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Socrates - august penned poems by ROBERTS, SEREN
Sample Poems by James, Marcy
Old Poems by Babbit, DM
Adieu to Poems by Ward, Julia
Poems for the night 11 by Roberson, Alex
Poems for the night 10 by Roberson, Alex
Poems for the night 9 by Roberson, Alex
Poems Needed by Martin, Mike
Poems for the night 5 by Roberson, Alex
Poems for the night 4 by Roberson, Alex

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The Best Poems Poems

Details | Poems Poem | |

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

More great poems below...


Details | Poems Poem | |

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 for the Quintain Poetry Contest of Francine Roberts

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich


Details | Poems Poem | |

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 Carol Sunshine Brown's WHO WHAT WHERE Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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

More great poems below...


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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


Details | Poems Poem | |

Poems getting shorter

Even poems getting shorter

People rushing, always rushing
Can’t get there fast enough
Going so fast they make me dizzy
The whole world seems so rough
Never stop to smell the flowers 
Rushing to their ends
Always breathing, faster, faster
This is the common trend

Even poems getting shorter
No time to sit and write
No flowing words with so much beauty
No reading with delight
Haiku’s Senyru’s they’re the go now
Folk got no time to read
And so they call this Poetry
They’re the newest poet breed

Some will keep poetry a glowing
Knowing their poems, are real
Don’t muck about with foolish styles
The pages they do fill
With feelings that come loud and clear
With lovely rhyming flow
They do not get peoples attention
But at least their poems glow

12 April 2015

Copyright © Peter Duggan


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

Flowing again

Flowing again

Aaah, here she comes that magic flow
That brings on words that gleam and glow
As my dear muse touches my soul
She knows me, she knows her role
She nudges me with mystic hands
Then comes a feeling sweet, and grand
With all it’s love and, joy in life
I’m back again the time is rife

Don’t want to struggle any more 
To write words down that do me bore
I do not like the thinking mode 
I’ll just sit down and write some ode
That flows like river to the sea
I’ll write like me, I’ll write like me
With all my heart, and all my soul
As my pen performs its role

So here I am with my own style
 Each word I write gives me a smile
I love to write, I love to write!
Oh how it gives me such delight
Watching words come flowing out
That I’m a poet, I have no doubt
Cause words they dance inside of me
Till soon they’re flowing lose and free.

5 October 2014

Copyright © Peter Duggan


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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 Guillermo


Details | Poems Poem | |

''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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

State of Mind

We start out this life all the same-
Looking for happiness while playing life’s game;

We search for another to help us get through-
For we think that’s the easiest thing to do;

We hope that someone else will make us feel whole-
But then what happens if they decide to go;

Do you turn to someone else or try something new?-
Where else can you look? What else can you do;

You can have another drink or pop another pill-
But that kind of happiness just isn’t real;

To life you feel like you don’t belong-
And you wonder to yourself where you went wrong;

Then, you look in the mirror and what do you see?-
A glimpse of yourself saying, “Look inside me”;

For happiness is purely a state of mind-
Something you must look inside to find…

Copyright © Sue Phillips


Details | Poems Poem | |

Wearying for you too

An answer to Frank L Stantons  'Wearyin' for you' as Robert Lindley requested.

Wearying for you too

I’m wearying for you as well
Each day is like some kind of Hell
I’m missing you with all my heart
I cannot stand us being apart
I want to be there, home with you
It seems like crying’s all I do

My love, I also feel this way
It gets worse from day to day
People pass me, and they look
They see I’m looing so forsook
They just don’t know how I love you
It seems like crying’s all I do.

I miss that chair, I really do
Sitting there, just me and you
With fire alight, heating the room
And you and I we seem to bloom
Oh Darling I’m so lonesome too
It seems like crying’s all I do

I take a walk in the city streets
I say hello to folk I meet
But there’s no life within my voice
I’m miserable I have no choice
Because my love, I’m missing you
It seems like crying’s all I do.

I go back home in the dark of night
And still I’m feeling far from bright
I go to bed, and try to sleep
As lonely night, it hears me weep
I lie awake the whole night through
It seems like crying’s all I do

The long night over, the dawn is here
It’s still the same, I miss you Dear
The birds they give no joy at all
This loneliness oh, it’s so cruel
I feel so down, I’m missing you
It seems that crying’s all I do.

