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Best Career Poems

Below are the all-time best Career poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of career poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Career Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Career poems are below this new poems list.

soundtrack of my literary career by FINDLEY, LEWIS
IN PRISON WITH GARY GLITTER - AND THE END OF A GLAM ROCK CAREER by Ashton, Darryl
Career choices by Ramprasad, Latha
Career Mum by Barnes, Susan
POOR CAREER CHOICE by Beck, Sidney
Changing Career at 30 by McConnell, Gordon
The Professor's Career at an End by Schaeffer, Don
Karma of a career lady by Debrosse, Justin
A House of a Career by Debrosse, Justin
GETTING ON IN YOUR CAREER by Curtis, Paul

View all new Career Poems

The Best Career Poems

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Lifes Simplicity Maintained

You were born in a specialist clinic I was born at the front door of my house we both came into this world and survived. You’ve been eating foreign cuisines and expensive delicacies I’ve been taking porridge and traditional soups we both have grown and are a significant part of the society. You go to school in Jeeps and exotic vehicles I use public transport and finish it up with a walk we both went to learning institutions and acquired knowledge. You roll with the high and mighty and get a super model married I’m surrounded by the middle class and marries one never will be in Wikipedia we both are active in the food chain and wonderfully living our lives. You become a CEO or rather own a firm I get employed by you to run your empire we both sure need each other to function and drive. Gold and Diamonds will decorate the casket of your funeral mine may not even be worthy of a coffin, just a plain box we’ll nevertheless be dead and our chapter closed without preference. It is only a pathology when the eye gets larger than its socket, comparison cuts the muscles of esteem and gives greed a new suit, making simplicity a very complex attribute to attain and a life full of complexities a better friend to existence. Life is simple, we just make it complicated. A civil servant wants to live at par with a tycoon allowing his throat tie down the strength of his hands. Every destination has different roads, be it the highway or a rocky path. Take the one within your speed limit, the timing may show some reaching before or better than others but the most important thing is, the destination reached as achievement is decorated while life stay simple.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

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read this please

They hate you because your you
They make up lies and call it true
They're fake behind your back
Hoping someday that you'll crack.

They hate you because your real.
no matter what they say you always heal
They're surprised to see you rise,
That you're not affected by all these lies


They hate you because you smile at them
It shows them that your a real gem
You are always true and do your best :)
Sometimes these haters just cant test

They hate you for no reason
Despite it all, you smile
whatever the reason
At the end of the day
All i'm gonna say
All i plan to be 
IS ME


-Sanderline Fleury :)


Copyright © Sanderline Fleury | Year Posted 2013

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8 Mile Style

8MILE8MILE    .     .     .     .     .    STYLE     .     .     .     .  8MILE8MILE
I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind but no matter where 
I go I see them same old hoes 
   BRING DA BEAT         c’mon, c’mon, c’mon        HERE WE GO
                  
                           YEA   YEA   YEA 
They be warin old clothes, exposin them busted ass toez in fishnet pantyhose  
They be standin in rowz, striking that silly old pose, workin them same two 
Joes
So the rumor grows, and everybody knows, that her name is rose, we know 
rose blows
 
DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE,       YEA   YEA    YEA     

She got fired from LoweZ, ’cause she stole a garden hose, spent all the money 
at Moe’Z
Yea - Moe’Z ho clothes and fishnet hose, down at 52nd and StrowZ, traffic 
really slows when she bends to expose, she get dirt on them knees, when she 
blows

DOUBLE BUBBLE, BUBBLE TROUBLE        YEA   YEA   YEA
AND THE COP SHOWZ                     
                                    
UP, UP, UP,  EVER’BODY  UP,  C’MON UP, C’MON UP

                                                YEA    YEA    YEA
She putz the powder up her nose, didn’t pay the fine she owez, gives a 
discount to the bros
Ever’body froze, then the streetlight glows, that’z the way it goes, for all them 
bimboz
Same for the hoes, az it is for the bros, all the way from Melrose to the 
chicagos
And it’s still the same for the Souix and them Navahoes,  UH  YEA  UH  YEA
SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY PEEPZ IN THE POCONOS
         YEA  YEA  YEA            I’M OUT

