts to be penned so indelible be!

Details | Free verse | |

Method to the madness

Growing lies poeticly Souls born growing strategically 
love answer lessons growing marketting 
answer Born lies lessons poeticly 
growing answer answer 
strategically love 
lessons simply pondered answer lessons growing lessons simply lies 
changes lies growing lessons masterpeice growing answer 
change masterpiece mankind Born 
lessons lessons 
mankind masterpiece married masterpeice lessons born darknesses answer 
growing answer

 if you count the times a word is used in this poem you might be inspired to find 
where it is placed in the sentence...Possibilities used 7 times...7th word or no?

Details | Burlesque | |

Tom's Satirical Forms of Poetry

all you serious, and formally  trained poets, please excuse my satire, but a guy 
born in Brooklyn NY, (me)- really gets a kick out of this somewhat pretentious 
classification system for something, to me, is as simple as merely conveying a 
thought, emotion, idea, image, etc.  If it ain't natural, it ain"t real.  Don't get mad at 
me, I'm obviously "mad" already!!
ABC Verse-(poems written or performed on Sesame Street?)
Carpe  Diem-(an ex-Vietnamese leader who happed to be a fish?)
Chastushka-(an old, heavy Russian woman yenta?) (or the headscarf she 
wears?) (or another Russian forrest comet strike?)
Cinquain- (a man made and manufactured maleria med, given in 5 parts?)
Classicism- (an exorcism for a classy person?)
Cherihew- (a French axe for lovers?)
Concrete- (a Mafia burial material?)
Couplet- (2 lovers allowed to "do their thing"?)
Cowboy- (a hybrid mix of a young male human and a domestic female cattleof 
genus Bos?)
Crystalline- (stalagnites, or expensive young female stemware?)
Diamantie- (a new Honda auto?)
Didactic- (a guy who finally cleans his attic?)
Diminished Hexaverse- (a witch's evil spell spoken in a poetic manner in a very 
soft voice?)
Dizain- (either a hair restoration product prone to make the user dizzy, a 
deceased Jazz musician, or a new cleaning product introduced by, yes, you got it -
Billy Mays!!!!)
Dodoitsu- (a new form of Japanese martial art created specifically for the near-
extinct Do-Do bird?)

More to come.............

Details | Free verse | |


Seed Words planted and nurtured grow in loving care the gift given to another ideas blossom to pollen borne by dreams of another gently bound by common ground Stephen (Stoic)

Details | Verse | |

Don't Blink Or You'll Miss It (PIM Inspired Reversed -Verse)

Meteors roll
Beyond the mystic moon
As flashing stars
Tracing the Heavens
In Silence
~~~Say What~~~
In Silence
Tracing the Heavens
As flashing stars
Beyond the mystic moon
Meteors roll 

Details | Free verse | |

Language Arts

A word and a breath but it’s the thought that counts.
Up or down in or out love and trust is what it’s all about.
To you I say can you hear me perked up on the mounts.
You are in or you are out.
A touch and a whisper but it is the kiss of truth.
Knelt or bent I am down on my knees.
And I beg you please.
To me I say can I hear me or am I aloof?
Language arts is a dance in the breeze,
With a summer squeeze,
A winter’s pinch,
The spring’s stench,
Even the autumn’s leaves!
Bathing in the words and dancing like a twit.
Singing in rhythm and painstakingly making a switch.
Language arts is a breeze on the summer Seas.
Lifting you up or pulling you down and spinning you all around,
It will knock you to your knees,
Lifeless and unbound!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2005

Details | Lyric | |


Once, I was a poem---
A memory of a rose, ever-watchful
Of the orb, whilst angel’s trumpet fills the air.

Oh, sometimes then, I was a sweet poem---	
The art of your heart;
‘Twas pure and simple, ‘cause that’s what I am.

The poem and I---fourteen lines
Of uncluttered life, warming the coldness of nights; 
Relentlessly, rhyming to the sound of your breath.

A sonnet of love, you proudly wrote 
Of me, but that was before… 
You lustily engaged yourself, with a free-verse.

Details | Free verse | |

Poems are Easy

When asked how I write my stuff
I'm not quite sure how to start
It's not explanation enough
To say "It's my kind of art"
Or even to say it comes freely
To someone who speaks in rhyme
I don't want to be "touchy-feely"
For I really haven't got the time.
It isn't much of a secret
How poetry writing is done
Just write what you feel at the moment-
How easily poetry comes!

Details | Monoku | |


Just looking,I see-
By reading,perceive-
                            as images deceive
In writing,I express-
                            syllbles and stress
When painting,depart-
                           off colour-wheel art
Sadly ,Fall tints are not there-
                                        no matter how hard I stare
Most reds upon green-
                               are not part of my scene

Details | Monoku | |


a spice of madness - flavours genius

Details | I do not know? | |

A Somewhat Abashed Writer Reads from his Works

     To assume the
        takes a lot of nerve
To get up in front of a 
       And read what you have
       is something which requires 
a little "chutzpah"
      But if the time is right
It's a good thing to do
       Let the light hidden
in the words
  Shine on the awaiting public
You only have a little time
         here anyway
So give them your perspective
Your outlook on things
       If the time is right
and if the ears
      are perceptive
   then you will 
see subtle changes
The future is an unknown quantity
      But if we share - if we share
then we will see
          that meaning comes through
and the small light kindled 
   may light the way
to the next dawn

Details | Rhyme | |

I Love Your Art

Paint me a picture using just words
With a brushstroke, soft and sweet
Use colorful paints for clear imagery
For your lovely words, 
They serve to replete

A master painter, a poet indeed
Daily honing your talent and skill
Paint me a picture, using your words
Let your canvas be paper
Let your brush be your quill

Details | Rhyme | |

For Claude Mckay

Boots pavements pounding,
Brass buttons becoming stars
Where fear was astounding
The heart; and in all their wars
We were but a margin, you
I and expendable like small talk
Before the mold infected dew.
I from car to car with you walk
The porter serving words on streets
Of Harlem, the sable prince
A duckling lost. I pound the beats
And watch the enemy wince,
O not the feudal demogogues of war
Who mask the pain with courage
And switch us like codes in a cold star
You need a better leverage.
You need village fiddle and fife dripping
Like nightingale at deleicious dawn
Crystal clear the heart a clarion calling
The image hiding a hunted fawn.
I too have stood in that Harlem since
And long for spanish needle kiss
Where the fertile female walk and mince
Like wind the petals in white mist.
Sweet singer of the greatest dawn, in
Which the new self found old peace
Far away from nightmare rope and din
Of heart pent up and pangs for release.
O Jamaica, full mast so the flag again
Never dead the living spirit
A man who sang, bearing human strain
Lift high the torch, as he lit
The dawn with it, beacon him with dawn
The warrior in the trench of race
The fire for the trembling timid fawn
Africa's spell upon a full gleaming face.

Details | Fibonacci | |


of art-
in tourist
pictorial guides.

Tribute to Alfred Wainwright

Details | Lyric | |

Grains Of My Sand

The everlasting presence of elegance
Is distributed through the artistry's vein
In which creativity flows
Never to run dry or begin to drain
Because a mind poetically inclined forever brings rain
That downpours forevermore
Outlined experiences lyrically sane
Whether recited or written
Words are interweaved in position to birth lyrical precision
That started with action of the purest passion
Movements from a left to right direction
Causes an erection
Released freely on blue lines carefully straightened
One on one love making
So that the ritual of spiritual cadence is never forsakened
Nurtured properly 
Thoughts caught in times rushing path
Crashes against shallow interpretations on a daily occasional
Basis is consistent like delivered rays from the mother sun
As long as the world has spun

Millions of years, through oceans of tears
Thousand of miles of smiles
Still my quest will have just begun
The practice is sacred
The dialect is purposely presented naked
Full vision of view must be at use
Total truth is my language in which I choose to speak to you in

Proof no whiskey could bottled
Contents of substance no one beast can swallow
Only ongoing tomorrows
Can withstand 
The comings from the grains of my sand......

Details | I do not know? | |

In love with a Rolls-Royce

(This is a fictional poem)

A man fell in love with his brand new Rolls-Royce.
But he soon made a very bad choice.
He thought kissing a car would be the same as kissing a woman but he soon 
learned it was not.
He french kissed the tailpipe right after driving his Rolls and a third degree burn 
was what he got.
It hurt so much that it reduced this idiot to tears.
His mouth got burned so bad that he couldn't taste for an entire year.

Details | Haiku | |

These Words

Sing songs hearts cannot
say or articulate, posed
in mouths left agape.

Details | ekphrasis | |


shown by trickle

Seeds and Fruit of English Poetry
Ford Madox Brown

Details | Couplet | |

Poetic Vandal

Divided devotion, like once parted ocean
A labyrinth of mere blinded emotion
Beating but bloated, ready to burst
Urgent ache to be free from this curse
Carve out our names, bound by a heart
Together forever engraved on bark
Destined desires, fulfillment somehow
Fortuitous craving must be filled now
Pronounce what I’m feeling on this old tree
Love oozes from ballpoint, but too far from me
My heartfelt gift can’t wait till later
When in death the oak transforms into paper

Details | I do not know? | |


Can a person write a poem,
About nothing,like this?

But it does provide a question,
And a point you cannot miss.

Can a poem be of something,
Saying nothing at all?

Or is it like a message,
Like writings on the wall?

Will it guide you through the day,
Or release your darkest fear?

Is this poem all for nothing,
Or is there something here?

Details | Free verse | |


Expression, creative expression,
That's all poetry is.
Full of anguish and confusion,
Happiness and delusion,
Sadness and obsession.
I admit, I have a confession.
I'm a selfish writer.
I don't write to make someone else's day brighter.
I write to make my own load lighter.
I don't care what others may gain.
I just do this to stay sane,
And that's exactly how it's gonna remain.
So why do I write poetry?
Because it's my escape from reality.
Now why don't you just leave me be.

Details | Blank verse | |


Soothing, calming, exciting, fun.
Loving, laughing, living life.
Sadness, death, anger, and hate,
An exciting adventure awaits.
Moving, touching, inspiring, and such.
An intresting mystery haunting your thougts.
The fantastic future is new and different yet,
The past is familiar and warm.
Whatever your type-
Literature is the paving stone that lights up life.

Details | Lanterne | |


in all
its aspects-
poems explained in

Ekphrasis After Hokusai

Details | Free verse | |

Retort To The Masonites

Ah, the Freemasons,
Are to Prevail,
Many changes it will entail,
Limit to ten poems a week,
If it's freedom of speech you seek,
You'll have to get permission,
For those who vote
About the meek

You may have in your mind,
Temporarily words sublime...
Gotta wait till Tuesday,
If memory aint too choosy,

Next it will be alphabetic rules,
This week only poets whose last name
begins with A, B, or C- can post,
but only up to three...

Follow up rules: Moslems get one poem
only; to a Chrisitan it's two,
Jehova Witnesses and Mormons, but
one a year,
They're oddballs, don't you agree?

Then the FreeMasons can decree,
Short poems can no longer be
allowed into PoetSoup,
they might polute the talent loop.

Left hand writers, they come next,
They should be seperated from the rest,
Set up camps for them to learn,
Their kind, we're going to burn...

And yet another thing,
Those poets whose hearts want to soar on the wings,
of insight, feelings, fears, and other things,

And for those who knowingly break their quota,
We'll send them to re-education camps,
Some cold place in Minnesota
Poetic Prison Concentration camp for them,
No getting out, you're in Masonite Hell

So act slower, and dumber,
Insure to others you've seen the sun,
And no more post poems on the soup,
Cause some people want you out of the loop,

Newbie, Newbie, Go Away....
Find another site where you can play.

Let the Dark Ages Come Again,
Brought about by some whining hen,
So let the persnickety poets persnick,
but her idea makes me sick.,.....


