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On Writing And Words Stress Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Stress

These On Writing And Words Stress poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Stress. These are the best examples of On Writing And Words Stress poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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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


Details | Haiku | |

Haikus About God: III

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


Details | Lyric | |

I Can't Say It Without You

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

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

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

( Chorus )

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


Details | Verse | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Going Home

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Reflections: Intellectualism

To Dine, To Die;
Conversations spiral
While thunderous eyes
Grasp concepts to recycle.

Constant debt crisis
A political paradox
Grating social devices
Over the sorting of socks.

Pseudo-analysis
An endless groan
Argumental paralysis
The debate grants no throne.

Existentialism
Over a roast
Potatoes won't listen
To who talks the most.

"That point is so interesting"
The floor is open for chat
"What is real?" not a thing
"Meow" adds the cat.


Details | Haiku | |

Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Storm Part VI

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


Details | Quatrain | |

Wounding Words

words that pierce like a sharpened edge
the pen has no regret
old pain incessant we must dredge
if not forgive, forget?

but the power of a simple verse
overlooked by the creator
has made the past in present worse
and lesser pain now greater


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...


Details | Quatrain | |

Slumberless

tracing drops that scatter shoot
down the bedroom pane.
humming head I can't refute
that bed she calls my name.
 
fighting slumber gallantly,
I need to write some verse.
my eyelids dying valiantly
yet insomnia is my curse.


Details | Free verse | |

Prison on Paper

These bars are transparent,
Yet they hold just as tight
As wrought-iron girders
Woven much like a cage.

Rough hewn from sorrows,
Forged in fear's fires;
The trap is alive
And it feeds off of rage.

This is a prison.
A jail.
Asylum.
Designed in the mind
And cast on a page.


Details | I do not know? | |

words

Words Words can make you hurt, Words can make you cry. Words can make you laugh, 
Words can make you try. Words can change you and Words can make act wrong. Words 
can hurt others. But words that hurt are nothing new. Words with action is. Because some 
actions can hurt and make pain come. Some actions can make you feel happy and loved. 
Some actions can get you down the wrong road. But whatever happens, with words or 
actions Remember that friends and people have feelings Try listening to them Friends can 
make you laugh when your sad. They can catch you when you fall. No friend lets you die Or 
leaves you in a dark corner to cry. Friends are angels from above. They are there for you. 
So if their is one thing from this that you remember is should be this, Don't say your my 
friend one moment, Then hurt me and leave me to die the next.


Details | Rhyme | |

Am I a poetic sellout

When I first started writing it was all fun and games. 

Now that I'm a poet for hire, things haven't been the same. 

I been to stress out with people telling me what to write, and when to write. 

I feel like I lost my "poetry rights." 

It's like I'm fighting to be-you know me. 

I know my dream is to get every ones ears to remember me, but I didn't know it 
would bring so much stress upon me. 

I feel like every time I write they always want the best of me. 

Sheesh, come on now! 

I'm only sixteen! 

But for some odd reason I can't seem to quit. 

Not even a little bit. 

How many books do I really have to put out? 

Before I become a "Poetic sellout?"


Details | Light Poetry | |

FIGHT

I work with the dogs in the dirt .Sun up, sun down and man do I hurt due to 
working with the dogs in the dirt. Will  there ever be a break for me?I'm not talking 
about the fantasy of hitting the New York State Lottery.

Working to pay the rent for this little tent is just insane. I know there's a better 
place to rest to digest this thing called life.

Living for the day that both of my ends meet.Then I can be a blessing to the less 
without any mess from the stress of those you know.

Working with the dogs in the dirt has causes me many hurts that fertilized the 
growth potential, making me a powerful woman, you see. Working through the 
mess has really caused me to be bless. Yes there  will be stress that will cause 
you to think you're not bless by the best.But after the stresse there's plenty of 
rest,so  you can pass the next test.

So work with the dogs in the dirt,because afer the pain ,there's so much gain in 
so many ways you see; and not in material things and money.It may seem kind 
of funny. I like being apart of God's wonderful army

So work with the dogs in the dirt.So what, you got hurt .There's a healing that will 
cause a spiritual building in the inner  man; it's all a part of God's strategy plan to 
defeat the enemy.

Come on and be a part of God's wonderful army. So work with the dogs in the 
dirt.