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Details | Write 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 | Write 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 | Write Poem | |

The Greatest Poet Ever

I got to wonderin' the other day
who was the greatest poet ever?
Was it a guy named Willie Shakespeare
or someone much more clever?

I thought it over for quite a while
just who this guy might be.
Then suddenly a light went on!
By God, it could be me!

So I'm gonna write a Masterpiece.
Just you wait and see.
It'll be the best poem ever wrote
and the author will be me!

Everyone from near and far
will know my famous name.
The poem I write will be so great
it will bring me worldwide fame!

I'll be chauffeured 'round in limousines
and flown in private jets.
Everyone will call me "sir"
and I'll have no regrets.

I'll be treated just like Royalty,
No matter where I go.
I'll be waited on hand and foot,
just to let you know.

So when you're in my presence
don't you forget to bow,
cause I'll be the greatest poet ever,
I'm tellin' you right now!

That's it - My mind's made up
and since I'm gonna be so great,
I decided I won't write it now,
you're just gonna have to wait!

  written 3/5/11

Details | Write Poem | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


Details | Write Poem | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….



Details | Write Poem | |

Reflections from a Toiling Sonneteer

One’s poetry not always will unfold beneath its author’s pen as some suppose. And poetry one is to yet behold might slowly bloom before one plucks that rose. At times the lines come breech, the labor hard. A trial of thought; a repositioning of words emerging, offspring of the bard! And then at last, the poet’s heart will sing. The poet must write always, lest his mind grow barren, for not always can he know his muse will be there. She’s not always kind, but oh, the joy, when verses want to flow! 1/8/13 For Russell Sivey's Poetry About Poetry Contest

Details | Write Poem | |

Careful Cursive

I write each letter by hand in careful cursive. 
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.

My words are foolish, 
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events. 
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house 
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.

So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared 
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."


Written: 1/27/2013
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest

Details | Write Poem | |

The Write of You

Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
 the write of you

like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
 the write of you

how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
 write of you



Details | Write Poem | |

I Don't Write Poems

I don’t write poems, 
I drink them like wine, 
I become tipsy 
with each coming line. 

I don’t write poems, 
I breathe them like air, 
I become so happy 
when each one I share.   

I don’t write poems, 
I live with them; 
they prolong my years, 
they are as true as I am. 

I don’t write poems, 
I weave into verses 
sadness, joy, tears, 
prayers, love, curses… 

My poems talk and sing, 
Sense of living they bring. 


©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)

Details | Write Poem | |

Exposure: Part I

Today I conceived myself as a poet for the first time,
and not because of employable meter, rhyme, and flow -
I will leave such devices for the wordsmiths and Masters.

And not because I can write poetry....what I do,
should be labelled as something else entirely -
not as poetry.
I am an organic recorder, filing away bits and pieces of zeitgeist,
without rhyme or reason,
almost as if ghosts are guiding my hand across the paper,
and I really don't have much say in the matter.

I am a stranger in a crowded world,
a stranger amongst people I have known for years,
not quite fitting in anywhere, but being in all places at once.
I write the words down, they in turn speak to me.
A clear, mutual agreement -
the smell and feel of new paper,
the liquid, brashness of ink as it penetrates the virgin whiteness
of so many possible observations, opinions and stories.
The words know me intimately.
We aren't strangers.
The reality of vowels and consonants is where I truly fit.

I was moving through a crowd of familiar faces -
a familiar feeling of strangeness and alienation,
when I came across a Persian face I had never seen before.
A real stranger.
Not one I have known for years.
She mentioned not being into sex,
how she only wanted to talk about things she couldn't mention to friends -
her mind felt as if it was floating by the moon 
and she wasn't sure how to reel it back into her skull again.
I told her not to worry, sex isn't the only thing on my brain.
She said that sex was the only thing on her brain;
but in a different way.
She explained how she had been kidnapped in Iran,
imprisoned as a sex-slave, 
repeatedly raped by rich business men who wore wedding bands.
I asked if she was filled with hate.
She wasn't quite sure.

"What does hate feel like?"

"Well, it shouldn't be mistaken for rage, anger or frustration.
Those emotions are red hot to the touch.
Hate is a cold thing.
Like a Raven perched on the railing of a bridge,
sleet bouncing off its feathers,
not caring to fly away even though cars are barrelling past,
flinging up dirty, February slush.
There is nowhere left to fly to.
The trees are all cut down,
dumpsters have tight lids,
for some reason the fish are all belly-up in the river below,
dead from some mysterious reason.
Its stomach aching from hunger,
the Raven smells the reason for all of this death
emanate from the strange looking beasts walking and driving past.
It is all their fault -
they are the poison behind it all.
This is hate."

(cont'd)

Details | Write 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 **


Details | Write Poem | |

MY SEX


I’m made of ten thousand layers, curvaceous but stretched thin,
How should I begin to reveal the shape of this maiden-lover-hag
and the landscape that few men view, behind the louvered door?

