Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.191.125.73
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
I didn't get a chance
to voice my opinion.
As I was told my Tarot cards were evil,
And they didn't belong in my dominion.
If I could have explained I would have said
that I don't believe in magic.
That the cards are just a silly game,
There's nothing here that's tragic!
But I'm told that God is the divine
and should always guide our path.
Good thing I didn't get a crystal ball,
Yes, thank God for that!

In a land of poets, there are many promenades,
Roads that spiral down below and those that ascend all too great.
I find myself in their crossroads,
Childing words of immaturity or mastering verses to behold.
But I do not stand alone I fear,
Lyrical masters guide the boat I steer.
Will they let me take the high road,
Or will I need to stand and bicker down below?
Perhaps my destiny is my own to write,
Scribbling words from daylight into the night.
Yes! Yes, indeed!
I will not fall to hypocracy!
So up and up I'll travel, just like a balloon...
And I offer my poetic friends to join me, there's more than enough room.

Deep within my soul,
Is an inner child.
Courteous and sweet,
And sometimes a little wild.
He likes to examine little things,
Like grubs, butterflies and moths.
Caring for ants, spiders and wasps,
With nature's blessing never lossed.
He looks at the world,
With innocent eyes...
And with all the evil that's encountered,
He cries.
Sunshine, moonshine,
And the twilight;
Still comfort him,
They are his delight.
So while the world and environment,
Are in turmoil...
To the vinegar,
He is the oil.

I'm sorry if my judging isn't the best,
But I choose the ones that permeate my chest,
Entering my heart and caressing my soul,
You may feel otherwise, but this I know...
Big or strange words does not a good poem make,
It's ones where prose intertwines like a handshake,
Where true love is arbitrated by a poets pen,
Between him/her and paper, again and again.
So if I say one comes in first,
Does not mean the rest are by hearst.
It simply means that these poems intermix too,
In a life between wisdom and worries; a vocabulary zoo.
I won't give up, I will judge again,
Whether you are my poetic foe or friend.

This is the World Beginning
A family cuts down their grass,
So people can watch the sunrise.
This is the world beginning.
A worship group writes a song,
About thousands of years of blessings.
This is the world beginning.
A young adult in college contacts her parents each night,
To tell them that she loves them.
This is the world beginning.
A poet writes some free verse,
To encourage others to start anew.
This is the world beginning.

Thursday, November 4, 2021
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required