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Best Introspection Poems

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MY INTROSPECTION by Devnath, BL
My Silly Introspection by Treetop, Lizzie

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Details | Introspection Poem | |

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


Details | Introspection Poem | |

The Maltese Moon

The Maltese Moon,
she draws my eyes
to shapely orb
in starlit sky
she smiles at me
with wanton grace
and spills desire
upon my face
I'm all awash
in milky glow
sacred secrets
Mine to know...

the Maltese Breeze
he flirts with me
can't let me be
his fingers trace
my rounded face
my hair he twirls
my skirt's a whirl
he has no care 
this Maltese Breeze 
alone can dare
dishevel me
and set me free

The Maltese Sea
now beckons me
wets my desire
in moon glow fire
that rides the waves
as my heart craves
His liquid arms
and all his charms
This Maltese Sea
so vast so free
is calling me
is calling me....

I close my eyes
as Maltese Air
caresses my lips
in great fanfare
I breath him in
in sheer delight
invigorated
by his might
I pause a while
my life on hold..
my heart, it beats
so brave, so bold

The others, they just
walk on by
and yet I wait
alone, I sigh 
Awash in light
of Maltese Moon
the Maltese Breeze
just simply croons
and Maltese Sea
he, murmurs sweet
and I am lost
In Maltese treat

The magic starts to fade away
I start to walk, I cannot stay
They've called me from my reverie
I rush to catch up with the three
but turn for one more blessed glance
at Maltese Moonbeam's fond romance
There's more to me than what they know
more passion than what I can show

The Maltese Moon, she smiles at me
For we have shared sweet ecstasy

Eileen Manassian

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016


Details | Introspection Poem | |

I Think Of You - Where You Bloom - 4


A transparent melody paints the walls
in the coloured scent of fresh linen.

The changing of sheets in the morning air
can not erase our dance from evening last.

Outside a late spring asleep too long
with no blooms until June, awakens.

Fully opened September flowers 
perfume late night conversations.

Looking outside reveals
only one set of footsteps in both directions.

The days when I would watch you walk,
lagging behind with a smile.

The moss grows wild in the forest...
trees surrounded by families of mushrooms.

The word "family" 
so I...

An I for an I
and soon the whole world will be in love.

How I long your hug,
your body encompassing mine.

God exists
no greater proof...

With a single tear I
lay flowers where you bloom...and I

i think of you.




March 20 2015
Armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Do Not Grieve Your Muse

              (For My Younger Self)



You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.

She grieves.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.  
You have lost touch with your muse, 
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer, 
more introspective part of yourself?  
Please do not say, never.

Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless, 
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.

Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost 
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace, 
write once more.
Write, and write some more.  
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.

Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !






31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place  -  What Would You Say Contest


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

I Think Of You - After The Fall - 5

I could have cried like a bride at a funeral
Bled out, dry. I could have but I was already
dehydrated...I

i think of you

I wish someone could turn the 
moon back on, turn the dimmer back up
on the stars. I can't stand these dark 
black nights void of even one tiny ray 
of light. I am tired of walking blind through
the evenings of my everyday life...I

i think of you

Yesterday I dreamt the night sky exploded.
Bright white pinholes of light appeared .
It was as if an invisible hand was holding a huge 
Fourth of July sparkler against a waterfall of black gold.
I watched the oil well blaze. The whole Earth was on fire.
The world was burning hot. Without fear I walked through 
the flames warm, comforted as if I was being held in his light...I

i think of you

Still in the grip of my sleep suddenly an ocean appears.
its water rises and shapes itself like the head of a dragon.
Its neck is shaped like a Chinese silk fan. At the same time 
it is just a huge wave. The kind surfers expect to find in heaven.
There is nothing threatening about this apparition.
Quite the opposite like the fire it feels as if it is a part of me...I

i think of you

Do I miss you? 
Miss you? I died with you! 
There's a knock at my door but I'm not here.
Life's going to have to wait. I'm in hiding.
I feel safe inside my walls. In reality my bedroom light
is all the outdoors I need. It is my Sun. I hate here without you. 
So I lie in my bed motionless starring into my nothingness and I...

i think of you

(Frozen!)

As time passes...introspective...I begin to understand.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water all the elementals are him. 

