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On Writing And Words Childhood Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Childhood

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Details | Narrative | |

BEFORE SPRING CAME

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood


Details | Free verse | |

You're The Weak One

YOU’RE THE WEAK ONE


You’re the weak one, you’re a bully.  The weak one is definitely
not me.

The bully is always the weak one, but your weakness you can’t
seem to see.

So, I’m going to try to shed a little light on your weak and inappropriate ways.

Your weakness began on your first bullying day.

Your false sense of power is not strength at all; it is a cry for help desperately trying to break through.

I actually feel a little sorry for you.

Weak kids like you always seek to find other kids they can dominate.

Bullies do this with vicious words, inappropriate actions, and misguided hate. 

Is being a weak bully the banner you want to carry for the rest of your life?

Get rid of the bully banner forever; take up a banner that shows respect, 
understanding, and tolerance for others, and always hold that one very high.

	Al Johnson
 


Details | Bio | |

A Note To the Young Girl On The Other Side Of This World

Hello, Farrah....
It's 7Am here, and cold
Just awoke, with,
Oh, Here We Go Again!
Fever, Pain, Confusion,
And Lots of Other Groovy Things
To Keep My Mind Busy...
Many more people know of you
than a few days ago....
Did you ever hear of Rod Mckuen?
Professional poet/ musician/songwritter-
One of the reasons I love poetry...
Not only will you understand him, you should
enjoy him.....Sorry about your work load....
My French is rusty.....I'm pretty good in geometry though;
received 100% on NYS Regents Exam when young-
an unheard of thing, scores in college of 97-99% for the term's work,
and it seemed easy as pi    (joke- pie, etc....oh, why am I explaining it,
sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.......)  Hope you have a happy day.....write an 
indepth poetic bio??   I'd love it, so would many others....
you are known in literary circles here now, I'd venture to guess....
surprising, the power of words, n'est pas?  Je ne sas pa, rien du tout....pardon 
my spelling and french......it's unused since early 1960's (ancient history)  What 
city are you in?  Ever travel???  A favorite destination???  Any questions about
the enigmatic nature of "Americans?"  We're really well meaning, just sometimes
seems we might misinterpret, or misunderstand things obvious to others (and 
vica versa....) Do you get to see movies???  Need books to read??  I got a library 
of 10,000 books, at least, being handicapped gives me too much time on my 
hands, and my health leaves me precious little of a future to expect.   I have lots 
of funny stories.   I hope you are okay....I never met anyone so brilliant in 57 years 
of living.   Youf friend in poetry, tom."


Details | Free verse | |

Poa-tetry Soup (The Name Inspired)

Thoughts melt and distil under a green/blue flame,
Swirling down, separated out and mixed.
If you’ve seen it, it’s broken;
If you’ve heard it, it’s shredded;
If you’ve read it, it’s rewritten.
It's really quite unlikely to be fixed.

You’re cutting up holiday snaps
and pasting them onto card.
And you’re scrambling madly
to hide the mess on the floor
As your mum yells for cleanliness
From behind your bedroom door.
3001 puzzle pieces and you’re jamming them together,
No wonder your imagination is at the end of its tether.
You’ve got two pieces that are sun-kissed clouds
“What comes… what comes next?”
You’ve got two roots in the soil
“What comes… what comes next?”
Your mother is sitting in the hall
With a scarf tied round her neck,
Her back pressed up against the wall
As she deals the jigsaw deck.
3001 pieces in her hands,
Mixed with childhood drawings
And grains of sand.
She lays out seven in a line,
Which you place between the two and two.
“Oh, but that and that won’t rhyme!”
“Don’t you think that this one will just do?”
And your father’s disapproving in the kitchen,
“You don’t need no occult nonsense,
Or a system to order out your brain”
He just stands there “focussed”
Over a pot on a blue/green flame,
Subconsciously mumbling while stooped,
“Look here Son, look, I’m making poa-tery soup.”
But you would never tell him that,
Just like you’ll never be finished, ever.
No-one ever is
Even if they know they’re doing it or not.

My grandfather died last week,
The sourest stuck-in-a-rut-of-a-man
That you’re ever going to meet.
The diagnosing doctors were in for a treat.
They said that there was something wrong there,
Something wrong with his brain,
That there was something strange there
Fundamentally, main.
They said that he died - after scans - in a cubicle stall,
When his brain haemorrhaged and cracked open,
And jigsaw pieces piled up against the wall.


Details | Bio | |

Bookworm

I'm the ultimate
bookworm
my mother, God Bless her,
taught me the joy
of reading
of writing
of using thought
for something
a  little more meaningful
than cars, popularity
money or fame
in books
your mind can travel
there are no barriers
for you
each book adds
another flavor
to your being
another star
to your mind's sky
they are things
of beauty
because you share them
the reader and the author
each merged together
somehow their minds
make more than two

so I have spent
a king's ransom
in the years when 
I could afford
to accumulate
these golden treasures
far more rich
than gold or silver

I made the master bedroom
of my current home
a library quite extensive
where my mind can roam
I have so many books
I could not fit them all
but part with one?
never....
for any reason under the sun

I have diaries from the civil war
faded slightly
but still a wonderous mirror
into a time and life
never to return
many other treasures
but books among my best
I could never be
a librarian
little work would
I get done
my eyes would be stuck 
inside my charges
and no one could
withdraw a one.


Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


Details | Rhyme | |

He Makes Me Smile!

As I sat and wrote this poem, I was grateful for my cozy home. I started praying on my knees, And suddenly I could write with ease. I am sure, that if you pray, He’ll be there for you each day. He’ll show you your talents and your calling, And when you are down, He’ll catch you from falling. When I’m praying on my knees, I know it’s Him I’m going to please. By writing these poems and spreading the Word, He knows when they’re read, His voice will be heard! I hope He makes you smile today! I know it happens if you pray!
Michelle D. ©6/15/06


Details | Classicism | |

nostalgia

After working day long, was relaxing mind and soul
With a beautiful song.it  took away all the  troubles
Out of me.
As I was gazing around,my eyes caught the  glimpse
Of a bright colored book.
 Ah!! After a long hiatus,I saw the book.
it filled me up with nostalgia.
          It was my diary ,a vault of my wonderful memories
          Of good and bad.
Opened the book ,saw all the poems
Written  when I was young.
        Sweet music  was being played in the heart,
Read all those poems .
There was one unfinished poem looking 
         Sadly at me,saying ,give me a beautiful ending.
Ran my fingers over the pages,
Which was my savior from unrest .
                   This busy life made me forget the treasure
Trove of poems and passion.
       The poem got me time travel and 
I watched and enjoyed those bygone moments.
A poem about feelings which are unsaid
But still hold so strong in the heart.
              The poem got its beautiful end,
               it taught me that feelings are to be expressed
and they still linger in the heart,the 
person goes away from us.
           Its not that feelings are dead and
           Heart had dried up,they blossom like
            A flower every time whenever the 
Cross our minds and make us
Relish  those wonderful moments.
Tears rolled down my cheeks 
Of content and happiness.


Details | Couplet | |

Where does the Time go

I feel as though time is slipping away,
And more is gone each passing day…


Details | Imagism | |

The Red Symphony

A self-written poem begun in Christmas Time,
While it tasting the soup and looking for rhyme.
In the kitchen, neighbor with the quiet tomato paste,
The sorcerer's apprentice, a poet pretty well placed
Near Soups (ciorbe) with characteristic sour taste
With luminous face and much grace added the rest:
As he was sipping and tasting from raw and cooked.
His group had a passionate look at what was booked
For the dinner: These might be meat and vegetable soups.

They had to choose till the coming of the helping troops
For the pig`s sacrifice rite, old mixture of joy and grief
Under the hot and long debrief of the pleasant smell-thief 
Tripe soup (ciorba de burta) hard prepared from beef,
And calf foot soup (ciorba de vitel), with green-gold leaf 
Pickled soup (supa de moare) with pork and big rice;
But use the dice to decide between spice and allspice.

