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Details | Description Poem | |


"TOUCH" I want to touch your life and leave a mark ... ... a deep impression ... So you will think of me and of my smile ... ... my sweet expression ... I long to touch your life and leave a sign ... ... a warm inscription ... So you will care for me and keep in mind ... ... a clear description ... I need to touch your life and leave a joy ..,. ... an inspiration ... So you will love me soon in reality ... ... not imagination ...
*For S.K.A.T.'s give it to me straight contest ...

Details | Description Poem | |

My Heart Skips a Beat My Love

My heart skips a beat my love each and every time 
I’m with you my dearest sweet and lovely Darling
Since the passions and feelings you stir in me
Touch the very depth of my inner being and soul
And render themselves not to mere words only
Suitable for depiction, exhibition, understanding
Rather to the image and strength of your beauty
And your rapturous desire and feeling as they
Defy rational attempts at any simple description
For you are the most radiant beyond all compare
My heart skips a beat my love when we lie together
Locked in a most enchanting embrace and kissing
So deeply, palpably that we run out of breath and pant
Anxiously at what comes next in our mutual longing
And crescendo as our passions explode and express
Themselves in a most hungry trail of urges and desires
Which makes finding love for us all the more magical
Pairing us together like a couple of star-struck kids 
Lost impossibly in moments of hope and imagination 
In a timeless world of love, desire, emotion, and oneness

My heart skips a beat my love when we walk so closely
Hand-in-hand talking, laughing, and living our dreams
Confronting the world and taking on whatever comes
Next as we steer our ship of destiny on a true course
Where our like-thoughts and deep love for each other
Mean something quite special that only Dreamers and 
Poets can imagine and set to melody and harmony in perfect 
Verses of sheer passion and delight painted onto a canvas  
Of unending happiness where Heaven and Earth are one
My heart skips a beat my love when we’re forever one

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(November 5, 2014) (Free Verse)

Details | Description Poem | |


Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.

Details | Description Poem | |

My Turn To Cry

I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind 
For self preservation

My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up 
And we’re out

Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you

I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit

You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything

So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before

You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember 
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
Almost rehearsed

You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.

I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
I drive
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
Choking me

The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood

I try to pray
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace

I cry out to you
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry

Details | Description Poem | |

The Concealed Anguish

Take my letter to her, O Messenger!
Yes, totally washed are its words and phrases 
A deed of my flooding eyes I couldn’t deter
The tornado of tears accumulated for ages

The storm of anguish concealed in heart
Washed all urges of soul that flowed from pen
The torrents rumbling from the start 
Once started couldn’t be stopped there and then

Her perception will be triggered, I am sure
This blank sheet will reveal all that I meant to say 
The power of love will her instincts conjure
My feelings, my urges won’t go astray

Tell her, that the lustrous mansion of pride and ego
Is falling to pieces like the house of cards
The dark alleys of life that lost their glow
In a state of disrepair, description beyond words

The King of Diamond has lost the game 
A player is lucky to hold the three A’s
Lost is all the glory and fame
Built in years and lost in days
His eyes craving for your enchanting face
The candles of his eyes weep in the desolate nights 
Lost is all peace and tranquility’s trace
Your charming features his heart ignites

A few breaths are left in the dying tree of life
With fallen leaves and barren branches entwined
Resuscitate and free it from torments and strife
Be a glow of the dimmed eyes that brilliantly shined

Tell her, the writer awaits your reply 
With burning heart and soul alight
Before torments enhance and wounds multiply 
And the bird of life takes to wing of flight

Details | Description Poem | |


*****To the naked EYE, this poem may seem like gibberish,
but I assure you it is loaded with 24 palindromes,
3 palindrome phrases, 1 hidden palindrome phrase,
and is chock full with enormous wordplay...
oh and one more palindrome in this description. 
Can you find more? I challenge you word freaks!*****


Last night, around eleven or so, I decided to paint a pink castle.
To my dismay, on display, is what looks more like a pink asshole.
Picasso would've been so proud!
Today, upon recording nothing short of a colossal debacle,
I've chosen to
utilize the eyes of a hostile apostle.
Tossing docile scribble, I'm scribing.
Describing life like a diatribe conniving REVIVER at a revival.


Palindrome EYE to the side of my tribe.
Get in line, standing at the hands of HANNA.





We OTTO-matically 
DAD got so damn mad he DID the DEED
and split three XANAX with his MADAM and MOM!
(ALA the ABBA GIG way back in them AHA kookie KOOK days)

So anyways...
Back to peek hassle!
Do ya' think he might like ta' take a stab at my STATS?

