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The Best Poems Poems

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My Poems Are Children To Me

My poems are conceived, not within the womb, which long time now has been devoid of seed. My poems are born from a need to be heard: my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs. They start as fragments, flecks of ash from my mind's abyss, a restless volcano that never long sleeps. The particles of ash collect and form together. Feverishly I rush to absorb them all as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers, employing metaphor, play on word, or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm. I mold my poems meticulously to my image, and then they emerge, fatherless but freed. Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways, but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book, where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them and often look as a mother does on her infant babe. Unlike, however, mortal children can do, when I am through with them, they do not change, and fully formed, they rarely disappoint. As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh, I hope they'll love my poem children too. For the Any Poem Meaningful To You Poetry Contest of Broken Wings


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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POETRY FOR POETS: i own this- edition

Well hopefully you've read the last "Poetry for Poets", now here's the one I wanted to write, enjoy...

POETRY FOR POETS 
(I own this- edition)

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
rooted in the shit of life
manure

Some grow wild
seeking their light
through a gnarled thicket
of images
and symbolism.
Ill watered
or sprayed with chemical defoliants
they strangle themselves,
few
managing to blossom.

Manicured
Poems thoughtfully precisely planted
to achieve optimum yield
banquet

			though occasionally
		poems require		to be forged
	beaten into shape
like a horse shoe
with a few holes
	accurately placed
		ensuring they		will be nailed
			to their purpose

Pruned
dead words and metaphors 
selectively snipped away
stunning display

There are times when it’s best to live with your poetry
Cover yourself with its words until they stretch and become sloppery
For its comfort increases as the stanzas begin to fray
Patched elbows illuminating what you intend to say
And eventually you’ll have a poem to slip into by the fire
To savour with hot chocolate as it ignites your desire

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
flourish when tendered
with love


Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2015

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LIBERTY OF EXPRESSION is HERE

Why I am here in Poetrysoup?

I like a seed carelessly thrown 
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow 
despite big rough blocks..

words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas

but how can I? 
When will I?
If within
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava  of emotions.

Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:

  wandering, wandering
  'til a shoreline glistens
  in the name of hope

Pressed. Pushed, 
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely  fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.

Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built 
slowly, slowly fell to short.

Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
Not long, 
sleeping poems from my head popped,
they escaped

  teasing and tickling,
  unafraid, I bite every challenge
  swimming, soaking, diving deep.

Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...

   I clamor to learn,
   I clamor to move on,
   I clamor to sing,
   I clamor to run,
   I clamor to fly,
   I clamor to soar

from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love 

   I hide behind the mask of metaphors
   I tease torrid with personification, 
   I sassy seduce using alliteration
   I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
   I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul

Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry  be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate, 
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression, 
this you and I yearn.

Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!

Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.

Finally, my congested suffering heart 
today, beats systematically:

   gratitude, I can only inhale
   smile, I can only show
   prayers, I can only blow...

I know, 
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
   
   Each one is unique
   Each one has a style
________________________________________________________
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015





Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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Dear Quintain

Dear Quintain, how beautiful you are, allowing us to paint the spacious sea or sky, landscapes, or nights’ celestial bodies beckoning from afar. Even when my quill is running dry, with you along, my thoughts are sure to fly! For all I need to do is let you slip inside, then nestle in my brain. The pattern of rhyme required by you is not too difficult; here I will remain content to write with you, dear Quintain. Your English form, so lovely, does not ask that we adhere to meter even though I want to dance your lines as I bask in your sweet simple charms, and lo! My quill has filled; my lines now start to flow! I’ll keep on going for two stanzas more because I wish to sing your praises! My mind is like a shore upon which you are tumbling, glistening! A sea of inspiration you bring. Continue on - through poets - bringing words that paint our world, entreating all to see God’s gifts or to enjoy the singing birds, taste clear mountain springs, and smell the salty sea. Continue, dear Quintain, enrapturing me. Written 8/17/2015 , this is English Quintain, which has rhyme scheme of ababb and the lines do not have to be consistent in syllable count


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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We Push The Pen

We push the pen to make you feel
the gentle tapping of the falling rain,
the stinging burn of the summer sun
the heavy heart of despair and pain.

We push the pen to make you see
the vibrant orange of a monarch wing,
the secretive soul hidden in our eyes,
the golden sunrise in early morning.

We push the pen to make you taste
the sweetness of love's first kiss,
the bitterness of heartbreaking defeat
the richness of pure chocolate bliss.

We push the pen to make you hear
the clear waters babbling in the brook,
the forgotten laughter of our inner child
the cracking spine of a brand new book.

We push the pen to make you savor
the pungent petals of the red rose,
the crisp aroma of a tart green apple
the autumn air that excites the nose.

We each push the pen in different ways
with our own tone of voice and mystique,
an art form that no other can duplicate,
no right or wrong, just wonderfully unique.





Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Jesus was Turkish

A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes

His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed

Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind

When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home

You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut

Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing

You loved the universe




Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.

Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone  lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.

No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness. 

Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships. 

Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.

Thank you, for helping building a better world!



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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I Write A Poem

I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.

I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.

I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.

I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.

I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.

I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.

I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with  a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D



** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **



Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014

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Tell Me A Tale

Tell me a tale of humanity Paint me the love of your life Show me a path to humility How a man should honour his wife. Help children believe in magicness Describe the warmth of a smile Feelings invoked by happiness A tree that’s been watching a while. Explain the pain of solitude Gift me the smell of a flower Tease me with dreams of magnitude Sights that are seen from a tower. Convey the sound that a river makes Define your fear of the dark Textures and tastes of a freshly cut steak A walk with your child in the park. Interpret the touch that a lover leaves Recount the flaws of your youth Depict a man with his heart on his sleeve Confront and search out the truth. Weave me a yarn with your poetry Spin me with poetic release Take me away with ingenuity Fill my mind and my soul with your peace.


Copyright © Mark Woods | Year Posted 2015

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On Poetry Soup

A first day on Soup is filled with much awe The wonderful poems will make you smile Easy is it to fall for all Some enabled my mind, lingering a while Just the few Soupers I mention here Will blow you away with works of this year! Janet Cervenka almost made us lust When she penned a piece on Heavenly's bust Marvelous is the diversity of Jan Allison Such a dressed gem, and she's only blooming Nandita then tells us that she's no Jan Indeed her craft is paralleled by none Man! the lyrics never cease to flow for Dave So highly endowed with a skill many crave You see, my first day on Soup I was greeted by SKAT Who so humbly laid down the welcome mat And if there exist a bond no man can put asunder I have to say it's between SKAT and Linda O! How can I forget 'Half of A Heart' A Sara Kendrick special, such design and art! Who better to mend our Broken Wings Than the namesake with a quill in full swing Yes Soupers always brighten my days Place me in velds full of beautiful haze And there I spot a Mystic Rose Defined so uniquely like a Kim Nunez prose From a consummation a lover was denied To the hautiness of a lonely man's pride Whatever we plan to glimpse or scoop We tend to leave with more from Soup


Copyright © Wilfred Aniagyei | Year Posted 2015

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We are the Children

We are the Children

Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears

In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly

We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds

Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear

The bullet saved me from more despair   


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Where Poetry Lives

 His  poems live deep down in the wood
down in an olde hunting lodge
They are brown as the bears head that 
hangs on the wall
brown as the dark leaves that fall
silently hiding the salt lick
from fawns who come in
the twilight to call
His poetry growls and grumbles and purrs
like a cougar alone on the rim
of the canyon above the olde
hunting grounds
where he writes all his lines
like a hymn
His poems stretch out on the furs
by the fire
and tell of the storms and the waves
that tested the strength of the words
that inspire
and sent many songs to their graves
for brave are the sagas
the odes that survive
the trek through the woods to the town
and as we go home we gather them up
scattered like leaves on the ground.
Brown,yellow,red ,a few of them green
His poems are places and things we have seen
but not from the view that the truth hunter gives
deep down in the woods ,where  poetry lives


Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

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Five Stars

*Dedicated to Andrea Dietrich, Caleb Smith, Isaiah Zerbst, Anne Currin, and Eileen Ghali

I'll start with illustrious Andrea,
our talented sonneteer.
She peppers our poems with kindness, 
with comments so bright and sincere.

Next, we have Mr. McCaleb,
our sweet gent from Arkansas
From KOs to boogers to nature,
he writes without limit or flaw.

Now, I must turn to Isaiah,
the master of meter and rhyme.
His poems are most reminiscent
of forgotten ages in time.

I cannot forget our Queen Anne,
who graces us all with her songs.
Her lyrics tug at our heartstrings, 
yet she's upbeat, lovely, and strong.

Last but not least is Eileen,
the most spirited poetess.
She translates feeling to verse
and writes with such skill and finesse.


