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Best Identity Poems

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

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New Identity Poems

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

Self identity by Bohto, Holly
Tacita Pruval Learns the True Identity of Jack the Ripper by Carter, Stanley
My identity,My heritage by Arthur, Kaakyire
A Wonder without an Identity by Moubarak, Abdel latif
Temporary identity by HASAN, TAREQ
An Identity: All of Me by Verma, Durgesh
Ghosts of Exhausted Identity by Dillenbeck, Gerald
Lost Identity by Lawrence, Caleb
The Search Of My Identity Card by wahab, wahab
Identity Is Self-Worth by Crisci, Andrew

View all new Identity Poems

The Best Identity Poems

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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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Alice Sweet Alice

      ~Alice Sweet Alice~

        *Like Sisters*
   Everyday -- Holding Hands 
Sunday Dress -- Pink Ribbons
         *Alice And I*


How can they say she did not exist?
This Sweet Girl I Named Alice

The way she looks at me
-Her eyes tender green
A body figure I can't describe
Together we played hide and seek
We swung in ways no one could see
This girl with pretty red curls
Who enjoys the sound of pouring rain.

Together we slept under the same breeze 
We carved our names on the same tree
Side by Side it Read Alice & I!
She whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice Sweet Alice loves the way I look in red!

Every day I face the mirror
Alice puts her left hand on my right
We share the same identical scars,
Under the right and left palm.

The way she held my hand
Healed the scrapes in every fall
Beating from the bullies, she screams!
Again, Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
When she stood by my side
Alice knew me in ways no one else did
She knew my eyes -When they cried!

Now I can't sleep,
Since, Alice has fallen back into the abyss
Forever conscious in a self-hug
--- this is no dream, it is real!

The rage inside, burns.
It took place the day she left!
Burning curtains 
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice spoke of darkness,
then disappeared 

When I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
Nothing feels the same,
I allow myself to soak in a darkness where it began.

My hair of red is not the same
These cuts are all that remain
The only clue in which Alice, was here!
Holding on to stainless blade, I sleep

ALICE SWEET ALICE! 
Please call my name!
Why do they whisper?
Why are they saying she never held a breath?
I know she is real, she's exist
Why else would I let her cut my wrist?

This Sweet Girl 
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Finally, visits again ---
But, who is to believe?
For everyone says 
Alice lives inside my head.

By:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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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 
Warding off the howling sound in mid-September's stream
Casting a line about a ginger light,
  found in the depths of everything
Engaging from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized 
Exposing and expressing the emotions found within
An attic lost in the Ancient sky  ---awaits 

A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
A hissing whisper out of the darkness, 
Listen-in,  the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mono grip in which summons a mysterious voice
  of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can compose 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 nothing-
A world created from every sky-scrape the 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 believed
They are the best in what they do
For all you know this poet might be me, 
This poet might be you

9/3/14


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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WALLPAPER

WALLPAPER

---------------------
Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong 
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting  my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
---------------------

Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT! 
Emotional poster boards of doubt 
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced

Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality 
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel  
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch

Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin  
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms  

Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick 
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!

Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.

by;PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Illusory Disguise

My reflection is vague, perception unclear.
My mind is like a shattered mirror 
That devises a veneer fashioned of my fears. 

I'm seized inside this illusory disguise 
That's only feeding me a mouth full of lies.
Oh, how I hunger to be recognized…

Actuality stays hidden behind the scenes:
What my eyes perceive is make believe.
Trickeries are fitted in deceiving sleeves.
I'm incapable of comprehending the genuine me.

By Anne Currin


Copyright © Anne Currin | Year Posted 2012

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Insanity or Death

Insanity or Death

Life begins with insanity~~
~Your soul is kicking and screaming, 

Ready to exit with the touch of human hands.
Insanity rides on a gallant stallion ready to pant.
Hides in the mind, mourning its captive soul. 
Ready to breach over holding its breath.
Projecting in and out without a guide.
Bites away at the feast, enchants for freedom.  
From the lips……….....
Taking length against a world of dilemmas, 
Contrasting to a never happy end.
The epidermis cover every wall of insanity.

