Poetry - Poems about Poetry

The Animal Is In All Of Us

You see 
to be a judgmental, know why?
Free to expand your sight,
Feel before you hurt,
Read all chapters,
The animal is in all of us.
You have your own!
Yet, the big trees are clean.
Some of the tiny ones are so dirty
If you were in my shoes what would you do?
No walls 
No borders
You misunderstood
a part of the whole

Poe

He mourned the loss of his love, for whose support his soul’s survival had come to desperately rely: Lenore!~ the only one less judgmental of his irrational, often self-destructive, passionate nature; who had committed herself loyally to embracing and nurturing Poe's celebratory poetic genius.  Oh!~his tormented heart yearned, hopelessly seeking the peace, rest, comfort,

The wood nymph

Through the breeze driven fluttering foliage
sunlight licks lasciviously upon her skin.
Through the diaphanous dress that surrounds her
it warms her as her frenzied frolic begins.

In her rarefied rapture she prances,
ending sublime stasis from the night before
when suitor satyrs did woo her,
a legend legacy from days of yore.

Now alone in her wandering woodland
she dances dangerously close to

A simple act of

Left again to watch
the sun's red demise,
wandering eyes turned 
to the west
and ponder anew
what destiny lies
were fate but to offer her best.

Left again to sow
the sinners desire,
a wandering archetype
of lust,
to follow a path that
Aphrodite inspires,
withholding only her trust.

Left again to reap
in impossible haste
the spoiled fruits of his dreams,
insistent
on one more ambrosial taste
to silence the sounds

MORNING LIGHT

       
    Man must live with enough, not
with the exorbitant...
We need to be happy
with the happiness of others
around us... thus,
we will live in peace...
But first of all, we need
to have the courage to live in peace!
Distributing is not impoverishing ourselves
materially to help
those who are wronged... doing

Was it all just a dream

Wakey wakey pinch me shake me don’t forsake me..was it just a trip..a mistake a half baked fake dream during a kip or after 46 days booked can’t be overlooked everyone letting rip..totally cooked…including us hooked into the ultimate cricketing drip

Well hard to pip 25 days play..made my heart skip, jekyll..heckle and hyde..emotions flip a

Becoming

Your Divine Spirit is an open book of spontaneous reference. I have met people who seldom read the bible...yet, most every word they speak and action they take, is Biblically correct. Am I saying, no need to read the bible? Absolutely not -- if a sense of emptiness, loneliness, dissatisfied existence, read, devour, savor! With

The silence between the words

I love the silence between words, because when I’m talking to her,
every time she stutters, my heartbeat waits for her words to make me alive again.
Every time she looks at me, I think that maybe she’s the one.
Every time I confess my love for her, her silence between the words makes me feel important.

Was she

Vows Ain’t Meant to be Hollow

She stood there in her white dress, boots dusty from the ride,
With a heart as wide as Heaven and her cowboy by her side.
She gave her word before the Lord, with every ounce she had —
To love him through the bitter, and the good, and all the bad.

But storms rolled in like thunder, as they

It's Not About Cigarettes

Some days, I’m still fighting the urge to light a cigarette—missing those rippling ribbons of smoke and the way they would uncoil in the dark, humid air. I’ve been coughing so much lately, and my lungs will hardly expand for any air that isn’t polluted at the source. I’ve been hacking up my lungs, and

Poetry

It's when I feel you
I let you be.
Swift, twirling sound in air,
You come like a thief in the night.
Your days of coming are unknown.
When will you whisper
Whisper the words of victory
To punch hills, notch, and porch,
Go north, east, south, and west,
And make Everest my home?
Oh, whisper the swift, twirling sound
'Cause it's when I feel you,
I

Retail Therapy

I have never heard my mother express her love for my father. 
Perhaps after having seven children, she lacked the energy to articulate those sentiments. 

Many women convey their emotions through their unique forms of expression. I find myself questioning whether it was unwise to have loved someone deeply. 
I composed a piece reflecting on

No Title

Each day, I bury the version of me who loved less. Enthralled by my own becoming, I have fallen out of love countless times into new love. I savour each moment spent amidst my anointment towards higher values, and I ask, is love worthy of me? The idol of love is tantalizing, patient and kind,

It's Always Been You, Girl

I love to watch you be a women:

How you wake in the morning still
sluggish in your sighs
The perfection of your hair array is a
painted picture in my eyes
Your lips a gentle caress
velvety tingle mine
Your kiss all the whispers of a 
passion still confined
Your skin just receptive as all
inhibitions cast to sea
This close to the flame,

Tarnished Gold

Shayura:
“I dreamt my body was dull gold and rotted, fickle grace abandoned me, yet scattered, I reforged my essence through brilliance and incandescence, allotting my time – I dared to dream again. In faith, I dwelled beneath myself as my spirit raised and polished my tarnished skin ever so boldly to completion, to my perfection,

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