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Best Free Verse Poems

Below are the all-time best Free Verse poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of free verse poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Free Verse Poems

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

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Ever Evolving - Envirnonmental free verse by W., AnnaLinda
Mrs Lion by Kimbrough, Britney
Redemption's Song by Ferguson, Duncan R. M.
I trust you by B.A, Kaila
What lifestyle befits a King by Worthy, Justin
angels and raincoats by Hauser , Mike

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The Best Free Verse Poems

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The Sowing

Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flanders Field.

At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow,
like the backs of mothers, and daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged, and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son, upon the fields.
No white crosses mark their passing.

For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat,
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields by consent or rape and in the fields 
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts, they writhe.

Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious drop blooms, a heroines soul
acknowledgement, the poppies yield.


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009

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Like A Girl

Listen to poem:
Like A Girl 

I play like a girl, I hit like a girl
You say I throw like a girl, 
And, when I run -- I run like a girl!
All that plus more, enjoy this one size fits all

Who and what I want comes from being strong 
Classy and fabulous, 
THIS is my song!

I've been told, cut to size
The world dark and gray, when life becomes an insult
Take heed when I speak my mind, 
I am tough, outstanding and beautiful!

Move ahead --- say it twice, I smell nice
A taste of Cool Water and Justice Perfume
I have a non-stop multitask fixation
Like a woman, everything about me is hidden 
Magic and alluring the only joy in sexuality you'll need

I'm empowering this moment!
Endorsing Myself, with a certain sorta mystique
I deliver an independent will, 
     don't ever underestimate my physique

I am a caregiver, a female who won't give up the fight
I remain firm and believe all women have equal rights
I walk and talk Like A girl 
    wearing heels Breaking the sound of Annabel

       Like, Mona's unforgettable smile, 
       I stand tall Like Miss Liberty
       I am, Betsy Ross, America's #1 designer
            Harriet, who escaped slaver-y 
       Like Theresa and Mary, I'm here to give change
       I am, Hilary overwhelmed with determination
       A leader -- A Goddess, I burn like Joan
       ---Cleopatra in the room
       ---Calamity Jane's wild side
       Emelia's, won't give up heart
       I am Anne, with a secret hidden spot
       Susan B, with the right to vote
       Emily who writes deep and pretty

The sound In your eyes aren't listening!
You imagine I am weak -- not strong enough -- brave enough, 
You call me different and difficult!
Still, you want my warmth -- my love -- my attention

I am not less, I am more
I am a woman -- I frown -- I cry -- I hurt and yell at the universe
Nevertheless, I make a difference
Like a girl, I smile
A smile never seen or felt before, both defined and undefined
Your heart will ask and implore for more

Like a girl, I'll drive you wild, looking pretty "You're In Love!"
My Self confidence comes from who I am deep inside
Everything I've become follows the makeup on my face
Bare and nude, I am the Madonna flowering the mood

At the end of every day, I have one other thing to say
The Next Time You ask me to cook and clean
Because you think, I belong in the kitchen
You better believe I'm doing it my way
LIKE A GIRL


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Don't Come

.

     I don't want your fingerprints ...
     


     (Work in progress)
     (Re-rewriting it)
     (Sorry for the inconvenience)
                             



Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

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Edinburgh


Sweeping through your scotch broom,
weeping over your cobblestones,
lilting around the columns of Calton Hill,
is an Age of Reason so brilliantly brooding,
some nights I am kept awake
listening to Pendragon's breath caress Arthur's Seat,
and whispers drip from sills on Ramsay Street.

Though roots may drink from a sleepless night,
when morning light creeps through the curtains,
my love for you is renewed.




*This is a re-post 
replacing an opinionated piece


+/-


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

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Broken People

I wish to be with the broken people
the get in your face challenge me people
The sometimes hidden
sitting in a dark corner kinda people
The don't you love me
I wish you seen me sorta people
People just being real people
not having to have it all together people
Them doing their best to figure it out people
dancing and singing without the smooth moves people

I don't care about the color of their skin
or what others think of as their sin
They don't need to be perfect to win
seeing and listening is where I'll begin
Beyond appearance of fat or thin
I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.