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013

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''silence sweet solitude''

 
the solitude the silence silence of a bee in the forest silence of the leaves leaves on majestic trees leaves my soul quivering quivering treasures quivering happiness and joy joy of freedom and journeying on joy in my soul beyond time time entangled in vines time to pause in the emerald emerald windswept meadows trembling emerald velvet foliage creeping creeping and creeping the embroidery of green creeping sunlight fills the shadows shadows are where the violets sleep shadows hide a hundred chirping wings wings of the poets dreamy muse wings of a little butterfly kissing the decay decay in the tangled branches decay beautiful and divine divine tufts of yellow divine bliss in silence silence in the garlands of green silence in hushed echoes echoes of unseen songsters echoes of wild streams bubbling and flowing flowing pen flowing words and verses verse amongst the scattered dandelions verses in the whispering calm calm the clusters of vines twining calm the bliss bliss in a deep canopy of towering giants bliss under an azure above above the cowslip and foxglove above blue birds fly fly downy wings fly with the sweet wind wind that whispers in my ears wind that lifts the tufts of pretty flowers flowers wilted and dying flowers with petals forlorn forlorn my poetic words forlorn and weeping weeping on tattered paper in solitude weeping poems and rhymes and verses created in the silence solitude . . . _______________________ May 23, 2015 Blitz Submitted to the contest, shhhhh , sponsor, Silent One 8th Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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WORDS

Words can be as deadly as a knife
It can penetrate straight through your heart
Bleed all the spirit right out of your life
Twists your mind and tear you apart

Words can bring you pain and sorrow
Weaken the spirits of today and tomorrow
Breaks your heart and squeeze your head
Leave you living yet leave you dead

But words of love from the very start
Can instill much happiness to your heart
Eased your pain and comfort your mind
Have you seeing yet have you blind


Copyright © tu tran | Year Posted 2015

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I dreamed a dream of You

Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!

And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.

You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!

Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!

You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!

I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.

Yet I had left.
Why...?

One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.

Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.

Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.

The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.

You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.

I dreamed a dream of you.


Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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Poems for My Alien Abductors: a Ride into Space

I thought I could wow them with poems from earth
Poems of joy and humor, poems extolling it’s worth
So I laid out poems from Michael, Gail, and me
From Andrea, David, Gwen, and Ilene
From PD, Harry, Mandy, and Chris
From Jack, Craig, Cyndi, and Liz…
For I was sure once they read our beautiful works
They would embrace us and love our humanly quirks!
So last night I taped them all over my skin
Knowing they’d find them if they took me again…

When I woke up, they were gone and I had a reply:
“We enjoyed reading those poems last night, 
And thanks for the names of the earthlings too -
We have many more experiments to do!”


2/7/13
For Michael's boomerang...send your poem for a ride contest


Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2013

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Lonely Bard

A lonely bard can paint and write more songs,
Which birds loftily warble all day long,
Every note taps the heart of each flower,
Sprinkles dew drops while silent wind meanders.

Her ballad - a gem of all creations,
A home, hollowed not with admiration,
Chasm within draws perfect harmony
For stars to play a perfect symphony.

With knowledge and love, ink surges so deep,
The feather outshines the wind on its tip,
Lifting up dry leaves lying underneath
Every tale is treasured by golden sheath.

Lonely bard pens the lyrics of our hearts,
Where weary souls can find their road to start.



Aug 9, 2013  11.50am
By: Leonora Galinta




“I am a lonely bard
I have no song to sing.
This empty ballad is my home.
A feather against the dying wind- 
-my only expression.”

 -by my dearest sis, Poet Destroyer from her poem, “Umbrella”




Note:

This poem is a loving dedication/ homage to my all time greatest & most favourite poet, my loving sis & friend of mine & my number 1 inspiration.


Fourth Place
Contest: Pick a line, any line from a poem of fav. poet
Judged: 9/11/2013
Sponsor: Richard Lamourex



Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013

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Heinrich Heine Revisited

I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.

Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few. 
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!

Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set 
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.

It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!

It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by 
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books 
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!

And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014) 
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.” 
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)

*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses: 
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)

*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous 
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they 
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other 
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and 
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover, 
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish 
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major 
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than 
reading them!  



Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Poetic Ambitions

Listen to poem:
To enchant the eye and tickle the tongue
with levels of nuance like well-aged wine,
to engage the ear and limber the lungs
as sea winds seasoned with fragrance of brine.

To hearten the soul or tear it apart,
to start with a sigh and end with a gasp,
to sharpen the mind and quicken the heart,
to aim one's reach to outdistance the grasp.

To roar like a lion and ever stand fast,
to bring out smiles and mitigate pain,
to tell the legends of histories past,
and teach their mistakes, not do them again.

© May 26, 2015


Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2015

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My maa touches my poems

My aged mother she can't understand English... feels my poems by touch she touches the words her frail fingers caressing... smile in wrinkled face 'write a poem for me'-- 'all the poems are yours my maa... your grandchildren' **My 100th poem here for someone so SPECIAL © 2011 kashinath karmakar (12th May 2011) ================================= Placement:10th ;(June 2011) Contest:My most Inspirational Poem Sponsor:Poet Destroyer


Copyright © kash poet | Year Posted 2011

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If I Never

If I never write another poem again
Will you remember me
All the parts of my heart I exposed
The morsels of my soul
The intricacies
The pain
My manufactured pieces of joy
Humor
Wisdom from a fools pen
Stains dripped from a troubled mind
I sit here with head in hand
Looking at a blank page
Fearing I have nothing left to say
Coaxing my brain to respond


