Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Poetry Poems

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

View ALL Poetry Poems

Search for Poetry poems, articles about Poetry poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Poetry poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Poetry Poems
Read Poetry Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

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

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 | |

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.

      S.K.A.T. POEMS

re-post- first poem on the soup

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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

Star spangling diamond beautiful shining out 
inner vision dazzling a jewel treasure 
whispering softly winds gently landing kiss dream 
bouncing together our souls uniting in space eternity's bliss..



Liam was sweet enough to work on this poem with me, be beats me at romance:)Thank you, dear Liam!


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 | |

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 | |

Ecstasy

My thirst sang, walking thru quicksand
Stardust, from the pollen secrets of my dreams
Swollen rainbows and their rain-drenched songs
They kept me company on the moon’s route

Lit in ecstasy, on a whim’s silver dream
I fly with the winds from a trellised lore
The magic of my beginnings bite into my days
The swirl of illusion peeling layers off

Gossamer truths on tiptoes, they wait 
Shy in their purple robes, tasting elation
Whispering together, sipping their future
They drink from pools of veiled time

Life dances her brilliance 
On the polished shoulders of my desires
Coming alive, on little crumpets of sweet enigma
An Eden unveiled on the brilliance of every mote…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Disharmony of a Palette

The first stroke of bleeding red, slashed rage
Potent brush on bitter hurts, alive and restless
His hands work out buried truths, uncoiling karma
Teasing spectrums on his canvas, churning lucidity

Black vapored in, dark from pasts
Feverish, as his memories on insanity’s rant
The blue of coherence misting on hope
Swirling ethereal in an universe full of his demons

His yellows brilliant on gold tips, they smudge
Hopes, like limpets on silver lined chances
Reason, edgy on a mind running on tragedies
Eager on the whites of tender love and moon paint

A palette whipped on fire, raising impossibilities
Running with his stories, his wings hard on destinations
Colours feeding on wishes and distant dreams
Thirsting for the inherent harmony of his soul…

Details | Poetry Poem | |

A Cameo Appearance By Andrea Dietrich

It was not the mountains.. those that dwarf us, the forests that invited our senses...seduced us to stay. Nor the oceans whose mass we contained within us, creatures small and large...some we loved and others feared. Not, the floating rain, the clouds...kind or angry, the sky bright or blackboard black, the falling leaves or those who held on tight, the multiverse of colors sharp or flat. NOT...the seasons that in all their glory arrived  or stepped away as their sister or brother took the stage. Every inch of our untouched world chants to our sensibilities, the perfect candidate to rule our internal domain. Life in its all knowing way  has always bestowed us with gifts, unfolded miracles in our wake,  other times challenged us in a rage. Our world would take an eon to notate. Not, those particles...each made the whole, stirred our voices...drew from us...song. We, are only messengers. Our words not our own. Some call it passion, others magic, they also call it art. Some suggest it comes from the heart. Whatever you call it, this mystical harbinger who through us communicates... it is he, she, responsible for what we loosely term art. Poetry like all the arts...never began as such... rather it is integral to just being. IT is US...  just ask the lady with the pen and pad writing while driving her car... it is a part of our existence  ...it has always been. poets would write, even... if they lived in a vacuum.

Details | Poetry Poem | |

How Poetry Began

0ne Sunny day the angels sat, assembled on the clouds,
Some played harps, others sang, they all looked very proud.
A few were showing new wings, they’d just received that morn,
Others cuddled angel babies that had just been born.

Children jumping through the clouds, half flying they would run
A day like this in heaven, was made for having fun
Everywhere I seemed to look the clouds rang out for joy
Until I seen one little cloud with just one lonely boy.
 
The boy he held a paper and his feather was pure white
He sat there very serious as he would think, then write.
Dear child I asked what is it here that keeps you from the rest
He answered I am writing poems and want to do my best.

Poems I wondered, what is this? I knew not what he meant
The little man then read to me, he was such a little gent.
These words he read were different, yet somehow still the same
They rang out more like music, which seem to be his aim.

I wanted to help God out, when people are feeling sad
If they had poems they just might, read them and be glad.
The angel folded his paper, to earth he watched it glide
And made it float and gently land at a Wiseman side.