*****(this was fun as fun can be:
hope you have half as much fun with it as I did:)*****


Details | Description Poem | |


I am more than description
a smile and blue eyes
defined by the surface
where mask can hide lies

I am passionate lover
more than a poet
I've had to taste it 
before I ever wrote it

I am into moments 
more than minutes
chasing one's heart
not winning pennants

I am finding more 
in the least of these
random acts of kindness 
become dreams to seize 

I am learning to listen 
nature's whisper speaks
some things labeled progress 
in reality reek 

I am convinced that brilliance 
is found in less words
and that most of the experts 
are truly absurd  

I am a creative mind
imagination still runs wild
the world rushes to rote
and loses its inner child

I am drawn to the arts 
where emotion rules
where risk are taken 
wise are labeled fools

I am not competing
to pen a better play
but to treasure unique
go a different way

I am finding myself
where no mirror can go
connect to the Spirit
It's from within I grow!

Sponsor: FRANK H.
Contest Name: I AM
Form: Rhyme
Date: 4-18-14

Details | Description Poem | |

Autumn Love

Have written a number of love poems never one with so much meaning As I near the end of my seventy-nineth year My love is more melancholy leaning Been lovestruck for quite a number of years But now with my advancing age Our union is even more precious than ever Our love has turned a new page Tinged with a kind of quiet contentment Like a favourite easy chair Just to feel the presence of your soul mate And the love the two of you share No other feeling can even come close It defies conventional description It's the culmination of a lifetime of love In the purest form, no restrictions Why is it we only discover real love When the leaves on the trees start to fall We spend a lifetime in search of that moment When it was right beside us after all © Jack Ellison 2014

Details | Description Poem | |


Poetry My Life 
Poetry my life, my happiness
Poetry my life, my journey, my success, my future and true me
Poetry my dream, my light, my life
Poetry my point and believer
My life and description of ambition and tolerance

Poetry my light of darkness to brightness of emotional success
Poetry my friend, adviser and encourager
Poetry my vision and mission of life
My life and clay in my hands to build a future and journey of my life
Poetry my voice, my story and explanation

Poetry my life and a way of independency of my feet and freedom
Poetry my experience, my challenge, my fighter and way forward
Poetry my life, poetry my perseverance and healer
Poetry my life, poetry my smile and way of meeting circumstances that turn a to better calling
Poetry my life, poetry my life of reaching mountains and nations

Poetry my life; poetry my life
Poetry my way of calming and never looking back 
Indeed you are my life poetry
Poetry my life, poetry my internal life of going forward
Poetry my life, poetry my life
Poetry my life

Details | Description Poem | |

True Poetry in Motion?

I began to tell of the two pens (my couplet) I always carry tucked away in my shirt 
pocket, and of my humble closet which contains nary a pocketless shirt.
My thoughts drifted to what by.. and how I am inspired, when my love and I began speaking 
of a subject very dear to me.
     When we finished ....  in what I believe to be an infused prayer,...perhaps inspiration to 
some,... I saw what seemed to be liquid glass like droplets ..falling slowly from above ..
as a slow motion shower into an atmosphere of what may have been, space and time. I saw 
no earth or sky.
     These liquid glass droplets were falling without disruption through a pellucid barely 
recognizable outline of a figure that I perceived to be a poet.

     Somewhere from within I asked why the poet could not be lined somehow with a shell to 
capture these apparently valuable liquid glass treasures. They were so clear that the 
atmosphere through which they were falling, appeared as a gloom gray.
      I understood that these treasures cannot be contained or retained. They must fall 
through the poet who must also be like these liquid luculent treasures in order that these 
particular gifts may come through the poet ..continuing to transform same and all others who 
allow these treasures to permeate them.
      There is no clearer description within me to give. ... 

     And then... I was no longer free and came back into the pain, 
discomfort and seemingly bloated entity
within this shell.. that I call me.

Details | Description Poem | |


Upon testing the waters they spring to life,
Always over indulging,
Never being able to say no,
In complete denial about the situation.

With a captive audience they perform for all,
Extracting laughter,
Arousing amusement,
While some find their performance appauling.

But still they continue to entertain all,
With some "funny talk,"
And a "funny walk,"
Their vision is blurred, so they can't see.

That people are really laughing "at" them,
For lack of talent,
And not knowing it,
Honestly speaking, you feel bad for them.

When gently told to sit this one out,
They're livid, or
Blind to the fact,
That they're embarassing, themselves, and others.

On the other hand, When they're not drinking,
They're different,
More recognizeable,
They're people we all know and love,.

Feelings of guilt and embarassment surface,
The next morning,
I know,
For I've just given a vivid description of me...