To live, to eat, and to suffocate it determination without air.
Dramatically hallucination against its will of no wells.
Until it realizes it can drink without water.

No further needs a slumber.
The mind-bends and unfolds to ordinary jolts, 
When left to human consummation.
Insincerely bidding and cutting to die in the sleep.
Is how it pleads!

Graves where dreams have no meaning.
Caves where goodness can be redeemed.
A temple of misguided fortune.
All respect lost to this infection,
The patients’ weight distracted from an antidote.

The madness begins too finds admiration-
That makes catastrophe go on and on.
The psychosis of the mind and mockeries of them will never be gone
Dictating in everything wrong,
Layers of cramped bricks, level the isolation.

Death drags its feet off into this infinite helix world.
A source of light breeding out of darkness.

"Sanity is no friend of mine!"
Insanity is earth herself, 

Where there is life, there is a reason, 
Where there is reason, there is madness,
Where there is madness, there you are,   
Feeling nothing………………...
Lost in darkness................ 

~Your soul is kicking and screaming
Life ends with death~~

by:pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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To Bloom in Red Flame

Underneath all the layers
Of tradition
Of religion 
Of philosophy
Of reason and understanding
I smolder
In passion's pleasure bed of red
Paroxysms of pleasure
Emanate from my core
Searing the shroud
Flames of fantasy's feast burn
Yearning I yearn and lie in wait
In my ambuscade 
with the relish to ravish ravaging 
every fiber 

Conceived in the throes of passion
My conception is my perception of life
Woven into my being
I’m prisoner to pleasure monomania
Obsession of desire hysteria
My cacoethes:  gratification gratified
Thus, I scintillate sparks
Riding on my satin flares
They captivate your stare

You see me
Feeling the heat of sultry flame
You want to play scorch torch game
So your reach out to touch
Mere kindling in my blazing wake
You quake as I slake your florid fantasy awake
Convulsing in temptation’s torment
You combust to lust
Consummating till consumed
Eliciting my passion flower bloom
In opulent oriental room
You swoon
Exertion exhausted
Gratification’s glory gained
Having tasted my reign
Revived your leave
Yet…
My image I’ve seared
On your flesh and mind
Branded, you’ll find
Your way back to me
Slave to my passion's decree
You’ll come to me

And I retreat
Enshrouded once more
In virgin layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
of reason and understanding
Biding my time
when sensuality sublime
calls me
to bloom in her red flame

Eileen


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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I The Mirror - With A Major Contribution By Joseph May - Dramatic Free Verse


an impression of the world
stands before me
Left is right, and right is wrong, 
and the mirror reflects a melancholy song.

i the mirror
not 
the babbling brook,
or
the rippled river
whose images tell harmless lies.

i
the mirror,
who was once held in the 
weak, shivering, hands of a life nearing its end
now lay
on broken, crushed bones, crumbs
and i 
one thousand shards
the cracks
the jaded moments of my life.

i 
an unintended semblance in the raging waters
crashing against the killing rocks of the rushing falls.

never utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"

the serpent swallows the swollen cow,
swallowed - the farmer's wife,
swallowed - her son,
swallowed - the thorny toad,
the black widow spider devours them all!


i the empty frame
the bits and bites of carpenter ants.

my world 
a perverse facade
of
what should of been
of
what 
is
of
what
was

or of
what? WHAT?
less?
i guess.

NEVER utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"

whose voice 
will bring me peace,
whose rapier 
will deliver me,

who will 
burn my body whole
or
dig me a deep hole
or
throw me void of soul

into 

the waters of the screaming ocean 
who herself dies a slow painful death.

Dec 20 2015
armand 
with a major contribution by
Joseph May


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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When It Comes To Me

I often sit for long periods of time
hoping the perfect beginning will come to me.
To write a poem that starts with a pristine Capital
leaving readers with great expectations.