From the slaughtered pig the village` families prepare: 
Carnati - sausages  kept in special aromatic smoke 
Of wet fir and oak burned at small fire as enjoyed by folk;
Caltabos - sausages made with liver sprinkled with beers;
Toba and piftie - dishes using pig's feet, head and ears 
Suspended in aspic like a frozen symphony in red
After cups of plum brandy and before going the bed
Tochitura - pan-fried pork to bid it a farewell, twice
Served with mamaliga - palesta , and red wine with ice,
Or boiled wine with pepper and cinnamon against frost; 
So that the pork can swim and the verse were glossed;
Piftie - inferior parts of the bashful pig, mainly the tail, 
Feet and ears, kind of meal like taken from a fairytale
In which all are cooked and served in a form of gelatin
In this naturalist field, all the poets smile like Mr.Bean;
                                                                              
Jumari - small pieces of pig meat are fried and tumbled 
Through various spices if after all, you are a little troubled 
 And may falter some poetical from the famous songs
Like "So, good people drink…" couples of diphthongs
Since Saturday to Thursday and make colorful the gray.

This poem was written in the Night of Tuesday to Friday.
 
( And later we`d find that the housewife had covered with it  the pickles cucumbers jar.)


Details | Free verse | |

Roll Call

Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION








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 | Acrostic | |

Unexpected Peers (An acrostic ode to Poetry Soup and it's members)

Unexpected Peers (An acrostic ode to Poetry Soup and it's members)	
(9.7.10)

Passion
Overwhelmed
Elementary
Thoughts.
Roaming
Youth
Saw
Out,
Under
Pen.

Prolific
Obsession
Engrossed
Time.
Rhythm
Yielded
Structure;
Observation
Unleashed
Power.

Pride
Offered
Extroversion.
Trajectory
Rose,
Yet
Self-doubt
Occurred.
Undercurrent
Pulled.

Pushed
On;
Expanded
Tools;
Read.
Yesterday
Stopped
Overstaying-
Usurping
Present.

Posted
Online.
Enjoy
The
Rhymes
You 
Share
Openly,
Unexpected
Peers.


            I haven't been on this site long, but many of you have already made me feel
welcome, and, moreover, like I belong.  I'm finding myself as inspired as I have ever been
to keep writing, and to keep growing as a writer, thanks to your support, your contests,
and your own original posts.  This is, truly, a special community.  
            Thanks for allowing me to become a part of it.


Details | Cinqku | |

feignites

timeout
was no part
of games,instead,
crossed fingers,and this  shout
..feignites


Details | Rhyme | |

adjust

something we said so many times before
a crack in the door
a bit of a poet in all of us
red dust
sunset can’t catch
little bits o’memories
tickles under the tongue
a go-out and get you-one. . . of those
strip the rags off the rappers and sell them off for clothes
make math, in the mathematicians’ presuppose
fire sell it off to celeritas
one more big blink in the big goggles
golden fish missing in the adjustment of pince-nez
had to turn out that way
when all we did was
adjust


Details | Imagism | |

Embrace

They ride the good dragon-cloud towards warm light
While wistful wind was a wrongdoer on the hollow hill
Wrapped woven from the wounds and wrath`s night, 
The wood will wear white woolly witness of the windmill.

Hoarfrost hitch-hikes and hoists with hoarse hood,
Drumming beat of hobble of the army`s fatal feet,
Far away from the glow-worms of their childhood;
Friends fumble the glassware where they might meet.

Falteringly frogs of fancy jump towards the lake’s glass; 
Orphan souls sit on the steps of hope in winter`s time
They scrutinize the frozen sky of hope to find the rhyme 
Of the verse from the other side they want to happily pass.


Details | Ode | |

That Crazy Old Doctor

There've been times in my life
 where I've just had to say,
 "I must, give it all up,
 for, it's that kind of day"!
 
I must, really say this
 I really, just must;
 if I didn't say it,
 then, it wouldn't be, "just".
 
There's this crazy, old man
 we'll just call him, "Doc";
 who fills up blank pages
 with, "poetical talk".
 
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
 'til way, past bed-time,
 trying to finish each poem
 and, complete every rhyme.
 
If he hadn't done this
 he'd surely gone, "mad",
 his nonsensical nature
 was, all that he had!
 
No hidden agenda
 when first, he wrote down,
 each poem of nonsense
 to erase a childs' frown.
 
And, Doc always did this
 manipulate, "clues"...
 ..so that , all of his poems
 were merely geared, to amuse.
 
He loved to let nonsense
 be the order of the day,
 and, with every poem
 we all smiled, the same way.
 
His only intention
 was to set our minds, "free",
 his style, just did it
 so, poetically.
 
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!




The volumes of topics
 that Doc's written of,
 included all that could be
 written.....below, and above.
 
He's written of magic,
 puzzles, and games...
 ..with, strange little creatures,
 with, strange little, "names".
 
The, crazier his story,
 the saner he'd feel,
 and, the more that we heard
 convinced us they were, "real"!
 
His poems, were genius
 as he weaved us, a tale;
 with, nonsensical rhymes
 that did so, without..."fail".
 
"Old Doc", has quit writing
 he's up in heaven,
 this year, his birthday'd ...
 make him, a hundred, and seven!
 
He's given advice,
 taught what we must do,
 he said, "Be who you are...
 ..no-one's youer, than....you!"
 
He's maybe still writing
 in, heaven....you see,
 that'd be just like him
 as, that's who he must, be!
 
That, silly old doctor...
 ..as silly, as a goose;
 we all loved his poems,
 for, we loved Dr. Seuss!
 


Details | Light Poetry | |

I'm suing the doctor who delivered me

(This is a fictional poem)

I'm suing the doctor who delivered me in 1971.
He'll have to file for bankruptsy when I'm done.
I'm suing him because he spanked me.
When I take all of his money, he won't thank me.
I don't remember but that spanking probably hurt.
He had his hand on my butt so he must be a pervert.
the doctor is very unhappy because he's being sued.
My mom says I'm a moron who has no gratitude.
Everybody I talk to calls me a dummy.
I may be stupid but at least I'll have money.


Details | Free verse | |

Lasting Freedom

In the beginning I started off as just another nobody from another nowhere trying make it to somewhere as a somebody as everyone else. In the beginning I was BORN TO LIVE TO DIE, but in the process I was BRED TO LEARN TO SURVIVE. I became a CONVICT OF CHRIST through PAINFUL PLEASURES of my many struggles and strife's. I was a SINFUL SAINT but more of a sinner, mainly a loser and never a winner. I was once considered one of the best, now days I'm just trying to be lower than the rest, unseen in plain sight , NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS. I became lost in time through my many self-taught TRUE LIES of yet another LOST FIND growing up where few DREAMS LIVE , but many more DREAMS DIE. I soon got LOCKED UP but it was very educational because I LIVED IT and LEARNED FROM IT. I was given a choice to LIVE FREE OR DIE INCARCERATED, so I made that choice to be more loved than hated, so I became UNDER LOVE and OVER HATE, I learned to stop wanting and actually appreciate. Its been hard to change so I became a POET OF PAIN. That's when I learned the truth about those who think their dying for something but they might as well be living for nothing, because I learned that real truth comes from LIVING FOR SOMETHING because I ain't DYING FOR NOTHING. So now I am forever a W.O.L.F. once a warrior of lost freedom now trying to stay a warrior of LASTIN FREEDOM you know what I mean.


Details | I do not know? | |

Light child

A child is born
all loving, forgiving, honest,
a special child of the light,
eyes wide open, awake,
the wolves are happy,
to feast at the table of its suffering.
Feed it just enough love to survive,
milk it of its light, little by little
suckling its love, its forgiveness,
a sweet delicacy for a vampiric world.