Details | Free verse | |

Writing my reading aloud

Reading poetry
and writing poetry i realize
that creative writing it is soo expressive that it is best produced
when actually talking almost
out loud in your head
slowly dramatically physically producing audible sound in your head
like tiny little speakers

and reading other peoples 
of art
out loud to see their pauses
and ponder the voice
as to wether the were
a las
lonely in a bed 
of thorns
or tired 
of coughing from a broken iron lung

and when you find the audience of which whom you entertain and they slide away 
and you rebirth your self again
and the major audiences are grasped at
the several voices of target audiences appealed to in on e piece
you have a best seller
and this is your royal novel sucker patrol routine

When i make a cd i pick the best song of every abulm i have on a disk
and the best song of those disks into themes
and write one line form every song into a data base then organize those 
sentences into rhymes and different themes
see what missing in the vocabulary of sang language
as we fit this and that memorized busted 
all you did in school all day when you taught me a s a teacher was read stuff out 
of text books and then regurgitate it anyway where you just made up the answers

Details | Burlesque | |

I've Had Enough!!

I'm sick, I'm tired,
I've had enough.....
of "truth" and of lies....
I've been poked, prodded,
tested and bested,
festered, rested,
sequestered, requested,
wester'd, vested,
pestered, wrested....
and once, nearly arrested....
I've been analyzed,
crystallized, mesmerized,
pulverized, traumatized
criticized, idolized,
poked in the eyes,,
I've baked bad pies,
rid of flies,
immortalized, cloisterized,
checked for lies, realized,
utilized, memorized,
fantasized, exercised,
launderized, manipulized,
anesthetized, categorized,
demonized, nebulized,
pulverized, atomized,
vulcanized, deputized,
westernized, circumcised,

but now I have realized,
I see the world 
in different eyes,
than those who call it
a pack of lies,
and if one really tries,
you can see what
a simple word buys,
not a burger and some fries,
but joy, laughter, insight
and possibly cries.

please don't bother to spell-check me,
I don't use it, I don't use the rhyme dictionary,
(allright, but just twice...)  you get what
you see... right or wrong
it will be what it will be...

Details | Verse | |

A poem a day

Behind icy cold stares of vague minds
Our inner most thoughts are kept at bay
The eyes of the brain so easily reminds
That a poem a day keeps the doctor away

Connect with surroundings, make contact with art
Marvel at the sights of children at play
Open the love filled eyes of your heart
But a poem a day keeps the doctor away

When mists and winds submit you to drying
The eyes of a soul who’ll find a way
Hypnotic relief in cleansing and crying
As a poem a day keeps the doctor away

The human condition allows us to bear
Emotions that brim over day by day
Exclaim the knowledge of comfort and care
While a poem a day keeps the doctor away

Details | Free verse | |


The wind blows through the curtains 
Whiter lace embracing the shape of the wind. 
The last snowflake melts. 
The flame burns on. 
Butterfly wings behind the glass 
Something left behind at the jewelery store 
forgotten, but taken by another. 

The clouds, the fog, 
The thunder, the rain, 
The lightning.  The door left open 

Two flashes in a row 
yes i know you want to speak with me 
and i listen to the rain 
Are you trying to tell me something? 
the thunder claps 
rolling away and back 
giving me a sign 
the thunder returns 
the lightning strikes 

The wind blows through the rain 
Unlike the beauty of the curtain 
The last raindrop dries 
The flame burns on. 
The wise man, the wizard 
the army, the fire 
something taken from the art store, 
remembered and taken by another 
the elder, the soldier 
The bride and the storm 
The window shuts 
The curtain floats 
rises and falls 
the lightning no thunder 
once and for all 

The curtain falls 
elegantly dancing down 
The music at the flower shop 
The diamonds at the catering service 
the instruments at the bridal shop 
the man we dreampt about 

The rain stops 
Are you talking to me? 
Give me a sign 
The curtain settles 
the light outside 
the birds chirp 
The flame burns on 
The bat hears the cricket 
The moth rises from heat 
The chandelier behind the weatherman 
the twelve clocks at the butcher shop 
and the candles 
in the one place they don't belong.

Details | Lanterne | |


poetry in

(After Jim Dine-Valiant red car)

Details | I do not know? | |

Glorified Hermit

Entrance my heart oh silent air
my thoughts allowed to zoom and sail
to bounce off walls of self defeat
and rain back down in liquid sheets.
Like music lost in fingertips
which hum and rest upon my lips
but flee when passerby's arrive
to catch me at my most alive.
Thoughts which dwell in corner closets
dark and warm until I conjure
up their image in my dreams
although quite wide awake I be.
Mournful melody, thoughts of rhythm
surging from the lonely chasm
written out with shaking pencil
fast as they will let me catch them.
Sometimes thoughts come out in oils
sometimes they speak in watercolors
trees with roots running off the page
or a basket of apples in brown and sage.
That look you have with the sun in your eyes
or the mirror of canvas in bright green skies.
Then there are thoughts which will only let go
when the poetry pulls them and lets them flow.
Loosed they are known for sweeping statements grand
and building tall stories on shifting sand.
They won't blink an eye to a passerby
as strangers are known to occasionally lie.
They fuel up the music and hand art a brush
and glare at the air with an infinite "hush"!
For poetry, melody, painting uninhibited
is the limitless gift of the glorified hermit.

Details | Free verse | |

Crooked crooks, babbling brook

In this crooked chair i sit
at this crooked table
at this crooked desk
and write my crooked thoughts
looking out the crooked window
out onto the crooked crooked street
thinking about how crooked the world is
when suddleny is top and realise
the crooked people arent crooks
everything is crooked
crooked jails
crooked hospitlas
crooked business men lawyers and politiicians
crooked churches crooked steeples
crooked believers crooked people

it was perfect perfect and crooked
crookedly perfect
perfect people
perfect houses
perfect airplanes
and perfect yachts
perfect make me sick 
keeping up with the joneses
perfect white teeth
perfect bodies
perfect hair
perfect health
thwey werent crooked?
were they?

croooked like me?
crooked like them crooked in a world full of rooked people and the crookedest 
thing to do was to stand straight
and make a show of it!!

whose going to replace all of this crooked ness and turn this beautiful now?

Details | Kimo | |

Dancing Sunbeams (Kimo)

Sunbeams dance across a once sullen sky;
Stretching pass hazy gray clouds, 
Daylight sprinkles the earth…

The Kimo style was developed in Israel as a post-Haiku poetic form consisting of three 
lines done in 10/7/6, syllable count. I hope that all enjoy this style. 

Details | I do not know? | |

You might as well have cut her heart out

(This is a fictional poem)

You refused to marry her until she agreed to give away her cat.
But it hurt her really bad when she had to do that.
She treasured him and when she gave him away, it made her cry.
Giving her away made a big part of her heart die.

When you made her give him away, it was a low thing to do.
Now she's miserable and it's all because of you.
She says it doesn't bother her but that's something I seriously doubt.
When you made her give him away, you might as well have cut her heart out.

Details | Romanticism | |

Written words

Thought it might help me tonight
If I at here and just write
About how my life I've since lost sight
Don't know what to do anymore
Nothing seems right
Losing any and all strength here
I have no more might
Words can sometimes help heal
The wounds that had cut so deep
But these words aren't helping me here tonight
I feel like I must weep
But do you think tears coming down from my eyes that seep
Will be what helps me here
No it just causes more sadness
And more fear
I've successed at failing
And have failed at being a success
My life before wasn't my own to lead
Now my heart is lieing in wait
It's already began to bleed
For my heart will never be freed
For the love I have for someone
To which I don't know if he feels the same
He's the one I let get away
And now I live with that shame
You know who you are so I don't have to say your name
No the writing of these words tonight
Still didn't make anything I've done right
They didn't give me peace
They didn't let my mind by forever quiet
All that could only come from time spent with you
Funny what a few simply spoken words from you could do
For me
Before why couldn't we see
What we had been searching for all along
In everyone we met
We had right here in us
And we let time pass by like a phantom jet
God I miss you
Somewhere inside me it's saying
You are missing me to
I'm scared
Never had feelings like this before
Taken a hold of my heart, of my soul
This time we need not shut the door
Let our hearts be free and soar
Then these written words I would need no more

Details | ABC | |

Minding Elaine

A brilliant collage depicting everything
flowered, gleaming, having inspired
julep kisses, lost moments, new opinions
pure quotations, raw sunshine, 
true understanding, virtuosity with
xanthic yellow zest.

Details | Imagism | |




of the dream

The uncertainty of the poet by Georgio Chirico The surrealist painter

Details | Free verse | |

Porous Prose

when you read a poem
consider the probability
that what seem to be chopped off phrases
and shreds of dangling sentences
are actually jagged blocks and slabs
of porous prose lumped and crammed 
in a page in a manner that's ...

           ...  not entirely

                    ... unintentional.

Details | Rhyme | |

A Poet's Stroll

Some race through life unaffected by the phases of the moon,	
or the way gentle sunlight catches dew on a flower’s bloom.
There is something quite distinctive in a poet’s easy gait;
stopping to savor the ambiance of all things small and great.

On a path of wistful detours the poet will find his way,
relishing peaceful solitude he devours life’s vast array.
Slow, his pace may be mistaken for a lack of ambition;
more significant is the journey than the destination.

Compelling forces within, that bring about haste in others,
spawn the poet’s perambulation toward his own desires.
Inspired by emotions stirred during discontent and blithe,
a poet strolls ever composing his symphony of life.

Details | Free verse | |

The blind Slide

do as i do
not as i say
don't do either just go your own way
say what i said
not what i did
are you following?

Do as i do
not as i say
don't do either
just go your own way
say what i said
not what i did
are you following?
good .

I'll say what you say
not what you did
are you following
i'll Do what You do
but Not whay You said
i won't do either
I refuse to be lead

I'll say what i want to say
but copy what you did
is someone following?
you'll do what i DO
not what you said
i won't do either
but i find myself being lead
i'll say what you want me to say
But i won't do what you did
someone's following
don't ....swoitch
do wht they do
then say what they say
but don't do either
or you'll give yourself away

They'll do what you do
And say the things you say
They'll do either
to make you go away
say what i said
then do what i did
don't listen to either
Have you stopped following?

Details | Blank verse | |

You Will Never Die

You will not die,
you will
not go away.
You sat the poison on
the table,
I saw it 
with wet eyes, damp
cheeks. I wish 
I could breath lavender
air, so that
life would leave me alone
I wish that you 
would burn out.
Go away my mental 
my black memories.
My broken rainbow, lost 
in the fog
can see you in
the distance. 
Never will you go away
scars never heal.

Details | Rhyme | |

Rhythm of Unwinding

Float to freedom
Burst and pop
to winds of change
on tides of red

Break emotion
Logic stops
as words ignite
and flood your head

Call the story
Conjure dreams
to lips still shaking
cold unthaw

Blow the bubbles
to the trees
and then sit back
and laugh in awe...

Details | Lyric | |

Peeling Thy Self

It seems so easy 
to feel what is like 
to be a poet, 
trying to peel 
a banana, for a fruity shake.

Details | ekphrasis | |


who can paint-
but not an

David Jones (poet/painter) 1895-74  nes

Details | Free verse | |

The writer

Minutes turn to hours,
as the clock ticks onwards;
still the paper before me
remains crisp, white – untouched.

My right hand is now cramped,
from it’s gripping my pen
and the notation on my pad,
slowly bringing alive my thoughts.

Every scribe I write becomes structured,
I stop to think before every word;
look back over what I have written,
disjointed, yet I know it all.

A play on my script,
tweaking here and there.
Informing every thought I record,
bringing brilliance for my virgin page.

Words form sentences,
pictures are painted; a masterpiece of art,
breathing life to my work,
to be realized by many.

I transfer my scribe,
to my neat sheet waiting.
Ink flows smoothly, a pleasure to see.
Release washes relief over my tense form.

Midnight strikes, not long left now,
before I can lay my pen to rest
and bid ‘Goodnight’,
to another fulfilled and worthy day.

