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Details | Poetry Poem | |

How Poetry Began

That thing that we call poetry - when asked where it began, I’d say it started beautifully before the dawn of man! It glistened on the oceans before man came to be. It blossomed on the grassy cliffs that met the first great sea. It glittered in the moon and stars and beamed on earth below in meadows where bright flowers danced and on the pristine snow. It sparkled on the lakes and streams, and when man came along, he took sweet words that flowed to him and turned them into song. This was how it always was before we knew of time. The poet who begot us all made it to be sublime. Poetry has now evolved, and as with many things, there are many kinds. . . but I still like it when it sings! Inspired by the contest of Justin Bordner and some of the beautiful poems I've been seeing in this contest Now for PD's Best Poem of 2014 - Poetry Contest

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sung under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propagandas
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

by;)

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Whisky Moment

~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!


   And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring, poisoned pabulum whisky down 
Lost in a place with hungry whores, ink paying  gigolos 
This night a respected gentleman put's on his evening gown
He sits in front of a mic playing the same old sad song
Fitted out in drag, his wife has no clue
Holy breeders trying to change my shoes
Lingering from the Cute Chinaman, running his tab sky high
Bluebirds of jealousy, set round the vintage Barstool like fools
Minds overpowered and threaten to the very nub

I am drunk-- in his eye, 
He receives a macabre confession of possessiveness 
I am drunk-- in her eye,
She has a sick confession of subconsciousness 

Broken loose from a negative, regressive state of mind
Sit and enjoy this broken bottle of champagne 
Unspoken rage in every empty can left behind
A shot glass drops from my unstable hands longing to hold a pen
I look into a mirror and embrace every meaning of stability
Blotting out the madness behind a metal cage of reality
At times, I feel the need to bring down this masquerade 
A drink so hostile, I can't even remember my image and name 

Too many scars, from the foster of paper and pen
My dependents are drunken demons from a traumatized childhood 
Tonight I will legislate a special thanks
Holding up my cup, until death finds my note 
I will smile, at every Judge and Jury, during karaoke night
Shutting down my eyes, fantasizing everything's gonna be alright
I will not  jilt knowing, writers block haunted my days away
Insecure hoarding monsters enjoying spoil forgotten words
Tonight I thirst like never before, my tongue inscribes around a tin cup
I am not eating up by it, no matter how long I've drowned in it
This is my kind of whisky, my thoughts, my days of ammo 
To tell you the truth, I possess no desire to drink
It's all about the love of poetry and how sober, I become (WITHOUT)
The monsters that reside inside, have one thing to say

"Give me Poetry, or give me Death!"

by: PD

Details | Poetry Poem | |

FORGOTTEN TREASURE-

FORGOTTEN TREASURE

I found the fountain of youth
When I stumbled across the forbidden garden
Right smack in the middle,
Was what I thought to be a wishing well
I tossed in a quarter!
Looking down with a puzzled face
I peeked to see where it fell
I leaned over and that's when I saw my vanity
It was always there waiting for me
The reflection in the water was my face
In wonder I asked what this vision could be?
With one drop on my taste buds
I knew I found the one true key
The most beautiful thing that can set one free
I reached in to touch the poetry inside me

      ~SKAT~

re-post- first poem on the soup

Details | Poetry Poem | |

SIMPLY TOO GOOD TO BE YOU

I guess we can all struggle when we sit to write But use your own words - to plagiarise isn’t right When I read a poem that’s simply too good to be true I then begin to question, was it really written by ‘you’ Googling a few lines will give me the answer You’ve been caught out – you were a chancer I just want to read poems that I’ve never read before If I find copied poems I won’t read ‘yours’ any more Why claim words from another writer, for it is a crime You’ll never find it happen in any poem of mine 7th February 2015

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Sketching him

I taste his history from those thirsty eyes
Surrendering to the feverish hold of their intensity
Their color, my secret, orphic pools of potency
His strength deliberate, yet gentle on my senses

Brows knit thick and heavy from ancestral themes
Powerful, yet craving, sapient wings
The sharp angle of his nose haunts my desire
Dreams to die for, my lust turning wanton

The innocence of his jaw, they ignite my want
The proud swell of his maddening lips, waiting
His neck, riding desire on strength’s urgent whispers
Those arms around me, spilling infinities

His thoughts stalk my world, they come for me
Words to drown me, in the smell of his heaven
The svelte rise and fall of his words in chant
Tease me, has me, for the moments I wait for…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

God's Kind Of Poetry

I see God in nature, surrounded in the beauty of our earth.
As God may speak with his spark of life dwelling in me,
Expressed though HIS thoughts in my poetic word’s birth. 

