I once knew a boy who could imagine
great things. He could run up a mountain,
swim the depths of the sea. He could fly
a jet fighter and then come home for tea.
As life became real his dreams were pushed
further away. Responsibility overtakes dreams
when there are bills you must pay.
I once knew a boy who could turn ice into
flame. He could imagine a world totally free
from all pain. He could visualise worlds by
gazing at stars, see God up in heaven or
meet him on Mars. He knew that the boy
would soon be a man. He accepted that
nature had its well rehearsed plan.
I once knew a boy who could swim with sharks,
live in outer space and drive the fastest of cars.
He could run like the wind, see sun shine in the
dark. He could make enemies friends, feel the
touch of the stars. He could soar like an eagle,
create spaceships with sand, harness the power
of the universe in the palm of his hand.
I once knew a boy and still see him to this day.
As I look in the mirror he stares back in his way.
Though the imagination of childhood seems to
have been buried away, I can see in his eyes it's
still there and there to stay.
Copyright © A Yorkshire Poet | Year Posted 2016
There once was guy named Steve
He swam in a pool with Eve
With a frisky smile
He undressed her with guile
In nine months she was to conceive
Copyright © Arthur Vaso | Year Posted 2015
Abandoned in the field,
covered with rust,
paint all peeling,
The old truck sits.
Useful days are gone,
glorious work all done.
No lights, no drive, no work, no life
Not than anyone cares.
Abandoned in his chair,
Wrinkled and gray,
Hands all shaky,
The old man sits.
Useful days are gone,
Glorious work all done.
No fight, no drive, no work, no life.
He knows no one cares.
Forgotten, they sit
Alone and resigned
Hoping that someone
Comes and takes them away.
Written Aug 16, 2016
Copyright © Beverly Read | Year Posted 2016
As I stood there in silence remembering the things that use to be. I tried to erase
the
memories hoping this would set me free. the pain it caused the sleepless
nights I
embraced and the endless tears on my face as I felt so much disgrace.
Time went by Day by Day Night by Night as I begin to lose sight, the strain on my
mind
with all the waisted time. I LISTENED FOR MY SCREAMS FROM ALL THE BAD
DREAMS.
But I was not releived.
The emptiness as I wanted to die, and all I received was a mothers silent cry.
Copyright © Cathy Holmes | Year Posted 2005
A butterfly collage dances
effortlessly floating
going higher
interweaving...jumping...kissing
lakes mountains
nearby opal pastures
quivering rainbows
swimming through
universal veiled wings
'xcel yearning zest
June 7th 2023
Copyright © Chantelle Cooke | Year Posted 2023
It's summer, and sunlight's syrup pours sweet into afternoon.
We've come to the bungalow's cemetery
to pick over bones of bygone days;
touch time's tender skin, lay flowers on childhood's grave.
The lodge is razed to the ground. We raise
our eyes to sky and take each big breath of blue.
Sharp lemon-light cuts through
the detritus of our days; the oaks once cloaked in dark.
The knotweed nooses and dreamlike domes of fly agaric
have all been cleared; the forest sentinels' leafless limbs
discarded - an abattoir of strangeness, sawdust-strewn.
But all dismemberment is a clearing of sorts.
The echoes of emptiness eavesdrop
on each reminiscence, as we forage for a few last remnants:
blue paisley swirls of 70s tiles,
red bricks from an 80s fireplace.
A yearning rises suddenly, slick sick-sour in my throat...
and yet, it feels cathartic, this purging of the past;
this merging of our then and now,
this blending of bitter and sweet.
23 February 2023
Copyright © Charlotte Puddifoot | Year Posted 2023
Well written poetry should have a rhyme
Be pleasing to the eye and to the ear.
With words that then flow down the page in line
When read out loud the rhythm should be clear.
The subject matter must not be too hard
To work out what the writer's words convey.
A 'jumble sale' of words will just retard
The essence that the prose was mean't to say.
Therefore, before one settles down to write
Be mindful that the style you do select
When read, will bring the reader much delight
Because your choice of words to them connect.
We are the scribe when all is said and done
So let your rhythm be the perfect one.
Copyright © Christine Watts | Year Posted 2025
Is that music that I hear
It sounds so heavenly!
Joyful, Joyful in my ears
Worship rises up in me
It's you Lord! It's you Lord!
The Melody of melodies!
Voice of voices! Rich and Strong!
Harmony of harmonies!
Coming from the Throne of thrones!
Jesus! Song of Songs!
All creation softly quiets!
A Holy Hush abounds!
In every verse and chorus line
Perfect Peace is found!
It's you Lord! It's you Lord!
You're the Melody of melodies!
Voice of voices! Rich and Strong!
Harmony of harmonies!
Coming from the Throne of thrones!
Jesus! Song of Songs!
By Chuck Melugin
Copyright All rights reserved!