Now I asked, why did you send that paper down to earth?
He winked and said this is the day of poetry’s great birth.
That’s why we are all gathered here and celebrate this day
When humans discover poetry, to help them on their way.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
09.13.2014
For contest: How Poetry Began
Justin Bordner

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Poet Convention 2014

Poet Convention

Lost in a poets convention, 
I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years
50518, unique comments I 'validate'--- 
Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears 
Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line, 
I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years 

Today's Convention, 
A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned

I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G.,
She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry.  

I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies,  
Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us, 
Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind 
In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance

This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style

Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again 
Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen 
By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw
Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects 
Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside

I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side 
MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement

Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie, 
Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies.
Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:)
SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book
I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly.
Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly. 
Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving--  
"One day I'll see you again, my friend."

Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show 
Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry."
Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words

Scribe ML., where are you my friend? 
Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!!

Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan, 
Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette.
Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note.
Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R.,
Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words

Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile,  
No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page.

Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M., 
Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A.,
Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen,
Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G.,
Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY 

Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry, 
M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T.
You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community

Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back.
Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X.
The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix

Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A.
Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M. 
Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you.

Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me.
Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget

Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best.

Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you, 
Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me.

Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't.... 
Copy paste your love, welcome in the new.
Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong

Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best 
--Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan
What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun.
Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships

Before I forget, 
I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list.
Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS.
I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had,
Back when the soup was not like this:) 
Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!"

As you know my kindness is my weakness 
Now it's time to be strong and move on 
If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon
And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup
AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN!

Love 
The Poet Destroyer

Details | Poetry Poem | |

I am Poetically Bankrupt











































© Arthur Vaso 2014
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes: This poem was formally called “Winter Blizzard” I just posted it with a new title. If you know of what I am referring, then 2 more must I do

More Notes: This poem is for sale for 2 million dollars, however I will give any major Museum at 10% discount.

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Deep Dark Poem

     ~Deep Dark Poem~

Tonight I want to go deeper in my soul
I want to be born again tonight I want
to go back in my mothers womb and feel
my happiness of my first cry yet feel her 
real pain while she was delivering me
I want to feel both all her pain and the 
little of happiness I had since I was born.
I want to feel each breath I breathed since 
that first night I want to see my fathers
eyes if he had a tear of happiness while 
holding me for the first time .
                 
I want to walk talk laugh cry climb defeat 
succeed breath suffocate scream eat drink 
revive my senses I want to hold her breast 
and be a baby again I don't want to grow 
Old yet I want to remain a new born in her 
arms to feel safe I want to hold my fathers 
glasses and see the color of his eyes will I 
have them will I have his nose will I have 
my mothers softness will I cry for help will 
I see and hear and listen and run and walk 
and hold her hand to feel safe I am lost 
tonight I need her grip.
                     
I need my brother who carried me where is 
he today why did he leave me so early and 
die so young I want to eat with them I want 
to share with them in what state of mind 
I am in tonight I want to go home tonight 
to my mother and fathers home I want to
see their light at their home as I am living
through my darkest hours tonight.
But I cannot as all what I want 
I cannot have.

I want their faithful love I want to sleep 
on their bed and feel the warmth of their 
love in our home where I was born and 
after years I was torn away from them 
to live in another mans home. 
                   
They forgot to tell me how much they 
have suffered when I left their home and 
went away they forgot to tell me so many 
things that iI am experiencing them now
today yesterday and tomorrow my life 
passed away so quickly busy bringing up 
my kids busy giving them an education 
busy cooking for them busy working to 
provide for them everything busy washing 
busy crying busy going out busy busy where 
are they now where was I when my father 
left to climb up his ladder where was I 
when my mothers turn arrived to climb up her
ladder and stay next to him they went up to 
meet their son who left them years ago he 
was only 29 years old they had to live suffering 
suffering missing missing him their first born 
for years and years.
                     
Father of my 2 boys thee only ecstasy 
I had during that marriage nothing was 
real except my kids nothing existed except 
them nothing meant anything in my world 
except them nothing ever passed before 
them they are my light when i am blind 
they are my laughter in my inside they 
are with me with every breath I breath 
we are inseparable even when they are 
far I see them when its dark I see them 
when I am deaf I hear them through my 
strength I survive to keep them alive. 
I walk alone yet their shadow never 
leaves my sight they call my name from 
far I call them back I write to reach out 
for them to read through my lines how 
much I need to be cared for even one day 
maybe half a day maybe a few hours even 
one second is more then enough to pump 
my heart to go on.
                  