We'll start 
with our broken smiles
It's the best we've got
It might seem like so little 
still I think it's a lot
Through life's struggles we've all fought
lessons needed learning
experienced not taught
real is real it couldn't be bought

So forget the fake people
the all about perfect hair and clothes people
The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people
It's all about me, top of the hill people
They only hang out with the supremely cool people
those too important to talk to me people
thinking they're the best of the best kinda people
when all along they are merely Sheeple 
ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble

I love characters 
people who are unique
I look under exteriors to gain a peek
strength of lions disguised in meek
unconcearned with fab or being chic
Worth listening to if allowed to speak
the stories they tell will make your eyes leak

For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking
Disguising hurt with our joking
victims of others and their poking
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank 
hearts that aren't empty
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be
They might push when others come close
yet they are affectionate times three
Each just a bit afraid and broken 
all the while wishing  
and wanting to be
A part of something
If only we choose to see
those on the fringes
are a part of the we
All we have to do 
is let them be!


Dedicated to our homeless population.
They teach us the unvarnished truth about ourselves.






Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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A Long Loud Sigh

genius?
sometimes you are in its minimal spotted light...sometimes!
other times you just know you've been touched and you freeze,
moved but frozen...like a stranger it moves in, does its work and leaves.

...maybe it's been a while since you two spoke...
when the dead sea still hosted life,
the hanging gardens of babylon grew in sinc with the breath of the planet,
before the tower of pisa started to lean or mayan buildings were in ruin.

so you write words...any words...they might at least soothe your hurt
hold your heart in a protective shield.
you know how crippling unrequited love can be.
do you still dream of its hug...genius?

life and love share more than a first letter
(like the first letter you wrote under the veil of inspiration).
they also share good and evil...it's a flip of the coin.
either way is fine with you. you'd bathe in holy water or sell your soul.
life, love...passion...somewhere in there...it lives, genius.

all of nature a reflection through its transparent figure glows dark 
like the shadows live in the radiant illumination of evening rays.

so let me speak of us!
recently when i tried to hold you...
you were like a ghost in the bright of day,
a phantom out of its element...
there was nothing of you...i could embrace.
when i tried to enter you a freezing cold ran through me like a winter brook.
you exhaled me 
as if i were fog on a deserted country road invisible to absent eyes.
still you were my drug of choice.
addicted, i chased the dragon...you...genius.

memories fill me...
days when we would paint words,
stitch in a metaphor or two,
weave in music, 
write instruments to fill in the spaces,
ordain a voice.

i remember...

you wanted to taste me
i was overwhelmed 
how you put your fingers on my lips 
how you licked them...you...genius.

you were that giant pine i would climb in the dead of winter
(why do they say that "the dead of winter"? winter will die 
when hell freezes over. winter isn't death it's purgatory.)
the one with the needles that punctures human skin.

come to me again and touch me...
like the butterfly does the wind...barely but thoroughly.
(is it true that just a tiny flutter of their wings could be 
the start of a hurricane? are the icebergs melting?)
i didn't just write that out loud...did i...with you I'm shy...genius.

GENIUS?

fine!
hide.
don't show yourself.
don't speak to me.
fine!

don't bother with rising the sun today.
forget those showers you create your magic arc with,
vacuum away all the plants.
lower your wall of blue.
i'm not interested anymore in those pillowy shapes i use to love so.

i've always known it is fire that cleanses, water that burns,
it is the moon that breaks the heart,
the stars that slaps the face...with...i don't know...reality.
i've always known by the time we see a star...
in real time...it's already extinguished...already dead.

it is our friends that will use us...our heroes that will lie to our face...
our blood will betray our trust...our teachers will fail us...
our leaders treat us like just another job...
the devout that will exhibit hatred.

still i believe. no matter what else...the rose will always survive.
the petals deceiving. they will repel all that is unholy.
grab it by the neck and squeeze out its black ooze,
leaving a gentle soul there to admire its adversary.
don't even get me started on the orchid
or even the flowers all...alphabetically.

i dare confront the beauty of nature's art unframed...
canvas loose to admire...genius!

i miss you but i am out of tears.
do drop in though. 
i can offer you a cup of dry warmth...
soothing like burning logs that crackle with laughter.

or 

take you to my secret place.
behind the camouflage of forests dense,
where vines grow through spiral staircases 
made of turtle shells and dressed in discarded snake skins.
green is the theme there. it is everywhere,
unabridged, unabated, unaffected, undisturbed 
with a fuming, burning, yearning to be touched.
so let's...let's grab...hold...squeeze..
feel free from the cheap paradigm offered.

i don't think you know, even while you sleep, i hold your hand, genius.