OUT ROLLIN ON THAT 8 MILE ROOOOAD

8MILE8MILE     .     .     .     .     STYLE     .     .     .     .     8MILE8MILE



written by Warner Baxter One Knight Stand Productions all rights reserved


Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014

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THE LOWEST OF THE LOW

You may see me out on the streets Lying curled up in a foetal position my sleeping bag in a shop doorway Trying to get a few hours sleep here in my latest home in cardboard city … I never stay more than a few nights in one place can never really settle; these streets aren’t safe You may see me out on the streets I’m sitting on the cold damp pavement with an empty coffee cup in my hand Hoping for a coin or two so I can have some real food in my aching belly Still you hurry past, trying to avoid making eye contact… Believe me, it’s so degrading rummaging in the litterbins like a wild animal But some days it’s the only way I can get any food to eat The biting cold and wet weather is my worst enemy I can never get warm even when the sun shines This is no life, just a way of surviving another day Guess you think I’m a waster, a dirty tramp You walk on by; judge me without knowing what lead me to life on the streets Bet you think I’m a druggie or an alcoholic I guess most people seem to think that They see my filthy clothes, straggly hair and grey beard Just five years ago I was like many of you I had a career, a beautiful wife, and two lovely children Spent many months away from home fighting for my country But then I got sent to Afghanistan… I saw scenes no man should ever have to witness I was traumatised Forever suffering flashbacks of the faces of those innocent people The children, oh those children – made me think of my two boys back at home I couldn’t cope any more, had a total mental breakdown I was a broken man … My wife could no longer deal with the mood swings , the erratic behaviour The Army did little to help – discharged me on health grounds, then basically abandoned me Now I’ve lost everything … my wife, family, my dignity Many of the people you see on the streets are like me … We all have a story to tell, but no one gives us the time of day Passers-by avert their eyes and hurry past like we are invisible Your eyes may tell you one thing… but please don’t judge me Because you don’t know me 07~21~15
Contest Any poem meaningful to you Sponsored By Broken Wings


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’



Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

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he is leaving home

                            
                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                       
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                                                                                                                                                                        
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                       
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~


           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "

                







Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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My Son Moon and Star

            My Son Moon and Star ~

        Approaching the celebration of his Birth 
                cherishing the gift I received 
           within weeks of conception I knew
            something amazing was in Creation ~

            the Stars held a party
            sending me with one of their own  
    Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky   
       It was magic  It was destiny taking its flight.  

           In love with an October full moon 
               drawing and painting I liked 
             thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
                caught in a loss of time 

          Hours going by as choosing my color  
           a wittness to three falling stars 
             A clear night sky sparkle's
           A once Famous Star was sent 
            inspiring the tiny child inside ~ 

           Never a doubt in my mind at all     
       child bearing was worth any pain received
      yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
             one to cherish and hold
          My Son was born the following August ~

    working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year  
         as the set of Leverage for 3 years .

              Has done a Indie movie here  
             In Paris it was seen and honored
             coming soon filmed in Portland ~
                 "The House of Last Things "

        awaiting the credits , you will see
                        
    1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant 
   
                 My Young Lion Mans dream ~
        A proud mom I watch every show and the credits 

        as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
              My Son &  Moon and Star  
               A name you will all know ~

            Happy Birthday to my creative Son
             you will exist in my heart forever~
                        and thereafter               
                             Mom


Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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He's A Carpenter

Surrounded by various profession
Business, medicine, soldiership and education
It's heaven-sent and planned  for Him to labour
To work manually with strength and effort
True hardships; entails a great man of honor

He picked up woods and tools to craft
From small drawers and tables to houses that will last
An impression of humility and expression of equality
Though He is reverence; a Saviour from heaven

Joseph was the adoptive father
Where His skill of carpentry originated
He worked night and day; perspired with pain
He asked of no demand and with no complain

The name is Jesus born in Betlehem
The only begotten son of our Father in heaven
He could have worked in another occupation
But chose to make a living from down-below

Carpenters make
Carpenters create
They take the common and make it something to consider
Equipped with right materials they bind things altogether
The reason-being, for us to know He's a builder

Don't you know that we're under construction?
Whenever our hearts broken and the world is all we know
When we pray and call, Jesus is at work
To fix us and forgive; improving mind and soul

No work is greater if hardwork is shared
Truly, Jesus had proven that a carpenter's noble
To help us build our dreams and make the world stronger
"In Him, all things hold together"'.


Copyright © Arden Gopela | Year Posted 2013

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A Brand New Start

                         The familiar faces that I'll long to see.
                   The beauty of a place where my soul once laid.
                    The bests of memories that will linger in mind.
                         How hard to tell everyone , "goodbye".