So sorry my fellow poets tonight when 
you read through my lines you will forgive 
me as I am sentimentally in pain affectionately 
in pain tonight my pen was agonizing missing 
my children missing to see them how do I survive 
daily without them I don't know I know I have 
been doing that for the past 35 years seeing 
them on and off due to the war in our country
& unexplainable circumstances. 
Tonight forgive me. I have no more tears.
                                                                                   
                                                                                            Therese Bacha
  Deep Dark Poem for contest of PD  (Win.No 4 )                            22/2/2013

Details | Poetry Poem | |

The Forgotten Gifts

She sat in her little cottage
Her ears tuned
Her body alive
Waiting…
Waiting for that knock on the door
Anytime now
She pulled back the frilly curtains
And peered out at the gathering dusk
The time when most of her visitors
Would knock at her door
Looking for word gifts
To fill up their souls

It was the third day…
It was the third night…
And she kept her vigil
With her candle lit
To ward off the loneliness
That was creeping in on her
She fought it away
Repositioning the candle
To make sure that its light
Would be a welcome sight
To her longed for visitors

Only one thing worried her
What would she offer them as presents?
She had nothing to give
And this was the custom 
In these parts
The tradition
The giving and getting of word presents
That's why she had moved here

She fondly fingered on of the presents
Given to her 
By one of her most cherished visitors
A token of love and friendship
Of constancy
And yet….
Where was he?
Now when she was destitute
Now when she was dry
With no gifts to offer
She had been forgotten by them all
Forgotten by him
She fought back the tears
Willing to believe

The candle flickered and died out
The moonlight
Filtered in through her window
Comforting her with its magical
Dream formations
On her wooden floor
She sighed
She had given all that she had
Did they love her only for her gifts?
Could they not just reopen her gifts and look inside?
If not that…what about the other unopened ones
The older ones
The ones that she had shyly left
Outside their doors
When she had newly moved in
And was yet unknown

Once one of them had opened a gift
The news had spread
That there was someone new in the area
With word gifts to give
Some were crude
But others were beautiful
With her own distinctive design
All wrapped with her love
Each scented by her perfume
Her signature scent

Now she was poor
No gifts
No perfume
No words
Empty....
Why didn't they come to visit?
Why didn't they open the ones of long ago
That still lay around their homes…unopened

She brushed away a tear
Perhaps she’d been forgotten
Perhaps she just wasn’t good enough
For this part of the country
She decided
On the morrow
She would leave
Though it would make her heart bleed
But wait…
A faint knock on the door
A familiar knock
She sprang to her feet
And swung upon the door
There he stood
A smile on his face
“I haven’t seen you for a while
Your gifts used to bring me a smile
Sorry it’s late
I just couldn't wait
To tell you…
I found the unopened gift
It still bore your scent
It reminded me of you
The beauty of your soul
And how you make me whole
Here I am…
Here I am to tell you
I’ve missed your gifts
But more than that…
I’ve missed the giver!”

With tears streaming down
But a smile on her face
She took his hand
And led him inside
The home of her heart
For a nice long sweet visit
With one of her favorite
Giver of gifts!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Obsolete Words

He 
He verbalized 
He verbalized emotions

Poets are boring
In circle
They speak of pictures in words raining emotions
Crafting arrogance in words shaping negative smiles
They worry not of the uneducated
Poets are boring
They speak bombastic thoughts with no
explanations in sentences married to multiple dots
Sentences and numerous dots

Skies raining thorns aimed at sinful skeletons
What?
Storytelling tales in wordy storyboards
What?

He 
He verbalized 
He verbalized emotions
He spoke reactions

Where i come from
Dogs don’t eat dogs
Dogs bark in favour of crops
I’m from the city that never sleeps with no pity
I’m from the ghetto that speaks of famous beggars

He voiced 
Until poets spoke
Until spears got shaken and poked

Shine not from negativity
See those who speak with your ears
Poets are far from boring
They live in places of the living dead

They walk solutions before difficulties wearing a stranger’s shoes
They speak tears before drowning regrets
Old age poems don’t need social workers
They live fresh fragrances for decades
Eyes and ears resurrect their messages

Let those words be out of date
Poets are disciples of your queries
The energy plugged into your feet
Spitting answers before prank stars question your remedy 

Look into the eyes of lies
See emotionless reality attract visions
Look into the eyes of lies
Look into the eyes of lies

(c) Ray