Details | Couplet | |

Poetry Vs. the Flu

My head is stuffed, my brain is fried
and still the poems wait inside, 
They leak out of my eyes and ears 
and laugh at me with grumpy jeers. 
I am a wreck, I feel so sick 
and still the poems leak and stick.  
They glue me to the creaky chair 
until I write them in the air 
and freeze them down, forever be, 
persistent friends, my poetry...

Details | Name | |

A War of Fairness

Although a person is mature or adolescent,
But always afraid when he visits a new area
He is always aware about his dangers.
But a baby smiles equal without justifications.

When he is innocent and has no experience,
Nobody is an enemy, he smiles for all.
He likes to play, as learns about his parents,
Education of respect burns his loving heart.

He starts to learn about community barriers,
To concrete a war of fairness that he deserves,
When he is young, doesn’t care or has non sense,
Elders need to learn what is their education?

Details | Personification | |

On The Other Hand

The crying game
The burdened tears,
That follow hearts
Life and all her
The failures 
That she counts,

On one hand
With an empathy,
She aptly calls
To play,
Amongst the 
Soulless symphonies
Whose sympathy

The wistful wit
With which 
She hints
That all has yet
To pass,
The rhythmic
Ridicule that
Only seems 
To last,

As long as we
Remain astute,
Unwilling to deny,
That those who seek
Expect a sure reply.

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetic Values

Tossed upon the waves 
Lost in a sea of doubt 
Words pressed upon a page 
Tortured soul reaches out 

Searching for the answers
Within these poetry lines 
Feelings are so personal 
Meanings not clearly defined 

Expressions of passing life 
Swim beneath each written word 
Soothing language to console 
Beautiful music to be heard 

Lost love fills many lines 
One can almost touch the pain 
Grief wrapped around my heart 
Poetry releases all my shame 

Happiness has found a space 
To let the sun shine once more 
Safe harbour of my inner soul 
Anchored safely to its shore

Held tightly within its grasp 
To ride life's troubled waves 
Steered away from craggy rocks 
Poetry is my sheltered cave 

For stored within my heart and mind 
Is all that I do live 
Poetry is a joyous gift to me 
That I can so readily give

Without it I would be so lost 
I surely would cease to be 
For everything that is inside 
Finds its way into my poetry! 

Details | Lyric | |


scenes that become

Details | I do not know? | |

Starless Night: The Art Of Giving (Rhyme Incorporated) part 3

That night, vibrant Effie Blake told me “You Don’t Have To Be A Star”
To see the beauty of this world or meet Troy Nelson, of the “Dead Star”
Ahh!!! My voice need to be heard, that I wrote “To You, Mr. Apolinar” 
It’s about quest of heart and mind, of being simply “Me And The Moon”
Stressed Michele Nold had a simple request, “Where is the Bath Room”
I didn’t entertain her, for I felt dizzy coming out from “The Lost Room”

Then, I overheard grin-faced Oshin Ifedayo saying, “She’s gone at Last”
Who’s who? The “Christians, Muslims, Jews…” “Heaven Waits For Us”
A place of peace, where we can write a sonnet, of being “Home, At Last” 

So, you can tag or be tagged, in our “Starless Night: The Art Of Giving”
I agreed, with Vince Suzadail Jr., that giving’s more of a “Human Being” 
Tammy Armstrong liked the ambience, but said, “Something’s Missing”

Some didn’t come; they’re busy surfing, ‘cos “The Deep Blue Is Rough”
Historian Charles Fuller sent them a note, “I Hear You In A Photograph”
Now, I see why dear Tatiyana Carney has “Lock Box And Photographs” 

Note: I tag the first person who read this….and the last one, too.
Thanks to K.S. for encouraging me to play
And also, to C.B., for the e-mails…love the message/photos.

Details | Lyric | |

The So-Called Poetry

‘Tis art that comes from the heart
‘Tis the gift that we ought to lift
And share it with those who care

I must try now to be more like you
For you have such a heart that care 
Uplifting me from my great despair

I have a gift, for you, that will make 
You see what is really inside of me
‘Cos we, both, live in the art of life

Of sharing one another, cheerfully 
You and me, the so-called poetry
As always, where we ought to be 

Details | Free verse | |

Somebody Let Me Know!

Please advise me if I have used up my allowable quota of writes for today.

Details | Imagism | |

paint me as i am

paint me in all my imperfection

and i'll be the pictur of perfection 

paint me in all my faults 

and i'll be flawless  

paint me in all my  wrongs 

so i have none 

paint  me as i am 

becauce i can not be changed

Details | I do not know? | |


Because befriending beasts
Besets bad boys.
Being bad beguiles beautiful brides
But being bold bedevils bimbos
Brave bigots beseeches beliefs
But being a barging bard is being brief

Details | I do not know? | |

The Way I Write

I try to rhyme.
I try to make the world read me right.
The words that fill the papers,
They dont always make sense.
But I know what they mean.
They mean to world to me.
I understand what they say.
The feelings I felt while writing them. 
Whether people feel the same, I cant say.
I cant make people get what I write,
Or even for them to relate.
I write what I write because thats how I feel.
I write what I write so I can unreel.
I rhyme when I want.
I keep a pattern sometimes too.
Whether I do or not, 
Whats it to you?

Details | Burlesque | |

Running Shoes / Alfredo's Hideaway

wilfredo, wilfredo
now i tell you what I know
a puma is a big cat
a nike is an obsolete missile
and adidas was an ancient
Greek God, in love with himself
and for sure, shoes
don't run, people do,
and if you haven't tried
the mummy steak,
you're really missing out!!!LOL/

Details | Blank verse | |

...collaboration of inspiration-Stevie Nicks dedication to the red rose grows the passion in the Enchanted Gate and Garden there 
Whenever you call me friend and I believe I've come to understand that I'm the 
Kind of woman with for whom you don't blame for having a Wild heart but you 
know that you can always Talk to me you can set your secrets free you have given 
me your Leather and you have taken from me my Lace I am stronger than you 
know it all comes down to you lighting strikes maybe once maybe twice and you  
see your Gyspy but  you have to Stop draggin' my heart around because baby you 
could never look me in the eye and say you didn't love me you buckled with the 
weight of the words and looking at Rhiannon who is like a cat in the dark and 
then she is the darkness and knowing that even in Dreams when the rain 
washes you clean Sometimes it's a witch and no matter what they say Love's a 
hard game to play you may need to Stand back in the middle of my room my 
Bella Donna riding high a top her pony cause not everyone has Crystal visions 
nor will everyone with their capes pulled around them tight cry for the Nightbird 
some will see their refection in the snow covered hills until the Landslide brings 
them down and even the Gold dust woman with her heartless challenge will pick 
her path and for her we pray although on the Edge of seventeen things may Rock 
a little and sadly enough Some will become strangers you will always have My 
heart I never again want to Fall from grace even if time cast a spell on you never 
will you forget me and in years past I tried to love you before but you would not let 
me I am ready now to be your Silver spring blue green colors flashing and yes 
I'm Strong enough remember I'm your Beauty and you are my Beast poet priest of 
nothing Has anyone ever written anything for you in all your darkest hours did you 
ever hear me sing listen to me now I sing for the things money can't buy me and 
long After the glitter fades I will still be here you said If anyone falls in love it will 
be done to us most of all I have to know when I can see you again because I 
can't wait yes I know you though we've been out of touch...

...this is a collaboration of written words inspired by
Stevie Nicks...

Details | Senryu | |

Meeting Peter Cottontail

Katherine Stella
Meeting Peter Cottontail, 
What is on her mind?

Inspired by Kathy’s poem Peter Cottontail

Details | Free verse | |

Rilke's Letters

When letters were written by fire light
and sealed up with charred red wax
containing the breath and the Indian ink
from a hand penned in burning romance
the world hung on every word there within
When letters like these were broke open to breathe
even the birds stole the song from their voice
and the sky held the skirt of the burning breeze
while the breeze blew in tears like it had a choice
and the reader read on in earnest.
When letters contained inspiring quotes
to be spoken in whispers in velvet halls
the writer grew famous in circles and such
for the decadent living which broke down walls
and rebuilt them in modern white plaster
When letters were written in the hush of the night
by a hand yearning touch from it's one true mate
sealed up with a burning, reproachable script
which only would fluster and cruel complicate
the reader would sure fall in love
and respond, there in kind, with a letter...

Details | Burlesque | |

Flooding the Brainwaves

Here I am,
Too many words
Bad boy, you'll
have to pay,
Cause we counted
how much you had to say,
And it is illegal
to write more!
You Poetry Soup Whore!!!

Details | I do not know? | |


Amazing armor apparels
An amazing apparatus
Appearing and ascending
Above all aimless attics
All are attics
After assigning apparent actions
Amongst atmospheric allies…also
Assembles and annexes an anecdote
Animals also assemble and apprehend
Any available areas
Alert and aware about alternatives,
Apportionment among animals are
Actually awesome.

Details | Free verse | |

Unanimous Appraisals

The television, contextually imbued with populist grace, glared unapologetically, 
subverting my cyclic woe. At first I found myself intrigued, spiritually inclined even, 
resorting to retinal politicking, straining arteries and coronary misgivings in order 
to come to a greater understanding of its rhetorical rhetoric and spatial 

I sat for hours, disarming subconscious ambiguity with a reactionary manifesto. 
Canvassing bohemian bureaucracy in a vain attempt to undermine its endemic 
colonialism, blessing tethered fallacies with unanimous appraisals. 

It was upon this thought however that my inanimate nemesis soon prayed. 
Quoting Zoroastrian texts with an uncanny biblical irony, soothing blatant 
contradictions with romanticism and conservatively taciturn theorem.

I faltered, reverting to a vegetative state, recycling impartial convenience as a 
pacifying gesture. In all honesty I would have been foolish to expect mercy. 
Panellised proprietors of colloquial compliance rarely perceive sympathetic eyes 
as anything less than polygonal pathways, a means to an end, asexual 
seduction with little or no reward.

In other words we’re feted to fail and as such we needn’t wait with bated breath 
for asymmetrical messianic parochialism. For the truth as they say brings 
freedom and with freedom comes inadequacy, a fortuitous farewell for a techno-
phobic naiveté.

Details | I do not know? | |

passage for expression

Through poetry we feel emotion
Which sometimes is hard to explain
It's a way to express what you're feeling
whether it be love or it be pain
Putting together a perfect description
of what it is you feel in your heart
A melody of words in rhythm
transformed into creative art
Only finding that years later
being read aloud in someone's home
Will be someone's thoughts and sentiments
composed into a poem

Details | Quatrain | |

The Poet's Dance

You have me at an advantage
You know all the features of my aging face
You calm me with your conversation
while you wrap me in rhythm and spin me with grace
We always stay deep in the shadows
dancing the dance of two souls in the night
You string me with pathos and cling to my hand
while you delicately hide your eyes from my sight
You cover my gossamer glow
with petals dipped velvet in words
You pardon my errors in a poet's empath
and crying a river ensues
So I give you the song, the advantage
I bow to the shadows which cradle your skin
I wish to be always beside you
Your fragile spun muse, hidden solace, within...

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Feelings of Life

So many feelings clouding the mind
Engulfing emotions, totally entwined:
     Feelings of loneliness
        Feelings of pain
           Feelings of emptiness
              Feelings that can't be explain'd.

                 Feelings of uncertainty
                     Feelings of joy
                        Feelings of ecstasy
                            Feelings of shame
                                Feelings of love, despair , anguish and regret
                                   Feelings of disappointment
                                      Feelings holding strong
                                         Feelings of hopeless uneasiness, guilt
                                            Feelings of right and wrong.

                                                Feelings of mistrust
                                                   Feelings of doubt
                                                       Feelings of being powerless to hold out.

Feelings of unrest
Feelings untapped, untouched, beyond the mind's comprehension.
Feelings of contentment
Feelings of never having enough
Feelings of fulfillment-
Of beauty and of trust.