(I begin to thaw!)

He is with me even in my ignorance he has never left me. 
You can take the lord into your heart without a word by accepting his light.

(Slightly cold!)

A deeper, purer understanding. A trust that rejects the dark no 
matter how black. I am a part of all, a part of one as you are. A part of me. 

(Warm!)

I open my curtains...watch the dark exit
hurried as love rushes in. Firmly in his hold...I

I think of you...

Once again with you.
Fully! We...the power of one...I 

I think of us.

The Beginning!


March 25 2015
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Footprints

Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore

Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers

Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide

The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait

Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again

Their legacies erased each day
Another scout, another age
Will surely cast its prints anew

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

I Think Of You - Ground Zero - 1

I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)

Leaving under a blood moon
                in a jet plane rising
  los angeles falls behind me
and I...

You.
Two.

                              Clouds dance
            to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I 

...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally 
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
...and I

A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
...I 

I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide 
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
                     Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
...I 

I count...five, 
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
....I 

I, you...
you can't roll a seven with one die.

Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
Alone,
...I

 I eight...ate...need to eat.

Africa...a Safari.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.

A stitch in time beats nine.
 Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down 
an overwhelming thunderhead.
...I 

I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.

...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
...I 

i think of you.

You are living art.
Here.
Now.
What I perceive 
is what I live.
I perceive us.

I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
process it.
A form of plagiarism

I didn't borrow.
I stole.
Inhaled you but 
...I
I dream
and I...

...i think of you.



Armand
March 11 2015




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

I Think Of You - At The Edge - 3


A reflection of the coloured pencil drawn sky
skates on the glass smooth surface below it.
While a rebellious group of shades take their positions 
on a glorious stage to express themselves artistically and
I...

i think of you

Wisps of clouds shaped like a palm leaf
fan the winds that stoke the fire
of a randomly sketched sunset.
I...

i think of you

The cool of an ocean breeze 
travels the shadows of this low lit evening.
Caresses my skin like the essence of romance.
Enthralled by the allure of a candle lit sky,
I...

i think of you...

Our French Bakery early mornings.
Café au lait and croissants.
Our freesia soaked baths.
Your mink soft body.
Its milk and honey scent.

As I fall off 
the edge of the world,
I...

i think of you.




March 19 2015
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Without Lament

I have no sorrow, for sorrow is small,
And can't be held guilty for choices made.
Reflections scrawled on the minds darkened wall,
Will leave a stain as they begin to fade.
Time passes without a sense of motion.
Silent dreams disappear with wrinkled skin.
A traveled path worn by life's emotion.
Leads from a world not to be seen again.
Though eyes perceive what the heart desires,
And longs for perfection, never found.
They see the way lighted by hopeful fires.
A clearer path to walk on fateful ground.

The distance traveled, the lifetime spent.
The hurried times and places without lament.

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

AS FATHER IS TO HIS DAUGHTER


Passing through framed windows like ours, I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends that burned your innocence at 21... and though you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted. We both searched deeply into our souls as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted to let you know, it was alright; but that mound of shoulders turned away. Down the years as officer and gentleman, Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair, leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills until you arrive under crawling dock of stars. But in free moments, how you cherished me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds, to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon. You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams... until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel. I see you through all framed windows like ours, that even if my iced breaths needed you more as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry for love’s company... “ I have adored you in moments of distance and nearness, if not always, then for all eternity.” Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh? Dad, everything is all right. The Confessional Contest

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013


Details | Introspection Poem | |

A Ripple In Time

A new borns cry
Tearful last good bye

Swaying waves of golden prairie grass
Shifting desert dunes - an hour glass

An acorn dropping among forest leaves
To mighty oak - a lifetime of dreams

The changing moon - to full again
Each morn' the sun - new skies begin

Eagles soar high - our hearts go there
These ripples in time - we all share

©Donna Jones

Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Just Within Reach



just within reach?

things!
lots of things!

stuff one could collect,
especially graphic novels
with a writer that made you wish
you had a photographic memory
so you would never forget even one 
consonant or one vowel he wrote.
with an artist who used a pencil
like Van Gogh used a paint brush
except better - or - only better
...you choose...edit this yourself
using that memory I referred to earlier on.