“Now all of my children born and reborn in this world,
I will be your parent, grand teacher, and protector.
Know you are part of me as your earthly body is unfurled.

Fragrant flowers should be known as your sister and brother.
Breathe in deeply of the varied glorious tree’s blessed breath;
A gift from me, your omnipotent father and mother.

Each season praises that divine dominion of poetry.
With each season new life emerges with the beginning of spring
Into the warmth of summer across verdant fields and forestry.

Do not fear as I cause autumn season’s winds to blow
In seeming wrath, set upon colorful trees, leaves are freed
To invite winter and the blessings of new fallen snow.

Receive my blessing of light that opens a direct path to me.
Let it shine bright in your life, in all that you say and do.
Share your delight of this blessing through inspired poetry.

Be aware of your words for they embrace the real you.
Others may be hurt by careless words spoken.
Remember, words mean as much as your actions do.

Any kindness you display by reaching out to those in need
Is always a welcome gift and returned to you in kind,
Only in much more abundance to help YOU succeed.

As you question the heavenly stars in their distant galaxies
The answers lie within yourself, if you will be still and meditate.
You may seek the truth in your own mind for life’s realities.

I am near you always, within and without, have no doubt.
I only wish you love and happiness, even though I know
You must experience difficult times to learn what life’s about.

For you are my child and I rejoice in lessons you’ve learned of.
Teach your children to revere and love me, not fear me,
I’m here to guide and protect them, for you see, I am LOVE!”

Please put your trust in me both below and above
For my divine power and glory is centered in love.

© Connie Marcum Wong

For Brian Johnston’s contest: “God’s Kind of Poetry”


Details | Poetry Poem | |

Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!


Details | Poetry Poem | |

To the Scoffers of Sensual Writes

To those who think that poetry must be
of lofty things, not sensuality
To those who write of stars and sun and moon
and who to romance will not ever swoon

To those who write of angst and misery
of all that has gone wrong in history
To those who think I write frivolity
and read not what I write: an oddity!

I write to you, and all my thought's I'll bare
and see if you can argue if you dare
If you’ve forgotten passion's blazing fire
Or how consumed your heart was with desire

If you’ve forgotten romance in the night
Or making love in early morning light
If you’re denied the thrill of ecstasy
And can’t bear witness to its urgency

If you have come of age when health concerns
are all of life that now your mind discerns
I tell you dear, the fault is yours not mine
Devoid of love life meets not plan divine

The gift of love is granted from on high
You can’t deny that even if you try
the pleasure’s woven in anatomy
He formed and blessed our sensuality

To reproduce was in his own design
But also to enjoy the act sublime
There is a little bud that’s meant to thrill
It’s only use is pleasure to fulfill

So tell me, what is life if not for this
To show commitment with the sweetest kiss
In right communion to be drenched in love
And in its throes to glide to heights above

My fellow poet, write of lofty things
And all the finer thoughts that wisdom brings
I pity you for love and passion’s reign
Has banished you from glory with disdain

All nature and all life with love is mixed
And so my mind with passion is transfixed
It’s love that makes this world go round and round
Without it, best be buried underground.

Eileen Manassian




Details | Poetry Poem | |

WORDS

Your words flow freely like a cascading waterfall
Such beautiful writes, I can relate to them all

Words that reveal the pain in your eyes
The hurt you feel you cannot disguise

Tender words full hopes and of dreams of romance
Find the girl of your dreams, then take a chance

I am honoured to find such a treasured friend
Together lets hope our dreams never end

Jan Allison
8th September 2014

Details | Poetry 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.




