Poem | |
Written in The Stars
Two hearts bleached by the sun
A poem's - fallen wish
Of A Life Time
Majestic beams fall from heavens medow
Two hearts sewn by the constellation
Under the moons glow
You and I
Staring up into the Starry Sky
Tonight we sit under the dazzling diamond dust
Our eyes feel and meet tonight
Stars twinkle a poem of each paired heart
Listen................... The God's Whisper!
What Is Love?
A wish so gentle by the stars
Greeting young couples heart
Poor but, in love
Mockeries of old shadow
Light embracing this Auspicious moment
Intrigued by a sad lovers tale
Two souls forever rich-
Sharing eternity through celestial bliss
Gravitating in a world owned by the stars
Unfortunate turn of events,
Romeo & Juliet
Collapsing stars rising with a hymn
From the moment they fell
Only to reveal how beautiful--
-- the stars in the dark
Ever so wealthy, around Orion's Belt
Taking notes of every rhyme, every heartbeat
Stars fall every eve entering the atmosphere
Seeping through the soul making love a part of light
Illusion of permanence
Fireflies Flaring up
A love that lives last longer than moments
Zodiac unfolds the lines
The stars tell you, who you are
Gaze upon the infinity
Follow the Northern star
Beneath your peaceful splendor
They will bow
The evening star,
"My Star Of Love"
Like glitter dust upon a timeless shore
Never will the memory of love be gone
Look up at the stars,
For some where out there
I read about YOU in a poem.
Poem | |
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips
I close my eyes
I see them all
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens
The stars dim my view
Land becomes an enemy
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim
Poem | |
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath my midnight mask, I remove, the makeup at last,
The moon is anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic, by my bedside, asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoice,
I could not ignore the light coming from the cracks in the open door
Giving it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seems to be deeming, a distance, of resistance
Curiosity, came a crawling, and caressing,
To feel and taste, sinful skin,
Everything then, grew thinner than thin,
Suddenly, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse, hits the wall, of nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, notwithstanding
Is this, a moment, Edgar Whispered, "nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice, sits and whines, with the wind
"Only this, and nothing more!"
A natuary, nauseate moment, sea sick, shipwrecked floor
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is, and nothing more" - that remains
Tweaking, and repeating, the speeding, of needing
My drugs, of pain and passion, to end the illusion
Of the self inflicted - bruising, from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted, and tainted, like the midnight dreary
Reciting, and exciting, like The Bells, of Annabel Lee, in fury
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil doing skin, like the sum of sin, is how it seems
On the nights my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I ravel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the dark side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scratch my room, screaming to the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting Poe, go!
Inspired by The Raven
Poem | |
Today I penned a love letter
I know you'll never see
Secret thoughts and feelings
Bottled up inside of me
Romantic muse on my heart
Words written with the mind
My forbidden introspection
I know you'll never find
For I, myself, am the bottle
I'm not floating on the sea
The message is deep inside
Heartbroken that we can't be
I know this sounds freaky
But every word I say is true
Although we've never met
My heart is missing you!
Poem | |
On summer hills I watched you
I know you watched me too
Every night you waited for me
Every night I came to you
From shallow oceans I have risen
On silver chariots traveled high
Crossed everlasting spaces
which filled your empty sky
Soothing manna showered your lips
from the radiance of my light
Crazy love I poured in your heart
on each lone and serene night
Humble shepherd boy Endymion
You haven't chosen death,nor life
In eternal sleep you've slumbered
and made of me your wife
You must have been a poet
with a will to live our dream
with a want to preserve passion
for the last abiding crescent
of the evanescent moon Selene.
Inspired by the Greek myth of Selene,goddess of the moon and Endymion
and by beautiful poetry.
Poem | |
The mischievous Sandman runs a con game each night
After all the youngsters are safely tucked away
He dances into my room like an elfin sprite
He seizes my hand, tries to lure me outside to play
Then he’s bored on my shoulder at the computer
Threatens to throw pixie dust into sleepy eyes
Quells my muse like a discourteous intruder
I’ve attempted to handle him with a compromise
Just let my muse roam free for a couple of hours
For at this time of night, fantasies flow smoothly
But he feels the need to boast of superpowers
And when I ask for time, he glares gloomily
It’s three in the morning and I should be asleep
This nightly visitor has grown to be a pest
Distaste continues to grow for this pesky creep
And the sandman scowls when I say, “Give it a rest!”
