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On Writing And Words Journey Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Journey

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Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees

Details | Light Poetry | |

How Does It End

Quill n hand
Ink is black
Words frothing

Lost in thought
Words breathed forth
And set free

Two souls meet
Blend as one
Passion ooze

In the night
Dim of moon
Lust or love

Writer knows
He leaves it
To our thoughts

Copyright © Connie Gildersleeve

Details | Couplet | |

Equus Poeticus Variabilis

I’m riding your horse, no giddyap allowed,
simply plunge into the deepest unknown.

Your voice sets the pace, it whispers 
into the ears of my ride, sometimes they twitch

sometimes they find water, sometimes 
the waterfalls absorb all thought. I lean

over neck, sample horse blood like a vampire, 
like a computer’s command mode

taking over my brain, allowing my heart
to beat in tune, my feet to turn to hooves

and kick up or canter, moving with the rhythm
and flow, feeling the sweat of the sun

overhead and the damp of shady pines
and raking the grasses until they rustle over skin.

This is how I know you: the whisper on the wind
the stroke along my frame, the bed stead 

in which I dream, the places of unimagined
like a lure, a bait, overtaking me, leading 

me down a road I’ve never found
until you lent the movement of ride forever. 

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper

Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

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

Copyright © Dan Keir

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 

Copyright © Christina McCullouch

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.”

Copyright © Spenser Jones

Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part VI

Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part I

Gathering grey clouds
Whip crack of frothing thunder
Is this Africa?

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | I do not know? | |

My Wishes are Simple

My Wishes are Simple

My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.

My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.

My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Footle | |




Children's dreams






Mother's Love


Life's Pleasures


Spring's Arrival








Corporal Desires






Golden Years


Copyright © Andrew Crisci

Details | Imagism | |

the journey

I sat down and rowed back in time
down streams of my own poetry
to moments when words rushed like the sea
when syntax broke free like 
days when thoughts broke like a new spring
and each line like a song to sing
i hope this journey never endS
I'm so happy, I'm overwhelmed.

Copyright © treisha williams

Details | I do not know? | |

Unashamed Self-Promotion


Greetings, good and kind fellow Soup-ers!

'Tis wonderful, I say,
to be a Soup-er, so if I may,

I humbly request you to lay down your pen dipped in fine ink,
and visit my blog which can be found at the following link: 

Now if this blatant self-promoting of mine seems rude,
I ask for your generous forgiveness, dear fellow Soup-er,

And wish you a day, that is peaceful, kind, and just plain super!

So cheers from the scribbler for now,
and as I take leave, my fellow Soup-ers,
I, in courtesy, to you all, do bow!


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part II

The Med between us
The gusts make me think of you
Storms... it’s just like home.

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Rhyme | |

Complete Man

Prolog:   This poem is about how much you need to struggle to ‘survive’ as an accountable and matured man. Child demands what he desires and the man sacrifices his desire, to fulfill the child’s.  It’s funny how you would be made a king for a day, and then a ‘somebody’, or even a ‘nobody’? Moreover, as you grow up, linearly, the problems breed exponentially like bacteria. Yes, it is true that the assimilative power to bear the offsets increase as you grow up too and how we breathe with the mere hope that one’s integrity pays back at some point in life. These verses symbolize the seldom hidden pain as adolescents in antithesis to the trouble-free life of a kid. Being a four year old playing with crayons, it’s all about you and your own little world!  
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
From learning to put on the bow-tie,
To responsibly having the handkerchief in your pocket,
From experiencing the toughest times
And still standing upright like a ship in a storm
Like never before,
Manhood, here comes, like a raging warrior,
Resilient in form, stronger than its former,
And kills your innocence; darkens your heart.
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
Life slips by ‘unlived’ and under cut-throat competition
Little merry-time, patchy hangovers and a far-fetched ambition
In trying to enrich and reclassify his social status
Life is yet adventurous, travelling rough miles
Reshaping himself, constantly adopting new lifestyles,
Every so often, he needs a little time, damn-it
In the end, faith grows numb in breaking the habit
It’s flabbergasting dad, how you stood up on your feet
Such burden of liability on the shoulders, how can one keep?
Politics was detested, conspiracy unheard of.
But now only has become an essential strategy for survival
Pain only makes him stronger,
Thanks Kelly Clarkson; that makes our belief finer
And brings a hope of fresh revival
How true Darwin sayeth!
Fittest subsists, and the rest are extinct species.
However, gratitude to such reformation
The inception of adulthood, cognizance!
Teaches him to be & believe himself; thus push his limits farther
Only critical moments, binds his relationships sturdier
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising.
Inspired by : friends, fam, eminem, linkin park, my fellow poets, my world