Details | Poetry Poem | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Falling into you

Your voice imprinting stories from time, into me
My senses whirling, a hundred dervishes
Lost in the lore of your timbre, I struggle not to lose myself
And then, I settle, knowing you from times I must have forgotten
The sweet strength of your power over me
As your songs wake the gods
They must know my surrender
They must see I come to you from stories unknown
Unwritten, as your hands on me
I fought hard, I fight deep
To claim us back as strangers sometimes
But battles disintegrate to our souls entwined
Rhythms from the unknown
A cosmic dance in the silence of our universe
Waiting by the fire…
I hesitate, I stop to give this a name
Sometimes the nameless creates with all the strength of the unclaimed
Free, wild, surging the limits of the unknown
I am falling into you, Stranger…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Sparkle

I’m drunk tonight on these sparkling thoughts
I am crazy and unleashed on rapture’s madness
I climb up on a wish and twist my sinuous thirst
A few icy drinks as my head reels on your constant absence

Can I wish on you phantom, would you burn into my life?
Would my dreams come true on this insane naïveté?
Unbelievable as they come, I am the true song on every eyelid
I frolic thru little pleasures that gets beyond everyone’s lucidity

May I dance with you on borders that have us beyond reaches?
May I kiss you on thoughts that wont reach realities?
Would you turn around all of this life if I lend you my sparkle?
Drink me drunk and your dreams will twirl heavens

Shimmer with me on sparkles that carry lost stories
Rope them right back on destinies shut from possibilities
Help me haul them onto shores that dance true
Meet me on cliff tops that leads us thru the maze of happiness…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

SPILLS OF IMAGINATION



early dawn cracks the  wispy air
open , wandering around viscous spaces
like fairy shadows caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
 
taller than maple trees delicately rustling
the garnet of late Indian summer when
birds, orbits and urchins listen to 
a single searching sun… when all else
 
is sprawled quiet, there comes this
certain fired imagination straying  on
mouths of  gentleness  far beyond
nuptials of effervescent realms…
 
someone said morning becomes Electra,
that learning how to hear a pear or
grain unravel the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
 
unfurl its leaves far beyond unknowing a
heart’s need to be:  the juice spills streams
waking new faces of time, bending the width
of life's rhyme through endless mystery...
 
a thousand times before and after, daybreak
and night twine... that in tints of all hues,
passing through fables of any season
 
is poetry's way of coming back to itself.


Justin Bordner's How Poetry Began Contest
by nette onclaud

Details | Poetry 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 | Poetry Poem | |

Lotus Enchantment

Liquid mirth on my skin, my best friend - rain
This morning, she pelted me in euphoric torrent
Waking me up from the cool night’s arms
My fragrance unfolding on exotic chants

My petals, rich in pink warmth and intelligence
Play with the dew, moving on the sun’s senses
I swim elated in the green silk of my leaves
A laced tapis of emerald sutras, on the day’s intent

We play with water nymphs, inviting the bees
The air, sweet with the mysteries we toast on
A thousand years of breathing quiet, in a lost seed
I rooted silent, on my dream to live on

Buddha knows my worship, my thirst to serve
My fibers woven to robe him in ecstasy
Lotus-eater apathy, and literature mythology
They do not trace my existence in this delicious stillness…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

A Lei of Secrets

I found your voice caressing the breeze
A lei of secrets whispering in the wind
Your thoughts, urgent from the dreams we hold
I kiss them on sunsets, as elation claims me
Can I be the taste from your ancient songs?
Would you know me from our tangled stories?
Love me from the fires that tease your chances
Hug my lonely hours with your heady madness
Play my surrender, with your wild love for me
Light this distance away, till I come to you…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

On every tenth of June

On every tenth of June
 
The sea waves splash upon the moors for years 
and shadows draw along the walls festoons
unspoken verse, conceived on silent piers,
the advent of our loneliness attunes.
 
That day of June remained our only fair
and minds' ascension to the astral reign,
blooms' multitude and fragrances’ affair
a purple thistle on the field and rain.
 