Details | Description Poem | |

A Long Journey Made Short

Little Innocence was forged into the world 
A shrill Sound flickered around the expecting eyes
Laughter carved out of marble 
A statue thought to beat immortality 
Yet Fear had a surprise
It crept into the cradle with ease
Laughter was choked
Tears burst instead
And Sadness had a form
Evil found in youth a red soil
Jealousy marched with Envy
Lust befriended Desire
Until cupid threw a bunch of arrows
Adventure appeared
Excitement beyond description
A Thrill with no past
Sentiments were aroused
Pride threw some words
Ego played its part
And when Love meddled to defend its territory
The Heart bled in utter silence! 

© Guru Jad 2013

Details | Description Poem | |

A Bull Rider's Heart

We are all so young,,, even the ‘old hands’
Imagining a time with no bull rope is hard to plan
It’s riding with a heart and unflagging spirit revealed
That’s a most fitting description of what’s usually concealed
The dream most have had since they were born
About riding horses, bulls, and such without scorn
It’s about the ride, that 8 seconds of time
That lead you and the bull to a place uniquely sublime
Riding bulls or whatever, it really don’t matter
As long as your heart, your family, and your thoughts aren’t scattered
Whether it’s the big show or not, you really don’t mind
You’d ride a milk cow if she’d fly out the gate, so inclined.
So even if you ride for the money, or the fame
No matter what you draw, you look for no blame
Because even though bones, and tendons are often broken
And if you’re deemed old because your thirty something year is now unspoken
It’s really the heart that prevails when the body can’t follow
And provides that last 8 seconds, that make you feel less hollow
And,,, when someday your heart and mind don’t yearn for the ride,
It’s time to reflect and possibly stand off to the side.
Life doesn’t end for there’s still plenty to do
There is always a new bull rider that wants to be you
They may need a hand, and inspiration or two
And a true bull rider’s heart is to return the gift given you.

Details | Description Poem | |


What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!

(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)

It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.

With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?

Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?

A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!

So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,

Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!

For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile

I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway

But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about

And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.

On the literary beach 
I see a very (rotten peach)!

And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do

For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.

Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare

From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings

Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.

Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason

With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons

And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?

It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN


© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011

Details | Description Poem | |

The Mighty One

The Mighty One
(A Description of “Scene du deluge”)

He straddles jutting rocks beneath a pall
of sky. Beneath is swirling water, and
the crooked arm of one lone tree is all
he’s found to cling to with his left curled hand.

An older man, who also grasps the tree,
upon the young man’s sturdy back is borne.
His legs are dangling. Awful weight is he
for him who stands exposed, his clothing torn.

His wife hangs from his other hand. One breast
is clutched by her small babe, and from her strains
another child to keep from dark waves’ crest.
The burden of them all - one man sustains!

Can he, mere mortal, thwart their cruel demise?
Stark terror holds the answer in his eyes.

**Many years ago I visited the Louvre, and there I beheld a picture by Girodet of the romantic 
era . This painting stood out for me because of its depiction of a family in such huge peril 
that they were totally dependant on one man and  only his strength could save them all. If 
you copy and paste this link, I hope you might see this stunning picture. The picture's name 
translates to "Scene of a Flood"

Details | Description Poem | |

Patradoot or The Messenger 29 /Many

Patradoot or The Messenger29 /Many 
English version by  Ravindra K Kapoor 
Originally written in Hindi by my 
Late father Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor

These young boys and girls,  were brought up,  
By their parents, with great love and affection, 
Now they are mad, in love for their motherland,
To show the splendors of their youthful energy.

They are ready even to sacrifice their heads,
What to say of body pains and tortures inflicted on them, 
By seeing such fearlessness and energy of their youth,
Even the enemy gets ashamed of, dear letter.

Triloki was one of these young boys, 
Who happily took bullets on his chest, dear letter,
And kept on moving ahead without withdrawing,
Keeping the dignity of our nation and Satyagraha.


You will find my beautiful city Allahabad,* 
In an ecstasy and full of rapture, flowing in it’s air,
When you will move on its roads and streets,
Along with the Postman, dear letter.


Kanpur India 12th August 2010                        to continue in 30


* Allahabad		Also know as Prayag or Triveni is the most ancient city
                                    of India, where river Ganga and Yamuna now meets at
                                    the holy place called Sangam.

Protected as per Poetry Soup’s copy write protections 

If any reader who is not a member of Poetry soup
Has any question or queries, they can 
Send me an email on

Patradoot in Hindi was originally written by my late father 
Dr. Amar Nath Kapoor around  1932, who was a freedom fighter.