The child becomes a young adult...
control, conformity, submission,
overwhelming expectations,
no freedom, no love, no peace,
a barrage of others suffering,
cant get it off me, out of my head!
out of my heart, it hurts!
Its all too much! 
Why do they all hurt me?
Why are they not honest like me?
How can they be so mean to me?
What is wrong with me?
I just want a taste of love, 
to remind me why I am alive!!





Details | Bio | |

SOURCES

Open
channels
from childhood-
people,sounds and
smells.


Details | Quatrain | |

THE SAME BLUE COLLAR GUY

The work I do is not the most prestigious one,
from four to twelve thirty I drive...until my shift is done;
a forklift driver rarely takes a coffee-break, 
and being courteous and helpful to customers means a lot.


My long-life dream was to be a songwriter like Andrew Lloyd Webber, but my songs
didn't click...they never made the Top Ten on the Billboard Charts;
and although they didn't sell well to make it my profession, I still hold my thumb up...
that if a famous recording artist performed them, I'd have a huge hit!


My free time is devoted to creating lyrics that I will set to music in late hours;
and I would never be a Mozart, Verdi, or Beethoven if didn't knock on doors
and expose my works to those who would be willing to listen without reluctance...
could one be old and succeed as the young ones with fresher, brighter ideas?


For now, I remain the same blue collar guy coloring more illusive dreams;
many approach me and say," Don't give up...you have plenty of chances!".
I do want to believe that and wear the deserved crown and be lauded as others...  
'till my lucky day comes, I must make a living and have the faith of the achievers.


Details | Free verse | |

Dickhead

“Dickhead”

There is a saddened kind of shame
a name that’s cruel and thus demeans, 
elementary obscene
a child can not reach deep enough.

It started when I read above 
my third grade level reading group
and followed to my brownie troop
then fearful fighting, flight to home.

And in defense I’d use my gift
to make up names and write mean songs-
I’d teach the boys to sing along
and charge their chocolate milk money.

With my moustache a poor disguise, 
with puffy, rubbing, teary eyes
I made myself apologize
though only choking squeaks were heard. 

Nicoleslaw Dickhead was my name
a name that’s cruel and thus demeans,
slimy side-dish dung for brains-
a child can not reach deep enough.


Details | Free verse | |

A WOMAN OF VIRTUE

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 | Blank verse | |

Your Artistry Inspired Me

It was your artistry that I had always beheld in envy.
It was your poetry that inspired me to write my own aplenty.
It was your amity that was gone for what seemed to be an eternity.
It was your artistry that kept me holding onto our affinity.


Details | Rispetto | |

Captain Concorde Comes To School

The day Captain Concorde did come to my school,
Was the day I first came to love poetry,
Before that day all poems were dull and not cool,
Or at least that was how it did seem to me,
I was only a kid of seven or eight,
And my grasp of poetry wasn’t so great,
But as with all children I knew what was fun,
And that includes a poet called Paul Cookson.

We all piled into the assembly hall,
And waited for our guest poet to arrive,
I didn’t know what to expect from this “Paul”,
But never could my mind have dared to contrive,
A man in a cape with a plane on his nose,
Who started to spout the most humorous prose,
And there he stood, boxers over his trousers,
We all could have listened to his work for hours.

He told us of this superhero’s story,
Then upon the class’s demands for some more,
He told us of his old teacher, most hoary,
And mimicked his walk down the school corridor,
He changed my own views of verse and I know it,
And so I’d just like to say to this poet,
You sparked inspiration within me, it’s true,
Captain Concorde, Paul Cookson, I salute you!


For Russell Sivey's Poetry about Poetry contest 8th January 2013


Details | Couplet | |

Comic Book

Fractured little comic book
cracked along the spine.
Must and mold exhaust you.
Dullness shows the time.

Turn a page for reading
fuzzy art in blocks.
Squares with tiny bubbles
or just a place to talk.

Staples down the middle.
Two through every fold.
Half the book is over
and several stories told.

Flipped upon your back
where ads take all the space.
Toys for boys and girls
and all the dreams we'll chase.

Fractured little comic book.
Thank you for your grace.


Details | Narrative | |

My Favorite Devonshire


Footprints to Follow Father's bare feet left footprints in the sand Young son followed, each step carefully planned Tim wanted so much to be like his Dad Always emulating, quite a sweet lad So as you leave impressions on life's shore Remember your path will not be ignored Tread gently, leave prints that make your kids proud Step far away from the perilous crowd Stop at times, build sandcastles, pick up shells Memories can't be erased by sea swells Imprints on children's hearts last forever Keep this in mind through every endeavor A child may be following your footsteps Always make your marks with loving precepts Carolyn Devonshire When I read this poem, Carolyn, I picture my husband and son in those moments when they don't realize they're being watched. How my son looks at his dad is priceless. He hangs on his every word and wants to emulate his every action. My son is only four and I know one day in the near future, this will change (especially in those teenage years!), but I hope he follows in his dad's footsteps. My husband is a kind, loving and hardworking family man. Thank you for writing this beautiful poem. I have printed a copy of it for my husband to keep as a reminder of the tiny feet carefully stepping close behind his. As a parent, nothing is more important than our "impressions on life's shore". God bless you, Carolyn. Your golden heart shines through your words. Love and Blessings, Rhonda


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education is Power

Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?

Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?

Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.

From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.

Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.

Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.


Details | Acrostic | |

Love's Reverence, a cover of ''A Boat Beneath A Sunny Sky''

Chivalrist of pure intent
Honoured by the ears that lent
A tale recounted to content

Resplendant wonders brought to ear
Laments that draw an unseen tear
Evasion of the heart's deep fear

Soft young mind and placid eyes
Lucid to the tale's disguise
Unseeing the truth behind the lies

There upon the golden water
Wimsically listening to the lauder
Inclines the middle Liddell daughter

Days have come and years have passed
Golden evenings couldn't last
Erosionary time has swept too fast

Dreary dawns and bitter nights
Overcame the muse's might
Dead and gone, that fragile light

Greiving when his heart was tore
Secreted to land of lore
On through Wonderland he'll soar

Now to dream forevermore


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 | Bio | |

They Called Him Tiny Tim

Yeah they called him Tiny Tim....so dam tiny he fitted through the basketball rim
 everytime they were out yeah he was hiding in 
yeah, while they were out he was holding back from enjoyin the young life of sin 
 but he cared little none for the drugz, the liquor or the shiny gin 
all he wanted was someone to care, someone to show him atleast a grin 
He was soo dam small people started calling him Nemo without the broken smaller fin
 while his peers were out making dough off dope he was out collecting cans of tin
 Light shone upon others dreams while upon his hopes the light remained dim 
He was hated on because the size and weight of his body, not the color of his skin
 half breed yeah he was as he played ball they laughed at how he came to their chin
 he was just a young boy living in a world of hateful men 
But he cared not cuz he would get the **** back up and try again 
they told him he would never BE 
that he would never succeed 
he would never be apart of something or anything 
but with a stroke of luck he doing something 
no more hiding and no more ****ing running 
People see his attitude and life now aint it stunning 
His life shooting off cant you see Tiny Tim with a Bazooka Gunning 
But now He living for something and dying for nothing 
he made it through high school while most his haters were frontin 
staying in school payed off now his life career is out on sidewalks jumping 
while he sees his past peers life out in the ghetto life with drugs and alcohol dumping
 He was gone for a minute lockdown but make way TINY TIM IS COMING


Details | Free verse | |

Thoughts of A Song Writer

From my thoughts on the paper in which it lies, 
My everlasting passion is inked as it dries.
The way I feel inside, you might want to spy,
But if you pry, how will my lyrics surprise?
A song for thought will only leave a thought.
May sound difficult, but that’s just how I talk.
I was lost, but I found me.
Dreaming and believing that writing was my key.
The way it flows and the way that it goes pumps me to speak
the very thoughts that many minds chose to keep.
Many rocks I’ve kicked and many decisions I’ve made.
Any wrongs I take the blame.
Tic-tac-toe is only a game.
I plagiarize your eyes with the notes that I’ve taken,
A high note here and a low note there-
You’d swear I’m in your head when my song hits your ear.
Pain recognizes pain
And I’ve have my share of bandages.
 My vibes from life heals the permanent damages.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
Reaches farther beyond the beat,
Over the lyrics on the sheet,
Not only is it about the speech,
 But more of what the message seeks.
True enough a theme is touched and a heart is rushed.
With the mind-throbbing picture disappearing 
Through the ink of my pen and revealed through your lens,
You can’t hear me, but do you feel me?
I cherish my talent and where it could possibly sweep me.
My doubts and my worries are beneath me.
I love for brighter days and pray for more things to pave.
Call my life my number because its infinite.
Thoughts of a Songwriter,
My mentality drips it.