Remember me, a windy song and laugh,
our holding hands and young, the Summer’s call,
we celebrated then, upon the wharf
and acanthine of solitude's dance hall.
 
On every tenth of June my eyes embrace,
above the summer moors, your lines of face.
 
© G. Venetopoulos, 06-14-2013, All rights reserved
(English Sonnet)


Details | Poetry Poem | |

A Poetic Caress

I write of things that are real,
yet can be hard to express.
And encourage hearts to feel,
with a poetic caress.

My pen interrogates pain,
to try and explain the hurt.		
And redefines what is sane,
by exposing all the dirt.
	
My poems describe feelings,
from first breath to death's embrace.
And shattering glass ceilings,
vindicate pride and disgrace.

My words reach out to a few,
going beyond expected norms.
And challenge their point of view,
through rhyme or established forms.

My compassion knows no bounds,
dissecting anguish and tears.
And my fragmented heart pounds
exhuming dead dreams and fears.

My soul pools in broken hearts,
as it leaks upon the page.
And anxiety departs,
from the heart of this old sage.

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Toilet Bowl Committee

Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)

A lavatory confinement
my$h!tdontstinkcomode.com
---
If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
No matter,
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low

Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger, straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself

Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors 
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dried up grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood, overpowers any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs

Thank you
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T


By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood) 
Date: 12-15-13

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Details | Poetry Poem | |

A song for me

I caught the moon’s smile on his eyelids
My nights heaving, hollow from his absence
The silken ropes around me, finally fall away
As I move to him from lifetimes that must have been

An army of kisses my way, he whispered
Silver spells on my life, our times together
One moment with him, my eternity surrendered
Caught in each other’s universe, his strength all mine

The sun on his shoulders above me
Rhythm our secrets, satin moves of want
I trace his beauty from our entangled breath
Ballads of love from bodies in need...


Details | Poetry Poem | |

Poetry Pillar

When Light needed a body to behold, and color to kiss,
as Darkness dreamnt to die in the dawn of depth,
when Soul lustered to lust for learning, and being learned,
as blood bespoke to bones for building a star of flesh,
when Time needed the umbrage of it's ubiquity to be understood,
the moment texture tempted touch to tease with a thousand sensations,
when laws of love sought a language to express the extremes of it's lips,
as romance rampaged through the ravishings of famished hearts,
when the seduction of sorrow made heros of loving men and women,

When Justice appealed to the instincts of intent for inscriptions of innocence,
as bravery found battle in basic questions of survival and conquest,
when war demanded a metaphor in the terror of it's diligent destruction,
as Faith found resolve in seconds small along with giant gestures,
Death singing melancholoy for sympathy and Life haughty upon it's horizon,
when Angels chose to wear albatross of gold to feel the rue of rogues,
as the most perfect woman ambushed the ideals of rumored beauty,
when God wanted imagination to create immaculate reality
Poetry began, born in the instant of forever Art,
because, the only promise of a Poet, is Passion -

Dedicated to Poetry...J.A.B.

Details | Poetry Poem | |

DREAMER'S SECRETS

Virgin piece of paper
You lay in front of me
Bare, a sleeping beauty
Mesmerized by what I see 

In that moment, captivated
Drawn into your light
I'll cover you with passion
Long into the night
You'll give this dreamer's secrets.. sight

I gently touch your canvas
Let lover's feelings flow
You give every indication 
That tonight you'll let it go

And I am filled with wonder
Of all that we could be
Amazed that you weren't taken
Lost in this serendipity
When this night is over
Oh forever, it'll be you and me

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

And what we birth in secret
Tomorrow will be so clear
Spread across your sheet
Love's expression without fear

So remember every moment
How I mused over you
Together we created
A masterpiece to view
You've made this dreamer's secrets.. true

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

Perspective: The Poet Pen's RELATIONSHIP with Paper

Contest: Regina Riddle's "relationships" 
Date: 7-25-14

Details | Poetry Poem | |

August rains

The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.

Stands the Combine in the shed,
The unripened apples hanging rosy red,
Stands the caped heron all alone;
The glinting eye as cold as stone.

And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles - 
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.

And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time,
Absolves the guilt from the crime.