                           A year of struggles,pain and defeat.
                       How I love to recall the moment  I wept.
                      A painful experience that leads to success.
                Now I'm bringing a torch to lit the path that I'll take.

                        Tears may gently flow from these eyes.
                  The laughter we had shared still echoe from afar.
                   Though my heart is dying each time we depart.
                  I'll treasure those days when you cheer me high.

                      This journey I'll be taking isn't be that long.
                I'll leave you with a sweet kiss while the sky is dark.
                     So tomorrow we'll greet the sun with a smile.
                   Facing a new beginning, in the world we survive.




Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014

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New Future Of The Internet

New Future Of The
Internet


Cable cost are up
too high
You turned to the
internet and so have
I

My Youtube channel
is the way to go
Now I can even make
video shows

I group the videos
to make a show
To bring you the
best of where I go

For kids the mower
and stove videos
I also have vehicles
and some scarecrows

Kids can watch from
morn til night
with lots of things
for a kids delight
							
Light houses, ship
building, and horses
too
Antique barn yards
and tractor pulls
just for you

Aviation, taxidermy,
and crafty wood
works
Viewwithme Youtube
has all the quirks 

The historical homes
make a great tour
Contest and oxen
pulls are never a
bore

Animal friends, I
haven’t forgotten
you
I have horses, dogs,
cows and sheep too

Plenty of petting
pens and milking for
you
And a simple click
is all you have to
do

A lot of shows with
a mix for all
Like demolition
derby or a stunt so
tall

So if you dropped
the cable and you
have a need
I have three
channels for you to
see
 
By: Doris Anne
Beaulieu
     
https://www.youtube.com/user/Viewwithme


Copyright © Doris Beaulieu | Year Posted 2014

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TENDER LOVING TOUCH

TENDER LOVING TOUCH don't fear she's dear tight clutch soft touch wears white polite too sick she's quick your ache she breaks your ill she feels one pill you still preserve your nerve correct inject your shock she blocks you scared she cares through sleeps she peeps recharged discharge "thank you" she coos ___________________________ Sponsor Judy Konos Contest Name YOUR FOOTLE POEM ---Placed1st--- O.E. Guillermo 8:41 pm, April 04, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015

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NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS

NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS Plain spotless uniform so pure and white Modest neat gear rendering tender loving fight Day, night 'till wee hours, eyes a must wide awake Extending a hand, shaking off all aches Tiptoeing like a sly in and out of rooms Dim ~ quiet same as white garden tombs Grace under pressure upon first newborn's cry Wiping tears from a gentle old man's dying eye Evenings so dark and mornings so bright Everyday a nurse sees life kaleidoscope lights Despite some voice rudeness to foul remarks Kindness,her soul's sweet perfume, larks A nurse appears unfeeling firm when mankind bleeds Within her are hidden soft golden beauty deeds (c) 11:47pm July 06, 2014


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014

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ANGELS WITHOUT WINGS

At patients bedside tending the sick and dying
Nurses are absolutely amazing people
Giving tender care
Each and every day
Life is so so precious
Such a wonderful job they all do

Contest: Angels
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
1st January 2016


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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Tanka 3

silently I lie awaiting I await thee a wry smirk greets me sighted precision confirms sporadic crimson now speaks


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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Cry of A Successful Man

With love comes consequence
With hope comes failure
With triumph comes fear
With peace comes worry
With riches comes pain
With poverty comes envy


Copyright © Apolo Amai | Year Posted 2013

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I wanna be something

I wanna be something...

I wanna be a DOCTOR
I share the  factor behind not becoming a doctor
last four letters of ‘DOCTOR’ – ‘CTOR’, sounded as ‘Cutter’,
Cutter means to cut & I can't cut,
So skipped the decision of breaking the above nut.

I  wanna be an ACTRESS
I share the stress of not being an actress
when planets in a horoscope turn around, stars of a STAR  goes round & round,
Name & fame both don’t  sound,
So I forgot to be an Actress.

I wanna be a LAWYER
I share the reason why I couldn't be a Lawyer
If 'AW' letters in LAWYER by chance are out, it sounds as 'Lyer',
"Lyer" becomes 'liar', I donna  wanna be a liar, 
So I am not a Lawyer

I wanna be a BROKER
Broker means to break & that’s a big quake,
 added ‘STOCK’ to  ‘BROKER’
Funds started dancing like a Joker.