every girl that walked by me 
when I was a teen - whose 
fragrance lingered inside quotation 
marks that sang the words
"without you I'll be alone".
every woman that walked by me
when I was a teen - whose strut pulled
at my heart to follow and accept their logic
"yes I'm your teacher but why let a little
technicality like that get in the way of true lust"

jobs loads of them that had ladders
with only one rung at the top that got 
me thinking "what are you waiting for?
this was made for you. three months 
and you'll own the joint."
careers that giggled like choir boys
stuffing their faces at the local pizzeria 
thinking 'life never gets better than this'.
careers wishing I would hop on for the ride whispering
in my ear "shut up and do me " and then screaming "YES...
YES..." followed up by even more screaming "YES...YES and ending
in a soprano round of "Jimmy Crack Corn and I don't care..."

sports that skated by me like home runs
that scored two points going through the 
field goal posts of the end of the spikes of
a soccer player taking the three point shot
with only five seconds left on the clocked
filly getting her first hole in one hell of a boxing
match point to win Wimbledon for the fourth
stroke in a rowing competition.

disciplines that courted me with their indignant 
stern voices yelling "can you handle me child?"
disciplines that came with costs...heavy costs. 
disciplines that paraded themselves like supermodels 
dressed in high couture walking the runways in paris france 
where bilingual tourists outside sat in fancy 
outdoor cafés smoking Gauloises unfiltered cigarettes.

all of this and more, 
everything just within reach...

I TOOK,

I took and
I held, 
I embraced, 
I romanced, 
I seduced, 
I savoured,
I treasured, 
I lived, 
I loved,
I respected...
...I never took for granted 
and in time I moved closer and closer 
to that which was outside my reach...

I hoped, 
I dreamt, 
I acted 

soon enough it was ALL...just within my reach.

without regret
I claimed everything I wanted.
I called it my art...gave it everything I had and more
and I thank God he gave me the strength 
to digest everything just within my reach 
then to succeed beyond my reach!




April 23 2015
Just within your reach 
always...my love!
Armand




Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

''and that comes from within''


if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
                  I suppose that I could travel the world;

       live in a better home, buy designer clothes and stuff,

  if money was no object in my life . . . 

                     but you see money cannot help me,
each day my health is more delicate, slipping further away;

       and all the money in the universe will not change a thing,
                               this is my struggle and my daily reality . . . 

                                         the things I give myself are simple,

relaxing music to soothe this weary soul;
peace, tranquility and love to ease my pain,
and I ask the Lord for acceptance . . . 

             in meditation I try to fathom the why,
                                           
                      of course, with money I could go to a fancy retreat;
but a corner in my bedroom is set aside for meditation and relaxing,
and it is there I have placed peaceful things that cost very little . . . .

     perhaps with money I could get better drugs,
                but no drug is going to change this girl's destiny;

                                                this I know deep in my heart and soul, 
                       I have for a long, long time . . . 

I think a lot about my past and life so far,

                              the paths I took or did not take;
                              the things I said or did not say,
        could money have changed my journey in any way . . . 

                                     a warm bath, a cozy bed, a sweet purring cat,
                                                    paper and pen so I can write;
               my laptop within reach, a walk in nature listening to the birds,
      a loved one to hold my hand  . . . .

      these are my indulgences and they may not seem like much to you,

                              but I feel like the wealthiest person in this world;
              for money cannot buy happiness nor can it buy life,
                                      all I need is the indulgence of tranquility . . . 

                            ''and that comes from within''



______________________________
January 28 , 2015

Narrative


For the contest, Poems That Are Soup Favorites,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton

Tenth Place 

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Poetry in Poetry a Duet of Lonely Blues

