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Details | Poets Poem | |

PLAGIARIZING

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monologue look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd

Details | Poets Poem | |

Silent Page

Silent Heart

Sad, as it maybe, I had to break my OWN heart, 
Too many nights, I sat there all torn apart
A dream girl, 
Sitting under its own corrupted auspices sky 
You the poet, in disguise
Telling white lies about, your love for me
Saying I'm a boon from the sky....
A match, a queen, your muse, your everything
I'm no-good, I admit this once more, 
Your advice, I forever adorn 

It's time I follow the crying crows, and praise what is left
Afraid to listen my rhymes weren't cutting it, 
I release it all!
Your smiles, words, and worn out shoulders
I walked away
Silently--
I acted on
Without a word, in a fetal stage I awake
Tonight you carry a tune for others
A story of a man who stole my soul of sins
A poet, I long forever more
Always, you will own the only sound that still beats inside
To live alone, in silence, asleep in my own world
I had to let go, 
-Of him, whose name I whisper in darkness
The only thing that remains, are the echoes of pouring rain

Too many reasons, writer's block, took full moon
You are a poet, from another lifetime, 
Down in Mandalay, I can no longer ask you to stay
Reading everything about my life, yet you can't answer
Alliterating poems, greeting every dark shadow, normally yours
Many nights I waited, long for the moment of my OWN return
Instead,
I dusted myself off like yesterday's verse, yesterdays dirt
Cobweb, remain on my page
My pen now sits like a twig
No motion, since the day I decided I am not worthy of the wait
You the poet, who walks my way
I pressured less of me every day
Like Aspen, a forever winter cold! 
In your eyes, you wonder why, 
I trace the white smoke standing in your place?

To savor your words, once more 
It's too soon to breathe again. 

I hope you understand, 
How can I continue to love, when I don't even love myself?

By:PD

Details | Poets Poem | |

The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven - A Tribute to Chan Hurst 1979-2014

A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)

I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.


"A Rational Explanation"

What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...


"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"

Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams


"A Happy Ending"

Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning

But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive


"A Master's Approval"

No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!


"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"

I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!

And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!

For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!





"Heaven For A Poet"  by Kelly Deschler

My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.

My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.



This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.

I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.

I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".

So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend! 

And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)







Details | Poets Poem | |

Midnight Poet

Whisper's of October  

Whispers in this soup bowl
20 minutes after its muse explodes,
Daylight, remains nothing more than a dream 
Avoiding the howling sound in mid September's stream
Writing about a ginger light,
  found in the depths of everything
Taking from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized 
Exposing and expressing the emotions found inside
An attic lost in the Ancient sky  ---awaits 

A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
In the hiss of darkness, 
Listen-in,  the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mano grip in which summons a deep voice
  of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can write a poem and mimic free fallen verses,
One might  call it a creative craving curse,
Wordmaster's whose words speak for themselves
Voiceless-
They feel, and spills the will of idolized ink,
Blind-handed, splitting day from night

Warm whispers, needing no food to consume
Migraines of ink, feeding the soul
Burning Pages, over used pens
They've forgotten the pretty flowers
Living like lions, who never comes out of their dens
Murmuring and devouring, the enigmas of the unknown 
Eyes behind a sieve, close tighter than before, 
They hide-
A globe created from every sky-scraped wall
Wanting to belong, a trick -or- treat*er in disguise 
No friends, everything pretend
These poets can’t be described, can't be trusted
They are the best, at what they do
For all you know this poet might be me, 
This poet might be you

By: PD

Details | Poets Poem | |

Poet -This Poem is About You

-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet- 

Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off 
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause 

The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse 
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse 
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse 
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance, 
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers 
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest, 
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein

You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal, 
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree 
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."

I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter, 
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer 
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer

Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light, 
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes, 
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.

