"Mine all Mine!"
A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea
A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."
The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind
I memorized till they became all mine
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio,
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips,
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof
My dearest Poet,
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind,
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
-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 sang 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 propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Tiptoeing towards the edge of the towering cliff
I flap my wounded wings and fly
over tall two hundred year old oak trees
up to the top of the highest of mountains
scanning a never ending sovereign sky
I glide effortlessly in the strong southern trade winds
watching the fawn and her doe in the wilderness
My heart starts to beat, and I write
I write of the fragrant fancy free daisies growing unrestrained
of the sun smiling down
reflecting in the fast flowing babbling brook
of the doe munching on the savory green and yellow grasses
oblivious to her surroundings , the fawn firmly within her sight
I hear the songs coming from the red breasted baby Robin
calling to her mother wondering when she'll return with dinner
my heart beats lovingly and I write
I soar higher and higher heading for the heavens
past the mammoth yellowish orange coloured moon
through the mysteries of the milky way
all along thinking of the mysteries lying inside you
I open my eyes, imagine I'm with you and I write
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2015
Why I am here in Poetrysoup?
I like a seed carelessly thrown
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow
despite big rough blocks..
words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas
but how can I?
When will I?
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava of emotions.
Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:
'til a shoreline glistens
in the name of hope
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.
Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built
slowly, slowly fell to short.
Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
sleeping poems from my head popped,
teasing and tickling,
unafraid, I bite every challenge
swimming, soaking, diving deep.
Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...
I clamor to learn,
I clamor to move on,
I clamor to sing,
I clamor to run,
I clamor to fly,
I clamor to soar
from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love
I hide behind the mask of metaphors
I tease torrid with personification,
I sassy seduce using alliteration
I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul
Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate,
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression,
this you and I yearn.
Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!
Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.
Finally, my congested suffering heart
today, beats systematically:
gratitude, I can only inhale
smile, I can only show
prayers, I can only blow...
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
Each one is unique
Each one has a style
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015
I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.
I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.
I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.
I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.
I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.
I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.
I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D
** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014
I write each letter by hand in careful cursive.
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.
My words are foolish,
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events.
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.
So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013
If I was to write of love, then from my
nib your heart would flow. Dreams
would be the parchment on which I
scribe, and your fragrance the sentence
formed. A desire and passion would
flood my page, with intermittent kisses
instead of punctuation. Chapters of
grace would fill your eyes, the contents
feelings spill your soul. The ink from
deep and pulsing veins, would secrete
the validity of my emotions. I see and
do not see, for with your absence my
page is blank, yet in your thought reams
I write. Let this page be a blanket on
which those eyes could sleep, and
realize my love is not a dream, but
reality in reaching words.
Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010
Daydreams spill from your pen,
heartbeat ink soaks the pages,
and I watch you cry lovers pain.
You miss him with your core,
Longing for him even more than air.
desperately wishing he was there.
Cascades of brown curls dance
against your soft spoken cheeks,
and you hold your hand to your chin.
Lips that mimic your thoughts
silently dance in wait of his lips.
smiles and frowns take turns appearing.
The time is nearing to make a choice,
dare to dream a little bit longer,
the angst will not make you stronger.
He does not complete you like I can,
His blue eyes will bleed into clouds,
and he will be gone into the night.
Scar the pages with your desire,
Write the beggings of a lover,
and take him to where the graves remain.
For when the story is through,
I am the one here for you in turned pages,
Romance of the ages, I am your muse.
My beautiful story teller, you tell
the tales with every drop you spill,
falling in love with the words, I love you still.
Am I just a character in your epic write?
Copyright © Adam W. Hunter | Year Posted 2016
I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
or we can’t come in.
My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.
Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.
I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that.
Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013
I carry our friendship in my mind
And like a “Welcome Home” banner
It warms my heart.
When I see flowers in bloom
I think of your poetry;
How your words paint such colorful,
Even on the greyest of days
They brighten my world,
Shed light on my emotions,
Lift my spirits, and give comfort to my soul.
We are kindred spirits in our love of nature,
The gift of children and the wonder of the
Animal kingdom, how it nurtures us in love,
Inspires us to want to share through
Poetry the beauty of this planet.
