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Best Talent Poems

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

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New Talent Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Talent poems are below this new poems list.

Golden talent by Zuma, Busani
Parable of the Talent by wisdom, uriel
Skill and talent by Muitherero, Kennedy
Pink's Got Talent by Elharrak, Youssef
Recurring Dream 2 No talent by Atfield, William J. Jr.
The 'talent' gene by Ngoma, Thabang
ARTISTIC TALENT by Enriquez, Leon
CAN'T STOP TALENT by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Talent of Poetry by Smith, Holly
if i have talent by hammons, sandra

View all new Talent Poems

The Best Talent Poems

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The Angel Inside

Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.

A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.

At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
 
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.

“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.

© January 26, 2013


Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2013

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POETS

When all around is darkness
Who provides the sun
When everyone is serious
Who is poking fun
When pollution clouds the bright blue sky
Who brings clarity
Who tries to bring some common sense
To mass insanity
When people kill for a belief 
Who is pointing fingers
When bullies push their weight around
Who is the first gunslinger
Who sees the heavenly beauty
In Mother Nature's charm
When the house of cards goes up in flames
Who sounds the fire alarm
When depression comes and pulls you in
Who writes you words of comfort
When they can't think of rhyming words
Who makes up words like bumfort
Who puts their feelings into words
With sonnets from the heart
Who describes a garbage dump
With a color chart
Whose imagination
Can jump from sea to star
Or describe the pungent odor
Of their grandpa's stale cigar
What people share a common bond
Make pictures out of words
It's a talent that we happily share
Let every voice be heard
As wordsmiths we are special
Cause we feel what others see
Let's weave our threads together
Show the world our tapestry


This poem is dedicated to my friend and yours Tim Smith
 an original poem by Daniel Turner


Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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Pretty Shoes and Cracked Feet

Once I'm gone 
I'll only be remembered a small while
I'm a tiny tick on a large dial
The words I breathe will stretch about a mile
Even those who are in history books
the Kings writers and famous cooks
The gorgeous people with talent and looks
They too in the end fade away
Don't get me wrong it's all okay
We might try to hold on but none of us can stay
All have a bit part 
on this watery ball of granite and clay

Some are calm others make waves
One smooth skinned another shaves
She loves him while he's attracted to Dave 
They both pretend because they have to behave
Each in their own prison living like a slave
The preacher too plays his part 
trying to find people to save

Some couples love from the start till death
She breathes in he exhales her breath
Their children thrive Bobby and Beth
While some mothers go it alone
Daddies leave and are never known
Children left to learn life from a smart phone

Some chase riches when other just want to eat
Walking on pretty shoes while poor men have cracked feet
The music plays so clearly yet we fail to hear the beat
So I wonder what's it all for
This wanting more and more
Is that really God knocking at our door
Yes it is I believe it at my core
So why do we leave it closed
Maybe because we fear our sins will be exposed
a life manicured and posed 
could be unfroze
Freedom from each prison chose
Instead why not drink from the garden hose
Wear our humanity 
discard these labeled clothes
Count down the future with fingers and toes
Within a momentary breath each spirit goes
As minds open each heart then grows
What happens next only God knows!







Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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March 19 Memories

Mama….it’s today
The chalendar shouts it
Today
15 years ago..you breathed your last
and I still see you in dreams
and I still miss you, Mama

I’m sitting here
in front of the screen 
wondering….what it would be like
to see your smile again
wondering if you’d be proud of my work
I write, Mama
I write poetry
But you knew that
I wrote you many poems
and you loved my lines

You always believed in me
and you believed that one day
I’d make it as a writer
and you made me promise
to always sign my maiden name
after everything I write
so that the world would know
where the talent came from
you were so proud of me

I’m crying, Mama
I’m crying
I miss you so much
You made me who I am
I’m just another reflection of you
the woman
in love with words
in love with life
in love with people
in love with passion
the teacher
the well respected Bible scholar
the one with a caring heart whom
everyone adored...
the one with the ready smile