But after much torment, with not a fleck of gold in sight,
it's comes to my attention
that much like life, How it Began
isn't half as important as How it Finishes,

(And neither as important
as How it Is in the Present)

That's how it was, in any case,
when the landlord dropped the news
that sunny Idahoan morn;

It was a time for a change, they all said in unison:
my sister, my brother, my mother ---
And like the sweetest melancholy, I couldn't help but agree,

For I knew no matter where I went
I'd always have poetry ...

(but now it seems she has alluded me)

Through 2,500 miles and 9 states;
through a million and a half brand new things 

... and yet

Inspiration refuses to sing.
As I sit here in suspense
for that metaphorical gravy train,
wondering when the words
will start flowing again.

Will it be like it was before,
when it comes to me?
Ears perked to the extreme
with expectations of a symphony?

When it comes to me ...

Will they laugh? Will they cry?
Will my words come across
like softest lullaby?

Because sometimes our muse just up and leaves,
we wonder why.
But no my most cherished friends,
we mustn't cry,

for it's been a great adventure,
has it not?

Remember the words of Dr. Seuss:
Don't be sad that it's over,
Smile that it happened.

Though words were once putty in my hands
I now take in the beauty that encompasses me,
content to just let it sit,
without the need to express it ...

But don't be fooled, Dearest Reader,
for I have the highest hope
that stars will dance,
leaves will fly,
birds will sing,

WHEN it comes to me.

But will you believe me when I say
I've watched the stars fall and flicker
between the leaves
a hand's breadth from my fingertips?

(go on and take a sip
the magic's free)

That I've breathed in the air,
as if it were honeysuckle blooming in the sky
just for me.

Oh and how I wish you could see
beyond the words of this page,
for it's beyond a tragedy
that all I have to give is this poem.

You know I'd offer you my eyes
for you to see the things I'm seeing.

(put your hand on my chest,
can you feel it beating?)

Like the petals of a rose
she holds me close:
the place where the bright rubicund clay
makes way for my Armstrongian footprints

---just one small step
then comes the leap---

My arms spread wide
hoping for discovery,
but preparing for catastrophe ...

And believe me when I say
I couldn't dream of sleep,
for when it comes to me
the minstrels will weep,
the prisoners'll be set free ...
as emotions become ablaze
in new and surprising ways.

For there's a lily pad pond,
just outside my backdoor ....
that's begging for a tale to be penned.
There's a place called Mount Alto
sitting just like a storybook
outside the backdoor, my friends,

whilst I sit here
listening to the cicadas sing
in Valley Soprano,
reminding me that everything
is but a poem-in-waiting:

The rolling green hills
bearing witness of mountain familiarity;
the black butterflies
flitting between
the berry blossoms of May.

Everything is so new here ...
far beyond anything I could ever say.
And I hope I can do it justice,
to paint a picture in your head,
with every ounce of the things I've said ...

(auto-biography? fantasy?
you won't be able to tell the difference
when it comes to me)


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

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Cyber real

Has the convenience of technology 
inoculated us from reality?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I pray the code my soul to keep?
Does your universe live within 4G
Or megapixel infinity?
Which memory lies within
The one that was
Or the one that's been
Or how much gig how much ram?
Which reality is true?
Cyber me
Or cyber you?
Cyber bully
Cyber crime
Cyber hate 
Cyber time?
Cyber boxer
Or cyber brief?
Who is the real identity thief?
Cyber pleasure
Cyber pain
Hours spent glaring into the screen
Choosing an alternate username.
Status updates and trending tweets
Fill your mind and rob your sleep.
Clever hashtags and Instagram 
Will shape your image and gain more friends.
Is the you you've shaped in cyberspace 
The same you I'd see face to face?
We hide behind our computer screens
And criticize with brutal ease.
Virtual reality
Is buying souls of men you see 
And robbing the ability to dream real dreams.
I want to conquer something real
That I can grab that I can feel.
I want to touch life and hold on tight
I want to unblock true friends
And "like" real sights.
I want conversation face to face
In real world time
In a real world place.


Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2014

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In My Place

I have been put in my place many times
Told how to talk
What to think
How I need to look a certain way
Be the way I'm suppose to be
Expectations to be met
I could never be me

That place that almost drove me insane
I kept being placed there
Over and over again
Yet I had no choice but to be true to myself
I couldn't be someone else's book 
Placed on a shelf, in a perfect row, not standing out
No one knowing what I'm about

I ripped out the pages
Inserted my own
Scribbled on the cover
Added my own colors
My pages screamed to be read
Hoping others would hear what I said

As time went on
I often changed my design
Desperately trying to know myself
Unsure what I would find
Never really fitting in
Confused by what I found within
Hard to know where I belong
Listening to notes from others songs
Was my way of thinking right
In a distance I could see a glimmer of light
I dreamed my dreams
I craved the light

Then one day
All the pieces clicked
I fell into place
Joy accompanied by a certain grace
Comfortable with me
I live in the moment
I can just be
Finally, finally 
I am free
I know my place


Dedicated to my Friend Armand who knows 
his place and helps others discover their place. 
You my friend are a true original Happy Birthday!







Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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A Crown of Thorns

1
Insanity has its own wellspring and demise.
There is no better place to hide than between coils
of convoluted grey-white matter which can't recoil.
Mind has no leering lips to scorn or show surprise 
as ungoverned, the ancient demon-dancers rise.
The traitorous bits, which cut with Brutus’ red fang,
have no regard for the womb from which they sprang.
They seek dominion; they care not for your cries.
Crazed, their freedom paid for on the rack, how they sang
of anything, of windigos’, and warriors winged 
of fresh flesh beneath a gibbous moon's harangue, 
where those in sanity beneath their blankets cringed.
Night terrors sweat the sheets of the weak, as fear sprang,
a ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged.
2
A ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged
cloaked in mirrored, morose, magic; the mind a foil,
the heart, the soul, the sunny days, caste down, embroiled; 
destined to languish convulsed in the depth of coil.
Brightness, so dimmed, is lost within a rancid soil,
left to meet horned demons all but unarmed, alone, 
no company except the mirrored self-entombed,
no bliss state, no ripening sweetness to uncoil
a compost heap of bitter memories, atone ...
atone, little mother, well-used wife, wander now,
seeking ever seeking, yet finding no one home,
insanity wakened, waits, patiently endows ... 
empty days and nights, the infrequent sound of om,
cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused.
3
Cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused,
the teeth of dogged night rise-up, they breed turmoil.
Deep within the sleeping mind of men, sorrows roil.
Abandonment, disloyalty, hatred espoused,
all shriek to the traitor, the night arouses. 
Niggardly night, loath to lose ground within the dome
of blanched white, gray matter, within this skull of bone,
delights in the sorrowful detail night houses.
Insanity licks raw the salted wound entombed, owned.
"What could we be?" the ego cries to he or she.
"What would we be?" the windigo screams but, “alone.”
On, on, they chatter in the carapace, they breed, 
spreading dark matter, for they've no chaperone,
no friend to stay the brutal cousins, so mislead. 