Details | Epitaph | |

Teenage Love 2-and-a-half: Childhood Sweethearts

This type of love have been in the lives of all children (boys and girls) for some time to
come. It's been like that since the day the kids started going to camp and elementary
school. It seems as though that when a little boy had fallen in love with a little girl or
the other way, their hearts start to beat, they're getting this emotional feeling in their
ribs, thoughts rushing tn their brains, and that kinda stuff. It will have looked like
that their parents will have know that their kids were in love with each other, even from
the beginning. There's been a lot of young relationships that have begun back in
elementary school and at summer camp, especially when one little boy had met one little
girl when they were participating in a lot of camping activities (kayaking, e.g.). But
what's so great about a lot of long-term relationships most of all is when this boy and
this girl are talking to each other on the phone on a Saturday night. This type of young
love among children from around the world is starting to look like the movie, "Little
Manhattan" with Josh Hutcherson. It's also as if this was a real fairy tale. Sometimes,
some relationships among kids don't last long, but some of them do. And when it comes to
these kids-before-teenagers falling in love with each other, there is such thing as love
at first sight. Love follows all of the children everywhere they go; it exists. Their
parents will have gotten this funny feeling inside, especially when they were supposed to
know what their lives were like as children when they met and fell in love. Let's hope
everybody knows that young love exists. Let's also hope that the parents know that their
children are in love with each other. And if this type of young love continues to grow and
grow and grow day in and day out, their hearts will never be broken in the near future.
Let's hope they stay together forever.


Details | Free verse | |

Crazy, Hazy, Lazy Days

It’s summertime 
and Janis wails through the speakers.
I sit at my picnic table, 
papers scattered, 
and I chase perfect words
like I used to chase butterflies.

My kids splash through the scene, 
armed with Super Soakers.
Their antics threaten to jar 
the few words I managed 
to land on the page.
  
They jump in the pool -
giggles come up for air 
in a million bubbles.

I trade my pen
for a popsicle,
join them poolside,
and succumb to 
easy living and
the sweltering  rhythms of
“SUMMERTIME.”


Details | I do not know? | |

'the twitch'

This is the story of ‘the twitch’.  
We have all had it:  
   That bit of movement before we sleep.  
We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us 
before we fell out of bed.
   It was even younger than that for us.  
   It was sometimes confused with a kick --  from our mothers’ tummies  to the swaddle of 
blanket.  
   As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . ‘the twitch’.
   It is thought that we started with 
a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins 
of, or, 
sounds of the aria that Mozart’d 
into our echoes of the day --  a marriage of concept and conceptual.  
   It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us ‘round the curve 
of nerve 
for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first 
punch – given/taken.
The part of ‘the twitch’ 
that is worthy of noting now is that 
   it has never wanted to be caught:  
   It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that 
   it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay 
with Dr. Seuss and Disney books.  A teenage indifference took us away from 
   it.
We all fall asleep. . . as we’ve always done.  
The story of ‘the twitch’ begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers
   it touched.
Brings  us a little closer to the edge of our beds.


Details | Free verse | |

hopscotch

knobby-knee’d, toes that stop 
bend and pick up 
penny, marble, rock 
outside chalk 
on concrete, begging, for me to turn around 
for one more try 


Details | I do not know? | |

Non Catholic religions

You think Christ is not hurt
With loving what you thought is Christ
Loving Christ is being in His true Church
In Catholic or Roman Catholic you are not condemned but saved

In His Church
Ask R.C.I.A.
Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults
Is like a college Religion class

You will learn the truth
In other man-made religion bible are lies
What you’re reading is really the true Church
Not your own

It’s like a blind
Leading another blind
They would both fall in hell of fire
It is not the minister’s fault

Your own, rather take them with you
Both of you learn the truth
For every man they can be a deacon
Bishop and Priest are not with a wife

For Jesus Christ is a High Priest
Great Prophet
Only Son of the most High
The Redeemer

In RCIA, you will receive 3 important Sacraments
Baptism
Confirmation and
Holy Eucharist or the Body of Christ

We want God to be pleased with us
Eternal Father told the people 
To Listen only to the Messiah and
The One I sent

What are these Christ like churches?
Non Catholic churches?
People in there are already condemned
Being in Catholic or Roman Catholic, you are saved


Details | I do not know? | |

Willow Tree

Who do you feel like today?
Do you even remember my name? 
 It's been 8 years since then,
Has the willow tree we sat under gone dead?

 I wonder if you've changed,
if you regret your biggest mistake.
 Do you feel the sorrow i feel?
Is this pain the only thing that feels real?

 I feel no sorrow now,
I only feel hatered for the world somehow,
 How could you rape your granddaughters?
And Forget your own son, My father?!

 How could you do this to me?
The only way how i feel now is to bleed.
 I put no effort, no feeling, no thought,
In the war, 
 This battle in my heart
 
 How do you feel like today?
Is it easier to know that your safe?
 Outta jail they let you out,
Why so you can pay your road to hell?

 So i plant me a willow tree,
right above the grass,
 below the leaves.

 I lay here below this willow tree,
My only friend beside of me,
 The memories still remain, 
Alone,
 But it's better off this way


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Seventh Fable

 The Seventh Fable 
The Seventh Fable 
 
Charlaxes Fables 
 
Mental Prefabrications 
 


People have preconceived ideas from Religion and Television 

combine these two ideas and no wonder everyone is mental. 

The Eye is just now thankful that the computer was not mine at age 14. The TV 
was enough to ruin me for life. It is no wonder that eye still don't have a life. 
Falling into cracks made just for me. Living in the NEW AGE causes so much 
uncertainty and problems we avoided in our past come back as daily necessities 
of the mass of useless protoplasmic mice eye once saw a man on the highway 
with a sign he was begging for more money to get some more useless wine so 
the people went zigging past avoiding him until he fell down on the ground it 
seemed to me he was passed out perhaps he died and no one buried him 
sounds like an episode of Twilight Zone. There was episodes eye will never 
forget the NOSE throbbing on the stairs inside the house the girl tried to leave the 
shelter of the fence once out she turned to dust the man with the wires in his arm 
seeing the oven where he was born the little airforce people in the GIANT 
woman's kitchen getting swept. 

It just occurred to me the ins and outs of celebrity imagine all the casting calls to 
make the episodes. AND the fact that Charlax was never chosen for even one of 
them seems sort of some kind of twisted justice the actors used were just the 
best of all the crème de le crème of all the hollywooded jest. Webseries Pilot 
casting call: 
The Charlax would be excellent at this OH wait look at that ethnic face. Male, 
open ethnicity, early to mid 30's - JG. Federal Agency Detective.  Good at his job, 
but fresh enough to still want to make a difference. Oh if eye were only Twenty 
Years different. A Twilight Zoned Detecative with the name Rick Roll selected and 
elected to be the actor of the myllineum. 
   