Feelings of worth holding to 
Feelings to disperse; feelings that bring happiness to nurture at its best.

Feelings to repair a heart that's been broken, bruised by aches and pains
A heart that's still, numb and empty needing to be redeemed-
By the cord of compassionate love and care.
Feelings, feelings, feelings, intimate, lasting and real.

Details | Terza Rima | |

The Tale Spinner

His blockbuster of a book,
just a huge, steaming heap
of a gobbler's gobbledygook,
        praised to highest heavens
        by blabbering blurb-writers
        who gather in drunken covens.

        At the world's philosophies
        he laughed, and scribbled away
        about everyone's tragic ironies
                     with the blazing seriousness
                     of one hopelessly possessed
                     by vicious self-righteousness.

                     ruefully he soliloquizes
                     throughout his glossy pages
                     about mortal whims and frailties,
                                 the haloed, hollowed out lives
                                 of the very rich and famous,
                                 of lovers, husbands and wives.

                                 amazing how they slurp it all up,
                                 the readers just oohed and aahed,
                                 lapping it up like sugary syrup;
                                             awed by his own tale-spinning,
                                             now, with the heartiest private laugh,
                                             he's guffawing, but not quite kidding !

Details | Free verse | |


I put some thought, random thought
Into life
Maybe I should take bigger bites instead  of nibbling
On it because it doesn’t seem to keep stretching after I reach the halfway mark
Doesn’t matter now because the water is boiling and 
I can’t find
A bigger pot to put this dead animal in
I don’t really understand why we put dead animals into our mouths
It tastes good but I still don’t understand
A lot of things happen like that
I watch the neighbor open the door and place a well worn box outside
I remember him taking that in a couple months ago
On my way in from the grocery store with some 
apples and peanut butter
Not to sound too cliché
But i feel we are all worn boxes waiting outside
To see if when we are going to be picked up and taken to the next place
That kind of thought belongs in a poem
Things like these always belong in a poem
Maybe I should say we are all like 
apples and peanut butter
But those go together too well to be metaphor 
I don’t know what I’m trying to say  but 
this is a poem
Money evades me, it really likes to
After it shines so brightly in my hand I never can seem to get enough
I am Narcissistic  enough to look in a mirror
my mind is a mirror
At times I only see myself and things start spinning
Spinning spinning spin spin 
And my mind, once so sheer that it only reflects what I see, gets scratched
Until it’s quite unclear and the 
reflection only shows hazy images
It’s so quiet, just like knowledge
My wisdom in a mirror
18 years young and I won’t pretend like I know what I’m talking about
But this is a poem

Details | Epigram | |


of seeing-
knowing how to

A lanterne epigram paraphrasing Alfred Wols words on art

Details | Elegy | |

A Poem

Truest as the love from the heart that beats from our breasts,
That the daughter of mine, Matilda, is sick to the wonders,
who lies stoned cold and emotionally depressed watching the skies
grow bluer and nature's green so bold as she lays  to rest.

Her violet eyes, now to gray, tells that I can merely scarce the pain,
and as truest of the love that beats from the heart in our breasts,
that soul does crave a wondrous treasure that rings so 
Bold but timid and yet it speaks all in rhymes.
She lips out the words, "Read me a poem just one last time"

And my fingers roam amongst a page,
So soft as I read, "Nothing Gold can Stay."

Details | I do not know? | |

The Demon

The demon entered late one night and boasted he got me.
In bed I cowered filled with fright and hoping he would leave.
"You'll never write again," he said, with dirty awful glee,
"Your course is through, your muse is dead. No fame you shall achieve."
A thousand prayers came to mind but none could I assert.
"Your pleas can't help, for you're assigned, from High, for me to pester."
But why? thought I. The fiend's reply will haunt my days on earth:
"You let your gift too long to dry, it now will reek and fester."
I woke and quaked, my nightmare gone, I thanked it wasn't true,
And running to this desk I've done three days of naught but writing.
One work is good, one sentence bad. I give each word its due,
To keep the beast away I'm glad; I'll give it no inciting.
All gifts are not our own alone. We owe the world our part.
Like Adam back and bone, we hone and sow our grief for art.

Details | Fibonacci | |


of haijin
from haiku pillars-

Details | Rhyme | |

To the Writer Who Pegged Me Right...

Satsuma button a torn reminder
of the writer who read me and printed my voice
Pages uncut and unevenly binded
with etchings of longing a life filled with choice
Midnight pass quickly and frail me no more
I yearn to delve deeper to see what's in store
but my throat is quite aching and my eyes sting in salt
I stand without blood pressure feeling to fall
So lost in her words, so taken with expressions
of me in her mirror of liquid reflections
Cherry tree blossoms as snow on the ground
as my heart sinks in silence, indelible sound
Satsuma button to start a collection
a reminder of the moment a soul pegs you right
Rice paper marking my book with discretion
as I rise with my countenance and bid you good night...

Details | Free verse | |

Distinguished Genttlemen

The laurel wreath
Bestowed on victors
Every four years
Blood, sweat and tears
In Pythian Games
Honoring Apollo
At Delphi onto Greece
In a classic ceremony
The corruptible glory
An immortal crown
Prized to artists
Public officials
The poets of Rome
And here at home
A rebirth of antiquity
With Apollo's oracles
Music and poetry
Prophecy and medicine
Things of God as things of men
The reform defecient renascence

Details | Lanterne | |


a delight -filled

Inspired by Chirico's painting of 1912

Details | Free verse | |

A poem.

In the early morning hours I sit and think of a time, a place, a moment it was 
almost twenty years ago,
In the distant I heard the gun shots ring out , 
soon I was standing where I last seen a friend
now pouring beer over the spot where he meet his end,
I walked further down the block listing to the sounds, 
the smell from the wet streets filled the air this was the street life I had found
A life were you can not fill, dream, hope, or care day to day is how you live, 
drown your sorrows and sedate your tears, those are for the dead that is,
Violated as a child, beaten as a kid all for a life I didn`t ask for,
forced to grow and walk like a man, 
men don`t cry, men can take death, dodge bullets and except their destiny at hand.
for my crimes and for my sins I walked that road and believed it was so 
that I was born  with a look in my eyes that was as if I had no soul,
there was no future for me I never seen my self any other way in any other life 
to me like the others this is were I`d take the last breath in me by a gun or knife
I lived this life pushed myself to the edge took all risks shot at, shot back  beaten, 
beat back I was to young and to bold.
this is were one might write then I found God, not me God was some one who 
turned away from me long ago this sinner knew it was so,
that night in a rage I came across words on a page telling a story of pain that was 
the same words that touched me and opened a door,
when I cried at night I thought I was the only one, no one knew I had dreams, hopes, that
I cared, I felt pain in my heart alone at night I fell to the floor
I found a way out, a way to escape, I found a poem, words that were put together 
to ease some ones pain, 
a poem that found my soul, a poem that helped me stay sane
see God didn`t turn his back on me this poem told me so,
he was there all along this I now know,
on paper I set my heart free my anger,remorse, all the hate in side of me,
pen to paper a poem I found one lonely night a poem that helped me see.


Details | Free verse | |

Because I Did Not Care to Write About the Snow

Because I did not care to write
about the snow
the blackbird pulls within itself,
sucking feathers into its vortex
like a footprint.

Surely there are meanings
to the ice-covered lake
turned white.  We write
the words with our feet,
not guessing their meanings.

In the snow
the blackbird remains black.

The sky stutters.
It does not know
the essence of the ice
locked below.

Details | Free verse | |

do you feel for anything other than yourself

I've heard that poetry won't get us very far

But what do they know?

Where a few  of my words blot a napkin

 is my

One and only refuge

So in essence

It helps to keep my sanity 

 this heartless world
My broadened perspective

Where my eyes are held open

can never be completly shut

I write

What I see

I've heard that my words will be forgotten 

When I am dead and gone

I will be dead and gone

But no one can touch this moment; the freeing of my happy soul

It is mine alone, regardless of if i am made of cartillage 

or just bone

I've heard that as a woman I am overly emotional

But what do they know?


I feel every pulse of life around me

and the drip drop of of  of the spring rain

I hear the sound of sobbing of people a thousand miles away

I feel the bloodshed

I smell the smoke

I see the heart break

By that you mean I can feel...
what do you feel

By your silence I can tell that you cannot
because you forgot

 You think that expression of any sort other than patriotism

is a waste of time? 

keep your eyes on the prize 

a.k.a.  work ethic

and you will get ahead
Numb your heart
To the real world

You call this the real world?
where the realness is hidden by the dumbing down of society

For you see

Your senses are dulled

When you no longer can understand 

the artist

and her poetry


not poetry

but your own sense of empathy

desire, fear, laughter, love, hatred, confusion, 

blatent disregard

You do much to spit in the face of our creator

feel it all

or all will be lost

our sense of justice, and empathy

should be kept at all costs 

Details | Free verse | |

The Bewitching Bleu's

(Paint Me A Picture With Your Words)

Oh, tender woman;
Be thou lost, as the 
Touch … of time…she feels
the fallen cries of distress….
Where of Aphrodite’… she mourns
The Mighty lover’s past

And the winds of the heart 
Are lonesome in its search
Of the treasures 
Yet, to be found…

Aphrodite’s touch, 
Has placed yet another 
Moon struck lover 
To wade in the 
Bleu caste seas of 
Where many a man 
In haste drowned…

Such is the case of the 
Bewitching bleu's… 

Details | I do not know? | |

My Soul Rejoices In The Lord Everyday

(Swap Quatrain) 

My heart everyday, in the Lord rejoices too 
Because without Him, I wouldn't last a day 
God wants all the time, to walk with me 
In the Lord rejoices too, my heart everyday 

Every morning when the sun glows, I open my eyes 
And send all my praises to God above high 
The Lord wipes all my tears away, yes, I know 
I open my eyes, every morning when the sun glows 

It doesn't matter to God and that's so, what in the past I've done 
Jesus forgives me when I repent and then my sins are just gone 
God is my loving Dad, and yes that in my heart I already know 
What in the past I've done, it doesn't matter to God and that's so! 

Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 


Details | Imagism | |


Images blur my mind
A lavaform of thoughts flow,
As rivers carved through fields,
That meander to the sea-
Ebb,then flow,as flotsam lie,
Filtered on my page.

Details | Quatrain | |

Birth of a Novel

In a troublesome mood, half engulfed firelight
with a silk sheen perspire, emerging a thought
In round wire glasses, too light to be noticed
and a brass nib in ink, the moment was caught

It was twirled 'round a finger, half calloused with ink
with a wedding band clasp, from a lifetime ago
to be mulled an enigma, in bled scroll designs
on pages which only his fingers would know

By the crack of the fire, he stretched to the brink
every nuance he carried, like whispering skin
The embers died down, 'till he caught up a chill
but he couldn't conclude, what he didn't begin

The words were in charge, in general ink
and he wrote in a fervor, and shook until still
with bones turned to ash, in the blue of the room
a novel was born, but the author was killed.

Details | Free verse | |

Through a Poets' Eyes

  Glimpsing holograms,

endlessly morphing ideas,

scenarios exploding infinite dimensions,

looping, shifting,forming corridors,

ellusive directions,

flying flaming pathways,

fractured frenzy,

broadening reality,

exposing spiraling horizons,



burning down,

burning down the mind,

to find

the white hot core....