dream a full rainbow on a fingernail moon night,
feel february twenty ninth its absolute might,
taste fully the slight of a pheasant in flight,
yearn eternal life, wish a vampire's bite,
concoct rhymes nicely fluffed with built in sight.

genius?
on this sombre morning the sun is blinding.
damn my eyes.
there is a negative entity drapes our children's world.
shame on us...shame on you...i need you.
i am reduced to an objective observer.
life glides on the little wings of its carrier,
its final resting point in the hands of the wind.
another life carried away on a worker bee,
busy stealing nectar from a succulent bud.
a stowaway hangs on for dear life to the flyers leg.
gets off at the next flower.
meets up with a companion to create a new life.

genius?,
everything changed when I met you.
was the sun rising or the mountain sinking.
was that an orange globe against a blue sky
or a lit round hole in a sad wisp of air.

i'll play a keyless piano if you'll paint me a horizon I can reach.
i'll sing you a ballad with a single note...

i walked into my life without consideration.
maybe crawled.
all the same...
when do I get a choice.
when will they stop holding death over my head.

if i could direct a few more plays with you as my guide...
my art, my life! genius i long for your influence...
even one last time to see your face, 
unite and give you one last kiss...goodnight.




April 1 2015
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Linda
Contest Name:A Million Dollar Poem








Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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Hands

Featuring: Leonora Galinta
----------------------------------
Take My Hands
I Offer Them To You
Hold Them Tight
Never Let Them Go!!!
---------------------------------

~MY HANDS~

With all the time on my hands
I gave my hands one job.
 My Hands   -The Artist-

My hands paint everything in my life
they paint my weakness, my strength 
they paint the fire in my eyes
they hold me when I'm cold
When I need them the most,

Like an architect, my hands colored my childhood,
In one touch they drew the plans and layouts of my life.
My hands *very articulate, are they?* 
They continue to sew and show the way  
Sometimes, my hands paint the truth
Sometimes, my hands paint lies
---  Painting hurtful images on drywall
My palms, my fingers embedded calluses from every fall
Creating images, healing my heart
Sometimes my hands are the only friend I see. 

With no words to say
I caress the sky like a mime
My hands ride the wind, 
My hands paint the world, 

Young and pretty fingerprints 
They feel, they hold, they grip
Don't let go!

Clever and cute
It's time for motherhood
My hands painted your first hold
Traced your first smile
A painting I treasure in my heart
Yes! A Rembrandt they became during birth 
Now you're all grown up...:-(  
Embarrassed to embrace the hold
One day when I'm old,
 you will hold my hands and remember the gold.

My hands paint designs when it comes to love
sometimes a masterpiece 
sometimes a mistake
sometimes my hands feel images I can't describe
Handicap moments when lost
--- My hands perfect when in love
They write songs when complete
So many interlock moment with you
Firm, the perfect match, my fingers spoke.

My hands  -The Artist-  they've been told!!!
Held so many times,
always meeting, greeting,  
waving hello's and goodbyes... 
((you see my hands, they smile too))

Painful, arthritis, cuts, bruises
pinching my way through reality. 
Reaching holding on to dreams
clapping, snapping fingers, we are a team.

My hands age in every turning page
Shriveled and old
Still you embrace and love the hold
My hands touch and made a difference,
my hands employed by me!
My hands give and pray
Right and Left, they know their duty!
When they are bored, they tap-tap
and draw THAT annoying noise.

My hands know secrets, a fortune teller can't reveal
they hold the past, present, and  future in every line.

I extend my hands, without flipping the bird
Thank you, Hands, I enjoy a good sign language show!

In my next life, or so, I will praise my hands
Yes so beautiful, tender, they love to feel.......

My Hands   -The Artist-
I can't believe with all the time on my hands,
I forgot to mention I'm left-handed.

by: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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PLAGIARIZING

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Big Girls do Cry

They expected her to be the jolly fun one.
The one   w e a r i n g   a smile on her face.
So she became.....who they wanted her to be
She was quick with her wit, telling her practiced fat jokes.
It was a pre-emptive strike of sorts
her attempt to remove the target
from what some thought was her "considerable ass".
Never again wanting to be the "butt" of people's jokes!

She remembers the year she was "Chubby Checker"
the year her parents gave her that checkered jacket
she also remembers how hard she cried.
They laughed and one boy sang 
"Big Girls Don't Cry----- they don't cry!"
She vowed to herself on that very day
"I will never ever cry again!"