Poetry

Is not the poem
Is not the poet

Is the observations
Is the emotions

Is the diversity. entwined
Opposing views always sought

Is the love
Is the hate

Is the sadness
Of losing to fate

Is the laughter
Of a child’s dreams

Is the love
That is sometimes unseen

Except by the poet
Who in his lonely sadness sees

The beauty of all
That surrounds the depression in he



In Poetry

I died
Long ago

My heart something broke
I became cold

I cried
For childhood days gone by

I died
A million ways

Now I write
From down below

Where darkness is the sea
That I sail in eternity

Of in the distance
I heard the notes of a symphony

So now as I sleep
A thousand deaths

I hope
For that one musical note

To wake me up
Heart and soul

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

The days that brought me here

I thought I would go backwards
Into my uncertain
My awkward
The days of my wondering
What will I be when I grow up?
Will I ever grow up?
Is everyone better than me?
Boy I wish I could be more like that
That guy
Yep him
The athletic confident one
Words come so easy to him
Jokes flow freely from his lips
And they laugh
They love being with him
What's it like to be that self assured?
He has so many friends
None of them would ever talk to me
What would it be like to hang out with the cool kids?
I try telling myself
It doesn't matter
I have a few friends
I want it to be enough
I think it's enough
With them
I imagine and pretend
To be funny
Interesting
Until
One smile
One chuckle at a time
I gradually become me
A better more confident self
Assured
Witty
A lover of words
Dialogue 
Conversation
I talk my way towards my future
While listening for clues 
Building myself two by twos
Real friends are the ones I choose 
Their words
Teach me about them and myself
I don't hide on lonely street
There are more people to meet
So I jump up off my seat
Rewrite myself on many a sheet
Until I can follow and hear my internal beat
Do what needs doing
Repeat and repeat 
Until I come to here and now
Breathless with WOW
Understanding HOW
That uncertain and awkward part
Changed everything 
It still is
And 
Always
Will be
An important part of me
Because it helped me see
There are many many 
Incredible
Significant and individual
ways to be
So now I choose
Care Free!







Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

A Poet's Cry



Wanting to leave a small footprint when  I die
I often ask myself that age old question "why?"
When the mask I wore is stripped away at last
Will I be just a pebble dropped in seas so vast
Might I scribble in the dust some sign that I was here
A word or phrase that might bring a smile or tear
Now that the days are marching toward December
When there is not but words, will anyone remember
A simple poet's cry; the chapter closed and done




Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Just A Good Cry


i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
                                                                      
from below 
in the muck 
reeds 
grow tall 
there are no lips that will draw music 
from these clarinet dwellers

i stand under the brightly lit dusk
nearly motionless

the moon above is glued in place nailed in to its spot
holding on to a piece of the bedtime sky 

the little dipper reminds me of a rocking chair
my favourite star shines just a little dimmer 

time passes 
does so 
uninvited 

its metronome beat replaces the soundscape 
of an otherwise musically crowded air 

a hand descends from above
cuts the trapped moon down to a sliver
leaving the twilight mostly blind

i'm getting old
still even my worn out senses 
are aware 
of the days
aware
of that single golden eye
of its rise
its set 
its endless loop

quiet is my flow of sand

stressed beyond reason
my lungs want to burst
my brain explode
my emotions are stretched passed their limit

my chest fills
my chest empties

the choice was 
has always been mine
i have not lived the life i was gifted

i'm frozen
i'm hot
like a statue baking in the unforgiving rays of Sol

wide awake in the after dark
with all the usual players

the wolf with his cool stance 
dressed in a zoot suit 
snapping his beatnik fingers
wooing the maiden night

the lynx with a fluid stride plays 
the ground like bongo drums 
negotiates the air like brushes on snares

a choir of flyers lend their songs

there is a chasm of nurtured colours 
engulfing me in its rich deep tones

having stood here longer then i know
i inhale my time in tiny puffs 

i am void of the sanity i once possessed
i happily dismissed that blurry concept a long time ago
it is you know an overrated attribute 

time moves with a second hand like a plane propeller 
i live every moment as fully as my strength allows

all the living at the river and its surrounding land
add their breath to the natural air of the eventide 

i breathe in the chill of the nightfall air 
and i 

i wait at the river for the cry of the loon


September 28 2015
armand 



Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


Details | Introspection Poem | |

One Regret - Italian Sonnet

Now walking through the autumn of my life
Where maple leaves have turned from green to gold
I watch them fall in breezes turning cold
In a whirl-wind of harmony and strife
And I ponder, on the fact that I might
In the light, as another day unfolds
Have like these dying autumn leaves, grown old
Slow, spiralling toward the pending night


Moss grows along the path where I now step
That rocky road now softened by the years
Seeing for the first time, so crystal clear
That I will leave this life with one regret
This vision, that these old eyes now behold
Those blazing  flames, when autumn leaves let go. 