Details | I do not know? | |

Starless Night: The Art Of Giving (Rhyme Incorporated) part 1

I was reading Michelle MacDonald’s superb piece of art “Sea Shanty”
Secretly, under the haiku master Katherine Stella’s “Yum Yum Tree”
When smiling Carol Brown, invited me to her grand “Surprise Party”

The charming lady of the soup was no longer feeling bad or “Sideline”
After mending herself, thru helpful John Boak’s “Like The Best Wine”
I am not sure, if, playful Julie Bristow told her, the miracle of “Divine”

Thank God! Doret Cope sighed; she didn’t suffer from a “Stolen Love”
She enjoyed the work of Dawn Drickman’s “The Tiger And The Dove”
She is a good person, that I told her my secret, of having “Other Love”

At the party, Keith Bickerstaffe, without her luckless maid “Ophelia”
Was talking to Sir William Robinson, the great man behind “Mahalia”
I guessed she asked him why I wrote “O God, The Rat Has A Phobia”

Dancing flawlessly, to the nostalgic tune of Jeffrey Lee’s “Music”
Was my haiku mentor, she’s mesmerized by Mahalia’s “Light Magic”
But co-host, a certain Adam Piper was caught trapped, at “The Attic”

I did surprise all, even William Robinson, “When I Stop And Pray”
I interrupted my recitation, of own favorite “Cast Your Doubts Away”
‘Cos, I rather break my pen, but not a promise: “And To Thee, I Pray”

Epulaeryu chef Joseph Spence Sr. who “Makes The World Go Round”
Was explaining, his cooking, to sweet Elaine George, but “Spellbound”
By the strong romantic power, of yellow “Dried Rose On The Ground”

That got humble Daria Stone confused, of feeling “Unlocked, Not Free”
A beauteous Deborah Simpson smiled and asked him: “Sequester Me”
Joyful Karen O’Leary said, the handsome chef, will “Travel With Me”

Details | Rhyme | |

Reading Ondattje

Grind the curry
Balm the wax
and sweep the bits of bellow to wind
Blue the sky
Break the dew
and liquefy reason before we begin
Coral the room
Stilt the walk
in pyramids of brinjals, persimmons and figs
Sleep the fan
Curl the mind
in spirals of sweet burning Sri Lankin sprigs.

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Letter To A Poet

To you, my favorite Poet

I view you, as my sole comforter
You comfort me, with the beauty
Of your songs and verses
Written, by the power of your spirit

With love and passion; your work
Topped the best-sellers’ lists, a world record 
I believe, no word travelers can break it
No matter, how best they tried

I really have no idea how you did it
But truly, you’ve amazed millions of readers
With your thoughts, calm as the sea at night
Bringing peace and hope, into their hearts

Thou, many of your so-called fans excelled
In their own writings, yet, they failed
To capture the brevity of your word
They, too, failed to unearth its mystery

Oh, by the way, I found a translation of your
Book, it’s in my 7th tongues---the Modern Greek
Left purportedly, by one of your procrastinators
In a wooden shelve, in the attic-room

Adorned with dust, but, when I blew it away
Voila, my life has changed, completely
A better life
That you, instantly, became my favorite poet

You, the greatest, of all time
Greater than any poets/authors, living or dead
Your masterpiece translated into different languages
…..for those who wish to learn your wisdom

Now, that you’ve shown me 
The new life, with the strong guidance 
Of your lovely rhymes and styles
Yours, I will, steadfastly, bind them 

In my heart, forever, for without You---my God
There will never be me, your new born child
Nor, there’ll be poets such as Poe, Frost or Pushkin
If, you had not lend them, your silver quill


Details | Lyric | |

Cordial Appreciation

Together, day by day

In your best apron
And I in my evening suit

Hmm, the soup 
Is boiling
With your finest herbs

I tasted it
And wish I have cooked it first
...your bowl of wordy art


Details | Free verse | |


                                               A great part

                                            of a poet's self

                            is revealed to him when he writes

                                      even when he does so

                              in the manner of a ventriloquist

                             - - projecting a voice not his own

                                              in his verses,

                                              taking refuge

                                    in the cautious caveat:

                                  the poem is not the poet;

                               and, indeed, he learns a lot

                                            about himself,

                               but he doesn't and he won't

                                         necessarily relish

                                           what he learns.

Details | Free verse | |

Stories, Stories, on the Wind

Calm my breath
(these thoughts I bury)
So, there you are
(and where am I?)
Stories drift their way on by
Grabbing hands out-stretched am I
Flutter, flutter 'till the sky
is burnt in orange and red and blue
I stand alone 'till up they flew.

Details | Verse | |

A Poet's Thoughts

     A poet's thoughts hailed:
turning  green mountain flowers 
        into lively beings

   Copyright McCuen 2008

Details | ekphrasis | |

crosswise MATISSE

Your art          your notes         your style
So varied        so wise              so true
Opened           then drew          close to
My eye            my mind            my heart

My eye            my mind            my heart
To love            to learn             to know
Your craft        your theory        your technique
Forever           you made           so unique

Notes of a Painter ,1908
Painters Notes on Drawing  1930

Paintings & sculpture

Details | Verse | |

A Poet's Thoughts

A poet's thoughts hailed:
turning flowers into beings.

Copyright McCuen 2008

Details | Blank verse | |

Still Spinning

Each inspiration, a different star point
tenderly dipped in leaded glass 
and allowed to dry.
Star skins unmolded birth devotion,
breed insurrection,
and are extremely edible 
(though they never pass through you)
They go down sharp and imbed themselves
into your throat, your lungs, your very being.
Each point of inspiration a delicacy,
a mood swing in transit,
a feast.
Spread me this feast in a famine, 
starving of long burnt out star shine and glass
I am filled up at each point of abandon,
glowing white heat and still spinning...

Details | Free verse | |

The Poem I Wanted To Share

Yesterday I, after work, went straight home 
Because there was a poem beaming 
With hues of beautiful Saturday afternoon 
That kept running through my head
Great! I’ve a poem to share 
No bothering winter wind
No snow to melt before my crisp feet
What a perfect time to write
With a pen and block note in hand
I laid myself on a garden love-swing 
Then, suddenly, you came joining me
With a pink smile on your face
You were very lovely and I fell in love, again
My breath, in haste, intertwined 
In perfect harmony with yours
And, the poem flattered away, completely gone
I couldn’t remember if it was sonnet or free verse
But, it doesn’t really matter anymore
For you held me tight, kissing….and tingling
That I love it, making my day complete

Details | Free verse | |

Critical Moments

Circles of confusion and a mirrored box
Image decisive instants of living and dying,
Entering and leaving the state of existence
In movement and idleness 
Capturing the connection of all things... 
The closer to, the less seen,
The further away, the bigger the picture
Yet, there's always something hidden
That answers the reasons why, shows new ways 
Of thought that suggests stones and studs
Metal and glass from ground, trees, air and sun
With flesh and bone of darker shades of white 
Lighter shades of black interrelating for undertones
Of what's his, what's hers and everything is theirs
On paper without words for the deaf through 
The unseen for the blind... the emotional by way
Of what is felt reveals the greatest mysteries
And implications of the objective and subjective
Views join together for knowledge to understand
The crucial for a better society on earth
As the truth that is a lie etches in the memory
And freezes in time culture by capturing 
Critical moments that connect all things in 
A mirrored box through circles of confusion
To usher in indispensable periods of success

Details | Free verse | |

Difference Iz Vol. 2

I guess to me vol. 1 just wasn't enough
so I guess it's time I refill this lyrical cup
the difference is I gotta explain how different I really am
the depths of a real nigga has just began
concerning this world I guess it don't amaze me
how men & women use each other is far from crazy
but maybe I just reached my spiritual peak
like I told yall love is what I continue to seek
most men can't seem to look a woman 
expect by the way her body looks
I guess the difference is I'm on a different page
matter fact a whole nother book
difference is I'm talking to women to see where there heart is
I could careless how many baby fathers you got & how many kids
I'm on a mission just to talk to women because I respect their convo
it sometimes amazes me how a man could make a woman feel so low
but thats the world its lost and don't wanna be found
so if anyone hears God's voice they recognize this heavenly sound
difference is I'm on a love search yeah It might hurt
but one thing I realized is you gotta put God 1st
difference is I'd take a woman with a good heart gladly 
for the simple fact I know with this woman 
I'd be eternally happy

Details | Couplet | |

Poet's Lament

You, perhaps, have stoned the sky
a million pelting birds to fly
to break the atmosphere in half
You sang the song, you laughed the laugh

You, in kind, have run the sea
up to the brink immensity
to kiss the wings of pelting birds
You named the name, you wrote the words

You, my friend, have bent the night
It fell to you without a fight
to slumber gently in your palm
You sold the soul, you calmed the calm

You, alone, have caught the air
in feathered wings, I know not where
to storms abated in their breath
You lived the life, you died the death~

Details | Lyric | |

Conviction Of A Poet

Not wanting to carry my own chair
Yet, for sure somewhere out there
Someone, behind the scene, likes my poetry
Not by its message, nor by its poetic artistry
Perhaps, they just simply like it 
Some may not, or, even disagrees a little bit
Others may post comment……..bad or good
Still, I can accept, even if it’s rude

For without them, how can I learn?
To succeed, one needs others’ concern
This is what I’m trying to imply--
Myself, to fear, I must not comply

The arts of writing is not my cup of tea
It just happened that I discovered its beauty
Though, my skill, limited to basic conjugation
A barrier that I dare to tackle with emotion

So, aging brain is now addicted to write
Not because it senses the waiting termite
But, for the sake of recording my identity
To be wrapped in words, for others to see

For when the whispering wind blows its last
At least, I’ve no regret, for someone will cast
The priceless treasure, I left, from the mind
From blood to blood, it‘ll always be mine

And for the meantime, I’ll keep on writing 
…love, hate, friendship and all sorts of things
That’s burning inside me…..
Great or not, how does poet’s mind works?  


Details | Rhyme | |

Creation (terzanelle)

This self exists in grave fluidity – 
when finding nothing inside, ventures out
and looks beyond to seek validity.

Unfortunate, she finds herself without
the thing she needs to valuate a life;
when finding nothing inside, ventures out

to leave some beauty there among the strife – 
for only in creation she finds peace,
the thing she needs to valuate a life.

Objectified, the pain can find release
obscured within intense poetic phrase,
for only in creation she finds peace.

So tucked away within, it silent stays
and destined to remain so when it hides
obscured within intense poetic phrase,

and in this way, the future she decides.
This self exists in grave fluidity – 
and destined to remain so when it hides
and looks beyond to seek validity.

Details | I do not know? | |

Lyrical Invention

Before I say the things I want to mention
I ask you “Please pay attention”
And listen
When I am hintin’
My cranial membrane’s tension
Causes difficulty to spit this lyrical invention
Conventions on suspension
But pay notice to my retention
Of the vocabulary I mention
The incomprehensive comprehensions
Of this poetic technician
Makes many realize exactly what their lives are missin’
So listen!!!
Some envision
This as a competition
But their competitive attitudes are responsible for this world’s division
My writtens
Have the impact of a multi-car collision
Many would agree that my rhymes are sizzlin’
But their meanings are hidden
Access to my rhymes are forbidden
Hate and you’ll be forgiven
I spit poetic darts with absolute precision
And it won’t be long until I am on HBO television
But I first must make decisions
To maintain lyrical nutrition
Because I still feel imprisoned
And wounded by incisions
But I shouldn’t worry if it’s the truth that I am living
Know that He has risen
Stop grinding and start grinnin’
We need constant repetitions
Because I am scared of what I envision
My bars make prisons
That all starts condensin’
Dripping and rinsin’
Me of my afflictions and pensions
Not to mention my malicious jurisdictions
My words paint depictions
Of how lyrical vixens
Go back to the days that crackers were lynchin’
Niggas on trees because they had dreams of going to Princeton
And since then
We have grown up and dissed them
Those who died in the struggle ya’ll know I miss them
Now that I am finished my invention
I hoped that you listened
To this lesson that was hintin’
That past struggles resurrect
We just got to pay attention.

Details | Light Poetry | |

My Poetry

I don't like it.
It does not say.
What I want to say.

Whats in my mind.
I cannot find.
The things that mean a lot.
I have forgot.

Having to rhyme, is a swine,
Maybe I stop, and write a book.
I have lots to say.
Before I pass away.

