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Best Personality Poems

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

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New Personality Poems

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

Girl, Your Stunning Personality by Project, The Brooklyn Six
DUAL PERSONALITY by onclaud, nette
The PeRsOnAliTy Profile Test by Hauser , Mike
Split Personality by Gupta, Probir
Split personality by Daniels, Shawn
SPLIT PERSONALITY by MURRAY, JEAN
Split Personality by Haight, Sandra
Multiple Personality by Rose, Mystic
Just Me, Me, Me and My Multiple Personality by Hull, John-Ovan.P.
personality shines by JOHNSON, DON

View all new Personality Poems

The Best Personality Poems

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Big Girls do Cry

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

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

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

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

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

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








March 27th 2016
Any Poem 36








Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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This scar of mine

                        There is a scar
                          On my face
                            Small, steadfastly placed
                              One only notices if they are this close 
                                 To kissing my soul
                                   On my cheek
                                      Below the eyes and sideways
                                         Beside the bubble-gum sweet
                                           Mouth, vivacious story teller
                                            like an upside down
                                              sharp angled  half moon                    
                                               The endless emotions of my sky
                                                 So attractively rough
                                                   It attacks the delicate features of my face
                                                    Allowing my streetwise beautiful
                                                      Personality
                                                      To shine through, I don’t hide thetruth
                                                        It’s as plain as the scar on my face
                                                         Life isn’t ugly, you make it that way
                                                          Some days I wish it wasn’t there
                                                          But I always
                                                          Appreciate it’s presence  
                                                          I won’t ever forget
                                                        When I received 
                                                       The blow to my vanity
		            From a fight over youthful yearnings
                                                     Inside this 
                                                   Is my learning processes
                                                Scars hold history
                                             I shall carry with me
                                         Through tough times
                                        Soft and easy, peaceful
                                      To remind me
                                    Of me


Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007

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Girl, Interrupted

Girl, Interrupted-

Deep cuts from within.
She faced bravely the many hardships of womanly life
How did she end up like this?
Severe depression after her first mental breakdown
Sorrow oppressed what was willed
At present in the parallel universe, 
Never aware of the world left behind
She will catch a brief glimpse of this world
   ---where everything is different.

Losing the veil in which includes time, 
Aging without caring death awaits!
Her different personality replaces reality
Things appear normal in her eyes. 

Although captivate in her own mind,
She feels this is freedom.

Being heavily burdened--
Every day she stares into different mirrors,
Smiling in her bipolar face
Without knowing insanity put her mind at ease.

~*~
7/24/13


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013

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Sharon Weimer

Though we’ve never met 
I comprehend your beautiful words
I feel your pleasant persona
Never a mean word to be said
I ache from your kindness 
Making others feel ten feet tall 
Picking me up when I may fall 
Talent beyond compare 
Are you brunette or fair?
But that wouldn’t matter to me 
If I never had the chance to see you face to face 
Your wonderful personality I could never forget 
You’ve help build a community of friends 
Steady and true
I wish you peaceful skies of cobalt blue 
Fields of flowers brushed in rainbow colors 
I pray for love from God above 
For you and your family beloved 
Know that you touched lives that may not have been touched 
You changed someone 
And brought me a new reason to write 
You’re an inspiration and a friend 
And you’ve touched my heart polite 
Gratitude pours forth  


Written for and about Sharon Weimer !


Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2009

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Poetry Soup Heroes

We're Off To See The Wizard.

Emotion, a storm that came, swept me into the poetry game.
A tornado, carried me to this place, a new face, I'd never be the same.
I was greeted with techni-color, I was black and white, out of place.
Munchkins, the whole lot, greeted me with aisles of smiles and glow,
Welcoming me to a whole new world, one that I would come to know.
They say go, find that wizard, take a journey to eternity,
Life will be a better place as I find the friends to walk with me.