He wrote Patradoot in Hindi, when he was kept in Faizabad Jail for quite
a long time. The Epic was written as a gift for my mother and it was
sent to her secretly from Faizabad Jail. He was imprisoned
by the British, as he was fighting for India's freedom 
under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned 
many times during 1920 to 1947. After India’s
independence as a true follower of Gandhi Dr. Amar Nath 
Kapoor left active politics and devoted rest of his life in 
writing easy mass literature and wrote many Dramas, 
Poetry books, epics. All his other literary 
works were mainly written from 1955 to 1990. 
He left this mortal world in 1994. 


Details | Description Poem | |

Out Of My League

Who coined this term?
Who decided to limit one’s spirit?
Who decided to deprecate those qualities that remain hidden?

Out of my league…
What is the measure?
Who created the scale?

Is it beauty????
There is an inner splendor that defies the term 
Is it grace????
There is the graceful movement of the soul that 
moves beyond the boundaries of description
Is it shapeliness???
The shapes and forms of the mind, the curves and lines
Are unclothed in words and unseen by eyes
Is it sexual dynamism???
The body may be painted by an artist, but it has no power to satisfy
desire unless it succumbs to the promptings of a sensual mind
Is it wisdom???
There is the wisdom verified by degrees and the wisdom of the world
which is broader and at times deeper than the few letters at the end of a name
Is it wealth???
The wealth of the world does not even begin to tip the scale
In comparison to the wealth of human character…integrity, loyalty, mercy, and love

What is it???
What is that illusive quality
That demands the stamp of
“Out of my league?”
I defy it
I renounce it
No one can label me…

Yet...I am in a league of my own
A dynamism that a label cannot hold
A wealth that cannot be weighed
A wisdom that guides inner spheres of life
A shapeliness that flaunts the norm
A sensuality that inflames thought and movement
A beauty that shines in its own right

Yes! I am in a league of my own
If you are turned away
By outer appearances
By lack of wealth
And the trappings of prestige
You are missing the treasure
The sheer enigma
Of a mind that is deep, unbound, free
In this league that I live and breath in
This league of....ME!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Description Poem | |

My India

Let me set something straight -
Right here, right now!
Let me put India in the right perspective,
Let me banish some myths,
Some gross misconceptions,
And take you beyond elephants,
Sacred cows, snake charmers and yoga,
Beyond Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Taj Mahal,
To a civilization rooted for
over 5,000 years in the past
To a land rich - majestically rich -
In many cultures, customs and traditions,
In a bewildering variety of races,
Religions, languages and folk arts,
In a vibrant tradition of dance and music,
In religious festivals and traditional events,
In saints, sadhus, gurus and sages,
In gods, goddesses, munis and mahatmas,
In temples, palaces, shrines and monasteries;

I'll baby-steps you through a land
Of Vedas and Upanishads,
Of epic stories and incredible mythologies,
Of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Bhagavad Gita,
Through one of world's great spiritual sanctuaries,
Where religion is a way of life;

An overwhelming, complex land -
Its charm, its vitality and yes, its confusion,
Atonce alarming and enticing.
And that's the way India is:
Elusive, confusing, contradictory,
mysterious and exasperating!
Beyond easy description or analysis,
A phenomenal diversity of dress
and manners making one aware
of a different world -
A veritable fairyland!

No other country offers quite such
A spectacle of teeming masses that
continue to enrich the heritage of mankind,
Nowhere do the past and present
coexist in more colorful promiscuity -
An incomparable country,
Easy to love, hard to forget!

"There's only one India!" raved Mark Twain,
"A wonderland of fabulous wealth
and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags ..."
"The cradle of the human race,
The birthplace of human speech,
The mother of history,
The grandmother of legend and
The great grandmother of tradition."

This, indeed, is my country
Where I was born - 
An Indian at heart,
An American in spirit!
Khuda Hafiz, Jai Ramji Ki,
OM Radhe Shyam, Sat Sri Akal,
Jai Hind!!