There were the many diets
the yo yo effect..."Yo big girl, lookin good"
 Friends asking her  "have you lost weight?"
Those "good for you"s!!!!
The attention felt good in a way
but the weight she'd lose seemed to come back the next day.
Somehow the cursed food felt like her only true friend
the only one on whom she could depend.
The food never judged her
instead it filled the empty sad part
the part that weighed nothing
yet felt like it weighed a thousand pounds!
The part that felt lighter when she was full
it somehow felt like a hug from the inside.

She stopped eating in public
not wanting to hear comments like
"she could do without that ice cream."
There were also the buffet comments
"She's going to get her money's worth!"
Still what hurt even worse
were the nice people
the trying to be kind people
the ones who felt sorry for her people
Saying "all you need to do is lose a few pounds." 
or "you have such a pretty face." 
Some people would tell her "You're just big boned."
Then there was comment she hated the most
"You have such a great personality!" 
For she knew it was all part of the "Fat Girl Show"
the persona she had gifted to them.

Then came the day
that epic day she stopped joking.
When she smiled when she wanted to smile
when she dressed in the ways she wanted to dress.
She embraced the form she was given
she celebrated all of her curves.
She decided to eat when she was hungry
nourishing and loving her body
she allowed colourful foods to occupy her plate.
Strangely, she started losing some weight
but it wasn't her goal
for inside she was becoming whole.
Skinny was not who she needed to be!
When tears came she allowed them to flow free
she was no longer her own enemy
The more she cried
the less she felt her empty.

She learned, everyone
y e s.... everyone,
has some kind of insecurity!
No one is completely who they wish to be
some have hidden bits
others are more obvious,
even  if   some are somewhat oblivious.
She now has learned to be a compassionate witness
one who is much kinder to herself
she doesn't  keep her thoughts on a shelf
So when others make jokes
or give painful pokes...
She tells them "That's hurtful and it's not okay",
"I'm who I am and I'm perfect this way!"
Maybe next time they will consider what they say.
For today and tomorrow and every other day forward
she is more than some number on a scale that she weighs
or some joke in an insensitive phrase.
She now can be and see her true self in extrodinary ways








March 27th 2016
Any Poem 36








Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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Erased for publishing

Who is the poet . Published in Poetry Quarterly  journal


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

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Love Poem - 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
redundancies and repetition,
items that people throw into the wind,
kick around and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn.
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.

The old man who sits in a rain-filled gutter,
seemingly oblivious to the water sluicing down the hill,
splashing against his clothes -
fists raised up to the heavens in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly beloved wife....

....I fell in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem as insignificant,
ugly, morose, dirty and immoral.
The more I fall in love, the more I love each passing moment,
including the pain, torture and misery that may appear along the way.

If I write down treasonously treacherous words,
the reader could assume such words to be rooted in rage
or a cynical outlook. But the words are actually born out of love -
I love every single word in existence.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while still maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a proper conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be very ugly,
when in fact, she is an exquisitely gorgeous woman.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of rotting seaweed on the shore,
the way her hair smells baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
hypnotized by the essence the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat who after watching the moving truck drive away,
slunk around the alley in search of scraps -
over the years, she has proven to be
a most respectful and loyal animal.
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms when it shines
through the cracked antique windowpane
which I simply cannot find the presence to replace.


And as for the people who think that my love is a whole
different spectrum of emotions,
or how it is impossible for someone like myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day....

....well, I love them too.





April 6th, 2012


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Quarantine of the Soul

-Quarantine of the Soul-


Tranquil pills fall deep like the night
A sweet fangless course
Bites with no remorse
Your eyes struggle to read my ageless soul
Lost 
Dark
You open a heart under Quarantine 
The past
The present
The future
Stand in the way of what was and never will be
A contagious disease
I call "LOVE!"

(Past-- you came)
Somewhere deep inside --with you--
The Maverick 
The Majestic
The Arriving Vessel of Light
I separated myself from the world
 --to be with you--
I polished a new diamond night
With pleasures of meeting where our hearts began
Deep like the night, you woke my sleepless soul
Removing it from the safe harbor of the sea
-Isolated from all to see
No risk or chance, of smiling endlessly 

(Present-- you set)
Tonight you fell from Mandalay
You spoke in a way that Cut my throat with truth 
You detained my ego clouding the auspices sky
Allowing a smile
A tender peek into your heart
It spread in ways -- I wanted more 
I kept deep until you found your way past the door
Persistent memories 
In search of eternity
Tonight lets learn to live again
With no fear, I remove all labels
Making the moon and sun rise together
My love, my life now depends on you

(Future-- you left)
With no explanation
The age of Quarantine will forever set

You came to me
Set me free
Just to leave 

Now you are a virus --- Just like them!!!