If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause

by;PD
I do it for fun

Details | Poets Poem | |

Super Soupers

It was a rainy day so I flipped through a stack of comics
My Amazing Poet series
Finally I picked the fabulous Five
I liked the picture on the front
Yanny the Zen Master with long black hair
Becca the Creative and Beautiful with her mythical pen
One of my favorites sultry Eileen known as the Emotionator
Anne the Philosopher was right there beside Eileen with her magical smile
Then to round out this team was Vicky Victorious calling from the wilderness 
In this edition they were battling the Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack
who had kidnapped Newbie Timothy Hicks
As I read their words I was in awe of my Heros
They made me cry
They brought me to new worlds
Filled with adventures
Sexy had new meaning
Tears became diamonds
Winds swirled inside my head
All the emotions of the rainbow
I longed to write with such clarity and strength
I tried to flex my poetic Muscles
Worked out every day
Then on the back of the comic
A scrawny poet sat on a beach
Beside the girl of his dreams
He is writing for her when along comes a muscular poet
The big poet kicks metaphorical sand in his face
The the scrawny poets girl is whisked away
Underneath it says
Are you tired of having Metaphorical sand kicked in your face?
Are other Poets getting the girl?
All that can change
Join the Andrea Dietrich School of Creative Poetry
She will have you writing like The Fabulous Five
You will never be afraid to flex those poetic muscles again
So I cut out the back page and sent my five dollars
The address is PO Box 88888 Inspiration California 
Now all I can do is wait
What will the future Hold?


Note there are many Poets here who would appear in my vast Amazing poet series.
Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack are not Evil nemeses they were chosen for the roll
because of their names( also I love their work.) I hope you enjoyed my little tale.
Some of the younger poets may not be familiar with the Charles Atlas ads that used
to be on the back of comics, the rest of you I am sure will get the joke.


Details | Poets Poem | |

IF SOUP WERE REALLY A SANCTUARY -- Warning will offend some


If this site were a true sanctuary
then we would protect 
those hunted by injustice,
prove with the activism of words
that some arrests should not happen,
that we are not immune to suffering

(sing Joy to the World, here)

We would not treat it as a retreat,
a place to hide 
only ourselves
from the realities that others face
while we stuff  ours
with more pecan pie

Pass the potatoes, please
(sing Angels We Have Heard on High, here)

If this site were a true sanctuary
then from our pulpit sacred words would erupt
with reminders of the commandments

We shall not murder
We shall not bear false witness

If this site were a true sanctuary
we’d speak in the gospel of blood, 
we’d disrupt the facade of peace
and embrace our global brothers 
then net each child, woman and man
who gasp and flounder 
in a gory sea of violence,
in an ocean of YOUR indifference 

(sing Silent Night, here)

If this site were a true sanctuary,
we would not ask our brethren
to remain silent,
in the clutch of new Romans

New Romans
New Testament, Romans

Romans 14:10
Romans 12:18
Romans 12:17
Romans 12:21

(sing O Holy Night, here)

If this site were a true sanctuary
we would not let the persecuted
be lunch for lions
because they are disturbing us,

Their agony is such a bother,
Their pain breaks my heart
and a heart must remain intact,
especially during this time of year 

as we describe sex and sunsets,
laugh over limericks
frost our syllabic cupcakes,
visit pages and leave comments

while our fellow soupers 
hear a bomb
empty a school,
kill their good neighbour,
gut a street

(sing Away in a Manger, here)

If this site were a true sanctuary
we would widen the walls
to house each shell-shocked soul,
our pews would be packed

we’d tell each story,
we’d yell out against butcherings,
bandage the maimed
and our voices 
would reach into the emptiness
we are becoming

as the bones of dehydrated children  
remain on Mount Sinjar

as the cries of new babes born in mangers
are smothered  
by the fear and apathy of poets

by your longing for sanctuary
because – after all—it is Christmas

and it’s all about 
the birth of Jesus

and virginal snow on evergreens

(sing Amazing Grace, here)






Details | Poets Poem | |

FAVE POETS MEET

Meeting my homegirls Wilma Neels
and Kim Van Breda with shrieks and squeals
hasty introductions and we're on our way
for a night of reading at Poetry Café

We've Yasmin to thank for arranging the meet
with fellow Soupers, a veritable treat
Yasmin the sneak had their names withheld
we're apprehensive yet still by curiosity propelled

My fingers are crossed to meet Eileen 
fave poetess mine, the Passionate Queen
dare I wish to meet hamsome Ryerson
not to mention Anne-Lise Andresen?

