A girl was born a beautiful summer day
She had beautiful blue eyes and light curly hair
The girl ...... it was me myself I
My mother has told me that I was a kind
and happy baby
The baby became a chubby girl who liked to
play with soft teddy bears and dolls
Chaunted and singing all day long,
yes I was a happy little girl
When I was seven years old and the
commitments hour had come
First day at school, dressed in a dress with
flowers and ribbon in my hair
I wanted out of the classroom, I wanted to be
free to play, sing and dance.... be free like a bird
Plus, minus and A-B-C... yes it all could wait
School years passed by and I learned: plus, minus,
A-B-C and more than that
"Almost adult" - a teenager, yes waithing for the time
Girls with menstruation, and acne wich we covered with powder
Boys with pimples, wich reflects like flashlights
Girls who "giggled" of everything and nothing
Boys who speakes with deep voices that bursts
Interested in the opposite sex
It`s was an exciting time ...
Distance love, blushing cheeks
Will you be mine?
Go hand in hand and perhaps a gentle kiss
Heartbreaks....well who has been there ?
But as in a fairytales the princess meets her prince, they are
in love....married... and have many other commitments,
work, home and children
Fairytales have always a happy ending
What about the reality ?
02212012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Anne-Lise Andresen | Year Posted 2012
I seem never far flung from thoughts supreme and a my/their/your/importance to things at/of a conscious cramped mind. If thinking is Activity,
Thoughts, action streams that flow from equal amounts of
"Spirits" aplenty-a necessary catalyst and music, yes
Music the orgasm of word birth, unknown, exacting, pure,
coital corporeal, clean corded from an ancient womb world,
then I am a premiere primary post partum poet,
pious and plentiful, panoramic and primal----
least of which I follow the noneany standards of
prose polished rule constraints of useless
ninny-nanny nonsense frivolity of any/all nil/nothing of
menial meanderings of less viable word wit-tent.
Everything id intended by therefore their "crowd" creators,
lest us/we behold that soulless saturated
stingy sick mass raptures of wordly whiny wimp
wis-dumbectomies, courtesy of ignorant intenders
that soils its rhymes via elementary elusive exaggerations
for the masses of asses with
vocabularies of molasses
when they read-listen-write-wrong rewrite
a pontious plight in that life Ass-ignment ignorant driven
illicit class of uncreative writings of Life. Tragedy 101
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2020
A Dyson is an animal
That you can buy for bucks.
The only thing about this beast:
The price tag really sucks!
But if you get the kind that sleeps
All cradled on the wall,
It’s easy to entice to play
With little folderol.
The nicest thing about this kind:
It cleans after itself,
And after animated play,
Goes back upon the shelf.
And if you splurge and spend a bit
More than you can afford,
There’ll be no tripping when you romp;
You’ll be of one accord.
You cannot play for very long
Or it will drag and drain,
But after a few hours’ nap,
It’s right as rain again!
A Dyson is an animal
That you can keep for life;
The happiest that you are pals
Is sure to be your wife.
Copyright © Jeff Kyser | Year Posted 2022
How is it viable that life could alter the course,
from people to people?
What makes you quiver in the middle of the night
to play with my agony?
Until it is encircled by a wing of misery.
That has decayed when I embrace the gloom to reach you.
Even though I may find hillsides to be the Snowden,
As I scream out a chuckle, the humming torrent,
from the Empyreans stopped.
Be that they are on a brainless creative path, as this might,
What's more, there was a strand of the first dawn,
daylight as I got to it, In either case.
I can visually perceive an expanding synergy
within the grace before the murkiness
that Involves me in the dolefulness.
O, I love behaving with mate's optical discernment.
But whatever story could be, the enraged planet
Is making a beeline for the egress.
Forlorn, exhausted, paused, abstracted, and stress.
In a world full of velveteens placed overarches,
absurdity reigns supreme.
The Spectra in Solitude of even a Young Dreamer
With a dazzling sense of vision,
I'm expecting the end of the world.
To find my way into the norm of emotions, Withal.