Copyright © Dhruv Panchal

Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Baggage Claim

Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival, 
          I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches 
                                                Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
          Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
                                                He holds the key to this new world.

The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience 
          Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped 
                                                Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence 
          Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped 
                                                Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.

My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
          In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
			   Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
          On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
                                                Our intrepid journey commences...

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Free verse | |

The Journey

From time immemorial your story began
A hundred, a thousand, a million years and more
Your story past written a character just one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Each story unique while pieces the same
Today, tomorrow, millennia expended and gone
Your story continues passed first to no last
The tale of you bleeds into all

Through love and hate, laughter and death
Minutes and seconds grew to decades and days
The story being written you wrote each day
The tale of you bleeds into all

Memories endure through dream and remembrance
Yesterday is gone but tomorrow you live on
Your story yet written a character more than one
The tale of you bleeds into all

Your stories the fires shall never consume
A past, a future, a present goes on
The story you wrote lives forever in your love
The tale of you bleeds into all

Copyright © Steven Fordyce

Details | Free verse | |

Confessions of a Poetry Souper

So, I write,
Sometimes I do it for me 
At times it's out of spite
I should just let it be 
Instead internal fight

It's hard to match these words
And rhyme them every time
Sometimes it for the birds
I know it has to rhyme.
I feel like such a nerd.

Emotions,memories flood
Inside my inner soul,
They grow and then they bud,
Completed now I'm whole,
Have not created a dud.

I try to tell a truth
Share a fact or two
Like when I lost a tooth
Is what I need to do,
Mustn't lose my couth.

I like the words to play
And sound and syllables dance
There is a certain way
It's not achieved by chance.
Someday it might pay.

Until that day does come
I try and do my best.
Make them all for fun
To share with all the rest
Enjoy I hope for some.


Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver

Details | ABC | |

My Journey

I think that I might fly away, in my hot air balloon,
 And hide from worldly worries on the dark side of the moon;
 There’s but one thing I need before I float into the blue:
 I need a sky companion and I want it to be you.

 We’ll fly beyond the storm clouds and we’ll watch from up above,
 I’ll cover you in rainbows as we feel each others’ love;
 You’ll shower in the stars at midnight in our special place,
 I’ll dry you with a comet’s tail and kiss your beaming face.

 Dreamy drifting panorama, changing every day,
 Every night your loving smile will be my milky way,
 The moon will wane before us, sailing there in heaven’s height,
 For nothing else can challenge our love’s everlasting light.

 Venus shining on us, glowing soft at our devotion,
 Our daily drifting dalliance in love’s celestial ocean,
 I’ll write you lovers’ poetry, and you will be my muse,
 Orion and Andromeda will oversee our cruise.

 We’ll sleep with clouds as pillows, maybe steal an angel’s wings,
 Then fly as magic lovebirds, or slide round Saturn’s rings,
 And should we tire of drifting and the stars all floating by,
 We’ll hook onto a meteor and soar across the sky.

 Will you consent to be my mate on our celestial ship?
 I’m ready, heart all packed with love, to last us for the trip,
 Take my hand and step aboard, we’re heading for the sun,
 We’re flying till we find the place where our two souls are one.

Copyright © Roy Keith

Details | I do not know? | |

Tendrils of Hope

Refusing to succumb,

to the alluring haze of self-pity,

I refuse to wallow,
in an ocean of regret,

I choose to banish thoughts of despair,

dispelling pain, while tempting joy to emerge from its shielded lair.