Never edit your work.
Let it be read,
As new, fresh and live.
From your side.

Mistakes and spelling.
So what!
Don't worry what they think.
Get it down.
Your thoughts. In ink.

Details | I do not know? | |

Plug a Poem in the socket

  I'm a planner I'm a scanner I'm a time warp spanner
and you better get outta my way
I can rap with the babies and the Baby Boom ladies
and I really got somethin to say

   I been lovin ,I been fightin, I been rainbow writin
and I got it all on the line
plug a poem in the socket ,if you really 
wanna rock it
it'll always come out in the rhyme

Details | Lyric | |

Sharing Is All We Need

Write it, every beats that come from within.
Oh, thinking, too much thinking 
Is just a whole lot thing---it tears your posture apart.

Heart is going wild, 
Like a wildfire, crackling its nerves; 
Whilst the mind wanders, lost in wilderness.

Lo! Poetry and its power---
A solution, a method, a therapy
Whatever you call it, it’ll…
Surely makes the summer heat cools a bit,
For a word or two is enough 
To satisfy the inner thirst.

Unveil yourself, from such solitariness;
And let us talk, anything---
It’s time to share and resolve the paradigm of our life. 

Details | Rhyme | |

The Audience

To float to unsung destinies
To pull the wool out milky eyes
and sell the secrets hurting us
to buy ourselves naive surprise
It's this you freely bloom today
It's this and all your smiles
which dress up even the simple things
in fashion of infinite style
We are your captive audience
We are your tongues delight
to varnish a lunar eclipsing word
and hang on the ears of the night
You mirror our thoughts gone unthought
You precious yourself to the wind
so we will sit back with eyes burning clear
bated breath and a smile so you can begin

Details | Lyric | |

I Write for Myself

So sue me
I don’t write like you
I don’t pay attention to form and rhyme scheme,
And I shouldn’t have to,
That’s the beauty of art

I write from the heart
I say what I feel
Why must it be structured a certain way,
In order to be real?

I will not write a haiku
Nor a senryu 
What’s it to you?
Does that mean I’m fake?

It’s time you wake up
Get over yourself
I won’t change my ways,
Because you say they’re wrong
I won’t change my ways,
Because the forms say they’re wrong
I don’t write for your forms,
Or anything else
I write for myself

Details | Tetractys | |


to express
seldom ever to imitate nature.

After Matisse

Details | Quatrain | |

Answering Jonji

Walk on almond paths
of winter sprigs and thyme
floating upward under steps
you left for me in rhyme
I wish to counter balance
your magnitude and flow
with a whisper and an echo
like the winter winds which blow
Crisp inhale and wonder
with a cup of fresh brewed bliss
while the loose exhale of winter
turns my thoughts toward those I miss
You always memorize me
while you turn to me in kind
with a moment and a whisper
which you always leave in rhyme
I love you like forever
as you warm my hands in yours
as we wind on down our sensory paths
and land on different shores...

Details | Couplet | |

Peel Me a Poem

Whisk them all to peaks of passion, 
Words and letters, deeds and action, 
Flow them, grow them in the sky
All exhaled we burst and fly
Butter wings and liquid lifting
Swelled balloons for fingertipping
Catching words, pulp and peel
Need to eat them,  just to feel...

Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #57 / Without my glasses

I used to think I couldn’t see
without my glasses. But the world
needs not always be so crisp. Sometimes,
it’s best to see only the fuzzy forms,
the general essence, the world as an Impressionist.
Otherwise, the detail would drive us mad.

Details | Rhyme | |

Ease and the Taking

Stranded in glass at the edge of perfection
steps contemplated and cracked
Sky overhead is eternally threatening
whispering wickedly behind your back
Removing the vision, blind open your eyes
throw it out into the gulfing sunrise
Eliptical cowl burnt red to leak gold
brimming with all of the musings once sold
Solar incredulous melting the glass
Master of destiny, mutiny pass
Streaking your steps with only your will
to blow your legs out of this infinite trill
Turns out the sky only wanted a kiss
from the you that arrives at the moment of waking
Sometimes a push is all that's required
and the rest is just yours for the ease and the taking.

Details | Free verse | |

Poetry Wine

Though I am stranger
By birth and by blood
I felt accepted

Pulling the cork out
I smelled the famed scent 
Of the old vintner

Held captive in own
Sweat, when I sipped it
Words flowed out of me

Like the vine dresser
Pure, soft and gentle
For everyone’s heart 

I remember well
The sweet echo of
The vintage Greek wine

Details | Lyric | |


red book-
was to fill
many empty

Ekphrasis on Mao 1973 by Warhol

Details | Free verse | |

Pound for Pound

   from bank to skill
  and labor to love
 for sake of pleasure
and from rooftop to tile
   my list compiles a pile
  as high and long as a miracle mile
 from brain to agility
from slum to nobility
 I am willing to bet that
   pound for pound
     I am better by the pound

Details | Free verse | |

My Poet

Spun words of eons
surpassing the flesh.
Blistering images of ancient
masterful verses of soul.
You speak to me of jewels
gems that touch deep my soul.
You mesmerize in visions
speaking of laced words that
have bound my heart to
Voyages you have traveled 
with me.
To mystic ports of cannons 
artistic forge and gardens 
of delight.
In flight of your verses 
on gentle
golden tipped wings oh how
my heart sings.
Poet you have gathered heavens
stars as flowers in all their 
Words of healing balm reach
me deep where my scars
leave depth in my soul .
Each verse you speak smooths
the balm of healing till they
fade away making me 
Nothing in this world holds 
precious place in my heart
Poet than your words.
Muse of Poet light you
set this poetess in verse
by your musings.

This is a dedication poem to my poet.

Details | Free verse | |

my poetry

my poetry is not bad or good or great,
my rhymes make no sense,
and I have yet to figure out anything but free verse,
subjects are shaky,
I write out my soul with nothing more then 01,
I use slang with abandon,
and rhythem is just not my thing,
but though my problems are here,
so is my heart,
my words might not be the greatest,
but they are not the worst,
I will figure out my problems,
with rhythem and rhyme,
with word choice and subject,
with a clear goal in mind,
that others would understand what I see...

Details | Quatrain | |

The Storyteller

You spin the world
You shake with pride
as tales of wonder
tear your eyes
You're ageless now
You flood the room
and force us to 
your heart entomb
You never stop
You never think
of all your grandeur
stamp and ink
You took the role
You spoke the words
and now you've left us
cold, disturbed...

Details | I do not know? | |

I kicked Al Gore's ###

(I got the idea for this fictional poem after watching Mad TV.)

Last week I got a visit from Al Gore.
I beat the hell out of him and he doesn't want to see me anymore.
He asked me to give him my car keys.
When he told me what he was going to do, it angered me.
He said he was going to destroy my car because it's bad for the environment.
When he tried to take the keys, the hospital was where he was sent.
Gore thought he was being smart but he got himself in a pickle.
He could've taken anything else but I broke his bones when he tried to take my 

Details | Lyric | |

As I think Of It

My poem, as I think of it,
I am taken to solitude of happiness,
Where the bitter memory of yesteryears 
Disappears, without traces.

I am delivered in spirits
From hell of anxieties to an exotic paradise
Of hope, where it is me and my poem
Alone for a moment.

There’s rhyming sonnet, and beautiful verses
Even a haiku, too, you’ll see as you gently peek 
Thru my soul, fed by the reflection ripples of the sea
With placid water so warm and really blue. I sigh.

The magical seasons of pink summer night,
Of white winter noon,
Of golden fall day,
Of bright-green of early morn. I breathe.

Sweet caress from the rhyming sea  
As I look deeper into my heart,
A poem, sweet as me as I whisper to you
My life, not of yesterday, but of today.

Details | Free verse | |

Nodding Off

Windows of soul
On  misted terrain
Some narrow viewpoints
From wind twisted pane
Some climb a ladder
stepping on heads
to get loftier views
and are lowered instead
Others find pleasure
By closing the blinds
Some stop to think
and blink

Details | Free verse | |


He asked for the most beautiful song
but it was dark, and I couldn’t find
my voice. Isn’t that where songs live?
he asked. In place of song, a braided 
line of praise will do. But the light
from my eyes was gone, taking with it
all the tendriled vines. So he said, 
a sign from your soul. But I didn’t 
know I had one, until I reached inside 
and pulled out the small aching thing,
hungry as a newborn, perfectly blind.

Details | Free verse | |

Forms of art.

                                  I can not rap or sing
                                 poems are my thing
                               they come from the heart
                               they are my form of art.
                              When a rapper sings
                                  a poet writes
                              an artist paints
                            what ever the song
                                 or picture 
                              they come from the heart
                             are all forms of art.                                    

Details | Free verse | |

Water-Colored Words (Reversed Verse)

As Water-colored
Liquid creativity 
Seeping from my cup of thoughts
Mental portraits
Created colors 
Quenching the thirsty canvas
Revealed to a world
Within water-colored dreams
Fanciful minds filled to the brim
With excitement of hearts 
Awaiting the next tale to be told

~Ah yes indeed it shall be known by those~

Awaiting the next tale to be told
With excitement of hearts
Fanciful minds filled to the brim
Within water-colored dreams
Revealed to a world
Quenching the thirsty canvas
Created colors 
Mental portraits
Seeping from my cup of thoughts
Liquid creativity 
As Water-colored

Details | Free verse | |

Muse of Light

Dare shame the lovely muse’s hand,
I stand lost on dusty foreign roads.
Weaken and salvaged rendered soul,
prickly needles and concrete thought loads.

In the buzzing silent night, I hear thoughts,
the only sort of music with my care-weary ear.
I am drawn in devoid meaning.
Crippled like a small child in weaning.

Magnified in my painful faults
Mind games and word plays assaults,
I dwell in the bleakest hours.
Repelled from your light power in this silent hour.

Listening to the buzzing silence,
please save me and soothe this silent pain.

Details | Quatrain | |


You have engraved my heart
with the nib of your pen dipped in ink
I never would be one to don a tattoo
but you colored me up before I stopped to think
Irregular beating and vascular crunch
slipped over beautiful walls
Adrenaline master, a natural disaster
responding to each of your calls
Whisper my name in your most fitful sleep
eyes twitching, light of the moon
My heart will respond yet in kind to your voice
with a beating of words to resume.

Details | Rhyme | |

Book a Trip

Book a trip
On board the Great Railways
In mysteries and histories of your nation
Riding from destination to destination;
Saddle up for other trails to blaze
With each page you flip.

Book a trip
On board the wings of flight
And fly to distant lands
Discovering times and races and
languages and cultures day and night;
Take off from the airstrip.

Book a trip
On board a craft for outer space
And go beyond earthly depiction
To terrestrial fact or fiction
Where fantasy is commonplace,
And imagination is the ship.

Book a trip
On board a seafaring vessel
And sail the seven seas for love
And adventure directed from above;
Dive into ocean worlds, and nestle
Into nature for other tips.

Book a trip
In your free time or if it's a bore
And learn the past, present and future
The sciences and how to suture,
The arts and games and so much more
In silence or with words on your lips.

Details | I do not know? | |

On a Notable Quote

"Poetry makes nothing happen."
              --W.H. Auden

We see what we want in mirrors.

The wind that incites the leaves to falling
Makes nothing happen to those arched in expectancy.

There is no celebration, no exaltation of watercolors
Swept upon the textured sky taunt with time, 
Unbending.  It haunts the halls with endeavor,
Never ending: bows to sunsets, calls them clever
While claret news clippings clutter rooms.

Poetry like sterile tombs are places where living
Seldom happens, forests turned fragile to saplings
Not knowing of the wind, but rather the stirring;
Without the song there are no cicada, only whirring.