But MS had a hold on you
even before I came to be
and I had to witness
you succumbing to its power
It changed my happy dreams
into nightmares of losing you
Blood
Stiches
Broken bones
Burns
I saw it all, Mama
As I was growing up…
I saw it all
And I died a million deaths
Waiting for the time that you would go
And you left, Mama
You left me

You prayed to go
to be free from your wheelchair
He heard…
He answered…
and you are asleep in Him now
waiting for the trumpet call
when you will be awaked from your slumber
Free….
your smile no longer crooked
your body no longer bent
your voice beautiful again...
how you mourned the loss of your voice, Mama
you will sing again…
you will run and dance
and pick flowers

I will be there, Mama
When you awake up..
I will be there to hold you and kiss you
and thank you for giving me life
and making me who I am
But for now…Mama,
I need to cry
I miss you…

March 19 is always a reminder
of what I’ve missed all these years
a mother beside me
to guide me and love me
and to tell me that everything 
everything is going to be Ok in the end
but I carry you in my heart
now and forever…

You are with me, Mama
I love you!
I'll see you on the other side!
where there will be no more death
no more crying or sickness or pain
no more MS!
only joy...
March 19 will be no more
Only eternity!!!!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Isaiah 57: 1 & 2- The righteous perish,
    and no one takes it to heart;
the devout are taken away,
    and no one understands
that the righteous are taken away
    to be spared from evil.
2 Those who walk uprightly
    enter into peace;
    they find rest as they lie in death. 




Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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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



Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2013

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Sharon Weimer

Though we’ve never met 
I comprehend your beautiful words
I feel your pleasant persona
Never a mean word to be said
I ache from your kindness 
Making others feel ten feet tall 
Picking me up when I may fall 
Talent beyond compare 
Are you brunette or fair?
But that wouldn’t matter to me 
If I never had the chance to see you face to face 
Your wonderful personality I could never forget 
You’ve help build a community of friends 
Steady and true
I wish you peaceful skies of cobalt blue 
Fields of flowers brushed in rainbow colors 
I pray for love from God above 
For you and your family beloved 
Know that you touched lives that may not have been touched 
You changed someone 
And brought me a new reason to write 
You’re an inspiration and a friend 
And you’ve touched my heart polite 
Gratitude pours forth  


Written for and about Sharon Weimer !


Copyright © Laura Mckenzie | Year Posted 2009

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Whiners

I write poems because it's fun
And I'm not the only one
It's an outlet for verbal expression
A hobby and not an obsession

I'm an amateur, not a pro
Thankful there's someplace to go
Where others like myself
Can write without seeking wealth

An opportunity for me to learn
Gain confidence in return
Friendly contests sharpen my skills
Winning is a personal cheap thrill

Not everyone feels the same
For people like me, that's a shame
They're always causing dissension
Complaining and seeking attention

In their high chair, they bang their spoon
Grown men crying childish tunes
The food that once filled their belly
To them is now tasteless and smelly

I say, find another place to eat
Let us amateurs compete
Nobody's making you stay
You don't play well with others, anyway

Bland food doesn't suit your palate
Over here you're wasting your talent
Why stay here and eat slop
Since your talent's so over the top



Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

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The Poet

THE POET’S PANEGYRIC “There’s someone I knew with talent unleashed and a heart that had for so many relentlessly reached This poet sought inspiration from the living and the dead But I can tell you this about the poet who has moved me by what this poet had ever said I read the words from a comfort zone which this poet created, surrounded by friends or by foes or simply alone” His essence of soul sweeps down deserted dead streets where the thunder still crackles, the burial bell bleats He laughed at himself as a Royal Rhymester Clown but bore the black pains of those all aroun’, He echoed regrets but never a grudge ... of this I’ll say little... let his lines be the judge THE POET’S PEN Blind shots cry out beneath the night, a car is cruising by. A stripling’s blood streams words to write ... Wry rhymes to ask us why A silly girl with child, unwed... to many, but a slut. The baby at her breast is dead ... Cruel couplets meant to cut A drifter, broken, cast aside, lies lifeless in the cold. Tap tattoos on a tattered hide ... Some scarlet stanzas scold Two lovers clutch a turtledove, enraptured by her coo, impaled on pangs of Ladylove ... A sultry song for two A drone of drums in distant wars beguiling bold dragoons who sell their souls like wanton whores ... Raw rhythms writ in runes The stars ablaze, like tiger-eyes reflecting candlelight, ’lume angels singing Lullabys ... A sonnet stuns the night The soulless eyes of shackled slaves bleed tears that burn and blur. Their ash, like dust, set free in graves ... Emblazing ballads stir A hurricane, foretold, unfurled, unravels mystic signs as Demons dance, destroy the World ... Limned lurid lyric lines Some die a death neath hangmen’s hands where tainted justice reigns for ‘thou shalt kill’, Revenge commands ... A quiet quatrain pains While well-to-dos amass and flaunt And follow fashion’s trends, pale children starve and die of want ... And so an epic ends THE POET’S EPITAPH His words lie strewn along the sand While breakers wash ashore The ripples weave designs unplanned ... a verse forevermore His tales, entwined in cryptic airs where freedom seeds are blown, warn Guarders of the Realm ‘beware’ ... his heresy is sown His life outlined a chronicle along a lonesome road It started out as doggerel ... and ended as an ode
With a little help from my extremely talented, but somewhat modest, friend “ANON” AKA JC... Thanks JC, for the depth of your support and your breath of inspiration...


Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2013

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A Crown of Thorns

1
Insanity has its own wellspring and demise.
There is no better place to hide than between coils
of convoluted grey-white matter which can't recoil.
Mind has no leering lips to scorn or show surprise 
as ungoverned, the ancient demon-dancers rise.
The traitorous bits, which cut with Brutus’ red fang,
have no regard for the womb from which they sprang.
They seek dominion; they care not for your cries.
Crazed, their freedom paid for on the rack, how they sang
of anything, of windigos’, and warriors winged 
of fresh flesh beneath a gibbous moon's harangue, 
where those in sanity beneath their blankets cringed.
Night terrors sweat the sheets of the weak, as fear sprang,
a ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged.
2
A ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged
cloaked in mirrored, morose, magic; the mind a foil,
the heart, the soul, the sunny days, caste down, embroiled; 
destined to languish convulsed in the depth of coil.
Brightness, so dimmed, is lost within a rancid soil,
left to meet horned demons all but unarmed, alone, 
no company except the mirrored self-entombed,
no bliss state, no ripening sweetness to uncoil
a compost heap of bitter memories, atone ...
atone, little mother, well-used wife, wander now,
seeking ever seeking, yet finding no one home,
insanity wakened, waits, patiently endows ... 
empty days and nights, the infrequent sound of om,
cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused.
3
Cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused,
the teeth of dogged night rise-up, they breed turmoil.
Deep within the sleeping mind of men, sorrows roil.
Abandonment, disloyalty, hatred espoused,
all shriek to the traitor, the night arouses. 
Niggardly night, loath to lose ground within the dome
of blanched white, gray matter, within this skull of bone,
delights in the sorrowful detail night houses.
Insanity licks raw the salted wound entombed, owned.
"What could we be?" the ego cries to he or she.
"What would we be?" the windigo screams but, “alone.”
On, on, they chatter in the carapace, they breed, 
spreading dark matter, for they've no chaperone,
no friend to stay the brutal cousins, so mislead. 