I’m coming home, can’t take no more
My bags all packed, I’m out the door
I need to see your smile again
This loneliness drives me insane
I don’t want this I just need you
It seems that crying’s all I do

28 July 2014 @ 1230hrs.




Copyright © Peter Duggan


Details | Poems Poem | |

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY

RAINDROPS OF IMMORTALITY Smiles were stolen from me long time ago Days gone gray as storms rush to play: my... They drain. Fervently, I called to the Heavens but it seems no one there. No one there! I lullaby with the whine of gushing winds, hoping they are kind enough to blow my notes. Notes carrying cries when am still a child as 'til this day, I yearn for father's love... I face every facets of life in color white, some brushed my lips with grins and laughter, some stitched the screams of November yet passed they left footprints to remember. There in the azure ambiance, love's dare~ I bit the chance but sadly I fell distant, my sweet red heart weep from bitter thrusts. Easing emptiness within, I refuse to be a victim. I prayed, pleading always for a Saviour kiss just maybe through it, I might die in peace. (Is death the better surrendering deliverance? Or just an acrid escape for suicidal goodbyes?) I chose God for I prefer to love and live into poetry I began rhyming a letting go the quill of a poetess, I bravely try: verses and lyrics my healing balm... Tossed flowers from the changing seasons and so the smells of pancakes and cafe flirt slatternly to my imagination bursting from me a ballad or a sonnet. But oh! Poetic finesse is a gold in a mine hence, I dig, dive to curves and loops presenting always my jolly descent views... Others said images I present confuse, they don't know, they are the nightmares creeping, shaking my lethargic muse. Written free, I asked you to read carefully~ I send messages of love, beauty and maladies... My pen scribbles mom ore unchained melodies for my heart slowly erects from slumber. It somersaults upon the breaking swell of sunrise in this tediously solitary realm of the world. The horrible webs of yesterday's frustrations I untangled from life's hullabaloos... Shattered dreams into my ink, I shall reform unencompassable inspirations, I want to rouse. Grace from God refilled, it empowered my life surging heartbeats pushed me to clamor for change. I stand to blossom amidst imprisoning trials yet never forgetting my humble ground. Coupled with the will to survive all strifes let my living be mirrored to pages and when breath of life is cut from me let my pen be raindrops of immortality. ____________________________________________________________ 10:57 pm. August 28, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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


Details | Poems Poem | |

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 © Leonora Galinta


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Soul of the Poet

Invite of the evening crowd, yearning for acclaim, a common braggart read aloud, to glean synthetic fame. The fellow even took a bow when some had stood and clapped The rest of them were in the know; so mostly they just napped. Elsewhere in a lonely hut, near death’s parting knell, doors and windows firmly shut, a poet bids farewell. Painfully she starts to write, and pens a lovely score, her phantom fans in sheer delight, arise in silent roar.
2nd Place, Put Your Best Rhyme Forward, Just That Archaic Poet

Copyright © Mark Peterson


Details | Poems Poem | |

Wildflowers

Colored wildflowers form In fields of grassy green They don’t recall, the day they were born They only love to be seen. In fields of grassy green They claim their place in life They only love to be seen Though they are, scarred by strife. They claim their place in life They beautify the land Though they are, scarred by strife They’re placed by Gods’ own hand. They beautify the land Like colors on a palette They’re placed by Gods’ own hand They couldn’t grow without it. Like colors on a palette They blend well in a field They couldn’t grow without it At home there, they can feel. They blend well in a field Wildflowers that are born At home there, they can feel Colored wildflowers form.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser


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First Kiss

When hearts meet and eyes lock when lips touch and hands circle thrill shoots blood gushes sensation fills and the heart cherishes thus we transcend gliding unawares to a distant land of thriving pleasure © Nadiya (15 Jan '15) *Selected as poem of the day, 17 Jan 2015
*Placed 1st in the contest 'Your Favourite Poem' by Carol Eastman on 19 March 2015

Copyright © poesy relish


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Addicted to Astronomy

Space is not clear, but it is deep. It’s secrets, it will always keep. On cloudless nights, great beauty’s seen; beneath the moon’s long, radiant beams. The stars, they always, greet with a wink; You will miss them, if you blink and telescopes aimed, will provide a show; the thrill of passing, Saturn’s glow. Delight will swell your ecstatic chest and you’ll need to see the moon in crest. No vision elsewhere can compare; to the stellar activity, witnessed there. Once you gain the viewing craze; you’ll want to view it, every day.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser


Details | Poems Poem | |

A LETTER TO POET DESTROYER AND NETTE

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.



Copyright © Aiyah de Torres