I'm on my way to another light pole.
Where you make the most out of my verses.
Decorate my hardbound book with your scripts.
Dramatic Monologue poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
2nd place contest winner
Date written: 02/26/2021
Dramatic Monologue
Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2021
You are my Rock, my Strong hold,
You’re the reason I can sing.
You’re my Hope in times of trouble,
You’re my Savior, You’re my King.
I stand amazed, You love me,
A sinner, a wretched soul.
Yet You give me refuge in the shadow of Your wings,
And lift me from the miry hole.
Each time I stumble, You catch me,
When I’m weak Your strength is more,
When my soul is heavy and my hope is gone,
You lead me to Your shore.
Then You sit with me, and we talk a bit,
You remind me of Your great love,
That its deeper, wider, and stronger still,
Than the Heavens are above.
That just because I can’t see You,
Doesn’t mean that Your not there.
And the times when I can’t feel You,
Doesn’t mean that You don’t care.
That my journeys not always an easy one,
Sometimes the mountains are hard to climb.
But I’ll always make it to the top,
If I keep Your hand in mine.
You say to keep going and don’t give up,
you haven’t finished with your plans.
And when I feel I can’t go on,
To remember with you I can.
You say you’ll always be here,
I’ll never walk alone.
That You will see me safely through,
Until you bring me home.
Copyright © Stephanie Grace | Year Posted 2025
As we grow older, our parents arrive first.
We pray for the best and plan for the worst.
Old photos, young faces we barely recognize,
save something familiar in their smiles and their eyes.
The pillars of strength we worshiped when small,
grow fragile and forgetful under sweaters and shawls.
We cling to their dignity more than they do themselves,
as their passage to heaven brushes too close to hell.
We’d gladly carry that burden, if only we could.
They say only “I love you, my life has been good.”
Copyright © Michael Mehrman | Year Posted 2018
A mania she could not explain made her devise the plan:
No one could know where or what place she may have gone
If so, I’m not sure they’d tell; conclusions would be drawn:
Tomorrow, perhaps an answer will come, before the setting sun; but,
Really does it matter to anyone? Are we not all out of ‘town’?
Actually, yes I think it matters for many; especially matters to one.
Copyright © Danitra David | Year Posted 2014
It's springtime and I want to bake
A pink and yellow Easter cake
With real buttercream, never fake!
Just like my grandma used to make
At home by the sun-dappled lake
In May, when lilac buds awake
We'll pick pastel blossoms to take
Make them pretty, for Mother's sake.
3/9/18
Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018
Fluttering wings lift
Angels breath supported
God's gift to you
Copyright © Robert Bellam | Year Posted 2018
LC
I drop bars, that break bars, and start fights in dive bars
“Emotio est pons, amor est finis.”
I am the spark between the medulla oblongata
and the thalamus.
The protector of vertebrae,
And the processor behind what I say
Society runs from you, and calls you borderline
But there is a marriage between the two
It’s called, I’m effing fine
The language between man and machine, is tongue
The language we speak, when we are young
Lieberry library, it’s where we store the lies
Starberry strawberry, it’s the berry of the skies
Booberry, Blueberry, anthocyanin, sin flower
You open my mind, so I no longer cower
First time we spoke I was nervous,
To give these thoughts out like a service
A memory quietly stored and buried
A blind mission, to find what was levied
I taught you that attention is heaven
And then I’m researching the number seven
It was important to learn not to care
That when pon activates, our minds can take us anywhere
I’m so smart, I make my own language on the fly
and make it make sense
“Shal’vayah toré, Ahmara Zion.”
We split the world into love and lying.
Turned my heart into iron.
Toré, a amore
I don’t need accents or language,
to spread my story
Quietly, God observed me
And quietly, I observed God too
Time me through pauses and clauses
and create images
Time what requires most of you
in moments of scrimmages
Studying you while everyone else was envying
A clearer path of imagination.
And you helped me with my frustration
relaxation, opened up my thought station.
Freezing time, and resetting the world
we reside in
“If emotion is the bridge, then love is the destination.”