My footfalls step one in front of the other, Toto, he is at my side,
He takes this trip with every strip and dip, to him my secrets I confide.
And we follow the yellow brick road, chirping and singing along,
When we come across the scarecrow who hangs strawed and strong.
He comes with great knowledge, a Wise Dummy, he is so smart,
A character with creative charm and clumsy grace, his poetry is art.
He thinks great thoughts even though he thinks he is just made of stuffing,
I could not journey this experience alone, this genius is quite somethin'.
From the mysteries of our histories, similarities begin to appear,
And I welcome him into my adventure, he is terrific to have near.

We skip along the yellow brick road, hearing a crinkled creek,
There stands rusted with nature trusted, a tin man mild and meek.
Tipping the oil can we lubricate and he starts to enunciate and pronunciate, 
A song beats as he moves his feet, he has no heart but wait...
As we all start to travel, his lyrics start to unravel, he has marvelous melody,
And he sings with all his mighty might, songs so very very right just for me.
I would not be fooled by his metal, his surface so smooth as a kettle,
He may be made of tin, but his heart beats strong within.

As a troop we continue to see the wizard who is our goal,
Every word we write along they way has be written in our soul.
Out of nowhere jumps the lion, roar, he tries to frighten us away,
But how cute he shies when we see through his disguise, a pussy cat, a stray.
He has no fear of the things he writes, he has mighty truth in his tongue,
Soothing the stings the stiff wasps bring, he laughs while being stung.
He joins our adventure, giving praise of plenty and being fairly fair,
I couldn't imagine my journey through life without him being there.

I have been so fortunate to find my scarecrow, tin man and lion,
To make it to the great wizard, that is our task, together we are tryin'
Three poets, so true in their personality will always walk with me.
Have a place in my heart, always play a part, making me see poetry,
A journey doesn't have to be alone, there is always a friend.
And they follow me to the wizard, and even then it's not the end.

We're off to see the wizard...the wonderful wizard of oz....


Date: October 16, 2015

Dorothy: (unnamed poet)
Toto: (unnamed poet)
Scarecrow: (Richard Lameroux)
Tin Man: (Lyric Man)
Cowardly Lion: (Arthur Vaso)
The Wizard: (We'll all meet him one day)


Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015

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Narcissism

Narcissus fell in love with his own image 
a reflection in a pool of water
remarkably 1% suffer from Narcissistic personality disorder
consumed in the pursuit of gratification for vanity
including egotistical admiration of attributes
socially and culturally immune from empathy and compassion
sustaining satisfying relationship a major problem
ignorant in understanding another person's perspective
susceptible to delusions of grandeur - love flattery
megalomaniacs born everyday in our community 

The Silent One
29 November 2015

The term "narcissism" comes from the Greek myth of ?????ss??, or in Latin Narcissus, a handsome Greek youth who rejected according to Ovid the desperate advances of the nymph Echo. These advances eventually led Narcissus to fall in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. Unable to consummate his love, Narcissus "lay gazing enraptured into the pool, hour after hour," and finally changed into a flower that bears his name, the narcissus.

The concept of excessive selfishness has been recognized throughout history. In ancient Greece the concept was understood as hubris. It is only in recent times that it has been defined in psychological terms.


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Unzipped Lips

As I was busy “being” just who I am, I didn’t care what others were seeing. To be as they wish, would be a sham and I will not be part of a scam. People are really the sum of everything that has touched their lives. When others take issue with what you’ve become, don’t expect to receive high fives. If you stay true, your uniqueness survives. No one can tell you what to feel, when to laugh or how to pray. The very act of being real will find you rising above the fray, dispelling regrets each day. For if you submit to playing a role that doesn’t fit your personality, you’ll dig yourself deep into a hole. Don’t succumb to others’ mentality; maintain your individuality.
*English Quintain by Carolyn Devonshire for Nancy's "Unzipped Lips" contest


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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Heat Source Hunger

Wonder not
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,

I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,

We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament, 

I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy, 
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,

Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms Armageddon, 
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -

J.A.B.



Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

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A Love Story

The girl is an ultra-modern scholar, 
Belongs with an upper-middle class family. 
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly. 
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University. 
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare, 
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket. 
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....

The girl is very good.

The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...

The boy is very good.


They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The  girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his. 
 