4
No friend to stay the brutal cousins so mislead,
so in darkness, fear and hatred spread on fertile soil.
Yet, self-hatred shields its sharpened claws, as day uncoils
filling the breach with bright creations, dark concedes, 
and dims the room while manic laughter recedes.
A sunrise bows through prism-glass and colors swell
a lighter laughter comes, newborn to dwell.
Hands that once drew only blood, now tune bent reeds                        
of green, blades of springtime grass within the dell;
where larks sing and long lost lovers dare to reunite, 
no mention made of darkness or the depth of hell,
for sanity has cast a lighter stage this night.                       
Daybreak suspends the demon-dance upon the fell,
now, fairies prance in pastures high, and verse delights.
5 
Now, fairies prance in meadows high, and verse delights
her fancy takes a softer turn at his behest,
with buttercups, in a Fairy Ring, they coalesce,
and shine the golden glow beneath a chin of white.
With the talent of a troubadour, love does strum
upon desire's strings the raging beast is culled
as coy love songs and  sweet lullabies emerge from
the hidden depths of mind where sanity is mulled.
With the talent of a troubadour love does strum
upon strings of desire the fearful beasts are culled 
as coy love songs and sweet lullabies emerge from
the stygian depth where her frail sanity is mulled.
How long will harmony dance to love's blissful hum
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
6 
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
A scent of jasmine fills the air with swarming gnats.
Her covered ears belay the sound of feral cats
yet, huddled in his sheltering arms, her pain is dulled.
Dulled, but not waylaid, raging, she becomes unglued
She starts to rock, to whimper, and then, cry out- loud
begging for the dev'lish tide to leave, as he vowed,
renting strands of flaxen hair from her small skull.
Torn, he watches as she fades within a shroud,
a witless waif, bedeviled by the harvest moon.
He had to leave; he could not stay beneath this cloud
ever waiting for this, her omnipresent doom.
His love had its limits and yet, he was not proud,
Oh, he could not stay and watch her be consumed.

7

Oh no, he could not stay and watch her be consumed,
to have his pleasant memories of ardor's bloom
be marred by images of her so poorly groomed. 
No, never would he stay to see her be consumed.
One morn he left, his sum was not what she'd presumed. 
And, she sat in the rocker by the door unfazed,
her bowed lips o'er cast and her eyes o'er glazed, 
alive, but not, her nascent sanity entombed.
Death had come, death of the mind, his metal now assayed
he ran from old memories, as each thought enticed.
Their first tryst 'neath jasmine vines vanished in a haze.
Was love's reward, a sweet repast, mania's disguise?
Would true love have held the course where sanity betrayed,
insanity has its own wellspring, and demise.

First Published Five Poetry Magazine 2014




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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Jan

A poem in honour of a lovely lady named Jan,
She writes poetry but was never sure about her talent.
She didn't think that she could do it 
but now she knows she can.
I wanted her to embrace poetry 
and learn to have faith in herself,
to write and show her work,
not just to leave it on the shelf.
She's in her element now she shares,
in her words it shows she cares.
Her feet barely touching the ground,
The bonus too, is undoubtably,
the great friendships that she's found.
It's truly wonderful to see my friend 
stretching out her wings
and enjoying all the benefits
sharing her poetry brings.


Copyright © Jenny brewer | Year Posted 2014

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Memoirs of a cancer survivor

In life, I have faced many trial and tribulations,
but I knew this would be the hardest one.
I can still remember that fateful day,
after scans, biopsies and tests, it was finally confirmed.

I didn't smoke, drink or suffer from stress, so how could this be,
even my doctors were totally bemused, you see.
At the peak of my health, strong fit and able,
yet a lump on my throat was the only telling sign.

I still remember when it was confirmed, stage 4 aggressive cancer,
on the base of my tongue, spread to my neck, throat and voice box.
The doctor looked at me, waiting for me to break down,
I showed little emotion, my mind told me, don't worry be strong.

My voice is my talent and I might lose it forever,
as I sat in the car, a little numb, everything was still.
I looked up to the sky and wondered why me?
I thought to myself, God, you sure have a funny sense of humour.

