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See also: Best Famous Poems

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

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

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.

Details | Poems Poem | |

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 **


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)

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.

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.





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

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…

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

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.

Details | Poems Poem | |

I am bored with Poetrysoup

I am bored with Poetrysoup

Premier Poetry website rekindled my poetic talent 
Veterans loved my work and inspired to showcase talent
But soon got entangled in Members Contest
Contests more of mutual admiration club than talent hunt
One Premium Member placing other high on winners list
Ordinary Members often accomodated below Glory list      

Poetrysoup Members Contest rules needs revision
Premium Membership based on fees not on merits and contribution   
Novice at times get chance to judge veteran 
And post three poems in Poetrysoup Contest tilting fair play condition
Rules need revision, Premium Membership should be criteria driven
Either based on 25 Top Ten wins or upon posting of 150 poems  
Top 50 of Poetrysoup Contest should conduct contests and groom 

Though bored yet good platform of poetic expression is Poetrysoup  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011

Placed 7th in Members Contest - I am bored with______ by Linda Marie 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S - Its not intended to offend the Premium Members. Few of them have 
really supported me and loved my visuals and flow. The idea is to make
this platform more stronger and meritorious to groom real talent.
Winning Top Ten and accumulating marks is okay but ultimate gratification
lies in showcasing the visuals with seamless flow of theme and packaging
same in adorable poetic forms.

Ventured this caustic one hoping that it will bring about positive changes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 


Details | Poems Poem | |

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

Details | Poems Poem | |

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




Details | Poems Poem | |

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

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


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.

Details | Poems Poem | |

Tribute to Five Fabulous Poets

I write of young Timothy
A very thoughtful young man
A thinker among thinkers
He writes to all that he can

He places wonderful comments
And sees life in his own way
Things are so fascinating 
He so enjoys his word play

Then there is my friend Becca
She's sweet and refined
Her comments so generous
They reveal a heart that's kind

What is more spectacular
Is the poems that she has penned
Once I get to reading them
I wish that they didn't end

I have a new friend Freddie
Who may seem a darker sort
But there is much more to him
I am happy to report

He will not sugar coat it
His comments are to the point
When it comes to honesty
He adds color to the joint

Young Anne is a butterfly
As she flutters all about
She touches many people
So I give her this shout out

Her poems like diamonds 
Or perhaps even more rare
There may not be so many
They're all written with such care

I can't forget sweet Yanny 
She is a lovely sweet girl
Each comment a special gift
Each word precious like a pearl

With her own style of writing
She knows how to mesmerize
She can be inspiration
As words dance before my eyes

I wish I could honor more
But I'm limited to five
The poets here at the soup
That all make me feel alive

I am thankful for comments
For all the good and the bad
If they were to stop coming
That would really make me sad

Poem of dedication contest


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.




Details | Poems Poem | |

Select a poem


Unknown to me poetess and distant,
we've never met, or ever spoken
nor we have lived, like non-existent,
fresh winter twigs, betimes are broken;

(the wind's relentlessly consistent)

Select a poem amid your better
then use a cork to seal a bottle
with the enclosed hand-written letter
and sail it with your love to throttle;

(enslaved 's your charm, with iron fetter.)

© G. V., 1/17/2013

Details | Poems Poem | |

The Poem I Meant To Write

I regret not writing you down,
You swam through my mind
Linking words and thoughts
With gossamer chains
That glistened with meaning,

But the kitchen can was calling my name
Using the voice of my wife.
There were skinned knees to be kissed,
Equations to be sorted out,
House rules to be followed.

Has the opportunity passed?
Have you flown, like a caged bird
Through a conveniently open window?
Are you even now winging toward
Another poet, a different writer?

I have the scraps, the fragments,
The word-pieces I had intended
To build you from.
I will try to arrange them so,
In hopes they cast the same shadow.

Like my grandmother’s smile
You linger just behind my eye,
Waiting for me,
Wanting to be released
In just the ‘write’ form.

Details | Poems Poem | |

Desert Love

Hot. . . white hot Sahara sand am I. Turning, ever turning, how I burn white. . . hot white beneath the desert sky. In search of sweet relief, for you I yearn, shifting, ever shifting, I’m a dune. Each particle of me is filled with heat. I roll beneath the sun of afternoon, ever passion parched though time be fleet. I’m drifting to the brink of mad desire. Cool. . . blue cool, sweet pool that I pursue- mirages that appear quench not my fire. Blue. . . cool blue, my remedy is you. I’m half a continent; my love is vast. Reveal yourself, Oasis, at long last! For PD's Your Best Love Poems ((old poems only)) Poetry Contest

Details | Poems Poem | |

to Edit

To Edit 
to recover 
to renew 
to rediscover 
to change the existing 
to realize my own mistakes 
to change the innocence
to redo the first words spoken 
can I fix the Broken ?
to Edit .

Details | Poems Poem | |

His Song and Mine

Sympathy

BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
    When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;   
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,   
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
    When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,   
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
    Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;   
For he must fly back to his perch and cling   
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
    And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars   
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
    When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
    But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,   
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!


Why Do I Write?

You ask me why I sing?
You ask me why I write?
You ask me why I bleed?
What choice have I besides?

I long to fly, to run away
To some safe haven just to play
To see the light of blessed day
And give my longing heart full sway

I want to grasp the star and moon
And live my life; t'will end too soon
And kiss the clouds up in the sky
But here am I, what choice have I?

Why do I sing?
Why do I cry?
Why write of pain
No lullaby?
What choice have I?

I want with zeal to be adored
And I want Fame there at my door
I want IT ALL and so much more
Tell me, is anything for sure?

Why so I beat my wing?
I was born to soar…

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Poems Poem | |

Cold Winds Blow

Cold winds blow, fall ends and winter begins. Hibernating bulbs will softly sleep until the next spring thaw.