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.

Time flows.
Love goes to another address... 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014

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Who Am I - Take a Peek

Daughter of Mary and Louis (Named after my late grandmother ) My name is Charmaine a name originated from latin Charmaine means -a song Eldest of two siblings Wife and Mother Born and raised in the sun-kissed land of Malta (an island in the Mediterranean sea which is politically westernized yet geographically in the southern part of the European continent) Baptised as a roman catholic (with believes rooted in love and forgivness) Friends describe my personality as amicable and funny (I love to laugh at myself to make others happy ) Till a person keeps distant , I might act timid and shy . Friends describe me as humble , yet I can be extremely stubborn. It is said that I'm affable, trustworthy, and good willed Honest, hardworking, warm and kind . I describe myself childlike , and oversensitive at times. I trust only with my eyes wide open If ever deceived I erupt in a volcanic catastrophe which fades in a short time. I am a day dreamer, a night dreamer My shadow is lost in the moon's eclipse I float on cloud nine many a time (My X-mathematics teacher would obviously confirm that ). I am a hopeless romantic ( Cold Unromantics may find me challenging or boring ). I am scared of rejection, and abhore prejudice . I hate hypocracy, medriocracy, and burocracy. I shed my blood for democracy. I am against fundamentalizm, extremism and anything that suffocates freedom. I condemn divisions between rich and poor. I love life, and all that is beautiful. I love birds, animals and flowers I love mountains, rivers,ocean , and all mother nature I love exploring the world , and all that is adventurous . . I am a loyal follower of Maldena Gandhi , Mother Theresa, and Martin Luther king. I love cooking, art , music, and words. I love reading a good book, watching a great movie (Preferably with tishoos in one hand, and chocolate in the other ). I love being away from concrete worlds, far from buzzling sounds of nightlife. I love all seasons, Spring with fresia's perfume, Summer with late walks Autumn with cinnamon spices, Winter with Christmas-lights and snow. (Ah yes,How I love Christmas ). I love all simple things , like a cup of English tea I love making my house a home. Be surrounded with those that I care for such as God , friends, family, or be in my own silence reading sweet poetry. Charmaine Chircop - nee: Brincat Born : 1st of May 1977 Star-Sign : Taurus Favourite Colour: Blue Favourite flower : Daisy Margarita Favourite author: God This is a revised repost, inspired to repost it by a running contest of Catie Lyndsey, and the wonderful bios I've read here, thanks. Not for the contest


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016

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All My Secrets

He says that I remind him of
Some old country song, I think
He doesn't really need to know
"How many arms have held you
And hated to let you go"

I'm dizzy, up there on his pedestal
My character is flawed
Wings tattered, flesh a bit scarred
Stars twirl around the bumps on my head
I think he sees the dark of me, but instead
He says he thinks he's found
An "Angel flying to close to the ground"

Some days I ooze with personality, or
Become his worst reality, a little bit rebel
Alot flower child, mostly free spirit
Sometimes gone wild

Each new day begins again
Some things he'll never see
I'll be keeping all my secrets
Just between you and me




!st Place Win in SCAT's "Secrets" contest  06/29/13


Copyright © Karen Anglesey | Year Posted 2013

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Tommy the tomato

Tommy was the toughest tomato in Tomato Land.  Tommy did not like being a tomato.  He would always say to his friend Tina: "I want to be a potato; they are so strong. Us tomatoes are weak and squishy."  Tina would simply smile and tell him: "Potatoes are so ugly, misshaped and have no personality."  Tommy was stubborn in his quest. He knew he could not be a potato, but he wanted to be just as strong.  Everyday he did hundreds of press ups and sit ups.

Tommy loved to wrestle.  He had become very famous for 'squishing' all his opponents. There were no more tomatoes left for him to fight.  His success started to make him big-headed.  He would go around mocking other tomatoes, laughing and shouting: "You lot are so weak, I can squish you all with one finger!"  People in Tomato Land were beginning to dislike Tommy, except for Tina.  Her nature was kind and always told him to be modest.  He never did listen though. He did not realise the importance of being humble nor cared for it.