A 50/50 chance of life, for a moment or two, I did feel sorry for myself,
but just for a moment, as I knew I needed to be strong.
Cancer can be such a confusing thing, a horrid disease,
but they say 50% is in the head and you have to defeat your demons.

I kept it a secret for so long, its not easy telling someone,
all those around me broke down with its discovery.
I didn't want to show them I am weak, so I remained strong,
being strong was what I had been all my life and this would be no different.

I had so much to live for and I constantly told myself, your not going to die,
I had so much support from family and friends, it pulled me through.
however, no one really understood, I guess its difficult if you've not had it,
but it made me feel so lonely, so I just didn't discuss it and suffered alone.

The chemotherapy poisoned my whole body and left me weak,
I felt so vulnerable, stricken to a bed with no appetite or thirst.
I just lay there motionless, no energy to get up or walk,
wasting away slowly, thinking how is this a cure?

Then came the radiotherapy, wow, now that's something!
Burning away at my neck and mouth, slowly becoming more painful.
You can see your whole face and body changing, unrecognisable,
I was the pieces of the man I used to be, but I was not broken.

I constantly reminded myself, it will all be over soon,
that all pain is temporary and I will be fine.
Others never had so much faith, I could see in their faces,
when they looked at me they saw death.

Even when admitted into hospital, as I couldn't eat anything now,
one whole month, a peg in my stomach, and both arms on drips.
Everyday seemed to get harder and harder, but my mind remained strong,
not once did my mind think I had cancer, just a temporary illness.

Through all this time, not once did I breakdown or cry, not me, no, not I,
there were times when I felt so miserable and low, I forgot how to smile.
Sometimes I felt like I was falling into depression, into a dark twisted world,
but my mind kept me sane and kept me strong and slowly I began to smile.

So here I am, still alive and almost 100% today,
I know cancer will return again one day, i've won the battle, but not the war.
Its hard and its difficult, especially when your whole world is falling apart,
but remember worry ends when faith begins and everything will be all right.