I shall sow the seeds of promise,

nourishing well,

the tendrils of hope,

breathing new life into my nights, my days.

I must stand, I will rise, I have to believe,

in a better tomorrow,

not perfect, nor rosy,

yet filled with tidbits of bliss,

as well as with shards of sorrow.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | I do not know? | |

Why I Write

…Emptiness tightens its shackles,


imprisoning me.


Jagged shrapnel,
piercing my heart,


my emotions trickle away,

yet hope refuses to flee.


I write, to feel again.


Something, anything.


I write,

to be free.


I write to feel again.


something, anything.

I write to be.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Free verse | |

Nonsense Answered

~This poem is a response to the questions asked in the book "The Book of Questions" (Poems I, II and III) by Pablo Neruda.~

The airplanes fly solo,
ashamed of their pasts; those who know
of their young propeller days.
The sunny bird,
with warmth is lured
those with bags of lemons from their ways.
No one can make the gun,
that harnesses the sun
to give to helicopters; they grow unwise.
In the lake shines a great bright light,
a reflection in the night,
and in that sight you will find her prize.
Ask Big Ben, who's always visible through rains
or the sun who dictates change,
you'll never find time through flesh.
The leaves, so green,
from trees so keen
on the birth of many strong souls; fresh.
In the mind,
you hid the blind,
without worry of bees.
We will use red then,
anger works just as well as delight in the kin
for bread to eat with teas.
The rose petals swell,
outside the budding shell,
having nothing to hide.
The wise old tree knows
it is better to hide than show
it's roots; knowledge makes them wide.
The silent screams,
the unknown rings,
reveal the automobile's frame.
The train so rusted,
the train so crusted,
I will never forget it's pain.

Copyright © Sean Cannon

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Something to think about from me to you


* The Average Woman Would Rather Have Beauty Than Brains 
Because The *
                          Average  Man Can See Better  Than They Can 

After you read this, you may have  laughed well still  agreeing  
with this statement! 
Men may of had a little  more to add but this would only be 
based on trying not to sound so shallow!
The women on the other hand, either silently agree or may have 
showed a little anger towards this statement  being that one may 
have experienced  similar situations  that brought back 
unpleasant feelings, But would still result in agreeing.
This statement has some truth.   
It  also holds  deeper meaning than what meets the eye! 
“If you have a more appealing outside” 
Is it safe to say that you may  get opportunity  based on how you 
If that is the case, does one settle?  Do you then do whatever 
needs to be done ?
Would on be smart to  get in where u fit in? 
( We All Know More Or Less Where Or What That Would Be! ) Or 
is it safe to say that knowledge will go over a face and body any 

One can look at another situation? 
Say you are  good looking with the added blessing: ( Beauty and 
Brains..... )
Would you get a fair go and show that you have a double pack to 
Or would your true capability always stay getting overlooked?
 If when shown that you can do a job to the ultimate fullest; You  
may have lost because when exposed that you are not on a hoe 
role you may have made the boss mad and now he does not 
want you either way !  

“His ego got involved”




Copyright © Rhiannon Gonzales

Details | Rhyme | |

Poetical Journey

All I ask is that you read this with a charitable mind,
And if you care to comment, please be verbose and kind!
I suppose a lot of what I concoct is for the birds,
But ain't it amazin' what you can do with words!

Great bards are unknown 'til this earthly plane they flee.
Like them, I hope folks'll say of me - he was a gifted SOB!
If I relied on writin' verse for a livin', I'd be on the skids.
Maybe anon someone will profit - hopefully 'twill be the kids!

Shakespeare, I'm told, was the world's greatest bard.
I'll never attain his renown, but I'm tryin' real hard!
Nor will I reach fame like that of my mentor Edgar Guest,
But, by jove, I'll give it my best in this poetical quest!

For writin' this stuff, alas, I've amassed no pelf,
But folks, I 'm certainly enjoyin' myself!
In my school days I couldn't get two words to rhyme.
In poetic composition I was deemed as mute as a mime!