Details | Blank verse | |

Maguire Birr Still

Guide the guiro biro silo. Guide the guiro biro silo. Guide Maguire birr still.  

Expatriate pigeons, scurried to an’ fro, sailing o’er the roof wrought iron, of 
Madden’s ale tailed abode. Time’s new doormen, tobacconist ivy. Avian 
proprietors of little repute, adumbrate the rustic welds of cinematic accountancy; 
counterfeit justice, castrated against the wail. Five foot four or forty-five pence, two 
for a tanner, compositional sectarianism. 

«L'auteur est un idiot prétentieux, qui est trop content dans l'écriture prose 
compliquée!» 


Details | Free verse | |

Swan Song

I was sixteen when the finch stopped singing.
The sweet melody suddenly transformed 
as if it was cracked like a broken bell.
I couldn’t hear the sweet song anymore.

My father bottled my ink in dirty jars.
He locked my pens in the darkest corner
of the birch box cut from a tree outside.
Maybe it was where the bird sang to me

He told me to go outside like other boys.

But I didn’t seem to listen.
I could still hear a finch singing.


Details | Free verse | |

Not Done With You Yet

Waiting for a response
Stumbling upon it for months
Fiddling with decaying words
Unlocking birdcages,
Letting go of birds
Will I ever be let go
By troublesome guilt, 
Fluttering and squealing with joy?
Waiting for an entrance
I try to break through it for years
But I'm shattered by denied words
I'm trying to find a path to go through
But...I'm trapped by the thought of you


Details | Rhyme | |

The Sun's Rays

The sun’s devouring rays
Reveals an astounding sensation against the marvelous universe
It caresses the earth with warm hugs and gives life to the motionless gaze
Its auras are above nature’s designating exteriors
Its swaying beauty is beyond Earth’s inhabitants, deserving my praise

It treasures the sky with joyousness and forms swarms of jeering birds
The sighs of the wind attracts clamoring herds

The sun’s appalling flames
Unshackles a zealous tune that reveals the Earth’s accord
It embraces the atmosphere with remarkable claims
Unraveling my curiosity; my ears are pleading to hear more, so I go forward!

It prizes the ocean with eagerness and forms swarms of screeching seagulls 
The strength of the waves draws in scorching souls 

The sun's unattainable rays 
Motivate life to trail on till its duty is done
Its auras seep through the whirling sky and strays
Embracing ambitious love like a father and son  


Details | Free verse | |

My Startling Moments X-D

It’s rather odd
That I woke up pretty early this Saturday morning
It’s rather odd
That I awoke from my indescribable dream, filled with mysteries  

It’s somewhat peculiar
That I enjoy being a teenager—now I could do whatever I want and when I want!
But that’s selfish of me, huh? Ha-ha like I care…psh!
It’s rather alarming
That I awoke from a motivating dream without the alarm going off
But that was only a coincidence…I think!

It’s rather startling
That I aced a test in my Algebra 1 class and…
 Yet I failed the class miserably…so I have to take Algebra over again! GREEAT!
It’s rather startling
That I faced my past fears and… 
Now I don’t appear to look like a fool anymore…or do I?

My startling moment was
When I noticed that I had an acting talent!
My startling moment was
When I noticed I had a writing ability too…
My startling moment was
When I composed my own song—now that’s awesome!
My startling moment was
When I heard that my brother was going to be kicked out of the house! 
My startling moment was
When I did my piano practice on my own—now that’s tricky!
My startling moment was 
When I noticed that I had suicidal thoughts…
I had horrible experiences while facing this problem…DX 
My last startling moment was…
Uhh, I totally forgot…
What was my last startling moment if you know?
Oh!! I know! I know!
When I first created my main characters in my future trilogy! ? 


Details | Rhyme | |

The Wild Rumpus

A book I often read my kids
Was Where the Wild Things Are.
The story’s strange and so is Max,
This classic’s costumed star.

His mother called him “Wild Thing”
And then he was sent to bed.
He missed his dinner but he found
Adventures there instead.

A forest grew inside his room;
An ocean, too, appeared.
He climbed aboard a boat and sailed;
This all seems rather weird.

He traveled to a far-off land
Where wild things gnashed their teeth.
They made him king and he was thrilled,
But lonely underneath.

Of course he left them all behind,
Returning to his room.
His supper sat there, nice and hot;
He’d eat it, we presume.

For at the end, we have no clue
About the time that passed;
Or if his mother changed her mind,
Her guilt on board at last.

What matters though, as Sendak knew,
Is Max was drawn back home;
And there he found security
Despite his need to roam.

This magic book, though very odd,
No reader can resist.
The genius who created it
Will very much be missed.

(In honor of Maurice Sendak, 6/10/28 – 5/8/12)


Details | Free verse | |

my favourite path

i see it before me 
i have not stepped towards, nor walked along its direction 
it is clearly there for me to do so 
the decision 
can stray left or right of the way I go 
and all I know 
is that it starts 
before me


Details | Verse | |

My Son

What I want.

To print a book, which will guide youngsters and help them to live a good life.

I have written about 100 poems dedicated to this end.

Written in  an easily understood way.

Suitable for children.

No double reading to understand. or recourse to a dictionary.

I hope that these poems will develop a love of reading, and

answer many questions they have.

The main publishing companies will co operate if I pay about 1000 pounds.

Which I am unable to do.

I require no royalties or reward for this, except the satisfaction

Of knowing that I am helping them with the many problems

that come their way.

Please help me to produce this book.

If you know of any printer who would print these poems.

Contact me....normanpurvis@casema.nl

I am looking for a cheap paperback with illustrations.

Available to every child.

Your child must have this book.

Norman Purvis.

 

A Son of Mine.

You are my Son.
Hope of the human race.
I see myself, in your face.
Soon I will be gone.
Your turn will come.
Which way to go.
To live the life of an Englishman. 

In this book I have tried to say.
All. To help you on the way.
The life you lead.
Is in your hands.
Choose with care.
All you share. 

Have pride in what you do.
Make it the best.
Make it true.
Your name renowned through and through. 

To others give your aid.
Help and charity, not to fade.
Look for ways to help the down.
Lift them up.
Without a frown. 

Norman Purvis.................. 

  

.


Details | Rhyme | |

I'll Follow You Like Your Duckling

I'm like your duckling, dear 
I follow wherever you roam so have no fear
I'm your duckling, so don't disappear 
Be my dependable leader
I'll stick around and I'll abide by your side
Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)

I mimic like your duckling, beloved
I swim wherever you paddle so slip on my gear
Be my trustable coach 
I'll follow your routine and float by your side
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)

I'll follow you wherever you flee
Just signal where we ought to be
I'll follow you wherever you take wing
Just push me back and forward like a swing
Lift me up and pull me down
And I'll follow you
Like your pesky duckling

Take wing, my darling angel 
I'll watch your Devine flight and wave a farewell 
Someday I'll dwell with you 
But I'll be your duckling and will always have you to turn to
Like a hero! (3) 
Wie ein Held! (2)

Like a shadow...(3)
Wie ein Schatten...(2)
Like a reflection...(3)
Wie ein Spiegelbild...(2)

I'll follow you like your ugly duckling



Details | Free verse | |

Contest

Just a note Those who have entered my contest Please reread the rules that I asked I would like to give all a chance To place in the contest If you did not write to the forms Specified by me, your entry will be disqualified. If you write more than one or two stanzas You will be disqualified.. A stanza is one unit of whatever form that you chose A Dodoitsu has four lines so only eight lines A quatrain has only four lines So eight lines only A rhyme has four lines So only eight lines.. If you entered an English Quintain I will accept that Please let the theme be About food or drink scent or aroma That triggers a pleasant childhood memory Example: The scent of cinnamon wafing From the bakery at the mall Flooded my soul with memories Of childhood at home in the fall Thanks, Sara


Details | Rhyme | |

A PEN AND A COMPOSITION BOOK

Perhaps it was the most unappreciative gift:
a pen and a composition book wrapped in red paper
imprinted with Santa image riding his sleight...
I expected toys I could play with after school or later.