4
No friend to stay the brutal cousins so mislead,
so in darkness, fear and hatred spread on fertile soil.
Yet, self-hatred shields its sharpened claws, as day uncoils
filling the breach with bright creations, dark concedes, 
and dims the room while manic laughter recedes.
A sunrise bows through prism-glass and colors swell
a lighter laughter comes, newborn to dwell.
Hands that once drew only blood, now tune bent reeds                        
of green, blades of springtime grass within the dell;
where larks sing and long lost lovers dare to reunite, 
no mention made of darkness or the depth of hell,
for sanity has cast a lighter stage this night.                       
Daybreak suspends the demon-dance upon the fell,
now, fairies prance in pastures high, and verse delights.
5 
Now, fairies prance in meadows high, and verse delights
her fancy takes a softer turn at his behest,
with buttercups, in a Fairy Ring, they coalesce,
and shine the golden glow beneath a chin of white.
With the talent of a troubadour, love does strum
upon desire's strings the raging beast is culled
as coy love songs and  sweet lullabies emerge from
the hidden depths of mind where sanity is mulled.
With the talent of a troubadour love does strum
upon strings of desire the fearful beasts are culled 
as coy love songs and sweet lullabies emerge from
the stygian depth where her frail sanity is mulled.
How long will harmony dance to love's blissful hum
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
6 
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
A scent of jasmine fills the air with swarming gnats.
Her covered ears belay the sound of feral cats
yet, huddled in his sheltering arms, her pain is dulled.
Dulled, but not waylaid, raging, she becomes unglued
She starts to rock, to whimper, and then, cry out- loud
begging for the dev'lish tide to leave, as he vowed,
renting strands of flaxen hair from her small skull.
Torn, he watches as she fades within a shroud,
a witless waif, bedeviled by the harvest moon.
He had to leave; he could not stay beneath this cloud
ever waiting for this, her omnipresent doom.
His love had its limits and yet, he was not proud,
Oh, he could not stay and watch her be consumed.

7

Oh no, he could not stay and watch her be consumed,
to have his pleasant memories of ardor's bloom
be marred by images of her so poorly groomed. 
No, never would he stay to see her be consumed.
One morn he left, his sum was not what she'd presumed. 
And, she sat in the rocker by the door unfazed,
her bowed lips o'er cast and her eyes o'er glazed, 
alive, but not, her nascent sanity entombed.
Death had come, death of the mind, his metal now assayed
he ran from old memories, as each thought enticed.
Their first tryst 'neath jasmine vines vanished in a haze.
Was love's reward, a sweet repast, mania's disguise?
Would true love have held the course where sanity betrayed,
insanity has its own wellspring, and demise.

First Published Five Poetry Magazine 2014




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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The Secret

The Secret
Somewhere someplace not far away a couple lied together.
No talk about the future no talk about forever.
They had lovers of their own their lovers were not there.
It's best if kept a secret the love that they would share.

Lost in loves great passion covered in each others sweat.
They're going to have a baby but they don't know it yet.
In nine months the baby born a secret softly cries.
So much still for him to learn of life conceived in lies.

Often he just played alone it seemed it was his way.
Then one day the secret was sent outside to play. 
He grew strong like others did he gave it all his best.
Without one clue he never knew the truth beat in his chest.

Overwhelmed again and again the sadness he can't shake.
The devil whispered in his ear “You are a mistake”.
Still he tried through tears he cried to somehow rise above.
Getting lost time and again in his search for love.

When the walls came crashing down his whole world fell apart.
Welcome to the world of secrets and to your broken heart.
Shattered like a piece of glass his dreams fell to the ground.
Somewhere up near heaven even angels heard the sound.

Tears poured from his heart and soul through both day and night.
Searching for some healing in words that he would write.
Broken in so many ways all he meant for good.
Forever somehow secret where some misunderstood.

Now he walks in shadows seeking shelter from the rain.
Don't you dare look in his eyes you'll get lost inside his pain.
Like the secret long ago he spends his time alone.
It seems being by himself is now his comfort zone.

Asking nothing from no one wanting only just to give.
The only dream he still dreams is live and just let live.
A million miles on his heart and tears that he still cries.
So it is for secrets and those conceived in lies.
Edwin C Hofert


Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

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MIRROR OF THE OTHER SELF


( Repost )

Somehow, her eyes expand with the disobedient sky
and there, she senses urchins filling water on the lake
her feet and thighs slide up changing hues,
with receding incarnations of the moon.

She bends down gazing at images on the lake
as limbs turn into seaweeds, a mermaid in pain
changing hues in the crystal white of sky…
and the moon with slices of split mirrors burn
on wiggles of unscented tresses in water.

She dips her hands to catch the sleek tail in a plunge
knowing not a word to describe the reflection on the lake,
and witness the need to flow randomly in its
entrance through the expanse of one silver sky…
trying to recover glimpses reflected in the water.

Without point of reference to unknown images,
she vaguely remembers how transparently liquid 
the changing hues of the moon become watery
like a  hint of coagulated  blood on a mermaid’s lake...
and the laughter of the sky drips into imaginings.