On first glance the café seems somewhat rowdy
from one of the corners a chorus of "Howdy!!!"
heaven help!!  I'm rooted to the spot
all my fave poets from the Souper pot

The Queen of Passion, my special friend
Eileen Ghali, an angel heaven-sent
with open arms and that beguiling smile
that's touched us all over thousands of miles 

I spot our Father Christmas, Jackie Ellison
Oh my, mercy me, the hamsome Tim Ryerson
then the beautiful being, Anne-Lise Andresen
and our pretty young doll, Anne Poetess Currin

Andrea, crack writer and popcorn freak
and Nette Onclaud, Madame Linguistics
the talented and sweet Leonora Galinta
oh, for a long time I've longed to meet her

There's the much-loved Reach-Out Lamoureux
a stylish gentleman, delighted to meet you
our very own Linda who happiness spreads
memorable the day as Brown Licia meets Red

He who writes poetry with a golden pen
bestest, fantasticest, hamsomest friend
Rich-Heart Seal-ed Door, my bruv from abroad
by his smile I'm bowled over;  by his charm I am awed 

I'm jumping with joy at my fave poets meet
befuddled, bewildered;  who first to greet?
midst the mountain of talent I'm on a positive high
overwhelmed, I simply break down and cry


This one needs a whole lot of polishing and smoothing 
out, but I was too excited to submit it.  I'll iron out the 
crinkles soon.  LOVE TO YOU ALL, LICIA <3 <3 <3 <3


Details | Poets Poem | |

Long Distance Dreamer

Call me evil
Call me names
Call me 

Kiss me on the lips
Kiss my heart
Kiss me

Wrap me in your arms
Hold me within your breasts
Whisper your longings

Touch me with your voice
Touch me with your caress
Touch me

Fondle the thought of forever
Fondle the thought of longing
Fondle me

Dance for the happiness inside of you
Dance to wash away your tears
Dance into my arms

Walk the path of wisdom
Run towards my heart
Kiss contentment

The sword of lust is shining
A dozen daffodils to undress your heart
Flower me with kisses

Call me

Details | Poets Poem | |

Sending Waves Touching Beautiful Always

She who sends waves touching beautiful warm and gracious words
Draws bright sunshine smiles in our hearts as they sing in her grace
Flowing from the heart her beauty held in her Quill ready to write
Pure diamond sparkling rainbows as a true friend is a friend in deed

The tidal wave raises fine soaked sand from the bottom of the ocean
And the waves curl out pearl white reflecting a most Picture Perfect
Image that is truly splendid and always sublime to behold and cherish
As Nature’s soft wind caresses your aura and inspires your next poem

She who sends these very waves touching beautiful personifies a Muse
So rare, so special—and brings her influence and talents to bear in
Masterfully supporting the efforts of fellow poets and dreamers as they 
“Spill Ink” on blank pages late at night crafting their next poetic masterpiece

The very power and wonder of her good works and positive influence are
Always there magnificently arrayed like pure beams of sunshine touching
And dazzling all in her reach quite profoundly with the magic of her thoughts 
And the quiet courage of her convictions as the simply wonderful poet she is
    
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem (Free Verse Poem),
November 26, 2014 

NOTE: Written in Honor of Anne-Lise Andresen for Her Fine Poetry and For 
Her Continued Professional Support and Encouragement of Other Fellow Poets.

Details | Poets Poem | |

Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
  
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME
5-25-14

Details | Poets Poem | |

Be on Guard Against Poets

My sweet child
My daughter
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine

No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms 
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed

Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
I implore
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth

He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
Your form
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Cherry lips
Or the curve of your hips

BE ON GUARD
Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate 
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”

My child
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go

My child, 
My darling
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies

My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
THERE IN PERSON
BODY and SOUL
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard
BE ON GUARD
SAVE YOUR LIFE!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Poets 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

Details | Poets Poem | |

POETRY READING

I cried the first time I listened to the words
whispered    shouted    snapping about 
like flags in a brisk wind     Words being shot 
from open pink mouths in a staccato hail of bullets 
slamming into my barriers     Hairline cracks appearing 
in my armor like spider webs meandering across 
a bug splattered windshield
I cried    even though I was not sure why

Who would have thought there was so much ammunition
being ratcheted from dry throats to be chambered
in mouths    spewing forth in a fusillade of fire
So much raw emotion housed inside ordinary people  

I found life    
emotion    feelings running rampant
bouncing off brick walls
echoing in my sluggish soul
wakening banked embers of a life 

I remember this thing called poetry
it danced through the dreams of my youth
brought hesitantly to its feet when I read
Resume by Dorothy Parker

I dreamed that I could put words onto paper 
and evoke emotion in another person
I dreamed and I played with the words
my new best friends    and drank Orange Crush 
spilling it on my early attempts    
giving them the appearance of measles erupting 
from the white parchment of youthful skin