I write never to become famous or rich,
But for others, hopefully, their lives to enrich!
I pray that in this poetical journey that I ply,
That the well of verse will never run dry!

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

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

Details | I do not know? | |

Creative Bandages

Be your own explorer and see for yourself. 
There's lessons in all the world. 
In each blade of grass, and each flower petal. 
Flying off the tail of your coat, 
Hiding creative bandages. 
Papers full of words of life. 
Packing out your dingy jacket.
And money is no object. 
Life is so short and is so briefly lived. 
That your out for living, trying to help,
And dying in the end. 
Because your dreams were larger 
Than yourself or even others. 
You tried to save the world. 
But it's flying off the tail of your coat. 
As your riding into the sunset, 
Hiding creative bandages.
Like papers floating in the sea. 
You sail away. As your journey lives on. 
On to the next person who needs our help. 
On to the next person who's soul is gone. 
Love is like the open ocean. 
Your a drop of water in it's hand. 
But someday, your journey, will end. 
You'll find some sort of resolution. 
Maybe, a pen in your hand. 
And finally, return home. 
You'll Leave the world, 
Flying off the tail of your coat. 
Hiding creative bandages. 
That you've kept threw land and sea. 
You've learned so much, throughout the years. 
So drop it out into the world. 
Your collection of creative bandages. 
You'll show for all of them to see. 
So Your journey may be said and done. 
But you'll always have your dreams. 
And those creative bandages. 
That you pray will save the world.

Copyright © Levi Powell

Details | Free verse | |

Inspirations Journey.

                                                     This moment
                                                  Breath deeply and
                                               Place your pen aside
                                             It has little power left in it
                                        Although you have endeavored
                                  These are not your moments inspiring
                            But are too transparent in simplicity to record
                        Where is your racking anger and troubled solace?
                You always compose through those eyes filled with sorrow
            The meter of your verse will be painted with a dangerous divinity
          And a spiritual suggestion as you put blindfolds over our true eyes
       Light that flame within us that directs us past fear as a radiant beacon
   That astonishes the most naïve in us with an exhilarated spiritual moment 
      Only you will hear its approach echoing deep within your creative heart
          The tides of time will cleanse away obscurity corrupting your mind
            The long deceased will reanimate as the verse flows unfettered
                    Those thoughts are fetal now wait to put pen to paper
                         While they grow under the blanket of fulfillment
                           Soon they will all surface and wash ashore
                                    On the eternity of the rising sun
                                         With the storms passing
                                           In the hour of their birth
                                             Let the moment rise
                                               But breathe deep
                                                 This moment

Copyright © Charles Fuller

Details | ABC | |

Poetic Journey

At beginning, certain derivatives escaped form,
Growing here, I joined keen living mighty names,
Obtaining poetic qualification, returned sweetly,
Telling universally valiant words,
 Xeroxing yearlong zeal

Copyright © cecil hickman

Details | Senryu | |


when I on a new genre alight-
                                         enthusiasm ,in me a-lights

Copyright © Brian Strand

Details | Quatrain | |


One trip around the sun
And I still haven’t left this place
Burning feeling from my pen
Time from a distant mind

Eight phases of the moon
Eclipsed in a crater of discovery
Sifting through foreign thoughts
And I still haven’t left this place

Wading in a barren strait
Shipwrecked though never at sea
And I still haven’t left this place
Anchored by scribbled dreams

And I still haven’t left this place
And I don’t exactly know why
Trapped between two ears
Until I digress…sometime

Copyright © Xavier Keough

Details | I do not know? | |

A Poets Journey

                                                A Poem is more then
                                              words and rhyme its
                                              how you put it through
                                              your mind...

                                                Taking what's deep in
                                              your heart and soul then
                                              you let it go..

                                               People say that its a 
                                             talent or a gift that's not
                                             it... You have to reach deep
                                             down inside the place where 
                                             you cry...

                                              There's no plan or
                                            trick you just have to
                                            do it..  Mistakes will be
                                            made poems tossed in
                                            the can but that's how
                                            this journey began...

Copyright © Anthony Nacke