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Best Poetry Poems

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Lesser of two evils by Rigoler, Maurice
Easy Catch by Rigoler, Maurice
Body Language by Morgan, Denise
Moon-light by Morgan, Denise
Darkness Falls by Sammons, Buffy
36 Years by johnson, curtis
The Righteousness of God by Robertson, Milton
Not an Option by Kruger, Marc
Words Of Life by johnson, curtis
ALEKSANDR ORLOV AND SERGEI - PLAY MEERKAT SOCCER by Ashton, Darryl

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The Best Poetry Poems

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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

More great poems below...


Details | Poetry Poem | |

The Poet Who Never Was

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
With clear access to writing that was mature and bold.
I thought I could go roaming beside the foaming sea
And watch the seagulls gliding to give a show for free.

I thought I was a poet who walked along the beach
In awe I stood and wondered, my hand stretched out to reach
The silver thread dividing the water from the sky
And traced Selena’s features as slowly she went by. 

I thought I was a poet who knew what joy could be
On hearing water roaring cascading down with glee.
I looked for inspiration, experienced utmost thrill
When climbing down the valley or up the verdant hill.

I thought I was a poet in charge of heat and cold
But lost my true emotions when I was duped and told
I had to reach perfection to please my heart and mind
By means of imitation. My soul I left behind.

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
But now all of a sudden I’m weary, frail and old.
I thought I was a poet. My pen is of no use.
With teary eyes I whisper to my dejected muse. 


-------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Million Dollar Poem
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st  ~  13th June 2015
Chosen Poem of the day ~ 8th May 2015

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- The Rebirth

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~

repost- My first poem on the soup

More great poems below...


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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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

D-Day in Malta:::co-write

We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.

Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!

--------------------------------------------------------------------
Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina  on 2/11/2014

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Pieces of me

I wonder what becomes of those parts of my soul
which I tear out and lay bare,
search through with loving care,
painstakingly gathering the fragments
and forming them into simple gifts;

I know it’s not much, but it’s all I have to give -
so I try to create just the right thing 
that might reflect the essence of who I am,
the things I believe, the way I am feeling,
or how I feel about the person receiving. 

What happens to these pieces of me that I share? 
Like rosebuds and ribbons  
I take them and lovingly arrange them in layers
and wrap them carefully in a fragile shell -
are they appreciated and cherished?

I’d like to think they are placed gently
into the hearts of those for whom they were created 
I want to believe that, once inside, they move and stir
and that, by them, I might make a difference to someone,
and that I might become a tiny part of their world.

What becomes of those pieces of my heart
when they are not seen as a gift imparted;
when they are not kept as treasures to hold?
Are they taken as something to be used?
Or swept aside like they mean nothing,

burned up in the fires of indifference,
blown casually away in an unresponsive breeze?
Maybe they remain, buried and hidden, 
releasing a fragrance, a beautiful energy,
a positive force, of which my recipient is unaware.

Sometimes I wish I could take back everything I’ve given
which were unappreciated and cast aside;
gather them back, and store them all up 
to replenish my limited supply - 
because sometimes I feel I’m running low.

But, I can’t take back what I’ve freely bestowed.
So I hope that for every part of me 
that is received with indifference or apathy,
there are many others that are being treasured 
as the expressions of love they were meant to be. 




Details | Poetry Poem | |

MY SOLACE, A POET'S THOUGHTS ON POETRY

The wonder of nature you describe with the color of feelings that even the blind sees the beauty, for you anoint with your sight. From my forgotten core, words you inspire gush forth in indignant prose like the lion who protects her young, who roars in warning lest she devour. You lend me insight from your wisdom and give me laughter with your wit, you pump the pulse in my veins when passion and sensuality is lit. You kindle the fire in this heart when love is found and collect the ash from the burnt cinder that haunts, when love is lost. You hold my breath in exhilaration when I soar to triumphant heights, the balm that soothes my pain when I’m down, your song remains the solace I have found when life is hard, and the one profound expression of the myriad emotions that defy words of common use. O Poetry, you bring tears to my eyes, when in your lines I feel God cries as I endure and withstand the ugliness, the haughtiness, of someone’s pride. Yet with the turn of page and time, you coax from my lips such radiant smile for with each stage in this life of mine, a poem is birthed, flutters, and flies.
24 May 2015 Your Best Poem Contest Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton

Details | Poetry Poem | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes

Details | Poetry Poem | |

Don't Skip A Beat

Love knows no age or beauty Love knows no rich or poor Love knows no religion or race Love knows no straight or gay Love knows no boundary or reason Love knows no distance or time Love knows only the rapid beating of a giving heart sublime