Written:  February 22, 2016
Elaine Cecelia George, of Canada

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016


Details | Introspection Poem | |

This Poem Is How I Feel

Sometimes on the road of life
	Change becomes the norm
		When you think, “The sky is true”
			The horizon brews a storm
Some storms last but a minute
	Like a ship they sail right by
		Other storms seem to be
			As endless as the sky
Some storms come with a flood
	As life gets washed away
		Other storms shake the ground
			As mountains crumble into clay
Storms come in many sizes
	They come in many shapes
		Storms come in many forms
			Some bless while others rape
As we face the storms of life
	They change who we are
		Sometimes, we’re the clouds
			Other times we’re the stars
Storms have one thing in common
	One day they too shall pass
		 As a car rolls to a stop
			Storms run out of gas
After the storm has passed us by
	A seed sprouts to a flower
		Each petal seems to be
			Exuding strength and power
I have weathered many storms
	Their lines map my face
		In their wake I have found
			Love is my saving grace
I don’t know what this poem means
	I don’t know if I ever will
		All I know is that right now
			This poem is how I feel

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011


Details | Introspection Poem | |

The Farmer and His Corn

The Farmer and his Corn


Snug and warm beneath the earth
The field awaits the coming birth
It holds the richness that they need
Provides the anchor for the seed

The farmer by his hand did sow
Soon he knows his seed will grow
When length of day and rain is right
And sun above shines warm and bright

The rain has come the soil is moist
New life burst forth, it has no choice
With a sudden wondrous surge
A field of green does emerge

The farmer feels it in the air
He comes to see his field so fair
Quietly, just after dawn
His brand new field of corn is born

Quickly grow those humble shoots
Drawing goodness through their roots
All hot and hazy summer long
The shoots thrust upward, straight and strong

Golden now as flaxen hair
New seeds upon them they do bear
The farmer picks an ear to eat
To check then that, his corn is sweet

The farmer comes to field one morn
Another with him that day drawn
No face had he and yet was grim
The corn all knew that it was him

A shrouded hood, his face to hide
He follows just two steps behind
The mice who’s nests the stalks had borne
Know soon there will be no more corn

Not daring now to take a peep
They know for them they’ve come to reap
Both the men they carried scythes
They know they’ve come to end their lives

The farmer lifts the implement
To cut them down is his intent
A shadow fell, with mighty stroke
The farmers gone, with man in cloak.





Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Midnight Pearls

.                 



                 Shine, midnight pearls!
                 The smoke curls up 
                 in whirls of doom.

                 On the wet sand 
                 my own hand draws 
                 unplanned pierced hearts.

                 Deep blue-black sky
                 I play by rules
                 and sigh despair

                 to lay aside 
                 starry-eyed dreams
                 that hide a sin.

                 Shine, distant stars!
                 through guitars notes,
                 through scars of time.

                  For her first kiss
                  an abyss drains
                  all bliss from me

                  and far away
                  shadows play down
                  their spray of doubts.

                  Opaque pearls, shine!
                  On this fine night, 
                  define my north.



.
4/23/2012

Copyright © Usual Suspect | Year Posted 2012


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011


Details | Introspection Poem | |

Midnight Brings The Dawn

It seems that all my life I’ve seen some darker times Now and then the times I knew were more than I could stand. But, learn we must, from all hard times and soon we come to know It’s trying times that we go through that makes a boy a man. When we feel weak at heart and think we’ll never make it Our spirit strengthens us to somehow carry on. It’s then we learn that just at midnight things could get no worse And soon we see the darkness fade and midnight brings the dawn. Every midnight has a dawning Every dawning has a day Where daylight shines on things remembered And some things lost along the way. And every passing daylight Brings evening into play Where we’ll face another midnight That brings, yet, one more dawning day. It seems a pattern thus emerges, Monotonous as it may seem, Every midnight brings a dawning, Filled with all our daylight dreams. Dreams are meant to bring survival To those who may have lost their way. Who found the darkness of the midnight Kept the dawning light at bay. So, as near as I can figure, There’s this we can rely on However bleak the darkest midnight, After midnight comes the dawn. Written by John Posey 04/09/13

Copyright © John Posey | Year Posted 2013