Details | Couplet | |

Words Glitterati

One rhyme at a time,
One love to linger on;

A little piece of you
And me, the glitterati

Of sonnets, and 
Of free verse;

We let ourselves to flow,
Sometimes, we overflow;

Coating in the passion
To shed out the emotions;

Poetry brings us together,
Re-unites us, when we fall;

You are my poetry
And I’m your rhyme;

You are my free verse
And I am your sonnet;

For words are out there,
Sweet as we whisper.

Details | Rhyme | |

Eternally Writing, Forever Rhyming

You make my stomach turn
My ulcers burn
I’m like a huge oak tree
Your just a fern
When will you learn
In my mind my thoughts
Will always churn
In my body like a germ
I’ll put you in the ground like a worm
Keep you there to term
My words will stand firm
Watch you shake and squirm
You think I’m dumb
Standing there
Looking stunned
Out gunned
Come to me and get you some
Stand still
Or start to run
these words are weighing
Like a ton
Don’t stop me now 
This battles not done
You’re tired of me
I’m just starting to have fun
I can keep going
All night long
I’ll stop if you can 
Prove me wrong
Negativity is your song
Take me off the stage
Bang that gong
You can’t hurt me anymore
You’re insults
I deplore 
Forever staying strong
Your world was my cage
You can’t erase the ink from this page
Quell my rage
I think I’ll end this soon
Not tomorrow at noon
Right now
Under the light of the moon
This is not the last you’ll hear from me
that’s for sure
Because in my poems
My words will endure…………

Details | Sonnet | |

Music Dreams

Dice clicking in loaded hands, empty pledge
Hair-shaking wetness on steamed windowpanes
Fingernail file passing on painted edge
Eye lashes blinking against flashing lanes

Grey Fedora and white knuckles knocking
Urgent business with platinum blonde and lace
Neon crackle and alley cat loving
Dark passageway to dead end people place

Sunglasses sparkle above ruby lips
Be the lovely handmaid of French delight
Scarf trailing red over twilight cool hips
Secret midnight panther fading from sight

Endless shelves of knowledge tempting poets muse
Hidden, private visions he dares to peruse

Details | Lyric | |

Prowler Of Emotions

I am Poet.
The unrelenting prowler
of emotions

and I walk 

day and night,

to edges of life.
And, through my creations-
my voice,

I give

to the unspoken

dowered with such beauty,
truth and pain. 

Details | Free verse | |

Nine of hearts

the black word at the top
probably not just me
but what does it me
on this card all about satiation of a puzzle piece of Freudian slips
of the ego maniac dealing me a hand
of a two sided card

The Blue "Spirits" written on the bottom upside down
I do no know the right side up
and the "masks is there on the side

just one card professor
just one card
the nine of hearts
a piece of the puzzle
a piece of the chapter
a legacy of five hearts upright
showing me there is more love than what may be topsy turvy
four hearts upside down under the top five

and when i flip this card over what do i find
on the other side
the six of clubs
a card of success
Blue on top a word that speaks "Alone"

Down at the bottom and upside down
an omen written "within"
and on the side i have "expressive"

My deck of 26 cards with two sides
and these are just a few of my favorite things

the puzzle of Freudian slips
the word game
spirits within
confuses expressive masks

I'll never know

on card with two tails heads and tails
would you like a reading after you read the fairytale?
would you like to know more more than the yes or no to your answer and what 
you found here to the question you didn't t know to ask

and what have you found in this moment you are made up
besides the greed and arrogance you pine and hide away?
did you cry
did anyone come to intervene
did the destroyer change your ways from those who could wipe
this place clean
and is time ticking tick tock ticking away
to reflect within the mirrors
around you echoing your souls
as we all cry
and cry like teddy bears
banshee teddy bears
is time still ticking away?

success of being satiated 
cursed by being alone within and expressing it
to confuse your spirits and mask it all
such a poetic piece of art

my nine
my nine my valentine six of clubs nine of hearts
trump taking trick winning mastermind trump
hand winning card of the game fortunetellers jaw drop right now
because they are also god given
when they see the mirror magic of alphabets and words reflected in my living 
room surrounded by tick tock ticking

and i cry every night 
like a banshee
wanting to rewind the tapes see what i would have missed if i didn't take it all on 
and what is left for me
 are my hands gonna be clean?

Details | Free verse | |

Negativity's Spool

This spool of negativity
unraveled, sparked and metal lime
pierces eardrums in their skin
and wraps conundrums 'round the brain
It usurps all the confidence
which should be stored in violet bowls
to sip when low ignition strikes
and twines the weary, dragging souls
It threads the skin of counterparts
to skin cells loving anger
and twists it's turns through open mouths
to happiness endanger
This spool of negativity
spat and rolled by rotten tongues
will stretch and tear at the slightest tug
like paper silk gone soaked in rum
It dusts disintegration
and sleeps in rusty coils
and snakes through poison mushrooms
in the darkest forest soils
It winds a whisper metal lick
into the hearts of mighty men
constricting blood of pumping life
until they reach to sorrow's end
with thoughts too steep and oiled black
to negatively condescend...

Details | Rhyme | |

Catching up

Trying to learn
A new way of
a heck of an art
mastering my reason inside
please bear with me
I've fallen behind
Where you've had quite the head start.
In my ignorance
I am lagging farther behind
where my life was soo complex
sorry for the mixed message
in the future I'll learn to think twice
I'm just learning to write
Before I read
Between the lines.

Details | I do not know? | |

Poetic Genius

I am a poetic genius, who comes up with the
most poetic lyrics people can't understand,
I have some perplexing words that Webster
can't comprehend.
I am a poetic genius, who can care less what
the world thinks,
because I get drunk off of poetry instead
of alcoholic drinks.
I am a poetic genius.
I am a poetic genius, who writes his
signature like a pro, 
that's my name in cursive for those who
don’t know,
The perplexed one who can't handle my
poetic flow,
It's not that u are stupid, but compared to
me you're slow.
I am poetic genius because it's in my genes
and I'm a perfect example of what the word
genius means.

Details | Rhyme | |

The Wordsmith

               Although you may not fully understand
                   the meaning or the logical sense
                                    of his poetry,

                the images he paints with his words
                     and phrases dance with quiet

              his flamboyant wordplay, witty whimsy
                   and tongue-in-cheek irony evoke
                                  poetic surprise,

                   like the glorious, golden sunrise
                that will,  for the briefest of eternities,
                                        suffice !

Details | Free verse | |

Contrived Poetry

                Poetry, as the height of fantasy,
   contrives a wondrous world of wide-eyed awe,
   of meaning and reason, rhymed or unrhymed,
         of sensible sounds of sensitive sense;

              it conjures up harmony in chaos,
     fiercest faith in the midst of darkest doubts,
    soft healing of the soul's bloodless bleeding,
     pure peace in the pandemonium of storms;

                    Poetry, metaphor of reality,
       sways with the oscillations of the moods,
      drifts with the sure shifting of the seasons,
    sails with the soul, with pain and its lessons !

Details | I do not know? | |

Hosting Transient Time

Why have Age and Wisdom become
  One when seen by most?
Time may be greeted, taken in; then
  you become it's host.
Is Youth truly so envious, that it must
  answer Beauty with sharp wit?
I would rather welcome it than snuff
  it's candle as it's lit.
What age was Keats when Death stole 
  him, too soon, to his final rest?
For I am that age; though still,
  I know he'd have my best.

Details | Free verse | |

Creative Writing

Time to write
Time to exercise your hand
Be sure to ready your paper and pen
Or, check your p/c battery
Before you begin the word journey
And make sure no one is around, disturbing your mind
Tis not about rhyming, nor about the form
Just write
What you feel is right
For you, to make others laugh
Or touch their heart
Above all, be yourself
The originality lies inside you
And, the rest will smoothly flow
Try it, and hope you enjoy the fun

Details | I do not know? | |

Writer's Block

You're doing fine, you fought the fears
You hang your words on crystal tears
from dripping, burnt out chandeliers
to light the cobwebbed thoughts

You bite your tongue, you shake awake
with egos blown up, stuffed and great
with whispered voice, you supplicate
to have just an ounce, just a sip

This caustic emotion stings for a moment
a wound licked with fresh gasoline
Burnt to discovery with unholy reverence
yet quick to burst open, to bleed

You start the war, your pen in hand
Words leak like tepid milk, sour but bland
Cursing the ground which your lowly feet stand
Light cavities dim to darkness

You limp like lightning, you flood the hall
with kerosene brilliance, you'll burn them all
to the white washed dream you barely crawl
to give birth to purified greatness...

Details | Quatrain | |

My Last Poem

To write no more, shall be hard to do.
to push never again my crocked pen
across the page which once was new
now so stained from pain within.

No more I write to an ascending voice
to hear their laughter from the back.
Knowing full well this be my choice
to write no more for skill I lack.

There shall be no loss to none but me
to find my thoughts uncarpeted then
to let my poets heart blow free
my scatter verse unto the wind.

I write no more I've had enough
to feel their sneer at my printed word
their descending mock for that I love
I drop bitter tears upon my verse.

From my heart so torn and I forlorn
so this shall stand as my final poem. 

Details | Free verse | |

Creative Wriing Workshop

We revel in our deceptions,
Careen in the mallowness
Of the majolica
That is our life.

There are no truths—
Only deals.

The sky this evening
Seems surreal.

This is art.

We are critics
Of the coffee cup,
Knowing what we like.

Those who do,

Details | Free verse | |

Poet's Confinement

The poet’s heart so solitary
Never to be understood
It bleeds with ink, fluidity
Releasing as it should
Others can not grasp the beat
Nor, can they tame the pace
Reacting as if faced with fear
Yet, not wanting it replaced
For in the heart there lies the truth
The poet’s artistic way
A quality so loved by all
Understood? No, not today.

Details | Tanka | |

Portrait of Beauty

Be still my lovely
As my mind paints your image
Through well chosen words

I shall describe your beauty
Through words only flattering

Details | Rhyme | |

Art Under Arm

Painting pictures with thousands of words,
Everybody's an artist and poet today.
Traveling for stardom on man made birds 
Or on fast moving trains along the superhighway,

They fly by.  Now who can track reasonable duty?
Instead, fantasies thrive on the sun's hot wings,
And everything is blurred beyond natural beauty;
If their passions are set toward earthly things,
Why are they, who should hike and pedal bikes
To find snapshots of new poses along old trails,
Which lead to the expressway from routes of turnpikes,
Bypassing roses and dues with vanity along the rails;
Where dreams are as real as they feel to dreamers,
Burning lusts dissipate dew from plush green valleys
From mountain top scenarios.  The wishes of blasphemers
Ignore the School of Thought, yet implore schemes for tallies.

Riding coach with first class treatment without hesitations
To break sound barriers, void of time, talents, treasures and pain,
These counterfeiters move on their way to one stop destinations
Arriving with open umbrellas under formless clouds without rain.

Details | Free verse | |

Art isn't just fantasy....

A poet dreams as visions stream
symbolic images stir serene
sound softly whisper as coastal breeze
peacefully setting the mind at ease
releasing the self of matter in mind
burning to ashes until I find
purity of thought in which I invoke
messages come calling which I provoke
written are words of complex meaning
only the knowing recognize gleaming
tucked between the letters deftly are found
from deep within' the mind profound
stirring the courage of eager interpreter
lying in wait is the knowledge infered
creative writing can at times be technical
each quest at best should at least imply moral...

Even the great painters left messages to be found
artfully colored on canvas are bound
time honored symbols with multiple meanings
for those with patience to do the screening.......

Details | Free verse | |

Flyin' off the Cuff

seems we use this site
far better than a psychiatrist's
phony bull-shot...and his leather couch,
they wouldn't understand us , anyway
you can't learn from
books and lectures
the lessons life has taught us-
not to demean them, trust me,
I've no doubt they've had
their own horrors or uncertainties
to deal with...but, lets face it,
when their clients are gone,
their studies concluded,
to go sit back, in a recliner,
smoke a pipe and look wise
our words will far outlive them
and they can see it in their eyes.