*Entry for Deb’s Fantasy Land Contest
April 29, 2011
Poem | |
Late night walk around my lake
Midnight stars are all in bloom
Crickets singing happy songs
A perfect night and a full moon
The brightest star came closer
Said, I think you should know
So I'm going to share a secret
Then I'm going to quickly go
Said, she is thinking about you
A thousand thoughts a day
And at night a million dreams
Your face she loves to play
I've heard her talk about you
So I thought I'd check you out
I feel your thoughts and feelings
You've left me with no doubt
Said, you're wishing and needing
It's as clear as this night sky
That's exactly what she's doing
Dude, you're the apple of her eye
Said, tonight I've been thinking
You two make a perfect pair
And love is a perfect present
It's time to let her know you care
Poem | |
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, muse of poetry, the
Majority of times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting to let you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could
With your request comply
Oh, muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming
From your divine essence
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom,
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**
A difficult task it is indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just
A little more time
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the
Way you would like:
In accordance with universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able
Would be, poems to compose
Her writings, her creations and her poetic epics,
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim
She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace,
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know
The universe’s poetic language should be used
And how, in verse, it has to be
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 SEPTEMBER 2014
* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry and marriage songs.
** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is in reality a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that comes in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!
Poem | |
a hush -
until I spot
spring when sweetly
with joy, and dip
written 11/29/14 by andrea dietrich
for the WHISPERS OF A MUSE - Poetry Contest of nette onclaud
Poem | |
Reflections in the evening
Misty glow of city street
Each step I'm getting closer
Working my way through the crowd
There you are in the plaza
Your beautiful silhouette
Girl, I know you in the dark
Contest: Nette's "Silhouette Of A Heptagonet"
Poet: Lyric Man
Poem | |
~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.
Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision!
Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul,
rolled up into one huge trinity.
I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry".
Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture
down butter slides until the sky goes red.
Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame.
As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day.
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!
To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES.
Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons,
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the
vision...alive in the schism!
*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan
Poem | |
My Muse, I So Abuse
My muse crying loudly, please write this way
I replied laughing, that will be the day
She storms off in a most indignant huff
I shouting at her, damn isn't that tough?
No fear, she always runs as she returns
she my heart so loves, as my mind she burns
I, that often sit on cold bed of stones
She, poetic judge that often breaks bones!
Dead of night she cuddles up to me near
utters words, sweet nothings and a cold fear
I inquire, but my heart you love so dear
She shouts, that was a folly from last year!
My muse and I play wicked cat and mouse
She may be the roof but I am the House!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26- 2014
note: My muse is a vindictive little tramp
she makes me kneel humbly before she lights the lamp!
Poem | |
Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggles to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seeks tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
Schoeningen, Germany (October 18, 2014)
(Rhyme Septet poetic format in Iambic Pentameter)
Poem | |
I set my morning muse alarm for 2am.
But instead, it went off at three.
"Wake up!" he said, "It's me."
I reached for pen and paper. "Stop
fumbling, and turn on the light," he said.
"Or, you'll never be able to read
what I'm putting in your head."
"Why are you being so bossy?" I asked.
"Sorry," he said. "But I'm in a hurry
to get to the next poet's bed."
Poem | |
In advance, I wish to heal the mind, body, and soul
Thanking all God's creatures
Coating all my expressions from-
-Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Conceal every worry,
Focus on the goodness that fills my spirit with thankfulness
And, well, honored comments.
This is a rich tribute to:
All Poetry Soup Poets, with grateful and appreciating hearts
Enjoy the time, you give each and every Poets
Poem | |
I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach.
This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.
This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace,
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format)
*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****
Poem | |
Everyone has gone home
Where ever home is
The city is bare
And the call girl left
We share our secrets
Comrades in despair
The cold winter chills us all
So we two find comfort
In a passing moment
She kisses her past
I kiss my desires
Our tongues kiss our dreams
A Christmas carol plays in the background
Snow begins to fall
Madeline must now go
On another call
Poem | |
This open letter I share to my dear Soupers,
Especially written for the most special muses I have found.
I dedicate this piece from the depth of my soul.
To most brilliant and exquisite poets here in site.
To Poet Destroyer a.k.a. Linda,
Your poem "Daddy" changed a view in my life.
I'm a tamed little tigress when I first came in site.
So afraid to post a collective words from my mind.
When I read your poem, it suddenly changed my life!
It's a free verse form, taught me that writing isn't that hard.
I can freely spread my wings then reach the sky.
It taught me how to use the ink inside my heart.
I saw the lighter side of you.
A loving heart, a real you.
Some of your slams show off your angst.
In "Daddy's poem", you won The Oscar's.
Linda, in half of a year I spend with you,
I'd like to tell how much I awe you,
You are the star that lit my night.
You are the muse that keeps me write.
To my dearest highness poet, Nette...
I can't still find the right adjective that suits you best.
Your "Kiss from Heaven" moved me away.
It opened my eyes to what a poetry really means.
Your words are extraordinary,unique and passionate.
It invites me to go down deeper, explore the world beneath.
You showed me a different ways to use an ink.
Then lead me to a magical and wondrous place within.
Thank you for being an inspiration,
The wind beneath my wings.