But the words proved to be too much for me
		too much me
Emotions I did not know I had locked inside me
Fear flowing unchecked in dark splotches
Sorrow ripping the page with blunt forceful strokes 
of the pen     I tried to use a pencil but the feelings 
inside me were too strong to be erased so easily
Now the silence of my soul has been illuminated 
by the sun the poets hold in their hands
I could have ignored soft moonlight ripples 
across my mind    but this sun snakes its way 
into every crevice    finding my imps and demons 
standing mutely shadowed in gray

The homeless beggars on my street of lost memories
are rising up with pen in hand    refusing 
to be slapped into silent submission any longer



Details | Poets Poem | |

The Ugly Beauty Queen

Your ass is slightly enlarged
Your hips are somewhat wide
You have wrinkles all over your thighs
You eyes they droop 
Crows feet shoot me dead
With your dreary eye stare
The world sees ugly, over due and despair

Your chest is a scar
Red and ripe, disfigured and bare
Your time is up
Old maiden of the past
Your saggy story makes you a sad lass

However not all is as it seems
Those passerby’s who seek no depth
They know not the secrets of innocent youth
They drink not from the water of the wise well

I see you, so clear I cry
Your smile, your laughter and you wonder why?
I have fallen for you, faults and all
For me it’s your beauty that stands so tall
You are a painting on a museum wall
Desired, your smile for sure does enthrall
Your voice sings to the heavens above
Your touch upon my heart melts my cold dark wounds
The lines I see upon your face
Each a sign of wisdom and grace

May I kiss that scar upon your chest?
May I confess you that scare is the door to your desires
A place I dreamed to live from the start
Let me dance, let me sing
You are my beauty, so let me in

Love letters flow, like grapes to wine
Silently we sway to and fro, passing time
In my veins you flow, you can not run away
Needless dances of insecure thoughts
If only, if only I could have this last Serenade

Details | Poets Poem | |

I Write A Poem

I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.

I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.

I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.

I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.

I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.

I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.

I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with  a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D



** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **


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Another Day

A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.






A Word Collage For Chan Hurst



(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)


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Charmileen

C onjuring wonders with pen in hand
H olding me captive; in awe I stand.
A cceleration, slow down, restrain
R ousing emotions to grand refrain
M erging together to tempt and tease
I nserting visions with utmost ease
L ifting and rolling to rhythmic flow
E laboration that goes on show.
E xpressing virtues of mind and soul
N either is failing to reach her goal.

[To two of my friends in poetry Charmaine C. & Eileen M. G.]


-------------------------------------------------------------------

Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Acrostic Time #1 
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A  
Placing: 3rd


 




 

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You are THE EYES OF THE WORLD

You, poet, poetess...
ARE THE EYES OF THE WORLD!

Now that I've got your attention... let's sail to avenues where few too many 
cooks infuse attitutudes, burn britches in the kitchen.
Let us wave banners and quake fault lines of the masses, generate public 
interest bigger than entering contests, so the future wins as we arrest eye 
sights of their asses.
 
We've got something special in here; everyone sharing and caring and staring 
at screens like queens stare in the mirror. Hey, I've got an idea dear, rather 
it's more like a scattered ideal, real rednecks call "Idears, ya' hear!" 

So put down yir' sweet tea, turn off Duck Dynasty and come fly with me. 
We've got a whole generation of people sleeping through myriads of poetic 
songs. I contest we kick 'em in the ass with something true, something 
strong. 

We've got a beautiful community begging to be read. But right now, the only 
ones reading are those who should be writing instead.

We need to reach out, feed the needy, there's so much to teach. We are at 
the beginning of something huge, but I need YOU to see there's a universe to 
reach.

Look in the mirror, understand where you stand...
---------------
Note...
This stage could be HUGE!!! Poets are the last line of defense. But, here we 
are limiting our song, SARDINES IN THE TIN. 
We must think bigger, and 
generate vibrations for the whole world to see. 
Poetry is so much more than a club.

WE ARE THE EYES OF THE WORLD! 

There is no communication more true than this....what we live, what we give, 
what we do--- It's up to me and you!