Details | Free verse | |

Inside the Poets Soul

Howdy to y'all ! do ya wanna
take a journey with me
inside the poet's soul?
yea, how 'bout it... we'll jus'
have a look around,
starin' everywhere but the ground
and ye and thyself 
shall appreciate
the softness of her thoughts
and imagine ourselves
both poets just like her!
and he she comes
a-dancin' and 
beatin' her drums
with her pretty brown thumbs
as she sings the songs of her dreams
these sweet dreams take her
to places only within
her wild fantasy mind
and let her be free, say,
from the world of yesterday
as she was trapped inside
the strong, mighty ocean tide,
roaring in her mind...!

Details | Free verse | |


                    While craving for meaning, he stokes
                                            the ember,

                fans the flame of urgent, artistic madness
                                              for order;

                      but the mind sinks into the quagmire
                                         of the abstruse,

            and all that is left of poetic sense is deadened
                                        at the dead end.

Details | Free verse | |

Riches from Writing

No, you probably won't 
make it into the
    class of the millionaires
my friends
       Through your self expression
  Yet I believe you
should (as the late Eddie Birchmore said) step up to 
the mike and speak your peace
    Everyone may not 
like to hear what you 
have to say
    But have a liitle chutzpah(Yiddish for "nerve")

Details | Personification | |


All these words I read
their power
Like a forest fire or a river wild
pure power is in their hands
These words I read
their freedom
Like a child's laughter or a sparrow flying
the world is in their hands
The words I read
hold in their hands
my ability to be free

Details | I do not know? | |

Writing poetry

So is poetry you want to write, how can this be for you are nothing but a 
construction worker, are you ready to give up your life, face the anxiety that will 
shine through your tears, never to relax in subtle idleness. Give up your 
harmonious life. Dispute not what fertile words are waiting to become an infinite 
oasis in a sea of amber, restfulness naught amiss lulled never more. The 
grandeur of senses swooned by the lack of you own spirit to scum the torment 
that befolds it, majestic naught be in remorse that will dwell upon thy very soul. In 
dubious ways your memories to be swept away like forest scents drifting on the 
limpid currents; shrouded, muffled, tortured never to be reborn, solidarity  in your 
right torn apart by oblivions avenging treachery. Demoralizing days to come, 
nourishment shrouded by the harmonious burden to not stop and pay homage to 
your morbid soul. Sweet fervors drifting thru thy window beckoning your call to be 
out, to be reborn again upon life itself, but gilded in your lofty room powerless by 
the seductress need not to stop. Your nature enthralled upon your body fair 
whence restfulness abounds you, sleep deprived, emotion naught, languor 
taken over. Cruel life sleeps.

Details | Cowboy | |

I'm a Poet

I'm a Poet I'm Human too, with a mind and a Soul,
To make a decision, To set a new goal.
You can't control Me, as hard as you try. I see what you're doing,
You are so slick my poetry, shared belongs to Poet and not you I know that I can
Develop what I love writing.

Details | I do not know? | |

Paint Stains My Floor

Paint stains my floor
As she’s mixing a new variety
Dipping into a new crush
On what is visually stimulating
Her walls are cluttered now
No longer a solid blue
They’re blasted with thought
I wonder what it means
But I let her be
She has her pictures
I have my words

Details | Free verse | |

I Asked

I asked the spirit why it was blue 
And it smiled and replied “Blue holds the truth”
I asked the dove why it was so white
And it replied, “So that all may see the light”
I asked the moon why it was so cool
And it continued to spin…
I asked the Saint Bernard to walk the dog
And it began to dance
I asked the horse to whinny
And it did, as the pony pranced…
I asked the family; why do you love me
And they replied, “Because you’re you”
I asked myself: "How came I to be so blessed”
And the answer came --you have followed
The path pursuing
The Truth shining
And so I kept quiet
Because every thing was perfect
So glad I asked…

Details | I do not know? | |

I'm not bigfoot!

(This is a fictional poem

People think I'm a beast because I'm hairy.
They run when they see me because they think I'm scary.
They think I'm bigfoot but that's not true.
They think that because I wear size eighteen shoes.
When people look at me, they think a monster is what they're seeing.
They're shocked when they learn that I'm just a hairy human being.
I went to a girl's house for a blind date and you should've saw her run.
I was sterile for a year because her dad shot me in the balls with a tranquilizer 
When I went to a diner last night, everybody ran.
I'm getting tired of people thinking I'm a monster just because I'm a hairy and 
smelly man.

Details | Lyric | |

I Did Not...

did not
give my best

I log, 
far behind, 

thy love
that I went
alone, sailing the sea


the language

my heart’s

…carving it, as muses!

Details | Quatrain | |

Reading Rilke

You wind your will around me
spun and sugar coated stiff
to engulf and winterize me
with the words upon my lips
I'm quiet in cacophony
inside your sugared wish
as the stories you have woven
sink their soul into my hips
I listen to the printed page
as if you whisper in my ear
the silent yearnings of your heart
Coated sugar, crystal clear
You mesmerize me with your voice
from the land where you hold your pen
These words are the best laid, sweetened thoughts
in the ears of poetic men.

Details | Free verse | |

The Poem Next Time

You taste it on the tip 
Of soul—
Brief pictures captured
From car windows
As you race by.

You hear it in your head—
Silently mime words
On chapped lips.

You know you could have
Said it so much better—
Letting words be your emotion
As you sit silently
And do nothing.

You take up pen—
And it’s not there.

Details | Free verse | |

Another Page

In my mind,
Where all these words collide,
Where silent tears cry;
A place where I find my pride,

Between the pages
Of my life,
Within the happiness, and
The strife…
A place where I feel... alive,

A series of emotions
Within these turning pages,
Like the waves of an ocean;
All these words fill me with motion,

My only source of sympathy,
My inhalation of the sweet empathy;
My every atom that creates me,
Within these pages I find my liberty,

Letters that join to create me,
Emotions that convene to be…
Everything I touch,
Everything I see,

Here I am,
Adding more life to my life,
Here I am,
Swimming in my manifestation;
In the words I write…

My life, my creation.

Details | I do not know? | |

Connecting (2005)

Yes I am educated but that does not make me distant
I want my words to be heard and not cause a resistance 
Poems I write should break these barriers and every stone wall
I want my poems to be read by all

Details | Free verse | |

Feast or Famine

Some days, they flow like the nile,
bringing life to the parched soil.
Some days, they bring forth
a dark emotion to the open
like waves of a raging sea,
swelling to break free.
These voices in my head
screaming at me.
Other days, like prying fingers
of the long dead.
They are cemented in my head.
No matter how I ply.
Still they stay,
locked away,
awaiting another day.

Details | Imagism | |

Mind, Heart, and Soul

My words flow through me
I should say straight from my heart
but they do not originate there
that is were they are refined
were my emotions
pay their toll
I could say straight from my mind
but they do not originate there
that is were they are cut and broken
until all is laid bare
where my intelligence
pays its toll
they come from somplace deeper
these words of mine
a place were they are
not even mine
A place even deeper 
beyond my comprension
A place that has no name
which is beyond
the simple sounds
that is our language
to the origin of thought
A place we all have
that which we call,
The Soul.

Details | Free verse | |

The Last of the Free Verse Defenders

He intoned:  Poems don't 
                       have to rhyme
  and boldly stepped foward
into the world of books and 
   Leaving behind the formalist 
      he moved along the 
   picking flowers as he went
light shone down on his 
His words leap off the page
  the consciousness of
those inclined
                 to open their minds
  open them 
to surreal visions 
            which dance through 
   each and every last

Details | Free verse | |

I Love to Write.......

I love those solitary expedition's
seafaring the oceans of mind space
transporting me , to you.......

Creating image's as a pencil sketcher
leaving light and shadow's , then ,
leaving it to the interpreter now
too fill those space's with the
imaginary color's that fill their mind

We all view the distant horizon differently
all in all 'tho , we share a similar affinity
even if it seem's to fall short of our human destiny

The transforming metamorphosis of metempsychosis
a concept known to the ancient's
but lost to us living in the " now "
yes , if i might ,
the " inner glow " will help us to re-discover how

Love and understanding
is a language that has no border's
that has no cultural indifference
that has no concept of geography

Mankind identifies to seperation
unifying cohesion is what's foreign..........

Details | Blank verse | |


Who am I? Behind these words. Digits in a computer network. Scratches on a 
piece of paper. These words were never mine. They are torn from my mind. I 
don't now if they are mine. DO they reflect me or the reality that I am in, or are they 
just images that I have seen in passing. Are they who I am or more a foil to world 
outside. I create these words in my mind twisting until they are right. Yet they do 
not fit anything that I have seen or remember except for in my dreams. Yet, It feels 
like it is more going into my experiances. I write what comes to me, whether it 
makes sense or not, helps someone. For my opnion is even if I do not 
understand what I am writing someone else might.

Details | Free verse | |

Lady With Pen

In the midnight hour she
cried no more.
Her mind as she tried to
sleep cried out encore.

She wrestled with the demons
and spirits of the night.
Tossed back and forth
beneath the sheets so right.

Anguish within her soul
longing for a rest.
Words so soothing to
the soul cried for the best.

Pulling back the bed covers
away from her torso.
Candlelight on her table still aglow.

She moved towards the table
her mind set on a battle.

Within her grasp lie her pen
now all was quiet in the den.

Thoughts from her mind
were silent.
Words she began to write
they were to the soul ointment.

Images she painted and stroked
with her pen.
Striking her page as a
trained marksmen.

Verses they began
to intertwine.
So soothing one would
sip like fine wine.

She finished her poem
a poem she named
the phantom.

Details | Light Poetry | |


(This is a fictional poem)

I don't have any cigarettes to smoke.
I can't get laid because I'm broke.
I have no gas so I have to walk wherever I go.
I try to take girls out on my bicycle but they keep saying no.

I made some home made booze that I tried to sell.
But it made the first customer go blind so I went to jail.
My cellmate dunked my head in the toilet and gave me a swirly.
I thanked God when they let him out early.

When I got out of jail, I had no food to eat.
I was so hungry that I was nibbling on my own two feet.
I'm starving while my neighbor is as big as a cow.
I want somebody to either feed or shoot me now.

Details | Free verse | |

The Essentials of Poetry

Lacking definitions
for glasses without bottoms,
we call them telescopes
or megaphones.  But still
they crawl down our throats
like silver centipedes
because we close our mouths open
at just the right time
and we spit up poems.

So who cleans up
the order?  Leaving it there
long enough, it will go away
or like a dog we tongue it back up--
coo at its sweetness, faces
blank as Big Chief tablets--
holding out these empty glasses for more,
wishing for the long, lasting sip of stars.

Details | Rhyme | |

A Way With Words

I seem to have a way with words
As long as written down;
I get all confused and befuddled
When seem I make a sound.

You don't get interrupted
When written on a page
You can say how you feel
Get rid of your rage.

Sometimes instructions are better
When you read what to do
Not as many mistakes
Take hold of you

So using words that are written
Instead of spoken aloud
Are my best impression
Speaking to a crowd

Details | Lyric | |


This is me the one who speaks, I'm listening to my heart the one who speaks, 
and it is true to me.

I love the way you look at me and your eyes oh your eyes is just like lookin ginto 
the beautiful sky, It brings tears to my eyes, I cannot hide from you anymore, 
Forever I will have you heart forever and more. 

You bring tears to my eyes to make me cry, Your smile is like.... an angel raising 
and raising it goes, To follow my heart where it goes.

You make me day dream, and my fantasy of you and me, Dream forever my love 
dream for you and me.

I will always be your friend from wherever you are to the bottom of my heart, and 
my soul from the bottom of my heart, please remember me.

But I remember you and what me and you did I write this from sad songs to the 
tears of my eyes, I wish to tell you from the skies,which heaven lies beyond the 

God knows where we will be I both will seek back you and me.

Forever hold your peace,
We will rest in peace.

The end