Archetypes coexist comfortably below and upon my shared skin,
First, the shrew makes minced meat of all your carnivorous ways,
Then, I become the shy virgin again until Venus takes the floor.

Morning, while I tend my child between wringing out wet dishrags,
I release the Mother Goddess, nurse and maid, maker of wee sighs,
Bending down to wipe a tear, kiss a brow, proudly raise a nation.

A chatelaine rattling keys, I walk the wide halls of imagination,
Strong and free, yet accepting of my femininity, moved to cry
by the joys and miseries of family life, twin dimensions of wife.

My hips have turned soft men to stone then have rocked them 
home with urgency; the same hips that sheltered one yet born
now happily support a burdensome basket each laundry day.

Betwixt the ribs, there is still a girl, weaving daisies evermore,
Remembering ribbons tugged from her hair, a tomboy daughter,
Climbing trees, bloodied knees, leaving trails laced with laughter.

Slips out the hoyden, lacking grace and gentleness, too crass,
and the very clouds try to escape the look upon my crone’s face,
Flip and sassy, standing up for the weak, voicing world wrongs.

Daily, the lady, the broad, the nag and miss rewrite their songs,
They play their parts so aptly, leaving me and them quite satisfied,
A lifetime is horribly short, my sex gives all her love and worth,
And men quickly learn that no woman on this lovely earth 
can simply be classified.


*Inspired by Alanis Morisette's "I'm a B_tch"
**For David's contest, I hope
***Began the write May 26, 2012, finished the write May 29, 2012

Details | Write Poem | |

Ode to Poetry Critics (Co-written with James Fraser)

Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp


    Hey, babe, your style really sucks
    Call that art, I have seen kids write better
    Have some heart, instill it in your writes
    Feel the moment, feel those letters


My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue

     
     Oh, i see you have posted another piece
     Let me read and determine my thoughts
     Excellent shape and so true to form
     This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught


Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me          
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness


      The last write you wrote, has invited my see
      It has clearly shown, your writing to be
      Scope, shape and the form you have written
      I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten

 
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?

Details | Write Poem | |

Adults Only A Sexy Write Just To Make Jan Laugh


I am dating a young woman and we are deeply in love. However, no matter what I do sexually, she never achieves orgasm so we decided to ask a sex therapist for advice. The therapist listened to our story and suggested the following; 

"Hire a strapping young man and while the two of you are making love have the young man wave a towel over you, as though he is fanning you both. Make sure he is totally naked and she can see his manhood as he fans you both with the towel. That will help your wife fantasize, and should bring on a full-blown orgasm." 

We went home and followed the therapist's advice. We hired a handsome young man and he stripped off and enthusiastically waved a towel over us both as we made love. But it didn't help and still my lover was unsatisfied and frustrated. 

Perplexed, we went back to the therapist "Okay" he says, "let's try it reversed. Have the young man make love to your wife and you wave the towel over them." 

Once again, we followed the advice. The young man got into bed with my lover and I waved the towel. The young man really worked with great enthusiasm and my lover soon had an enormous, room-shaking, screaming, orgasm. 

Smiling, I dropped the towel, tapped the young man on the shoulder and said to him triumphantly...."NOW THAT'S how you wave a towel, son!!"

03~12~2014 dadickerector

Details | Write Poem | |

Exercise Your Pen

A sonnet, oh a sonnet of love, that would be divine,
What would I have to do to make love not be blind?
Could you rhyme some words to make my heart shiver,
Would you touch my soul and make my skin quiver?
A sonnet of the lust between two distant burning stars
Would it be enough to explain this fiery love of ours?

A lyric, a ballad, something with a smooth melody,
Could you sing a gentle song straight to the hear of me?
Would you write our love upon the lines in a fast tempo,
Pluck the strings upon my heart, make the words flow.
What could I say to make you heart beat like a drum,
If I offered you my refrain, would your chorus come?

A poem, a prose, a dramatic verse, just give me a word,
Let it be the gentlest touch I have ever heard.
If I could be there to inspire the greatest moments of when,
Would you come upon me close and exercise your pen?


~09-10-2014

Details | Write Poem | |

To Write Of Love

If I was to write of love, then from my
nib your heart would flow. Dreams
would be the parchment on which I
scribe, and your fragrance the sentence
formed. A desire and passion would 
flood my page, with intermittent kisses
instead of punctuation. Chapters of 
grace would fill your eyes, the contents
feelings spill your soul. The ink from
deep and pulsing veins, would secrete
the validity of my emotions. I see and 
do not see, for with your absence my
page is blank, yet in your thought reams
I write. Let this page be a blanket on 
which those eyes could sleep, and
realize my love is not a dream, but
reality in reaching words.

Details | Write Poem | |

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!

Details | Write Poem | |

A Lesson on Love to my Future Daugter

It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
buried deep,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.

Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.

There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down. 
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.