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Closer

    The sky resembles the robin's eggshells
                                                      scattered across the ground,

a blue so seemingly infinite                     yet fragile,
cracks running between understanding and madness
 
       complementing each other

as divine truths in their own right
to conquer my mind,
to unhinge the doors,
making it unnecessary to pick rusted locks

      letting thoughts fly free,
                                       releasing love out into the horizon.

If frozen within caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,
      it will surely die,
                 but even so,
  I was willing to strangle it by holding on too tightly.

    
    Until I saw the sky and eggshells today


      Peppered clouds reflected on the water,
                                            paralleling speckles on the eggshells,
                                    remind me of the freckles on your face.

  We need to be wide-open-free,
                                                we need to fly,
         without focusing too hard on shells of yesterdays.

We need to unclench our fists,
unclench our tongues,
explore the vast blue peppered sky 
                                                 
                                                      on wings of letting go....

 so that we can once again feel with purity,       
 so that we can hold each other ever closer.







05.24.12


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Alabaster Night

There is a stillness in this frigid night
How peaceful is a planet that glimmers white
where frost and moonlight weave a silver glaze
and sillhouetted trees are black as ink 
Where the only sign of life are whiffs of breath

Let me stand transfixed beneath the sky, 
to rest my mind with reverent eyes
Upon the glorious silence of the world 
Upon these strange and unfamiliar hills
then feel the night's aurora soothe my soul
 
Winter has buried our world in alabaster white
Familiar landmarks wear a cloak of new disguise
Yet still the same are scattered thorny lights
Splattered wildly in the blackness of a sky
Winter has polished up the stars against the dark
Brilliant, new, until their points are thistle sharp

How peaceful is a planet so glimmering white
To stand in voiceless wonder and gaze
Do not speak, the crystal world would shatter
Too fragile to bear the weight of words


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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Midnight Poet

Whisper's of October  

Whispers in this soup bowl
20 minutes after its muse explodes,
Daylight remains nothing more than a dream 
Avoiding the howling sound in mid-September's stream
Writing about a ginger light,
  found in the depths of everything
Taking from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized 
Exposing and expressing the emotions found inside
An attic lost in the Ancient sky  ---awaits 

A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
In the hiss of darkness, 
Listen-in,  the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mono grip in which summons a deep voice
  of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can write a poem and mimic free fallen verses,
One might  call it a creative craving curse,
Webmaster's whose words speak for themselves
Voiceless-
They feel, and spills the will of idolized ink,
Blind-handed, splitting day from night

Warm whispers, needing no food to consume
Migraines of ink, feeding the soul
Burning Pages, overused pens
They've forgotten the pretty flowers
Living like lions, who never comes out of their dens
Murmuring and devouring, the enigmas of the unknown 
Eyes behind a sieve, close tighter than before, 
They hide-
A globe created from every sky-scrape wall
Wanting to belong, a trick -or- treat*er in disguise 
No friends, everything is pretend
These poets can’t be described, can't be trusted
They are the best, at what they do
For all you know this poet might be me, 
This poet might be you

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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A beautiful mirror

-Escape of the mountain-

Do you care about my breast?
The new curve - countryside corset. 
The beauty of every summer dress 
Laying down, wearing out gravity 
Embracing the same feeling; Your
hands indulged in. Passion and devotion, 
around perfumed scenery... 
     The perfect pair

Today we will pray,
Counting every second on the clock 
No longer the womanly figure before'
I will possess a new battle, 
around the virtues of my palace.

-Will you still be there, 
  when the hump and lump are gone?
-Will I still be the queen of your heart?
Patiently I shall wait and see, 
 in hopes to gain the time, breast cancer stole 
Leaving behind torn tissue, with a daily reminder of;
The one that got away.