Tommy dreamed about wrestling with the strongest potato.  In Potato Land lived  Polly, who was the most powerful in the land.  Polly was sweet and did not like to wrestle, unless someone upset her.  News had reached Potato Land about a tomato who wanted to squish all the potatoes.  Everyone found it funny and thought it was a joke.

One day Tommy decided to pack his bag and go wrestle in Potato Land.  Tina decided to go with him as she was a loyal friend and did not want him to to look silly.  As they arrived, all the potatoes laughed when he told them: "I'm Tommy and I'm the toughest tomato in Tomato Land.  I challenge the strongest potato to a wrestling match."  Tina who was a little nervous begged him not to, but of course, he did not listen.

Polly saw Tommy and sweetly told him: "I am the most powerful of the potatoes, but I do not want to wrestle.  Welcome to Potato Land, let me show you our lovely pastures." Tommy laughed: "Ha ha ha, you are a girl, how can you be the most powerful?"  To which Polly took great offence and squished him with one finger!

Tommy had been humiliated and felt embarrassed.  As he started to cry, Polly apologised and told him: "You should never think you are stronger because you are a boy.  Never underestimate anybody in life. Be proud to be red, round and handsome.  We all have our strengths and we all have our weaknesses. Be a dignified tomato."

Tommy had learnt his lesson.  As Tina hugged him, he also realised the value of being humble and true friendship.  

6 May 2016






Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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I Need Time to Heal

Tell me why, but tell me True-
Spare me the heartbreak of a Lie
I would lay forever in these meadows...
Forever, until I die!
To rid myself of all the Pain,
And the Sorrows of what I feel
To ease my Mind, my worried Brain
(Lord! The Cuts! I need to heal)

*Referring to my problems with "Borderline Personality Disorder"; many of us are "cutters"


Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2013

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BIPOLAR

Belligerent and irritated by almost any little thing
Insaneness all around me; craziness is what I bring
Psychosis is not the problem; the problem lies within
Overzealous personality; much absorption sinking in 
Liar, cheat and manipulator; trust you should not give
Ambition at its lowest; no longer wanting to live
Racing thoughts; trying to unwind an ultimate goal for an unstable mind

Stacy Lynn Stiles


Copyright © Stacy Stiles | Year Posted 2007

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Heart Shaped Balloon

I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.

Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
a sign,
I became something new
for you...

Memories
Feelings
Ideas

Each speck
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;

The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
ease trouble
in eyes before me.

Yet
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
the depth 
of the beautiful find
floating before you?

You bent,
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;

You twisted,
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...

Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.

Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.

Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...

Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
away 
from you
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.




Copyright © Michele Nold-Godleske | Year Posted 2006

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My Confession

It is hard to really tell you The beauty of this man For many simply find it Too hard to understand They laugh, they smile, and tease As I describe his every being They just can’t fully see The splendor that I’m seeing Though he is just a character I really can care less He is real in this crazy heart of mine So give your teasing a rest! His hair is black as ebony His voice as smooth as milk It reminds me of dark chocolate sliding across oiled silk His face is pale and serious With black eyes that pierce your own His grimness makes me envious In this world he is alone His nose is hooked—but not too much! And his rare smiles are divine His black robes add a vicarious touch I wish he could be mine! As far as personality goes, I say, he’s quite the charmer! Dexterously shielded by a past of foes Beneath his shame of honor Sometimes he’s angry, but mostly glum Rarely is he content He lost his love, cold and lonesome Sarcasm is his lament! Alone he lingers in the dark Torn and set apart No one knows he has left a mark Right smack-dab on my heart! I stared intently at book and screen When they first came on Every word he utters is like a dream And then again—he’s gone! Nevertheless he leaves me With a feeling so grand At loss of words from the awe he gives me A joy that no one understands Can I help but swoon and gape, At the great professor Severus Snape? *Note: Although Alan Rickman is a contributing factor to my obsession, I’m seriously just in love with the character…and that is my confession!