.......................................
* Written for a fantasy contest that was discontinued; 
its theme required entrants to describe one's mirrored
image of the self. Few comments ranged from " Nice, but I
didn't get it" to " You seemed to have overused the word
"water?" In hindsight, I asked myself," what
were you thinking? This is sloppy!"



Jerry T Curtis' This Poem S***s Contest 







Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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I am strong

 I am strong

You may simply disregard me
with your arrogant throng
You may treat me with disrespect
I'm still here, I am strong

Why don't you like it when I succeed?
Why can't you be happy for me?
I walk on air, confidently
so, foot loose and fancy free

Just like hope and like faith
and the sureness of birdsong
I know where I belong...
I    am    strong

Did you want me to be shaking
so scared and all alone?
Feeling lost and so abandoned
with nowhere to call my home?

Does my happiness distress you?
Does it make you feel upset?
That I'm at peace lovin' myself
Livin' life without regret?

You may shred me with sarcasm
You can say I don't belong
You can hate me with your jealousy
But still, like iron, I'm strong

Does my confidence disturb you?
Can you not visualize?
That my words are captivating
and the crowds they mesmerize? 

From ancestral farmers sowing seed
I am strong
From hardy men of faith who believed
I am strong
I'm a true wordsmith, spinning words so true
weaving and knitting, as true poets do.

Never giving in to fear or to doubt
I am strong
I know what the love of God is about
I am strong
Building on the faith my forefathers had
I encourage the weak, make their hearts glad
I'm strong
I'm strong
I'm strong



John Derek Hamilton
August 17,2016















Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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The Perfect Friend

The Perfect Friend ©

Today I found a friend 
Who knew everything I felt
She knew my weakness
And the problems I’ve been dealt.
She understood my wonders
And listened to my dreams, 
She listened to how I felt about life and love
And knew what it all means.
Not once did she interrupt me
Or tell me I was wrong
She understood what I was going through
And promised she'd stay long.
I reached out to this friend, 
To show her that I care
To pull her close and let her know
How much I need her there.
I went to hold her hand 
To pull her a bit nearer
And I realized this perfect friend I found
Was nothing but a mirror

Written by Shannen Wrass
Copyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved



Copyright © Shannen Wrass | Year Posted 2013

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I Need Your Help Daddy

I’m tired
I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here

I can’t get back in control of my emotions 
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy

I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help 

Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance 
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help








Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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I THINK THEREFORE I AM

I THINK THEREFORE I AM "An ounce of hypocrisy is worth a pound of ambition" --Michael Korda Liberty... This everyone's want-- stretching an autonomy to unbuckle self-discovery I got mites and bugs living in my head-- infesting my mind. They... daring a chance to worm my guts and electrify my peace. They adulterate seeking ways to emerge from claws of doubts to grains of trust. My veil of grace they bite and bite devouring me 'til I set to pursue my act. Should I repulse... then spread my wings to fly? or should I be a little puppet-- controlled, slave to strings attached to me? or I'd rather choose a mask-- my gamble to earn sympathy or popularity; my weapon sheltering my luck; my fall or my win? Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. The mites and bugs in my skull blown from shocks infused by my firing drive. My cavalry of Modesty, brave to rise face the furnace of battlegrounds. Insincerity. Malingering. Pretension are artillaries luring hypocrisy but love, honesty and bravery: the bombs I defy to conquer the trades. If God is with me, who can be against me? Standing like a Molave rooted evergreen, ever strong. My face bulletproof to those who I believe wrong. A standing soldier ready to offer her life to fraud and tyranny. I refuse to be fed on standing lies. The harpoons of verity, I battling dart, raining towards the barbaric boxes as they... They are my lioness roar, my freedom and my soar piercing the pumping heart of those who eat innocence, I... dauntless! _________________________________________________ ** I think therefore I am is said by Rene Descartes Romans 8:31-- If God is with us, who can be against us? O. E. Guillermo 10:43 pm, April 18, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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This Poem Is Who I Am With Everybody

       This Poem Is Who I Am With Everybody.