---note---
A Focus on Breast Cancer 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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Midnight Secret

*Secreto de Medianoche*   
  
~On this very Night~
   I found myself in a
        FANTASY 

Camouflage in lace, 
I run my hands all over the place
Wet whispers drop in between
In a soft stroke,
I touch the tan on my skin 
Pure sweetness unfolds
The perfumes in the air  - Arouse 
   every sexual intention inside
Without a care, 
I'm lost in the moment,

Every feeling at this point,
   feels erotically insane, 
In a seductive way--
  the night whispers my name, 
A freedom flight - into the night.
                            (Like the wind)
 
Caressing my breast, my legs tremble
Beyond the haze, into another world 
Never pointless - A new sensation
My fingers slither, a play tonight

Circles in motion, 
Vibrations and self-soothing lotion, 
I touch myself gently, 
Thinking of you relentlessly,
Looking around, 
The night echoes a whimpering sound, 
Embracing the secrets inside 
I squeeze the dark damp sheets-
Moaning and moaning, repeatedly. 
Holding my silk pillow, groping my knees,
I run my finger on my lips - 
Satisfaction complete! 
Back into the realm of dreams. 
~Tonight~

:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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CAMPFIRE

~CAMPFIRE~ 

I hunger to taste your solid wood stare
You and I, no one else at all
Snuggling under the stars
Hungry for each others ears

Chasing every comet across the sky
Fierce when it comes to standing tall
Desires releasing screams from the mundane night
Running naked throughout the world
Firewood burning the depth of our soul
Dancing in a way we put mortals to shame 
A cloud of grey shade arousing the night
Secret moans before morning dew hit sunrise

Crawling around in circles
Feeling each others heart instincts
Surrender to the ashes of our skin 
Passion lost deep in a dream-catchers web.

A pack of thieves we long to be
Weaving each other’s growls  
No one dares to separate the pack we create 
A stare of solid wood I hunger to taste. 


~night after night~ 
  ~IN THE MOOD~
       ~always~

      7/14/2011


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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Falling Stars

I am a falling star, burning up in the ionosphere,
all of my many lives
flashing through my mind at once -
not experienced in a linear sequence,
but opening up in an all-encompassing bloom.
Time blossoms.
 
-Time-

A million years ago,
I shared the apple,
hypnotized by the seeds
connecting into a pentacle;
a star shining in the fruit's pulpy flesh.

I am a falling star, burning up in the stratosphere,
on a collision course
defined by fate or destiny.
Please make a wish upon me,
so that my life wasn't lived in vain -
the fear of an insignificant life,
without a solid meaning to its end.

With juice sluicing down my chin,
I knew the consequences
of nearly all my actions.
Naivety turned into shame,
pushed me up, high into the sky,
a trade-off for my stubborn rebellions -
I was able to touch the heavens,
only to brace myself
against the steep ride back down.

I am a shooting star, disintegrating in the atmosphere.
Please make a wish upon me,
before I become too small to see.
Please make a wish upon me,
and benefit from my final breath,
so that I do not completely disappear
with this all-consuming fear,
of an end, lacking solid meaning.


Starlight/ Shooting star so bright,
falling star, you see burning up in fright,
I wish you may, I wish you might,
have the wish, you wish for, tonight.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010

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The Fallen Poet

(The Fallen Poet)

Shadows, fall from the east
Winter show, white meadows,
Compelling words lost, in a silent world
Beautiful, Bloomingdale is how it goes
Apocalypto-- my very own limbo
Alone in a field of corpses-
A field of men, women and broken pens, 
Images of angels fallen to their knees

A piece of space, of solitude
The sun a wasted disease
The more I prayed the worse I felt,
Lord, I came before - broken and alone

Heaven sees the secret inside
Lost I may be, yet you see
Offended me, I no longer sing
I wait till all is asleep
My ink is dry, a broken poet, with nowhere to go
Lost in the shadows of snow, frozen like ice
A sheet of paper, with no meaning, no words

My friends, my comrades, how easily one forgets

Like a game of chess, I panicked
Made all the right and wrong moves
I lost my way, staggered across
Love comes and love goes
My heart weaker than, weak
I don't know how I survived before, 
After turning the other cheek
I was no longer whole, forsaken myself endlessly 
I was lost, could not even count on myself

Guidance, I ignored no one believed what's become of me
Alone, I stood in old footsteps after falling down

At times end, I found nothing could put me back where I belong
It's time to get back on offense,
Walk through the new, refreshing old footprints

~*~ 


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

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Touch Me

"In Touch With Myself"

I can't seem to find her
The reminder of yesterday
I shut my eyes for a few seconds
Only there, can I reach to bear upon her face
The moment I open my eyes
The earth opens and she disappears
Every now and then
Darkness takes form around the blank wall
It brings out a long lost silhouette.
-I inhale a small desire, 
reaching and tracing every line left behind.