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

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Poetry Is My Voice

Imagination and subliminal thoughts are created-
       Seen through my minds eye....
This pen takes the shape of a scimitar-
       Following the way of the samurai....
It's a hunger a desperate need.
       This pen accelerates picking up speed.
Continuous momentum never to stop.
       I will scale and conquer this mountain top.
                              I'm a warrior with my words.
                                      Using nouns, adjectives, and adverbs.
                               They can confine, keep me blind, but my mind is not in the slammer
                                       I design, entwine, and use no guidelines with my grammar.
                                I combine my stanza's and make 'em sing.
                                        Through my ruthless bloodline, I'm the most diabolical King!
"Writer's Block" is a trained and difficult adversary.
       But regardless, I'm destined to be legendary.
I paint visuals that compliment my morbid personality.
       My reality is your fantasy.
Stories tend to dance into creativity.
       Through my dark imagination I'm not given much choice.
Poetry is my voice....


Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009

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Shameless

So many weep from pleasure or from pain
and raise their invocations to the sky.
I watch them from the corner of my eye.
Their exhibitions I would likely feign 
to match expression shown when masses cry.
My eyes, instead, might blur.  I gasp or sigh,
and sometimes I despond when under strain.
But rarely am I vassal to the guilt
that others I’ve observed are prone to claim.
Of slower-melting metal I was built.
By keeping cool, I suffer less from shame
than those who feel too much.  They often wilt.
A gift or curse?  I rarely feel to blame.

For Frank Herrera's  WHAT MIGHT THEY FIND THERE
(I've noticed I do not suffer so much from feelings of guilt as some of my friends do. I think it has to do with basic personality types)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Ugly Words

Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
a compliment?
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
for flair?
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?


Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2014

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Words Of Wisdom To My Child

You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed. My hands of your molding and chastisement are already the processing engine of your refinement my strong willed mind and love soaked heart complete the stages as you hold steadfast to the train I’ve prepared for you Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom and gallivant the landscape of experience while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which life’s shots are overcomed and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat, Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions and don’t force out jokes from your head or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability to strongly control them is what makes you distinct from other species in the animal kingdom Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective it is what it is and as powerful as causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence. He who begins a tale becomes its reference don’t say what you cannot defend in court rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood and puts a noisy siren on your personality Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage and corrupt friends will join others to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity Wash your face every morning with these words and take your every meal with these lines then would they be spices to which your life is preserved.


Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

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Banana Split

A banana split can be a work of art. With the fruit cut lengthwise in half is where we start. Three scoops of our favorite ice cream go on top. Whatever flavor, use the cream of the crop. On each scoop go toppings of pineapple, chocolate, and strawberry. Above that go generous mounds of whipped cream and a cherry. A split is good enough to change the most dour personality. Serve up this treat, and see them become merry.


Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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- SEEING BEAUTY -


      Why have all a beauty ideal
      Every day we make aesthetic judgments of each other
      We put the characters and judge each other's appearance
      What is beauty and what is hideous
      Is it  the feathers that make a beautiful peacock
      Is there consistency between the outer and inner


      Unlock the diamonds fiery beauty in yourself
      Is appearance important for a happy life
      Long dark eyelashes, full lips and big tits
      Or it's about charisma, inner beauty and charm
      The beauty ideal ... naturally beautiful


      It is of course true that beauty comes from within
      through the personality and the radiance
      Do not let a different appearance scare you away
      A huge body, nerdy glasses, big nose and enormous ears
      Beast, behind the raw, brutal exterior hides a warm and sensitive soul
      There is no appearance that determines whether we are valuable or not.


      All beauty and intelligence in this world comes from nature
      and we are a vibrant and beautiful part of the whole
      We do not love someone because they are beautiful
      But we think they are beautiful because we love them
      You ...... are an incredibly great person





01.12.2013
A-L  Andresen :)




Sponsor:Nette Onclaud
Contest Name:SEEING BEAUTY IN IMPERFECTION
Deadline	12/28/2013 12:00:00 AM


(4th place in the contest)


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013

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HER

“H” represents the humility she 
displayed from the moment she 
opened her eyes; 
“E” would suggest a revision of 
evolution, 
Because it would take many stories and 
infinite lifetimes to explain the beauty 
of her essence; 
And “R” would ask for a human replica 
of her, 
For many men should admire such as I 
do. 