I was told who I am, always reflects upon my friends 
and family. When I choose a friend we become one 
soul forever.This Is how I interpret my friendship.

When I choose a friend, I would shelter their names 
in my heart,after conquering their friendship.
Their secrets will register in my brain to never be exposed. 

I was told who I am always reflects upon their lives, they know
my spirit and soul will not survive without them, my consistency 
will nurture their strength to exude.
When I choose a friend, my love will never sleep or vanish,
my telepathy will wake up and sleep when they retire.

My sharing becomes an unconditional awareness of either their 
pain or happiness. They feel that I am capable of praying for 
them each night.
If they are near or far makes no difference out of love their 
shadow will send me messages in what state of mind they 
are at the moment.
 
My heart will surrender when I am needed, if they want to talk,
I will listen, if they cry I will wipe their tears, if they are hungry 
for food I will feed them, if they hunger for philosophy, I would 
share my knowledge, if they crave for silence my voice is muted,
if they are weak in health nothing will hold me back from running 
to stay next to them day and night till healing will prevail.

When I choose a friend, I was told who I am always reflects upon
their everyday living, because knowing all what I possess will be 
shared without asking, generosity progresses out of love.
Their silhouette constantly moves next to me, feeling their heart 
beat continuously to determine how to approach them.

That is why who I am always reflects upon their everyday,
knowing I analyze the word friendship as the dearest to my soul,
I have no boundaries, my tears will flow like raindrops reaching their 
window if any help is needed.
I love all my friends.


21/5/2013 Contest For SKAT. This Is Who I Am with everybody. WIN (10)


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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I Am An Owl

Who can change what it is to be me?
The owl, hidden there in a night's beauty,
a beauty that most don't even try to see.

I am a deceiver in the shadows
who can show you a different light,
and open your eyes, once closed.

Come nearer. I am not known to bite;
there is nothing here to be afraid of.
Who is just your friend in the night?

In darkness, who will hear my call?
I may be wise for my age at times,
though I never claim to know it all.

My voice is heard; still I go unseen.
Tell me who is magical and mystical,
and yet, all things in between?




Owl: mystery of magic, omens, silent wisdom, vision in the night, deception



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Out of Control


I spin, faster and faster… losing control, I am a propeller rising. Once, you were my mystery to solve – my challenge, my highest vista to climb. You lifted me to your private skies. Spread out before me on red-winged flights, eradicated stars came back to life, painted iridescent by your own two hands. What could only be crayoned by inferior men. All aglow, the universe circled my head - round and round till the dizziness came, infatuation only to blame. I spin…slower, rhythmic, scraping. I am a pinwheel on softest breeze. memories come…memories go. With a crystal crown of constellations, you adorned my flowing hair – locks spun golden, locks I loosened for you. I became a glowing body for you to orbit, a fiery flood of sunlight traveling, Venus gifted in violet dusk, auroras of ribbon braided… I spin…slanting, lower, on tip-toes. I am a ballerina with an audience of one. I watched you watch me in light of all things. I wanted to be center of your universe… rings of Saturn encircled you and I. Mercury’s fire blazed through what was us. Blue-silver splattered moons orbited our sleep. I kissed the moon rock I named after you. I kissed you and only you until dawn slipped between the warmth of our linen sheets. I caught you in my arms time after time, clouds dappled with your eyes floated by… doting, they released scintillating showers upon a wilting flower. When it was time for you to catch me, you were gone…taking with you part of me. I fell hard…back to earth, stained crimson, star-struck. Forever is a long time to chase shooting stars through echoing space. I trusted you, trusted only you, trusted you with me. I rusted, no protection from your harsh elements. We all come back to reality of a spinning earth… we rise or fall, move or hide, heed the call or lie. We come to the self-sharpened point of swim or die. Time rushes by… I sat next to you, held your hand, feeling like my own miraculous sky, regaining my identity… while you read Hemingway, a man’s man you’d say. I spoke of the poem I wrote for you another day. “Yeah, yeah…Aha”, you whispered…my words dismissed, a foreign language never understood. Space and time altered our skies; below, your lies became our demise. Our footprints disappeared before my eyes. In my own miraculous sky, I have slowed my pace, aware of my mistakes, my fear, my grace. I embrace beauty, peace, tears I've cried, the ride… Dawn came early this new day, I drove away, weaved around a pothole, almost crashed. The gravel road rattled my faith. I started to spin again…disoriented, I faltered, but I never turned back. I wonder if I avoided my own catastrophe, saved face, or a little of both… I remember how I asked you about the meaning of love. You turned away, reading Williams that day, madness and genius you’d say, I planted my feet, met your eyes, then marched away. Head held high, you dimmed under a starlit sky. I searched myself and found the brightest star… it led me home. Now, I brush my fingers lightly across a constellation on high… Pegasus, I think. Only to realize, it’s reflection mottles in a rippling puddle below... beauty awakened by my grounded feet. Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 4/11/15


Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

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My Name is Scheherazade

I do not want to die
Like each virgin you bed
When you have ravished her
It's off with pretty head

I do not want to die
But…Oh to be with you!
The supreme ruler, KING
So handsome, yet so cruel

You wanted your revenge
On woman who betrayed
The one who broke YOUR heart
So you must have them slayed

But what am I to do
When brought before the throne?
When you have had your fill
You’ll bow to oath you’ve sworn

And here I am tonight
The Vizier's flesh and blood
My beauty may not save
So knowledge I impart

A story sweet I weave
As in peace you recline
On cushions of damask
In scented room divine

You’re lost in what I say
Your interest...at its height
And there I stop the tale
To be spared on this night

You ask to lie with me
Demurely, I refuse
I promise you delights
When I'm no longer Muse

And so you let me leave
The richness of your bed 
Wanting to know the end
My tale plays in your head

Each night I leave undone
The story on my lips
And wantonly you beg
While grasping shapely hips

One thousand nights have passed
I stand before you now
With no tale left to give
Will love suffice somehow?

You come and touch my cheek
I look up in your eyes
"I've come to love you now
You are my love, my prize."

And so my life is spared
You whisper, "Sweetest Dove!"
My stories all forgot
You've fallen for my love

You tell me through the night
Your own love story fine
And now I let you taste
My flowing luscious wine

No virgin girl…now Queen
My love has set you free
And now Arabian nights
Are filled with ecstasy!

Eileen Manassian


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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THIS, MY INK'S DESIRE



Alphabets gather as words unravel
the passing and returning of moans;
lines of phrases inflame the arteries 
of beauty, angst, love woven 
by imagination's pining.
Sound of words… taste of vowels… 
touch of verses enter the soul, as if to dive
into the very basin of layered expressions.
On a fresh scroll baring my bones and raw mood,
I enter a daring challenge
with a theme that reels my senses
as poetry makes the eyes hungry.

Yes…feel me, temper my insanity, 
hold my fleshed  passion as I connect
with an audience to share how a night
devours monsters at the seams.
And yet, this refrain loses as the final poll
excludes my name. Why so? My lenses 
run up and down the fourth time; my breath
skips : but the multitude of acclaim
from my readers inhabit my soul,
allowing me to shower my ink 
with deeper hues as my inner congas 
beat for another round of adventure;
this time more assured that by nourishing
my own desire to regard the heart's compass
first and foremost is what matters..

as always.


     ...............  
Jerry T Curtis' Contest
12/30/2014









Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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The Simple Pen

            The Simple Pen

I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen

Entered in Tyshawn Knight's - "Advice for New Writers: Words of Wisdom in Verse" Poetry Contest on 6/02/15 
  

 


Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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Who Am I

I am a creation of myself 
I don't know who I am 
I'm this to you and that to him 
Hardly more than just a scam 
I'd like to be who I'd like to be 
If only I could figure
Which of me is the me 
I see within the mirror


Copyright © Howard Tunick | Year Posted 2015