Details | Description Poem | |

Mother You Are

                     "I only wish that these words could accurately paint your picture"

                                    Mother you are the description of beauty
                                             You’re the definition of love.
                           You are a precious gift sent from the heavens above.
                              You are mountain peaks of picture-perfect peace
                                 You are grand valleys of valiance and virtue.
               With a presence so breathtaking, that lilies bow in awe before you.
                                    Mother you are graceful rivers of belief
                                             and refined streams of hope
                      You are fabulous fountains of fidelity that so freely overflow
                                   You are the sun’s radiance of courage.
                       Your inner light gleams brighter than all the stars in the sky
                     A sublime sparkle of strength and devotion is found in my eyes.
                          You are my strong tower; you’re my sanctuary of faith
         Mother you are a temple of wisdom, and in your heart I’ve found my refuge,
                                                     My serene safe place

Chiquita Chiamaka Baity 

Contest : 'Mother' 
Sponsor: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~  

Details | Description Poem | |

I know Monday

I know Monday
I walked through your door
to see what you had in store

Everything they say about you is true
Your the movie trailer
for what the week will preview

You seem alone and brave
The weekend will hide
behind you and wave

Here we are again my friend
After today the rest of the week 
will start to descend

Perfect description of you 
is Blue in color
with a touch of Grey
I know you.....
I know Monday

Details | Description Poem | |

It's Love, Pure Love

Some feelings are beyond explanation There's billions of people on earth So why is one soul so attracted to another Like they feel they're gonna burst Most have surely known this feeling At least once during their life A feeling of an overwhelming attraction That takes you to the highest heights For those who haven't experienced it yet Believe me, it's beyond description There aren't any words in the english language To describe it since it's very inception So instead, let's call this amazing feeling A four letter word known to all It's love, pure love, that describes it best But why say, in love we fall To me it raises us to the highest heights Like riding a moonbeam each night Nothing surpasses this divine sensation Most delightful of all delights © Jack Ellison 2014

Details | Description Poem | |


Image if one will, a field where paper roses grow,
Each color an emotion, it's variations symbolic to 
Feeling felt, and yet expressed.
Compositions of love letters, shaped into delicate
Blossoms, growing or dieing within the fragile human
A unique species of floral design, enchanting the
Raw essences of it's creator, with a mystical fragrance
All it's own.
Passions spice crimson red, romantic sensuality
 A white splicing with reds undertow.
Blues calming peaceful shades of hew, 
and a navy's hardened edge exposing devotions 
Everlasting love in beauty's open petals of the divine.
A golden sunflower opens wide, a visions friendship flower,
Seeds cast to the fertile soil beneath the kindred of humanity.
Compassion's evergreen bouquet, 
So many multitudes of description,
It is impossible to describe all,
 For change is the one constant rhythm
Of life itself.
Death's black rose, a crumbling love letter that melts away,
A disintegration of thoughts emotion unto the river of dust.
Not completely forgotten, 
Living only by memory's remembrances,
Of past echoes, 
Left alive in shadows contrasting shades faded by time.
Fragile is the human heart, made of crystal glass, 
Shattering easily to the touch, if handled to roughly.
But even more delicate are the emotions held within, 
A prism of reflections.
It's light leads to the inner garden of the spiritual soul, 
Where the paper roses do grow.
Imaginations field of wonders, thoughts glorious
Bouquet of possibilities to draw from.
A limitless expressive well, for the poet's ink pen,
Lightly dripped onto the empty page of white, 
To write upon, vivid are these roses to the poetic heart.


Details | Description Poem | |

Dali Driven

Of spring passion?
Lacerations of decadence?
coiled in ringlets at the nape of her neck-
light wrapped in strands iridescent and bent
toward her silhouette's kiss.
Shadows on a match box painting
absorbing the skin and silk shed cloth."

Frozen air movement shakes me awake
as another museum goer
brushes by my sleeve in an attempt to read
the description... (I am nose close...)

Tremendously, I pull myself away
to the Hallucinations of a Toreador
pulling the scope out on my looking glass,
for one is finely tuned, painted with the single hair of a wishing bow...
and one is the size of my heart, unraveled and sky scraped,
and yet remarkably blurred to initial understanding.

I toss aside propriety and sit down on the ground,
Indian style, in front of grandeur-
a mist of streaming people dissipating my vision
of the surreptitious melting clocks, oozing time
all over the floor, soaking my favorite shoes...

And so I pass the afternoon alive,
briefly breathing in the dusty air and DNA of genius.

Details | Description Poem | |

Parched Precipitation

He Drains the Liquid

From The Heavens, and Gulps It

From a Broken Cup.


15 Seconds To Start Upon Reading Contest Description.

Details | Description Poem | |

Let The Little Bird Fly

She was kept in a cage on a pedestal high for the greater part of her life. She would oftentimes sing and perform on command though it cut her heart like a knife. A beauty she was and all who did see said her charms description defied. Yet, no one could know though her song was so strong, how deep in her soul that she cried. But now she is free, and flies like the bird, that was always meant to be free. And the songs that she sings are so precious, you see, for she sings them only for me. Watch the little bird fly. Hear the little bird sing. She knows the old bridges have burned. Yes, she was set free, it was needed, you see, to determine if she would return.