I Just can't seem to reach her
The girl drowning deep inside
I turn around to look and feel no one by my side
It's been long since she slowly faded away
I gaze into the mirror and miss her every day
For one second past,
I swear she was there.

Lately, I can't seem to find her
That girl I was before
Empty feelings continue to lounge about
Rejecting yesterday away.
-Honestly, I don't know why I bother,
holding on to somebody that is no longer there?

By:PD



Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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If My Love For You Was Greater

if my love for you was any greater the trees would  line up in poetic forms ...awe you in sonnets written... ...part...to allow winds to cool your face...  to trace it with natures hand. all the oxygen that covers all the waters rise, supercharge the breath of my emotion. mountains would melt, shed their peaks like tears of joy. even the arid deserts serve up fruits,  their prickly pears peeled on a platter. sunset would pause and sunrise hurry... ...exist in a paradox to herald your presence. petals would climb their stems  regroup to bloom again. butterflies re-cocoon  emerge as glorious fairies  for all children to adore. the skies would willingly  shape, etch,  paint,   frame my exuberance. the planet would swell, the galaxies expand. in the endless depth  of my singular love  i hold you dear, safely contain you  in my admiring smile, for now, forevermore. 16~10~2014 Sponsor: Rhonda Johnson-Saunders Contest Name: Your Most Romantic Poem of 2014


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Mirror, Mirror

.

           
        
            To Chan "Archaic" Hurst


            I see you —in a way— caught
            held captive from escaping
                              from inside
                              a broken mirror.
            Beyond curse or superstition
            to stare at yourself:      fractured, fragmented
            and your need to unfold artistry  
            no further tricked by optical pills.

            I see you —in a way— laying awake 
            to count cracks when pain pierced the air or
            kicking in amniotic fluid:
                              a mirror breaker
            who throws crystal's shards in all directions

            Torch confined to lead light in
            technicolor, through pentagrams
            within flamboyant kaleidoscopes or
            stained glass windows. Unsolved
            puzzle on the verge of your own Walden 
            where nothing will be enough
            where you will never belong.

            I see you —in a way— a dreamer
            who fosters fantasy with nesting habits to
            discover Tolkien in Star Wars pajamas and
            races a Nimbus 2000 over Gotham city.
            Child-brother sharing Hakuna Matatas.

            Yet, there you stand: 
            Who's the best rhymer in the land?
            cause it's all just Greek to us
            to mock the geeks, perhaps
            we rolled our eyes

            Today, a guitar grieves and revives
            euphoric notes.  We know 
                                   there is no stage five life
            and although its knots seem to be untied

            I see you —in a way— still alive






Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2014

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A Solstice

.

Mourning a loss, thoughts of death fall 
one after another, noisily, like hailstones cracking tiles
the substance of things not seen
but feared. I could care less.
It's the longest night of my years
caught in the toils of doubts, of despair
of the noise of falling ice that reverberates inside                                  
my faith in sudden slices.

Impotent to kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience and tithes at all costs 
Impotent to listen to duty of silken stole that pulls 
creaking faith into its coils. Impotent to accept sacred writings chosen by lot
Impotent of praying more and thinking less. Impotent to breathe
to see, to walk through wind-blown salt and s  i  l  t 
measuring a time dark and lost. A ruptured soul
over versions of interpretations of 

oral traditions already translated into lies: Greeks, Romans, 
monarchs, despots, rulers, reformists, stoics...  
Thoughts of death like tears of ice
Where will be the lice that sucks my sins and tics
that coughs and gags and vomits my unfulfilled temptations into a cist? 
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles.
tonight, at its farthest point from the Sun (still so close) 

I need to believe it. God, you need to believe it:
You'll die as soon as my faith is lost 





.



Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

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First Communion

The powdery snow gloves the fingers 
of maple forest, protecting barren bark 
with the expectation of rose tipped bloom.

A meeting point between pristine
innocence and the veiled promise of spring
ripening. Each trunk and limb mirrors 

the action of man. Reaching, arching, 
swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor, 
a sacrament where the virginal may walk

toward communion with their God. Inward 
toward the birth of faith and outward toward 
the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011