My sisters received many gifts from leather shoes to wool hats,
and as I held that gift with perplexity, Mother asked me,
" Son, don't you like it? " " I like it, Ma " I replied disappointingly...
" One day they will make you great! She attested with eloquence.


" A teen like me was going to be great 
with a pen and a composition book?
 How could an ordinary mother have predicted the future so precisely? '
Only an astrologer, or medium could have guessed what was awaiting me! 


A few years later, a revelation came to light:
a pen and composition book appeared in my sight,
there in a brown shoe box with old photographs they laid... 
waiting for a hand to give them life without any magic wand.


Details | Free verse | |

Claustrophobic

on the elevator
going down or up
 
hidden in the attic
holding spotted pup
 
I hate those musty minutes
no fresh air to be found
 
on the elevator 
going up or down
 


Details | Rhyme | |

Mrs. Worth, Joyce Kilmer, and Me

When I was yet in grade school, my teacher gave to me,
a task I thought most surely would be the death of me.
She ordered me to write a verse, in any style I chose,
I will tell you right up front that at her words I froze!

I thought long and hard on it, as any schoolgirl would,
still coming up with nothing did something no kid should.
There in my mother’s bedroom, stored on her bedside nook,
I found my dusty savior, ‘twas mama’s poem book!

I read until I found a poem anyone would think,
was ok, not quite perfect, one step above “what stinks.”
I began to jot it down, unaware what lay ahead,
she’d ne’er be the wiser as my pilfered poem was read.

As I wrote I altered words, for even I could see,
with just a couple changes, ‘twould sound the more like me.
The title seemed so boring, that I switched it as well,
now she’d think this poem was mine and say my work was swell!

Hot cheeked at her desk I stood, as her accusations flew,
suddenly, I don’t know why, my mouth began to move!
“This is really weird,” I lied, “as strange as it could be,
that this guy Mr. Kilmer would write so much like me!”

Sent home with a message, addressed to you know who,
it explained “our” little problem and what I’d have to do.
Red cheeked at the other end, I sat that very night,
when suddenly words emerged and I began to write!

Words floated onto paper, as I in anger vowed,
to write something much better than “trees whose heads are bowed.”
Mrs. Worth, though long gone now, I hope will somehow see,
how her dastardly assignment set my  spirit free!

One thing to remember, should a harsh critique you read,
ignore what isn’t useful, accept that which you need,
never get discouraged if the kudos don’t come through,
‘cause even old Joyce Kilmer once had a bad review!


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 | |

Heavenly Tree

Ghostlike rage Haunts me…it smothers me… I can’t handle the smell of burning sage It overpowers me…will I EVER be free? Sweltering rage Grasps on to me…it bothers me… I can’t expose my courage on stage It’s horrendous…will you EVER pay the fee? Childlike mirth Reigns upon me…It chases after me... I can’t let loose my youthful imagination, flipping page to page It towers over me…will I EVER joyfully flee? Heavenly birth Recoils from affliction… tracking me down… I can’t shed the grief that lead to rage It pulls me back…will I EVER be a budding tree?


Details | Verse | |

poetry to me

is everlasting 
feelings 
flowing like 
water in a canal

poetry to me 
is a bundle of 
joy,pain, intentions
raining 
like blessings

ousting every moment 
declaring an 
situation 
that you walk 
your self in 
thinking of another 
thought
process
vision like 
for life and death

the power that is 
fought 
every hour 
leaking emotions 
in a time report
 
poetry to me 
is expressing your 
self in ways
that are familar 
to affections........


Details | Free verse | |

Alanis morisette

I know you got my letter 
from years ago
the one about all my problems 
and the crush i had on you
about my dresser and my mispelled name
and what slide meant to me and why

I should be accountable
but im not sure what im supposed to do
ive heard you
and understand your sick of your voice and why
ive even tried joining your fan club
but i think that fell through

I told u about my friend sherri shepherd and her family
and how they blindly ylead eachother 
but im not allowed to be her friend

Im not sure what id do if i was in your shoes
recieving a letter from a child fan
telling a stranger their suicidal tendencies
and molestations and abuse at home
and their witchcraft circle and strange experiences that involved
making love to a famous artist before their career had changed

Alanis
its like unexplainable to me
what you are
a reminder of a mother figure i never knew
a saving grace when the angels seemed soo far away
and i understand all of ur lyrics from im not ur mother 
i diont carry you in my womb for nine months
to not the doctor
and now i wonder if im like an adopted 27 year old 
life lesson 
object to crave 
side project 
toy
you never wanted but got handed
and passed with flying colors

even though a few of your lyrics are two edged swords
im not sure what i wrote and sent off to you
but by the time you read it and wrote that song a lot had changed

i spoke of love like yours
and the help i needed and how i was fascinated with you
things i needed help with no one else could
i dont remember what i wrote
i think i wrote marilyn manson one too

Thank you
we bruised eachother
and i know you did a lot more for me
an object to crave?
its there u know...and it might not be me
but if u want one and u cant find one
i can help u look, or show u places to start

life is strange
i cant fathom the loops we sent eachother through
and who knows what anymore
but thank you soo much



Details | Epic | |

Live above Foeword balance ?3

Living below the low of slow roll
dyeing above the bow in fast sail
failNG front the sow is last paul
baylin flaps the lap si four call
wishin blips the cap tu tres papi
living clips the mam or thee ocho
caving snaps the wig or twig thee
oaring water the dig tu sing fall
winter sings the sun of life agua
cellin beans the lit pa wite bose
giving loves the kit su fite rite
spelin fours the pay if tres paso
quedes ledrs the foe is four tree
living lives the tea of fact free
tuGGin grass the Pep si ever mEEn
loving sings the SEA tu AMOR PaPa
bellow rings the til in THEE NOAN
writin green the man tu Over aGIN
pissin queen the tax me seen meAn
lackin picks the sax ol navy SEaL
cadets craps the SOY IN PLAY FOIL
CLAYIN SAVER THE FAD OF COLD CULR
LOSING BLEAD THE DIX IN CORE COST
FEVERN BLACK THE TIX OF FOUR WALK
LOVING LIVIN THE SEX SI CASE TRES
THININ PINNE THE PAC OF MAID TIES
FEELIN FREED THE LIP ES NADA PIDE
LIVING LYIVE THE CAL OF NORA WISE
PRISMS EVENY THE RAX OF KILO WITE
SLIGHT EYENG THE PAZ TU FOUR GIZE
TELLIN SEOUL THE EXA PU EVER GREW


Details | Verse | |

Hiding Myself

Life is easy to a lover of books
reality slips away
no matter how dreary everything looks
the stories can brighten the day.
But I need no pages to make my egress
from life's daily drama
I switch off my mind so my thoughts can digress
from the bitterness and the trauma.
I can make up stories in my head
to get me through each day
I know perhaps that might sound sad
but it works in every way.
Fairy tales and adventures, and stories of love
my imagination works away
characters of beauty, angels from above
whole fantasies played in a day.
Maybe it sounds like I have no life
well I do, but perhaps I don't want it
I give my normality as a tithe
in exchange for the stories that haunt it.
But I'm hiding, I know, from the truth
of a life that is just so mundane
though I would give my eye tooth
just to liven it up all the same
perhaps if I focused on real life instead
my life would form some direction
if the mist could clear from around my head
instead of trying to be my protection.
If I write my stories on paper
they seem so childish and immature
when in my mind's cloudy vapour
they held quite an exciting allure. 
Oh, whatever, I'll just keep dreaming
my life has no point anyway
my stories will go on forever
until my life slips away.