1 Aug 2015


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Marionette Master

~Marionette Master~    

All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on

~~~~

The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone, 
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe, 
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares. 
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind ……. 
I cannot come out from under my blanket,  
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light

***

Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-) 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Insomnia -- To Tom

.                        
                        Insomnia drifts
                        from fears blown into heaps by
                        winds of mind towards sunset 

                        Insomnia floats
                        through phobias and regrets
                        towards memories 

                        Insomnia 
                        towards nothing

                        The mute T.V. and the World I didn't change
                        skipping, switching, zapping 
                        the vacuum salesmen
                        the nuclear waste in a poor country
                        the UFO convention
                        American Idol, America got Talent, 
                        and the stupidity of strange feelings
                        Coke, Trojan, Toyota...
                        Listerine soaked tissue
                        to kill the germs that cause bad words
                        dirt and death
                        order and death
                        votes and death
                        power and death
                        control and death
                        politics and death
                        selfishness and death
                                                      manipulating my sleep



.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

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I am bored with Poetrysoup

I am bored with Poetrysoup

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

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

Though bored yet good platform of poetic expression is Poetrysoup  

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

By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011

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

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

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

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

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



Copyright © Hitendra Mehta | Year Posted 2011

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PoetrySoup Heroes

The best advice came from my hero
since our very first days on the Soup,
he said to me ....be true to yourself
don't try to blend into the group.

When no one wants to write in rhyme
you told me ....write it anyway,
when no one wants to read rhyme,
you said to me ...write it anyway.

If this is your passion, why let it go
all opinions will be hit and miss,
poetry is not what others want you to do
only Heart and Soul make up the artist.

Did Poe try to follow the rest ...oh no
being unique makes any artist great,
perfection is what it is .....to you
only we can control the hand of fate.

So what if we are being a little archaic
by respecting those who came before,
the elders are remembered for a reason
they opened up the modern poet's door.

Thank you for teaching me to believe
because back then I just didn't see,
the talent, the potential, the poet
... that you somehow saw in me.










I have many Poetry Soup heroes....

but this poem is for Chan Hurst, "Just That Archaic Poet" ....RIP


Written on November 10th, 2015





Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Salieri Soliloquy

You give me the desire
a love for composing 
word symphonies
yet you give me
the cross of mediocrity
to bear
day by day to know
there are others 
who are prodigies
and I must hear 
the thunderous applause
while at best
I get the praise
of those who seek to console
my dying soul
I must eat my heart alive
while the words burn inside
demanding expression
soul confession
unborn masterpiece extrication

I fall to my knees
and plead
While I beat my chest
in fervent heat
"Bless me...Bless me...
Make me like him
Make me like her
Make me more than all of these
Make me the best
a word genius
For this love of words will not set me free
Till it is MY name that they chant
My name on their tongues
My name branded on their minds
the Maestro of Word symphonies
Oh, Let it be ME, ME!
BLESS ME!"

Yet...
day after day
night after night
and in my dreams
I see, I see....
I see them take their bows
I see their work showcased
praised
immortalized
while I?
I sit at my desk
and try once more
to write
to...WRITE
the sublime....

Eileen 

The movie Amadeus rocked my to the core. "In it, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was killed by his jealous rival, the court composer Antonio Salieri. Salieri cleverly took advantage of Mozart's fondness for drink, his financial crisis, and his obsession with pleasing his deceased father, and tricked Mozart into working himself to death."

Murry Abraham did a wonderful job of portraying Salieri. There is a scene where he argues with God about the wonderful musical talent he has gifted Mozart, who seems undeserving to him, while HE has to live with mediocrity in musical talent. I can relate. I LOVE poetry. It is my life, and yet...I have to watch as others write so effortlessly and reach the pinnacle of fame. It is hard to do. :( Some days are better than others. On the good days, I'm happy that I can write a poem now and again. On the bad days....I want to cry for not being another Shakespeare....or Donne, or Dickinson, or Gibran, or Rumi, or....and the list is endless. 


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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VOICE OF AN ANGEL

Locked high in the tower the Princess did cry No school for her that was the golden rule The King allowed her one pastime - she could sing She would retreat to her chamber whenever she could Her eyes sparkled with intelligence; singing was her prize She’s so blessed with talent, confined in the chateau Great inner strength inside made her such a winner Her voice, so light and beautiful, made her rejoice She shines like a precious gem despite her confines 02~01~15 Contest: Plucky two by Nine – ‘Cryptic Rose’ 2nd and 9th words to rhyme Words to be used:- Princess, school King, retreat, Intelligence, blessed, strength, light, gem ~awarded 1st place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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Jukebox Gigolo

Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!

Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!

Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.

Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.

Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first, 
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.

Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.

Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow, 
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.

Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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The Perfect Painting

I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool 
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind. 
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.

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

Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who 
         suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st




Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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"Ladies of Soup"'

Poet Destroyer is such a good friend...
On and off with chatting and e mails we send...
Each day I check for all the new entries..
Thanking all for comments that are always friendly..
Raising stakes each day by such talent shown..
Your site has helped, for this poet has grown...

So to my friend Wilma across the pond...
Our partnership in crime has formed a nice bond...
Until my Jersey Girl stops her sweet ways...
Poems shall continue to roll all of my days...


Poetic picture of PoetrySoup contest


Copyright © Michael J. Falotico | Year Posted 2010

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Greatness Calls!

Its whispering gentle 
 through breeze to leaves
rustling each to a frenzied clamor
 Can you hear the heightened sound?
Inaudible then so loud...so Loud!!
  So loud you cant hear at all
As the days slip past do you
  stop and listen?
Greatness calls!

Aptitude resides in minds...hiding in wait
  as a coiled snake rearing to strike
A glimpse...a flash...a window we passed
  our sight steering down a narrow hall
life carrying our feet too fast to see...
  to left or right in brilliant hues 
So vibrant and lively, ideas hiding in wait
 Can you see them in the passing panes?
A moment of brilliance lays dormant 
  awaiting your attentive audience
Greatness calls!!

Outside stimuli grows so rapid
 numbing our minds of freedom
processing the intake derails a train of thought
A locomotive whose motive is motivation
  Rumbling on tracks reverbing through your soul
Can you feel the power surge in your veins?
  raising hairs with the electricity of knowing...
...knowing an idea tingles with possibility?
       crawling below the surface of skin
   Itching for pores to release it
Greatness calls!!!

Sweetly epiphany drips of honey
 cooing with a flavor we seldom devour
To settle for dreaming is to savor bittersweet
 repression attacks the tongue so sour
Can you taste the food for thought?
  A peach drizzling juicy images with clarity
    sating the tongue, these dulcet revelations
Greatness calls!!!!

In realization the scent of lilac spring lingers...
  fresh and intoxicating with the nectar of creativity
Wafting through with pleasing achievement
  swirls of petals and spice compound a nasal euphoria
Yet in squandering ability lays the stench of rot
  Reaking strong of regret this stagnating refuse 
    overpowers with the odor of inhibition
Can you smell the promise of flowers blooming?
  in spite of doubt using rubbish for compost
Emitting a fragrance of intense talent
Greatness calls!!!!!


Copyright © Steve Voorhees | Year Posted 2009

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A Tribute to The Highlander

His talent as a Bard explodes
From an exquisite mind it flows 
Through an instrument of script
Flooding parchment reverberating
Through the psyche creating waves  
Reaching the far ends of the universe 

Words of truth deep sentiment flourish
Propelling legitimate personal emotions 
Giving due praise to brave loyal and true
To God nature his love and fellow Bards and
The magnificent highlands he loves so well
Always uplifting inspiring and sharing 

Accept this tribute from an amateur a friend
With gratitude for reading commenting for 
Being just who you are, The Highlander


Copyright © Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2009

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Snakes and Adders

T' was a shallow creeping envy,
Of a deviant design;
It slithered In quietly undetected,
To prey upon unsuspecting minds.

It built up false images and verses,
A phoney talent in every way;
Taking slander to its highest levels,
And breeding hate his favorite play.

He blinded his band of followers,
To carry out his dirty deeds;
They became his demonic harem,
Planting his evil silent seeds.

But he couldnt break the true believers,
Those called to be sages of pen and page;
They stood together to expose his lies,
Using truth in this war they waged.

There is a higher calling of this gift,
Only those who are called know to play;
The haters and phoney's may do their worst,
But in time will truly pass away.


Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2016

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Black Diamond Child

Black Diamond Child Black diamond child with hopeless eyes In your frightful future your talent lies No worth is greater than watching you grow To a world whose wealth you may not know The street schools you in the ways of hate And the price of your life’s at dime store rate Black diamond child with searching eyes In the rough you sparkle in disguise Young boy, young girl, you're the toughest stones Regardless of your precarious homes Your genes are heirs to our African past Through you, millennials, our race will last Grab hold to a dream and pray it comes true That the doors of this country will open to you Black diamond child with joyless eyes Like an ebony phoenix may you rise! 8/2/16 Black Diamond - Poetry Contest Sponsored by Nayda IvetteNegron


Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016

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Leonardo DiCaprio

Dedicated to my love: Leonardo DiCaprio

For how many years have I loved you
I think it has to be about eighteen
We were both so young in those days
But I still longed to be your queen
With each film I fell more in love
With each role you reminded 
"This is what true talent is made of"
Beautiful Leonardo
How keenly I feel
How much I love you
Probably too much, but still
You have shown true beauty
You have shown true grace
You're a perfect specimen
Of the human race
You are of the greatest actors 
Of this generation and more
For there will never be another
That I so much adore


Copyright © April Gabriella | Year Posted 2013