There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding 
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt. 
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple. 

Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
forgive,
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.

Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.

Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
just run
and run 
and run 
and run
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.

Daughter,
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.

Daughter,
Find a love who loves you the way 
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.

Details | Write Poem | |

God, don't look at me like that

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray. 

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
be more,
pray more,
or we can’t come in.

My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.

Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that. 


Details | Write Poem | |

My Poetry Friends

I carry our friendship in my mind
And like a “Welcome Home” banner
It warms my heart. 
When I see flowers in bloom
I think of your poetry;
How your words paint such colorful, 
Vivid tapestries.
Even on the greyest of days
They brighten my world,
Shed light on my emotions,
Lift my spirits, and give comfort to my soul.
We are kindred spirits in our love of nature,
The gift of children and the wonder of the
Animal kingdom, how it nurtures us in love,
Inspires us to want to share through
Poetry the beauty of this planet.
When you write of waterfalls
I feel the cool mist on my face.
When you write of trees
I see their lovely trunks and limbs
And how closely they resemble people.
When you write about the wayward wind
An awesome chill cloaks my body.
As you relate the power of the moon
I feel her tug at my emotions and
Her authority as she reigns over the seas.
The contrast of serenity and excitement
Abound when you speak of the sparkling 
Stars, their soft glow or burst of beauty as they 
Burn a bright light through a cobalt sky.
Tears of joy stream down my smiling face
As you describe the sunrise and sunset
In a rainbow of hues from silver to scarlet.
It leaves me breathless in awed elation.
Each season offers a new delight in what you write
And our friendship grows deeper and more
Meaningful with each creation.
When you write of love, I feel loved.
You are a blessing and a joy in my life.
I carry our friendship in my mind.

© 2011 Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Write Poem | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behing,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...

Details | Write Poem | |

My PoetrySoup

M y eyes see what your heart is feeling
Y our feelings you write out as poetry

P ain, love, joy, wonder, inspiration
O nly you can help me see, hear,and feel you
E ven though only words you have written they
T ouch my heart and mind deeply from within
R equiring me to write a poem so full of feeling as
Y ou become my poetry I write from my heart
S mile, laugh, cry, whisper, or shout
O pen your heart, mind, and soul
U tter your words on paper or screen
P oetry is where I see and feel your soul

Tons of comma fun!
contest of Russell Sivey

Written by: Carol Brown
01/31/2012
3rd Place Winner

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Let me write you something.

Let me write you a poem.
A poem so great Bukowski would give me a hats off-
And hand me a beer.
A poem so well-written, John Mayer would play me a 
Tribute song with his guitar.
Let me bring Shakespeare to shame-
Let me write you sonnets one and two,
Three, Four and maybe 
Five hundred. 
Let the only alliteration be that of our laughter,
As we exchange puns and stories.
Let the words “I love you” be an understatement.
Let us be the Paradox – and let the popcorn munching crowd watch us with awe.
Let the touching of our lips write Concrete poems.
Let your embraces warm me with Haikus.
Chase me through Couplets where we are the only couple.
Let the only Dramatic Monologue be that within my palpitating heart.
Wrap me with imagery- 
Shower me with smiles and similes. 
Be the Free Verse,
Be the Epic poem,
Be the Ghazal poetry drunkards wrote to their loved ones…
Be the hero in my Heroic couplets,
Be the one.
Just let me write you a poem-
Where your name is the only repeated term.
Where the only irony is the twist of fate that brought us together.
Where the only onomatopoeia is the ROAR of your rusty car’s engine.
Where we stand like Oxymorons- contradictory but side by side.
Just let me write you a poem.
Or a novel
Or a play
Or a song-
Let me write you something. 

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The Uninvited Stranger

Another tirade of drunken anger
Brought to life by the uninvited Stranger
I lay trembling, still, ever so quiet
In a corner, hidden beneath a blanket
Biting down hard on bleeding lips
I knew it wasn't to be over yet

The blistering sting whipped our skin
A silence of screams heard only within
Upon our flesh of scarlet welts
Carved by the Stranger's thin leather belt

Cold cloudy skies, a mother's black eyes
No friends allowed in while we'd panic and run
He stumbled and cursed, threatening to get his gun

To live with the Stranger's drunken rage
Was like living in hell while trapped in a cage

Karen Anglesey 2003

6th Place Win in Nathan's "In To The Deep" contest 07/09/13

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Blinded by Right and Wrong

I stood on a hill and screamed for peace...
Lost in the noise were friends that teased...

A mask that hides what's wrong and right...
Too many stones thrown that blinded my sight...
 
Wolves that prowled with a sheeps face and a devils soul...
Crept slowly in the dark where the truth was never told...

My cape is wrinkled and torn and bloodied from the day...
A battle well fought where being right lost its way...

Then left with a heart with blood still there to drain...
No need to ask the question, I'd do it all over again...


I don't write stories, I don't write make believe... I write what's in Me....    Michael