Copyright © Chuck Melugin | Year Posted 2020
With pangs of birth
Stir up the earth
My lungs explode from sky to ground
I scream a lullaby of love
It reaches to the stars above
Encircles womb with notes profound
I scream a lullaby of love
My soul is etched with songs newfound
Ancestral chords throughout resound
It reaches to the stars above
With pangs of birth
I scream a lullaby of love
Burst forth with neonatal sound
It reaches to the stars above
Stir up the earth
Stir up the earth
With pangs of birth
Copyright © Cindy Thompson | Year Posted 2022
My habit is to rise early
Before the hush of dawn is gone
When all is still and quiet
Except the lullaby of bird songs
I go to my lush garden
To pick one dew kissed red rose
And some delicate babies breath
Within cool water they will last all day
A tour of the garden is next
As my little cat follows me quietly
She is waiting for that moment
I turn to the kitchen for breakfast
And a saucer of milk for her
Taking my tea outside on the porch
I contemplate my coming day
Sheltered by hanging baskets of petunias
And there in the silence
I dream, my dreams of tranquility
For this is my quiet place
My favorite place to be
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2012
She descends from a summit vestibule
on powder fine as cotton down this day
of days in porcelain chiffon and tulle.
The winter firs in frost echo the way
her snowflake peau de soie in frozen jewel
cascades like waterfalls of ice. Tears weigh
the same as beaded pearls and just as cool;
they glisten in her bodice. The light plays
from a ghost sun inside them as in pools
of diamonds. She glides in mist-white sleigh
down slopes of eider, the cold glitter fools
even the nearest celebrant and strays
from hearts of men for she's just as cruel
as flood or famine on Winter's first day.
Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017
Detailed perfection
Seafoam created beauty
Aphrodite's lure
Ageless, eternal temptress
Birthed by oceanic surge.
Copyright © Delice Arleen Skelly | Year Posted 2015
Sitting up there on your snowy mountain peak
Once born with the Christian name of Pete
But Peter was a Saint for which you are not
You’re not Gods creature; hell’s where you’ll rot
You have now entered the wall of shame
As you are not worthy of a Christian name
You are not human, you are not real
Your life is a fantasy, your life is surreal
Your stories are worthy of a Nobel Prize
But people no longer believe your lies
I’ve gone the distance and the extra mile
Now a life without you worthies my smile
Crumbling down from your mountainous peak
Hell hath no fury for the havoc you wreak
Everything in your path you blatantly take
Many will get hurt in your vengeful wake
When the avalanche is over and everything calm
You can no longer touch me or cause me harm
You have run out of steam and run out of lies
There is no longer anyone left to hear your cries
You will never look good in making me look bad
I was just a naive victim that you once had
Discarded like rubbish, you threw me away
It’s funny but Karma will come around one day
You thought you deserved so much better in life
Well I’m really happy to no longer be your wife
I have now found strength and out loud I speak
I’m no longer married to a NARCISSISTIC FREAK!
Copyright © Derani Blackburn | Year Posted 2015
It was our pride and joy, that boat...our prize.
We'd sail to Key West every year in fall,
After summer downpours left the noon.
We made our pact there as we both had suffered
from the plague ungluing all our lives.
Now, I'm here next to his pallid body -
pale blue masque on, jaw aslack, grotesque.
He made the leap; he had escaped, was gone
Upon a journey I could not attend.
He left me all alone to to sail solo.
Yet, he was captain and I his lowly mate.
Who would pull the spinnaker to catch the breeze?
Or talk with me as a person, unaffected?
Now, I was all alone just cast upon the water...
I sold that boat...
Copyright © Dr Richard A Martin Jr | Year Posted 2020
You know you're in trouble
When folks burst your bubble
That your fine English accent
Most others lament.
Their eyes grow far larger
Their countenance harder
As they gaze with intent
To listen hell bent.
Their attention a treasure
At first such a pleasure
Until one quite grasps
Their facial contrasts.
As you blabber away
Their head starts to sway
To the tones of your words
Like a flock of wild birds.
Too late you catch on
Their attention long gone
It seems they got stuck
In your sonnet like muck.
Shakespeare or Keats
Moved out by those Tweets
Leaves you silently grasping
And for sympathy asking.
Your hope turns to prayer
That perhaps they'll forbear
Whilst you fast learn their lingo
To squirm out of limbo.
For the speech we hold dear
The moral's now clear
If you want to converse
Just don't do it in verse.
Copyright © Dr. Robert Ippaso | Year Posted 2022
He looked past
a reachably
ripe, low
hanging fruit, then...
came back just within
minutes to...
find that...
it's been plucked.
See just...
how fast and...
easy an..
opportunity...
fades? See, it's like lightening.
Flash!...
then it's gone....like that!{*finger snap*}
(Yalto)
Submitted for...
STRAND SELECT T,,any form ,any theme' Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 02/18/2020
Date written: 02/01/2020
"Yalto" is a form invented by yours truly
Line 1 to 15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables.
Copyright © Edward Ibeh | Year Posted 2020