Details | Free verse | |

Addition To About Contest

Example of a poem: The scent of cinnamon wafing From the bakery at the mall Flooded my soul with memories Of childhood at home in the fall If you entered an English Quintain Or a Quatrain I will accept either Please let the theme be about Food or drink scent or aroma That triggers a pleasant childhood memory.. I have had a large number of good ones but some that are not the right forms not the right theme or not the right length.. One or two stanzas only Thanks Sara


Details | Free verse | |

Lollygagging

Just the whiff of pink rose
growing outside my front door
brings my heart to my throat, stirs a desire
to don frayed cut-offs and white tee-shirt
and climb into the womb of my childhood fort,
to dream, to write, to lollygag to my heart’s content.


Details | I do not know? | |

Candy bar

(This is a fictional poem)

When I ate my cousin's candy bar, he invited me outside.
He beat the crap out of me and people laughed when I cried.
I need somebody to protect me from this bully when he gets riled.
It's embarrassing because I'm thirty-six and he's a seven year old child.


Details | Narrative | |

vignette-MAKE BELIEVE

Children's books of worldwide acclaim
Whimsical humour in nonsense rhyme
Of childhood days in summertime-
Its acrostic brought Liddel's fame,
The story ending with Alice's full name

Tribute to Lewis Carroll


Details | I do not know? | |

How I Think And Write

My words don’t exactly flow in consistency,
But in the end (in something like a personal essay),
They eventually all tie together.
My own kind of thinking
Depends on only whether I should
Or really want to take things (and meanings)
Out of their original context
And make (turn it all into) something of mine, my own.


Details | I do not know? | |

Thoughts And Feelings

Time flies
When I daydream and write.
Though I despise this place,
I know without a doubt
It is where I learned
Every trace of my thoughts.
My heart is solitary,
Though is so deep,
It feels as if
I may never find
What these feelings of mine
Always dream.
I write my poetry
Through love, feelings
And even hate.
In this life I seem fated
To forever be lingering
Within this world
With faded dreams and feelings.
This state of mine 
Is so misleading,
I must find more meaning.
Time flies
When I am glancing into
The clear blue skies.
The sun rises
And my soul realizes
Every day, every lifetime
Is a new beginning.
As I am writing,
I am thinking, searching
For this life's meaning.


Details | Acrostic | |

"TRANQUIL"


Totally peaceful~ a picnic in the park.
Restful~  relaxing~ fishing~ riverside.
Amazing~ building castles~ at oceans edge.
No strife ~ no stress~ cloud watching.
Quiet and calming~ a  misty midnight walk.
Untroubled ~ unusual~ under the moss draped oaks.
Idyllic ~ impressive~ stars on a black velvet sky.
Longed for~ nature's music~ lovers hand in hand.


Details | Free verse | |

Untitled #267 / LOOK

“And remember D.ick and Jane books
and the first word you learned – the 
biggest one of all – 
LOOK”


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 | I do not know? | |

Trinity

 

Latin trinitas = the state of being threefold

God is only one but He exist in three persons

The fact that in English we have two terms

The triune God and the Trinity

For the same reality (one emphasizes God’s unity

The other the distinction (of persons in Him)

An indication of the unfathomable mystery of the Trinity

 

11302011


Details | Quatrain | |

What is Gluttony


Gluttony like Greed
Excessive desire of Food or Drink
Part of7 Capital sins or 7 Deadly sins
Jesus Christ requires one to confess


Details | Quatrain | |

What is mortal sin


Mortal sin is grievous offense against the law of God
This sin is called mortal because it deprives us of spiritual life
Sanctifying grace
Brings everlasting death and damnation of the soul


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 | Rhyme | |

When I Grow Up

when I grow Up
I want to teach the world
how to salute to a flag thats unfurled

when I grow up
I want to take my brothers hand
and march across this beautiful land

when I grow up
I want to find a girl
that makes my heart just swirl

when I grow up
I want to find a job
and not have to beg steal or rob

when I grow up
I want to learn about God
and miracles created through bowing nods

when I grow up
I want alot of friends
who will hold my hand as my time ends

so when I grow up
I hope this fun never ends
of pretending and playing this game once again




Tribute To Childhood
This was seen through a little boy's perspective lol


Details | I do not know? | |

Churches and Ecclesial Communities


Many Christian communities on earth call themselves churches
According to the Catholic understanding
Only those in which the sacraments of Jesus Christ’s have been preserved
In their entirety have remained “Church”
This is true especially of the Orthodox and
Eastern Churches
In the ecclesial communities that resulted from the Protestant Reformation
All the sacraments have not been preserved

11302011


Details | I do not know? | |

"Porkpie Jones."

Porkpie Jones has brittle bones, and crusted corn-filled toes,

And sleety eyes and bulgy thighs, and brillo pad elbows,

His underarms are typical farms, and reek a barnyard smell,

Its quite the place for creepy, crawly, parasites  to dwell,

The ample dirt in his ears and on his head has just began to harden,

There's so much dirt on him everywhere, he could grow a flower garden,

The birds fall quickly from the sky, whenever he starts to speak,

His teeth and gums are as black as coal, and all his bone joints squeak,

He trips when he walks, spits when he talks, and spills everywhere when he drinks,

Three triple Dagwood sandwiches to him are a light snack, his decorum and etiquette 
stinks...

The ground shakes when he takes a step, and cars fly when he sneezes,

And he feels free to dine and snack on anything he pleases!

The sight of water gives him chills, and soap will make him screech,

He can't fit in his bathtub, so he bathes at the beach,

Porkpie dives into his drinks, and scorns the use of cups,

And when he falls, some will laugh, but the ground starts cracking up...

He's never been able to touch his toes, he can't reach any farther than his hips,

When he bends over, its always a treat to experience a total eclipse,

His home is in disarray, it needs improvement,

Porkie Orlivander Jones scorns unnecessary movement,

He's absolutely clueless, on how to close the gate,

Or feed his starving fish, or wash his every dish,

Or vacuum his entire floor, where dust mites romp and roam,

Or change his heaping can of trash thats nearly large as Nome,

Loads of bills that he won't pay, coat his table tops,

He puts his Suitcase in his closet, right next to the lamb chops,

Porkpie never was that bright, in school he was a tease,

In fact I think his grades were so low, that he would get straight Z's!

Well we all can learn a lesson here, I'm sure that all is known,

That we must keep our appearances neat, and always brush and scrub our feet,

And be respectful when we eat, or we could all end up like Mr. 

Porkpie Orlivander Alowicious  Alexander GianCarlo Markowitcz Jones!!!!!


Details | Fibonacci | |

FOLK LORE

Jump
rope
verses-
skipping down
the gnerations.


Details | Couplet | |

Sharing with Dad

Don't you tell me how you feel,
shut your trap now here's the deal,
you do all the things you should,
and if your'e really,really good,
I won't beat you with a switch,
I won't kick you in the ditch,
I won't scream and 
punch your head,
just be glad that you're
not dead.
Go share that and see what's what,
you think you're so stinking hot,
now go to bed or scrub the floor,
don't let me hear that stuff no more.


Details | I do not know? | |

A TIME TO REMEMBER

A time for sharing and caring
Embracing the hearts and smiles of 
two words HAPPY HOLIDAYS
First giving thanks on ThanksGiving
Theres so much to be thankful for
Than there CHIRSTMAS with a jingle bells and 
a rudulph the red nose reindeers shiny so bright
Making deliveries all through out the night
Putting a smile on many faces that's a blessing
with many lesson of growing and learning
Remembering that it was really all about the birth
of chirst and a baby was born in a manger
Enjoying the melody of holy night so to all
MERRY CHIRSTMAS and to all a good night


Details | Sonnet | |

Opening Day

Banners swayed to the shimmy, of sprouting springtime rays
As lime lines hugged emerald fields, on America’s favorite day
Youthful faces peaked above leather gloves, of inherited family fun
Sheets of sunshine spilled over ivy walls, of towering home runs

Children cheered the names of heroes, that shadows had crept behind
As old men dawned the numbers of legends, still playing in their mind
Cracker Jacks crunched as hungry eyes, devoured the diamond’s glare
The words “Play Ball!” echoed with the luster, of a rekindled love affair

One crack of the bat, broke a winter long season of seamless strife
As a scorched line drive, was driven into the hope of every fan’s life
A single was stretched into a double, beneath the roar of the crowd
Players dusted off pennant dreams, that slid between the clouds

Opening Day had come and gone, fly balls faded deep into night 
But the Boys of Summer will play forever, in memories of delight


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

You gave a little boy a joint

You gave a little boy a joint to smoke.
You thought it was cool to see him take a toke.
I told his dad what you did and he called the cops.
Your days of poisoning kids are going to stop.
What you did was mean and it was wrong.
Now you'll go to jail and that's where you belong.