Rashmi Pawar
India/Pune
20/04/2015
rashp2012@rediffmail.com




Copyright © Rashmi Pawar | Year Posted 2015

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Casting Couch

===========================

May I please say before we start
that I am PERFECT for this part?
It's in my SOUL.

You might as well go lock the door,
cuz right here's what you're looking for.
I AM this role!

But why take chances? Just in case,
I've put plans B and C in place.
(So I'm not not stiffed)

Lets just say I have money, dear.
Who couldn't use a twenny here?
 *wink*.... catch my drift?

Need more to prove that I'm no slouch?
Just show me to the casting couch.
THAT talent's free...

.........
.............


No -  thank YOU, Sir!!    When's best to call?
I just KNEW once you'd seen it all...

Oh...............     You'll call ME...?

===========================


Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015

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sapna

                          SAPNA
kuchh karna hai,kuchh kar dikhana hai mujhe
par roshni nhi hai jivan me, par talashna hai mujhe
kuchh sapne hai mere,unhe pura kar dikhana hai mujhe
chahe mushkile aaye jivan me,sapno ko pura kar dikhana hai mujhe
mot ko savikar kar lege hum, agar sapne ho jaye pure
dekhna hai mujhe khush sabhi ko
shayd kuchh karna hoga mujhe
kuchh jarur karege hum aisa
ydi aisa wakt aayega jivan me


Copyright © SANGITA CHOUDHARY | Year Posted 2013

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Forget Past

Forget past



How to cultivate and remember 
Command of the mother and sister
When I repeat my demand for things 
They offer me new and ask forget past 

And reiterate words forget past is past
Bring smile in face and tends to cater
Good boy doesn't do obstinacy
flourishes habit to new for last

I remember entering in school
Examples were laid always of past
They used to cuddle me to divert 
Keep away from habits of large

Reading stories and science of growth
I knew all were dues of past efforts
While I view running road through glass
A commence of brain's effort of past

Difficult to harvest culture of human beings
They turn tongues to allot trues
Forget to past is hardest task
All the time prevails in old glass

Believe these words and muse at learning
To imbibe beautiful build of world
Enter into the rooms of library 
And keep searching eyes about past

A refine involvement of human being like us 
Always were creative based on history 
Invented and developed new new from past
To enrich us not to forget last.

Mother and sister were clever enough
To bring up me as the society required
So they told me to follow as such
Like they learnt from forget past.


4/8/2016
Deepak Chalise.
  



Copyright © Deepak Chalise | Year Posted 2016

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More Than A Clown

I don’t want to play any more,
it's time to put away my mask.
And though people still need to laugh,
I'm simply not up to the task.

My act is not very funny,
and will probably be my last.
For like the white face that I wear,
I’m just a relic of the past.

I find it hard to paint a smile,
on top of a permanent frown.
And yet in costume I'm expected
to quickly flip frowns upside-down.

It has been a long time coming,
but I need to rethink my dream.
And try my hand at something else,
less emotionally extreme.

When I look into a mirror,
I want to see more than a clown.
So if someone asks what I do,
it'll no longer bring me down.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016

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Growing Pians

GROWING PAINS

It’s all about pain, frustration, tears. Fears, it’s all about fighting temptation
Watch the sun rise and set to the darkest thoughts of contemplation
My heart smiles not, my lungs laugh not to restoration
My light shines not it dims even the most vital motivation
From the day I was born to the day I shall die with lamentation
The question to my satisfaction still stands without fortification
The course of my education, my certificates sleep in nullification
The restoration of my sanity, my greatness, my dream is in a state of decomposition
As I watch it decay to a fossil plant without inspiration
I`m the brown leaf without respiration or perspiration
I am the unlubricated machine imprisoned in storage without life or action

The anger trapped in me bleeds my heart to death
It hurts my soul to a coma, to a collapse, to a faint
The pain and rage within me sends my brain to a trauma
To a clot of dangerous damaged stage of acts and drama
The finger pointing at me with pity soils my confidence
The mouth laughing at me spoils my happiness to a gloom.
That blossom to an irrational and uncontrollable doom.
The tongue that betrays me kills my authenticity
Usurp my serenity; launch a highly tactical robbery of my ecstasy

My peers are at the lecture room behind desks reading and writing
I am standing behind the lifeless tiles cleaning
Standing behind the stove cooking.
That was not the vision that was not the mission.
That was not my dream, it was not the operation


Copyright © Precious Ncube | Year Posted 2014

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Hope

Hope

I can't take it,
Hope I make it,
This road is rough,
I'm the one who made it tough,
Why don't I listen,
Their words could make my life glisten,
My stubbornness has got to go,
If not, it's my life that I will blow,
My dreams were within my means,
I didn't reach high enough it seems,
I'm going to make that change, every little bit,
I want to make it!