Details | Poetry Poem | |

I Tried To Say







                                   On a cloud I wrote - I love you
                                       But the cloud blew away
                                    On a tree I wrote - I love you
                                  But someone cut down the tree
                          In the sand on the beach I wrote - I love you
                                 But the waves wiped them away
                                 In the wind, I cried - I love you
                      But the wind was too strong and no one could hear
                               In a small letter I wrote - I love you
                             But I never posted it - it was never sent
                                      But you know - I love you
                                    and my heart belongs to you




19.02.2013
A-L Andresen :)

Details | Poetry Poem | |

LOVE'S CHEMICAL DERIVATIVES




Can  love then,  be based
on an index of elements
from which one joyfully tumbles,
or drifts into equations, as we wander
toward a rush of serendipity ...
a metaphysical merging of  ardor
writhing in a shared communion 
like  tuneful whispers in breaths  of helium,
unabbreviated oxygen rhapsodies
from unbidden laughter,
invigorating  the warmth of co-owned stars
on heaven’s destined oracle?

Love transcends chemical derivatives
of  fractals or measurement,
between our atoms, relaxed
in the shuffle of emotional electrons
as we quiver  weightless...
the heart’s embrace suspended together 
in the affectionate cosmos
of a deep kiss.



-------------
“How on earth can you explain in terms 
of chemistry and physics so important 
a ...phenomenon as first love? “-- Albert Einstein

Anthony Slausen’s  Periodic Table Of Elements
12/31/2014




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 | |

Best Man

It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.

That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store

That was your appraised value.

But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.

Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood

“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards

I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter

We scream in misguided nerd joy 
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session

Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!

But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!

It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap

My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.

To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”

I chose to be a human this night.

Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall

A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table

Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums

In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form

It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose

At the TOP of my LUNGS,
I whispered.

“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could. You never responded to my open-hearted palm. You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man. But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say! You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows. Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday. So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband, Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall, With children pointing & laughing hysterically, “Security” enters the room As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder, “Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me. The Best Man that you will never hold again.” ©Drake J. Eszes

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 | |

Poetry in Poetry a Duet of Lonely Blues

Poetry

Is not the poem
Is not the poet

Is the observations
Is the emotions

Is the diversity. entwined
Opposing views always sought

Is the love
Is the hate

Is the sadness
Of losing to fate

Is the laughter
Of a child’s dreams

Is the love
That is sometimes unseen

Except by the poet
Who in his lonely sadness sees

The beauty of all
That surrounds the depression in he



In Poetry

I died
Long ago

My heart something broke
I became cold

I cried
For childhood days gone by

I died
A million ways

Now I write
From down below

Where darkness is the sea
That I sail in eternity

Of in the distance
I heard the notes of a symphony

So now as I sleep
A thousand deaths

I hope
For that one musical note

To wake me up
Heart and soul

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 | |

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

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 | |

Big Poo, Small Poo, Yellow Poo, Blue Poo

Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.


There are so many different kinds of poo,
it's amazing to see what passes through.


Square poo

               round poo

skinny poo

               fat poo.


Making poo-poo
is something everyone has to do.
Yes. It's true!
I do too!

Look at this poo all covered in nuts.
It stinks far worse than rotten fish guts.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
It stinks so bad,
it caused that fly to die.

So some poo is quite smelly.
      Some poo looks like jelly.
Some poo is very icky,
      especially when it comes out sticky.

Some poo smells high.
       Some poo smells low.
Some poo slides out fast,
        and some poo comes out slow.


Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.

         

What kind of poo is your favourite to do?
Hard poo? 
        Soft poo? 
               Loud poo? 
                       Quiet poo?
Maybe an in-between sort of doo-doo?


The smelliest poo is made by the razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Boy, when the razor-backed Zonkzifferack decides to drop a mighty stack....
....stand back! Yes. Please stand back!
There is nothing worse than the poo attack of a razor-backed Zonkzifferack.

Then there are the infamous Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Their poo smells like that of a Summer rose.
Not at all unpleasant to the nose.
Nothing wrong with those Knack-a-croodle Crows.

Look! Over here.
That poo is making a quick dash.
Oh! What a huge splash!

Now look at the poo over there.
It's all covered in hair.

There's also poo that floats like a boat,
or sinks very quickly in the drink.

Poo shaped liked cats,
poo shaped liked rats,
poo marching along wearing fat hats!


Remember children,
the next time there arrives a choo-choo,
making poo is something everyone has to do.
Nothing to be ashamed of through and through.

Whether it's new
             whether it's blue
or possibly a bit old
             even covered in mold....

....everyone has to make poo.

  It's true!

Even Ms. Brown, the teacher,
and Mr. Collins, the Preacher.
Your Mommy makes poo.
Your Granny makes poo.

      I do too!

                
                  Yes I do.










*R.I.P. Dr. Seuss

Written: January 28th, 2012


Details | Poetry Poem | |

The Devils Riddle

The Devils Riddle


Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow

Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone

Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last

Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies



   death looks down, the final curtain call
   smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
   dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
   to the mysteries of dark empty ways
   there is no final place that you shall rest



emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”