Drip
Drip 
A word 
A corresponding heart beat
An image projected
Displayed
Choreographed 
Spinning 
Coming to life
I wish you to reach out
Take it in your hand
Feel touch
Smell 
live within the space
Allow the idea to expand
Grow beyond a page

Put leaves on my trees
Climb my branches
Drink from my streams
Add color to my rainbow
Breathe through my lungs
See through my looking glass
For if I never write another poem again
I can sigh and say
It has all been worthwhile
You heard my call
Responded 
Understood
Seen the previously unseen
Walked along my landscapes
Left a part of yourself
Drank from my cup
Sat at my table
You my honored guests
The one I will remember
For you are the reason
My pen drips and my heart smiles
You help me remember
To see
To believe
One word at a time


Entry for PD's Free Verse Contest





Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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The Old Victorian

My great, great Aunt had a lovely old home, with many a wonderful story, hidden within its walls. A Victorian, architectural designers dream; vaulted ceilings, full of ghosts; where spirit voices sang of its splendor. What I remember most, were the sparkly door knobs; prisms reflecting the sunlight; beautiful rainbow colors, adorning her sitting room walls. The animated colors of her crystalline chandelier wove dancing shadows into the fabric. As a small child, I reveled in that light-play; how I loved her magical home.


Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

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Poetry River run free

Quietness upon the face,
Silence and loneliness,
Land before time,
Before living things existed, 
Sadness as my waters ran through the earth,
Was my voice the only thing to be heard?
As I swelled and ebbed, 
Swished back and forth, 
Was I alone as I sadly moved?
Was my story over before it started?
I ran through the earth looking for life,
Through the mountains to the highest peaks,
Over the desolation through the land,
Congregated every teardrop into large seas
My tears filled every part of the earth
Sadness as my heart became an open ocean,
I realized that I had great power,
A gushing force as I quickly moved,
I was unstoppable and determined,
As my adventures of roaming became exciting,
The earth began to drink of my waters,
A great light shining down,
Began pulling me up towards the skies,
Something very dramatic happening,
Breathtaking!
As I hung around in great clusters of clouds,
Looking down upon the earth,
Beauty astounding and thrilling,
Until a great crash of thunder,
Crashed through splitting bursting into
Millions of tiny droplets, 
I fell to the earth,
With exhilarating freshness,
Hitting the ground at great speeds,
Continued flowing on my journey, 
Into the rivers then back home to my sea,
As I looked up to the sky
Great colors burst into a rainbow,
Life began creating,
Smaller than the eye could see,
Amoebas then up to the tallest trees,
Earth drank of my rivers
As the poetry in the river ran free.


01/05/2016
For competition 
Poet Destroyer A
The River picture







Copyright © Wendy Rycroft | Year Posted 2016

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WHEN I LOVE THEE

I LOVE THEE I am no voluptuous beauty nor do I live a life of purity I can only say: I love wholeheartedly with all I am so truthfully I keep my heart open though it gets hurt so often I avoid to be irate as I know love changes the heart rate.. Guys tried to coo and woo, they say words as for "only you" Yet, hard to believe it is true as I see some untrue I give chances as my heart marks with tact entrances I learned from various instances looking man in romances In places where rules impede, two persons who wants to bid Not of money but of affection, in them must be determination I love thee not of what you have… Not even of who you are but to how you are to me… If I love you, don't tell me much what to do… As me, myself will show you, I am that real and true.. Yes, I am liked by many but tell you what: I don't like this honey nor am I proud of it in anyway One is enough to make me stay Stand with me through it all, I give my best not to fall My name your sweetest call echoing in every wall.. Hold me firm yet dear; allow me to move closely We'll make it anyhow, treading smoothly on flows... We are strong, aren't we? No one moving alone Together we'll face phases in tune, though there will dunes.. ________________________________________________________ © OLIVE ELOISA D. GUILLERMO 3:25 pm, 07/13/2013 ***CONTEST: ANY POEM GOES #13 SPONSOR: POET DESTROYER 8TH PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY) ***Sponsor SKAT A Contest Name Any Old Poem #5 4th place


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Fraser | Year Posted 2013

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Prognosticator

Wandering through the crystalline mists, is truly a revelation. Dreamers merely dream, but seers roam misty, dark realms, to find the truths, which others would hide. The swirling fog forms; takes its sweet time. I seek clarification; Fog only hints, at life’s coming storms. Some have died, for their gift; slaughtered by those who can’t or won’t try to understand; insisting that, they must be of service to others. It’s no comfort to know events, Before they occur, but God gives gifts. Prognostication is one of the Best and worst gifts. The god within, will not be silent; inner knowledge is the wheel, that steers us to safety. A prognosticator channels the map, for those who cannot see.


Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015