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The Poet

Etching tales that run in trails along a parchment sheet
From feathered quill in trembling hand so longing now for sleep
As black ink drips down from the lip that rounds the pewter well
While a raven watches from his perch on the windowsill  

Fluttering flames dance above a pool of cooling wax
As the candle wanes away against a night of velvet black
Recalling long lost love again by the glow of candlelight
In a dreamlike state the poet writes… long into the night

Smouldering eyes upon the joy and sorrow of his life 
Alone but for his tears the poet writes and writes and writes
Until he finds her there upon the shore of Evermore
Standing at the foot of heaven’s door… his sweet Lenore

His name a whisper on her lips above the ocean roar
Until the well runs dry and the poet writes no more
A broken quill on tearstained parchment in the early dawn
But the poem he wrote that velvet night…still lives on and on.

Author:  Elaine George
Written:  May, 2014






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a poets revelation

My rhymes are not to stimulate
Nor accommodate for the way you feel
But it is who I am
That is the admiration 
Behind my self-expression

Regardless of imagination or fiction
It is the real world,
My real life
That flows from my mind to my pen
From my pen to my paper
And from my paper to society
That needs to realize, 
When it comes to me
I’m just keeping it real

Everyday events
Seem to trigger my senses
For my fingers will penetrate
And they’ll be nothing left but
A harmonizing ring
A song that seems to sing
A melodic tune of what I do

I won’t reason my feelings
But I can analyze
And learn to grow from where I am
Take a look back, and not
Justify my state of mind
But to let me be
And let it go

A poet is not defined
By the clothes they wear
Or how many poems they write
But the impact of their words
And the truth in what they speak
A poem is not defined
By how long or short it seems
Or whether it rhymes
But how it exemplifies you
And how it is plain to see
That without a doubt
It could only be
The work of a poet, me…

I reevaluate the situation
And my infatuation seems to grow
And yet you still should know
That I’m real
That this is real
And yes, I still keep it real
And nonetheless, 


I may never stop
As my rhymes continue
All my thoughts revealed

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Spill Ink

Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggles to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seeks tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (October 18, 2014) 
(Rhyme Septet poetic format in Iambic Pentameter)

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Wearying for you too

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

Wearying for you too

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28 July 2014 @ 1230hrs.





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Write Me A Poem

The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof.
And He scatters His poems below and above.
You can see a poem singing on a tree branch at dawn,
or falling down as dew on a neighbor's next door lawn.

There's a poem in a soldier's returning smile,
as he hugs his wife and newborn baby child.
You can see a poem in the heaven's stars at night.
Or, in a brilliant sunrise with silver flashing lights.

Poems are everywhere you look,
but unseen by others, like an unopened book.
A poet will see a poem, throughout the earth and sky.
So aren't you glad God gave you a poet's observant eye!

Notice that poem lying in broken shards of glass,
shimmering blue in the sun, as you look while walking pass.
Or, watch the wind playing with falling autumn leaves.
Then see Summertime's magic, or in Winter's snow white freeze.

Poem's sit there, waiting for you to pick up your pen and write
about earth's beauty, displayed like flowers in plain sight.
Don't you see that poem, walking down the street,
sitting on a bus bench, or grabbing a bite to eat?

Poems gurgle in bubbling brooks.
They hide under rocks and inside your books.
At breakfast, they cry out to you, "Here I am!
Taste me! I'm the blackberry in your jam."

So write me a poem and I'll write one, too.
And don't tell me you can't find one, it's staring right at you!

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When Poets Make Love

My dear poet- 
I am forever grateful to you
For allowing my body
To be your page 

Letting your words 
Ascend on my temple
And descend 
On my feet

How long will I thank God 
For giving me you
As our passionate and artistic sessions
Gracefully formed poetry in motion

Lord knows 
My body yearned 
And needed the eloquence 
Your poetry provided 

Our poetry combined 
Gave birth to volcanic verses 
And flood-like rushes 
Of the most liberated conversation

My poet laureate
Thank you for allowing 
Your art to transcend 
Into poetic actions

Your ability to allow 
Your love to flow 
Like a pen on paper
Amazes me

When poets make love 
Sacred books 
Unlock their meanings 
And the majestic powers of words 
Fill the universe 
With marvelous expressions 

Our collaborated efforts 
Awakened the most powerful of poets 
Who long ago fell asleep
Happily summoned with the stars 
To congratulate our poetic bliss 

When we made love 
Our poetry was forever 
Imprinted in the hearts 
of all poets 
past, present, and yet to come


-Written and dedicated to a very dear poet (R.C.) 

© Monique McDowell 2008  All rights Reserved