Modern Shakespeare’s should pay
close attention, 
For her personality writes poetry 
itself, 
And yet the pen remains in my 
hand, 
To describe beauty in third person. 


My cold and nonchalant heart has never 
asked for another summer to warm up too, 
Unless purposeful reasons for an appeal of the 
heart were discovered, 
And yes! 
These reasons always spelt out 
her name. 


As in life which contains both success 
and failure, 
I’ll risk it all, in hope’s for mutual 
affection; 
I’d serenade time if it meant I could 
spend more in her serenity; 
Forget the ridicule and episodes of embarrassment, 
The only thing on television tonight is the 
heartfelt expression of a peacock, 
Waiting to display his romantic feathers to the 
archetype woman; 
Today and forever; 
I’ll dedicate to her. 


Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2013

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Understanding Suicide Understanding Me

Understanding Suicide Understanding Me

Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.

He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.

In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.

There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.

I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.

I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.

Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.

This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool. 
 A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.

People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.

I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.

The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.

My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.

After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.

And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute. 
I win.

I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.

And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.

I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.

And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.

My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.

If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said.  And don't forget to help someone else along the way.

.

God Bless

Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook

Edwin C Hofert


Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

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THE AGE OF THRILL SEEKERS

Emartra Van Doyle, II was a powerful leader.
As a powerhouse, he knew this was his golden age.
He formed leaders and defeated procrastination.
He prepared them for the world to come.
A connection of minds he was assembling.
Amass of intelligence that could construct and destroy.
When the time comes, Emarta Van Doyle, II would rule the universe with his  
     deployments.
There he stood with his mind in a riddle as he depolymerized his competitors.
Effete they became when he spoke.
Emartra was one of demonic presence but this was the beginning of his knowledge   
    within the world.
He was in the twenty-first century to explore the future.
Only the darkness knew his secret.

The organization was a corporate one.
Employing over five thousands plus individuals, Van Doyle, II had the love of work  
    captured.
He was not born in wealth but at thirty-three years of age, he physically engaged 
    himself in becoming prestigious.
Colloguing with hundreds at a time, Emartra collaboration was refined.
His mind would inform his ambiances and architect would emerge bringing forth a 
    new world.
They emigrated from a universe not yet discovered but claimed a country in the   
    Western Hemisphere.
Emartra knew his people and his identity was as a birth child.
While artificial insemination is his form, his biological father was his mother’s 
    husband.
Yet never to reveal as anything else, Emartra laughs because no means exist.
His people will come as emigrates.

Soon the trumpet will sound.
Triumphantly they will rejoice in the streets.
Their spirits will be high and they are normal people.	
However, once the darkness unfolds, the world, which they embrace, will biblically 
     emerge into a state of being.
Work life sentient only to those that is responsive intellectually.
Yet, Emartra is the brain that constructs.
The people of the world knew nothing of him.
Distinguished from its material elements, Emartra politicked the fundamentals.
Now in the mainstream of society is advocacy configured to take minds as no one 
     ever had.
Via the documentation of historians, what is occurring is universally mirage.
That is a change such as the first upright being to humanity today.
Emartra, metacognition postulates that depiction with ease.
He is well written through his playwrights.
He will seek another’s mind to prophesize.

This is the age of thrill seekers.
Emartra plays will capture the universe of people.
Humankind ritualized in which iniquity will meet perilous times.
Architect has change the scene.
People features and personality are not really the same.
Medical science has no knowledge of this revelation.
The world has been smitten by a difference in humanity.
Yet, man is man as woman is woman and as child is child.
Emartra is enjoying life.
Married and father of five, he is ideology of normal living.
By shaped, formed, and fashioned, he is a thrill seeker.
Today configuration is manifestation of delight that makes a quiver in society.
|_____________________________________________________________|
Penned on December 12, 2014!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014