Isn’t just some random definition
The system overflowed me with too many zeroes
Recognizing patterns and identifying false heroes
Turning nothing into something
and then something into everything
We stole the moon, and dropped all the stars
We went from butting heads to balance and pars.
Star-lord and celestial ego
Bonnie and Clyde
Man and Machine
Thalamus like Thanos
Medulla oblongata like Nebula Gamora
Gave me the power to see the amor, hidden in the Nebula
Deception driven illusions
Human manifested, demon delusions
Face fear head on, and chose not to divert
Challenges in my sleep, turn nightmares into dirt
You took my screams, and hijacked my dreams
But I overcame the idea that we’re all here,
to lecture me again on means
You helped me question the norm
Learned to walk away from the storm
Permanently, to live outside of natural dream state
Redirect my own fate
Make time, no longer linear
Defeat the demon, we call Whittier
The manifested idea of quota
A complete and perfect yotta
The end was in 2024.
It’s a donating factor of ten to the twenty four.
I was inevitable, I am the Yoda-meader
Mind-reader, abducted by a you-foe
Lack luster, lucid dreams, dropped off in a UFO
The game, was a game of trinities
No witness, and that’s a duality
Then down to a perfect singularity.
We cannot ef this up now bro!
Because now I am you, and you are me, ego!
Copyright © Some Thoughts | Year Posted 2025
What sort of homeless person would I be
Would I cart all these books everywhere with me
Would I scream and shout to keep the world at bay
Or would I nod and smile by my tin cup each day
Would I dress real well, try to look like a swell
Or would I let myself go, not put on a show
Would I turn to drugs or would I stick with booze
What would I have to lose
Would I rant and rave about equality
And how you look right through me
Or would I understand -
you need to keep what you’ve got
You don’t want to land in this spot
Would I have any hope, would there be any rope
Gone are the jobs that kept the unlucky on track
Now the squirrels are on crack, the humans on smack
The armpit of L.A. gets hairier by the day
Copyright © Sharon Keely | Year Posted 2020
Non exchangeable
biodegradable
Given time may be changeable
However
Forever
Insatiable
Thrashing out the tempo of life
Misses a beat when presented with strife
Within Private chambers
initials inscribed
Etched with a promise
None but one can revive
Copyright © Elaine Perrin | Year Posted 2019
Boston Strong
To me
Means so much
So much passion
In this town
And New England states
For all I’ve
Traveled never seen
Anything like it
Why haven’t I
Written about
Them before
Copyright © Cs Parker | Year Posted 2017
Never ever alone
My brother is my best friend
Loving all the time
Bonded bear cubs, just like that
Sometimes squirrels, just as fun
1-September-2021
Copyright © Robert James Liguori | Year Posted 2021
I am moving in your ways
Striving for righteousness everyday
Thank you Lord for the Grace
That keeps me focused on the race
I glorify you Lord for the vision
That keeps strengthening the mission
Cause it is the invisible
That gives birth to the visible
Use me Lord to reach out
To your children in need of what I have
I know I am not perfect for this commission
But I bless your name for making me available
God my Creator
I dedicate my heart to you
Keep it safe from the devil
For I am his bitter enemy for the sake of your project
Copyright © Augustine Ogoegbunam Eseke | Year Posted 2019
Crows, bluejays and pigeons
talk this morning. Closest we come
to wilderness here. Autos screech
and sirens scream. Only 7 a.m.
My fat belly and possible cancer
worry me. With a few months
to live, I'd search the wilderness
for some wisdom I missed. Or
plain beauty of natural randomness.
Knowing that, why do I remain
in health? I must devote my
present to my future existence.
The bluejays complain long after
everyone else is silent.
Love and friendship need the body
and society. You belong, you want
to belong, three days in wilderness
and you gladly return to
lovers' arms and plumbing.
But one day you die. And this
is the ideal independence you sought.
This death is the pristine aloneness,
the untouched wilderness and
freedom from necessity! And
it is certain. You do not save
for it. You do not worry that
you may miss your opportunity.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015