The best poet I look up with.
The one that I respect and treasured as friend.
You two are like fuel to my soul.
You help me keep going inspite of sorrow.
You show me the world behind these walls,
You refill my pen to create a poem.
Poem | |
My melancholy turns to gold dust
in your soft and tender hands
upon your fingers I scatter my life
my love remains clasped in your hands
now I am a vial of cologne, emptied...
I yearn to see your lissome creeper
how it clings to cracks on the walk
well, just as it entwines the cement altar
Mi amor, that is how I yearn to embrace your heart
I used to stumble, now I am sustained in you...
This night I yearn and sigh for you
to see you sleep, hands on your chest
sinking into our bed like rosy fruit
from smooth pastures into the depths of our mattress
as the air enters your chest and raises it chastely...
Amante, steal away to me in the night
we will see how peacefully the moon rays
create quiet waves without unsettling the hush
just as it passes into the gulf is the way
I yearn to sink to the very bottom of your soul...
Fly to me from your snow white orchards
you love is ever so immaculate
my naked soul will tremble in your hands...
Poem | |
It vibes in harmonics broadband, a musical language universal,
Echoing across the heights divides, falling as a thunderstorms,
Raw force of spiritual power, descending from the heavens above,
The angels do yield, surrendering the gift of music unto the world
Pierced by their angelic thorny prongs, tender notes of rhythm,
Melt downwards from the silver lining of graces everlasting meadows
Separations clouds expose the here ever afters, sparks of the divinities
Fame burning as a torch lighting up the skies white powder showering
The earth with sweet melodic undertones, a thundering vibrating beat felt
Throughout the pulsating heart of nature itself.
Music lives within all things, it binds a connecting link, a
Symphony a blending element, a melting promise between heaven and
Earth, a harmonious balance, light equaling dark.
In the vaults of the skies, the heavenly chorus joins with
The voices of humanity singing a song of complete
What a true wonder is this gift given unto mankind,
To write and sing, to share such expressionism with
One another, music is honestly a universal language
Understood by every nation, or age group beneath
The heavens themselves.
A heritages legacy passed down from grandfathers,
To fathers, and than to sons, and daughters,
Is this the love and wonder of these arts there in
So shared by all members of the human race for
Generations of inspiration to come.
I listen to the songs sang by the morning doves,
To the charming voices of our youthful young,
Than those jolly fellows from days gone by,
You know the old barber shop quorate.
So many variations and depths of degrees,
Harmony, rock-n-roll, to golden oldies country,
Music is a wonderment all to it's own glory.
So we thank you those powers on high,
For this miracle of a gift called music.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poem | |
Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.
Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”
Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine.
Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):
Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.
Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it: morning, noon, evening, after midnight.
Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.
I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.
I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is:
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited;
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me.
Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.
Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.
This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)
Poem | |
My parents complain of a mythical pest,
Infesting our house since the 7th of July,
Devouring the snacks, desserts,
delicacies and everything hot, spicy or sweet,
Determined to find the beast,
Fattened with food meant for me.
with a magic wand and on a broom to hunt
set out may it be a lachupakabra or a lepricorn,
Scary or naughty and anything the creature might wield
ready with a device from my dad given to me with a grin
the device, the compass, the guide to the beast
was a mirror reflecting its scaled skin scarlet red
staring at me with cat like blue eye
fierce and mighty.
Not a pest but is a mythical beast
Omega and almighty! It was me
Perplexed, gave up the hunt.
now feasting on poisonously, maliciously, dangerously
in sugary syrup gulab jamuns soaking.
Poem | |
There's a little fellow I don't like
Sitting in the wings, ready to strike
I've seen him lately way too much
Bringing sad feelings with his touch
Come out from your hiding and listen up
I don't like the sight of you from closeup
So go away quickly, go away now
Bring no more sadness to this brow
No more crying, sadness, nor sorrow
Don't be around today or tomorrow
Happy, euphoric, contented, or glad
Bring me any of those muses, but not sad
Poem | |
I remember living quietly inside these red brick walls,
a soul, wandering alone through those dark, empty halls,
this is the place where I used to rest my weary head,
now you, another poetic heart, are dreaming here instead.
I was just a poet, a soul like you, so do not be afraid,
this is where I once lived, and this is where I stayed,
I want to whisper my secrets to you, late after midnight,
just hear my faded words, and I will remain out of sight.
There was a lonesome time when I wrote poetry, too,
now I am here, to be your muse and inspire you,
100 years ago, I lived on the other side, only now,
I dwell just behind these red brick walls, somehow.
(A sequel to my poem, "These Red Brick Walls")
Poem | |
Sleeps in my mind’s
Heart's dense traffic
To call for word
November 30, 2014
Dr. Ram Mehta
Eighth Place win
Contest:Whispers of a muse by nette onclaud