Details | Bio | |

Fool With A...

Lived my whole life
In a black neighborhood,
Got no problem with that,
Matter of fact, was quite good

Rarely a problem, or for
at least a long time,
The memories of that town,
I cherish as mine...

Way back in the sixties,
Just around the block
Was John's Tavern...
It was culture shock...

At 16 or so,
We'd be sipping a beer
Shooting some pool
And home was so near

$2 would keep 
you amused for a night,
And never therein,
Did I witness a fight...

One feisty black man,
I can hear his voice now...
When winning at pool...
How he would 
So proudly create
quite a row...

"Fool With A Stick!"
This he would bray
I can hear it inside,
Till this very day...

But now I've gone,
Around once too long,
And if he was alive,
This would be his song;

"Fool With A Bic!"
"Fool writting words
"Fool with a Bic
"Fool for the Nerds!"


Details | I do not know? | |

Close Calls

So many close calls
Wishing I was dead right now
So many close calls
I gotta live for God right now
So many close calls
That could've ended my life right now
So many close calls
I gotta be a soulja right now
So many close calls
Thank God I'm alive right now
It could've ended within a few seconds
Gettin' caught up in the streets
Could leave you hangin' in the streets
Writing poetry to keep my mind cleared up
Thinking so many thoughts in my head
Wonder if it'll ever fall off
So many close calls
People think if the fear of dying will ever cross my mind
I say no and keep reaching to the Lord
Close calls could leave you speechless within a heart attack
Thinking of the kids growing with no role models
What about us?
We gotta fight and live for the truth now


Details | Bio | |

Just A Note...More Tomfoolery

Yup, did it again...2 am, and I lost 4 or 5 poems...which will have to be redone...I 
will try to wait till tomorrow, as I am exhausted from a stressful day...what am I 
doing wrong???  However, in the past, when this has happened, I find I can not 
go to sleep...my mind won't let me, so I wind up getting up, and back on line...and 
as so many times too often, greeting the rising sun with weary eyes and weary 
body...and no TV to watch, it's all paid programming, infomercials, and the 
likes...and unlike the classic telemarketers, who'se chain I pull with great 
glee...being overly friendly and asking "dumd" questions ...and baiting them for 
upcoming sarcasm...I LOVE a battle of wits...on my last psychiatric evaluation 
last month, by the time I was done with that "shrink", he needed a psychiatrist!!
Just give me a pompous fool, and in no time at all, I'll deflate their egos and they 
will go home crying...later...


Details | Bio | |

Sweater

I had wished-
to build a castle
and I did it, 

a sandcastle,
on the islands of
dreams, under the thick

eyebrows of the sun 
of yesterday,
tomorrow, and today

with my soul, 
mind, and 
thought,

but the waves, 
of Posiedonias, rippled,
forcefully erasing 

the mark of innocence
into adulthood, 
yet the “I” in me was 

not intimidated. Now I build 
no more, not of castles, 
nor of fortresses,  

but I do weave 
and right now, I am weaving
this sweater of 

tropical words, 
for you,
to wear, someday.  





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 | I do not know? | |

So I Bleed

Desperate needs of remedies
For frustration and greed
Because these are the abstract entities
That won’t let me succeed.
So I bleed.
And I plead for help
From other and myself
But it’s like I am some disease
Cus I make others move somewhere else
So I bleed.
And I suffer with out a buffer
As my life gets tougher
You think you’ve had tough times
Well my time has been rougher…and it’s still ticking.
So I bleed. 
While agonizing in pain
This arduous strain drives me insane
And I feel the depletion of my life
Homeostasis I can no longer maintain.
So I bleed.
And as I bleed
I continue to bleed
As my extremities go numb
I still don’t have what I need.
So I bleed.
Dripping blood
Because of a wounded love
I guess my new home now
Would be the place up above.
So I bleed.
And I will continue to bleed
Until one takes heed
To whatever I need…I will bleed


Details | Free verse | |

GOTCHA

Ok, you got me.
But just you wait,
I'll get you back James
Before you reach base,
That safe place of yours.
Yeah, you're running fast,
But I know I can catch you.
Zig zag all you want.
Run in circles too.
But you'll give out of breath
Way-y-y-y before me...
Before you reach that tree
Before you juke again-
I GOTCHA'!  BUT WAIT!
There's someone else
Nearer than you,
Just in my reach.
Let me change direction
Right quick and tag 'em.
But I'll get you back
If I'm tagged again.
Just you wait-
Even if it takes 5 hours.
The game is not over.

Woooo!!!  I'm out... of breath...
TamiViolet... You're It!


Details | I do not know? | |

My Sister the Poet

My sister the poet
Will let it be known
Of her past life and her so many homes
Of all her good memories and all of the bad
She is quite talented and has a lot to say
Her life with the devilish man who called himself her father made her that way
Mean as a snake when you make her mad
But the nicest person you’ll ever meet
A down right Christian, she is
And when you do something wrong she lets you know about it
Most parents tell their kids ‘Santa’s watching you’
But my sister instead says ‘Jesus is watching you’
At the moment she is writing a book of poems of all her childhood memories
From the very first to the very worst
Her subjects vary from her sister to her brother
From riding in a toy car to building an outhouse
But not all of it is funny
Some of it makes you really appreciate the life you’ve got
Wether it’s happy or sad
Or makes you angry and mad 
It all flows together and it all tells a story of a life from hell that we are all glad 
we didn’t have
To my sister the poet
I love you very much
And I wish I had your talent
I wish you the best of luck with your book
Keep up the good work


Details | Free verse | |

Not Long Ago


I would like you...
to read this poem, not ‘cos it’s different 
from the rest of mine, maybe, ‘cos I wrote it, just now--- 
five minutes ago. Although, I believed 

...that I gave my best for this write,
yet still, it needs attention, the pleasing
sound of your heart, 
as you caress every word of it. 

A rhyme, skinned from geranium’s lips...that November 
whispered me, a song, of two birds I saw, hanging on 
an oak tree. What’s there below, in silent gaze, peeking 
at them? Do you know the color of their days? Oh, I still 

recall, vividly, the color of my yesterday: let me 
remember you, hmm, I think it was… Ahh no, I’ll just leave 
that to you, untangling the spell, yes the spell, of my 
adolescent years, hidden in this poem, of not so long ago! 


Details | I do not know? | |

Ruby's Memories

Thanks, Ruby.  the value of our memories only increases with time.  Have a great 
night.  Tom
Anyone with special memories, please add on....
And our "Ruby" is, for us, one priceless jewel...


Details | I do not know? | |

" Games"

Everything that you decide to do,
is all up to you.
I've fought for to long,
and now the rest is on you.
So, whta are you going to do?
gave you two chances to walk out the door,
but, you say without me,
something is missing in your heart.
i'm much stronger,
and the things you use to do,
is no longer.
It's time,
i make the new rules.
Either your going with it,
or you can split.
I did and said all I can, but you showed me your a grown man.
After today,
all this will change.
The games you played,
are not going to be the same.