Copyright © Donna Houser | Year Posted 2014

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Listening to Music


Music is a big part of our life to sustain
Listening to music takes the whole brain
It can also improve your memory
When someone shouts at you expertly
You become alarmed and silent
But when someone resonates for you
The sound makes you happy so he intent
If someone with a deep hoarse voice you knew
Speaks to you shivering
It might create fear to your listening
And you will be more watchful for what’s next to surround
I imagine a movie without music in the background
Would not make us think or let our minds cheer
A low voice is quiet and difficult to hear
But illustrates emotions and lifts a feeling
If someone dies and people do not sing
People are upset
They say that’s not respect
I like the sound of vehicles’ horns at night
It carries my strength to write
I like the nature and electronic exaggeration music portray
Someone will promise to give you all their life and soul in a day
I love listening to music aloud
It’s a sun wiping off the cloud
Masereka Amos


Copyright © Masereka Amos | Year Posted 2013

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New City - Get Ready

Mama I want to be a star
I want to grace stages that host the world's revered faces
Fantasies shameless my pipe dreams contagious 
I want to be famous

Not one for fictional frivolity
I speak of what's in front of me
A new city called Poetry, 
I watched as the has-beens soaked their dreams in sewage streams
Unphased by rodent plagues 
These ones embrace their own rat race
I still try to navigate the avenues
Negotiate the ones and twos and find a way to tell the truth 
 

Young and unstable I stumble in the giant footprints of those who stood before me
Tip toe  on verbal terrain as desperately I pray the weight of immaturity won't bury me, 
Admittedly this spoken world is new to me 

-But- 

Is it possible in any way the gift of verse will carry me? 
 
I see me breaking grounds, earth shattering and in my dreams these words resound
I'll turn cacophony into somewhat of a sacred sound
I want to craft phrases that serenade, deliver sweet-somethings that emancipate
I want, in some way to bring meaning to confusion 
Dear world of poetry
Sometimes when they're floored I'm in awe of how my flow's flawless, I  hear applause no pauses, waving arms and stinging palms bear tribute to those timeless charms, classic tales still bent with intent to succumb to new pens

Pave way for insecurity
For fear of gift escaping me
See I fail to write when I'm  trying to
I get it right with no intention to
Am I...within my right to claim potential true?
Tear ink off her hinges, her blue ball point cringes
Left hand in debt
My blank page bereft

But in the back of my mind
I see standing ovations and soul drenched invasions..
I want to pierce every being I encounter, 
I want to penetrate faith, tear doubt asunder,
Let me to speak to the  valleys
negotiate peaks and make friends with epitome
I want to part oceans and in the grips of my  - pause   -   tempt emotions,

mold momentum to set in motion the wheels of adoption so that poetry.....may adapt herself for me  

I want to write poetry, I want to speak 
I want to reach within,
 pen something...
 A remote reflection of her 
This...this brand new city
I present this piece as fantasy
 when in all reality
I do hope she's  prepared for me




Copyright © Tshego Khumalo | Year Posted 2014

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Wilderness is a Crowded street

Wilderness is a crowded street.

Silence stings the ears of the hearer,
Cacophony of sound, unheard.
Loneliness turns to solitude,
Converse without a word.

Wilderness is a crowded street.
A passer-by nobody sees.
Togetherness now disjointed,
Run! I feel their disease.

Money is their mind set
Full wallet yet they're poor.
A heart of gold inside me,
Theirs, an open sore!

Some own the World, yet are bankrupt,
Emotionally discharged black-holes.
Shiny shoes that point to nowhere,
Prices, still on their soles.

All the broken people,
Nobody tells me why.
Orphaned, divorced, mistaken,
I'll not lay down to die.

To roll over and just take it,
Is what they'd like us to do.
So let's all speak out, be counted,
Not be part, of the Zoo!


Copyright © Chris Matthews | Year Posted 2014