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123
Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing 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;)

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing Poem | |

Plethora of Poetry

~STRIP TEASE~     Featuring:) SKAT

Silver Skimpy Ink, String, A POET DESTROYER's bling, bling
Think of me as a human ditty delicious decoration,
Something along the line of a sweet tooth temptation
Cherry tastes, between the slit of tender toast 
Fine jumble jam slams down the tongueless throat 
Dance like a diamond on The tight South Pacific Rim
I'll feed you with a slithering seductive sound
My hair soaking, -wet and wild, tonight I trim
A dulcet apple acrostic bottom, to squeeze the greed
Feathers, on top, poetic diction describing to please
At times, I'm in deep dire need of something sweet, and sour 
Endless epic words, and ode to the naked poetic world
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, the freaking awesome
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)

---

Symbol of the spiritual Sexy SKAT Slang
--Provocative-- A slippery succulent, scrumptious kiss 
Counterparts working the tension, another arrant appetite
I am the Illuminati illusion, laminating luscious illustrated letters  
Indulging in the, satire of one stilt spoken sunset
Like a child's spiking temperature, I often throw tantrums, 
Teasing attentions, by incorporating a pole, paper and pen, 
If someone is uncomfortable with facing the fact, 
When I reveal everything, without removing my high heels
Then you must not be worldly or women and man enough 
I love to spoil and slur my scenery, using my best assets
My strength and power parallel, any unique universe 
That's how confident the audience makes me feel
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, fantastic and fabulous
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing Poem | |

Night Owl

Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.

With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.

He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.

Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.

I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.

A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?

My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!


Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing 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

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing 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.


Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing Poem | |

Toilet Bowl Committee

Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)

A lavatory confinement
my$h!tdontstinkcomode.com
---
If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
No matter,
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low

Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger, straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself

Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors 
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dried up grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood, overpowers any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs

Thank you
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T


By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood) 
Date: 12-15-13

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing Poem | |

A Reminder: To Be


Those of you with a unique voice,
with a vision painted outside the lines of over-regulated cadence and rhyme,
I implore you to continue exploring a core
that is fearless in writing against the grain of convention --
for this very friction is a sandpaper helping to perpetually re-invent 
yourself by smoothing your raw, unfiltered passion
into a timeless chair in which people of the future will sit in
while reading your poetry ....

.... and their brows will crease, their eyebrows will arch into gates
where sighs of enlightenment will pass through,
for they are reading poetry that has not lost its novelty,
nor is it mimicry: a despondent, washed-out version
of 20 million other identically tired poems already written and read.

If you feel yourself being sucked down by the undertow 
of homogenization, fight against the current, drag yourself onto shore,
let sunlight percolate pure word-intentions from the nucleus 
of your ancient psalm-writing ancestry.

Your ancestors left behind DNA building blocks,
disciplinary examples and practices 
with which to construct mitochondrial drift
that bridges together the past and future
into a runway for you to take-off from
after the training wheels have been removed,
and gain a bird's eye view of what was,
what will always be sacred but not yours to build a mynah nest in
once truth's marrow is tasted from its winged divine inspiration --
a bird's eye view lifting above carbon-copy complacency.

To always be the freedom that manifests your luminous originality.




September 18th, 2013

*Author's Note: This piece isn't about writing in form or not writing in form. 
To ass.u.me such, is being short-sighted.

Having been a member here for years now, I have noticed a recurring phenomenon 
on this site. Many times, new members join who showcase a freshness, a sharp distinction in their style and poetic voice. They are a breath of fresh air for this site 
to breathe in. Over time, one can literally watch some of these members begin to homogenize themselves into a more general, stale style of writing. I am not sure 
wot all the variables are for this phenomenon, and it likely differs according to each experience. Depending on circumstance, I can only speculate the reasons why some people are willing to compromise their distinctness on this site. Maybe sometimes it happens because of entering too many contests? Of wanting to fit in with the flock?

When I do see it happen, I want to yell: "No, no, no! Stop! Please don't do it! Turn 
back while you still have the chance! Please don't compromise your distinctness for some inane contest .jpegs and congratulations, or insincere, back-patting comments. One sincerely inspired comment, is worth more than 10,000 petty comments -- worth 
so much more."





+/-

| Details | Writing Poem | |

MGMT:Please FIX ME SOME SOUP

*(For Me, the soup tastes good, For others...not so much.)

INDEED, there may be something wrong with the Soup
if spices don't get right many people will be leaving the table soon.

Good people have pointed out problems with taste and temperature to MGMT
only to fall on deaf ears.
Apparently the problems have been stewing for years.

There are hard working mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and grandparents
fighting for a cause in which they firmly believe.
They pay fees each year to a leader who they don't know and cannot see.

They taste and they eat and they share with the community.
They've invested with time and money and poured out their hearts with much 
continuity.

Forty to one lopsided comment reply ratios have made their day hard
all these folks want is a little quality soup after punching the old time card.

I've sat at the table and witnessed smiles erase in defeat.
I've listen to their requests get neglected each day on repeat.

Where is the owner operator, could someone please step in and perform a 
table visit?
Getting this restaurant up to code ain't everything I suppose, but it'd sure be 
exquisite!

Now I'm just an outsider, secret shopper if you will,
Getting this change in motion would ease so many emotions...
consider it dessert taken off the bill.

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing 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

Premium Member Poem | Details | Writing Poem | |

Sadness Is The Sweetest Emotion

"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." - Percy Shelley


Do not tell me to smile
while tears run down my cheek,
just because I am melancholy
does not mean I am weak.

I cannot fake happiness
these are real tears I cry,
if they are invisible to you
I really wonder why.

They say look on the bright side
and this only makes me mad,
my emotions are not hidden
I am unafraid to be sad.

You cannot understand it
wished, prayed for it to go,
these sorrows you tried to end
yet, this is all I know.

Tears flow through my veins
not the red blood of life,
this heart sobs, it does not beat
outpouring all my cares and strife.

I am happy in sadness
not in a fake smile,
so, let my tears fall
I want to be sad for awhile.

If you hate sad poetry
than I am not for you,
I will write a "happy" poem
when I am ready to.





Written by: Kelly Deschler
September 20th, 2013


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