When you write of waterfalls
I feel the cool mist on my face.
When you write of trees
I see their lovely trunks and limbs
And how closely they resemble people.
When you write about the wayward wind
An awesome chill cloaks my body.
As you relate the power of the moon
I feel her tug at my emotions and
Her authority as she reigns over the seas.
The contrast of serenity and excitement
Abound when you speak of the sparkling
Stars, their soft glow or burst of beauty as they
Burn a bright light through a cobalt sky.
Tears of joy stream down my smiling face
As you describe the sunrise and sunset
In a rainbow of hues from silver to scarlet.
It leaves me breathless in awed elation.
Each season offers a new delight in what you write
And our friendship grows deeper and more
Meaningful with each creation.
When you write of love, I feel loved.
You are a blessing and a joy in my life.
I carry our friendship in my mind.
© 2011 Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2011
Let me write you a poem.
A poem so great Bukowski would give me a hats off-
And hand me a beer.
A poem so well-written, John Mayer would play me a
Tribute song with his guitar.
Let me bring Shakespeare to shame-
Let me write you sonnets one and two,
Three, Four and maybe
Let the only alliteration be that of our laughter,
As we exchange puns and stories.
Let the words “I love you” be an understatement.
Let us be the Paradox – and let the popcorn munching crowd watch us with awe.
Let the touching of our lips write Concrete poems.
Let your embraces warm me with Haikus.
Chase me through Couplets where we are the only couple.
Let the only Dramatic Monologue be that within my palpitating heart.
Wrap me with imagery-
Shower me with smiles and similes.
Be the Free Verse,
Be the Epic poem,
Be the Ghazal poetry drunkards wrote to their loved ones…
Be the hero in my Heroic couplets,
Be the one.
Just let me write you a poem-
Where your name is the only repeated term.
Where the only irony is the twist of fate that brought us together.
Where the only onomatopoeia is the ROAR of your rusty car’s engine.
Where we stand like Oxymorons- contradictory but side by side.
Just let me write you a poem.
Or a novel
Or a play
Or a song-
Let me write you something.
Copyright © Maya Kaabour | Year Posted 2010
Inspired by the write of you
creamed through a paper sieve to cup
with both hands the leavings that you trail
the write of you
like the chewed edge of hand pressed paper
like the apostrophe of lash on the cheeky page
I ogle the syncopated semen-antic drop of
the write of you
how often does the wonder of you flash
across the film of my eyes unable reach
for I am so enchanted with the coffee-au-lait
write of you
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
Some madness banter of insanity
is pulling at my thoughts
in giant verbs and huge marching nouns
collecting snippets as it walks
stomping on flowers
and mushing liquid the paints of images
with great toed boots
I can hear it coming
a hefty heavy steady stamp
and I am almost afraid that it might rack me
hit me hard
and demand some elucidated expression from me
I would shudder
but excitement won't let me
Instead it sets me to a creaking ball points
and tiny alphabets that strain my eyes
while spelling out its diffident request
Write it says
Write, while some half cold sickness grip my stomach
and I wretch on grammar
and thus the great feathers quill
dips in the ink of my soul
and so ineptly scribbles epilepsy
explanation, image, wordage, spillage of sensory lobotomy
partridge in a god-damn pear tree
Curl about my finger
and reek havoc through those dictionary brain cells
yer! smash them brain cells
mush, mash and squeeze the last drip
find expression in the gooey lumps that are left
WRITE ! god dam it !
Be succinct, be poetic
surpassing idiom and useless language
for Christ sake just WRITE it !
Pilloried on my own sheets of paper
by my own pen
because it never catches enough
as it twist this origami of words
I want to express
To etch with you
A moment of perfection
I need your voices
I need to hear you sing my poets
I need these scratching and scathing claws
and I need your delicate dance
I need something to end this misery
and I need this piquant
this ever enlightened soul search of words
to wrap up this bundle of love
And toss me nonchalant into eternity
Lest some madness of bantered insanity
Takes hold of me
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009
It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.
Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens
Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013
a pocketful of rice
a handful of millet
a roll of the dice
put it in a tin can
wrap it up with tape
tie on a wooden spoon
to shake it for a price
Copyright © Christine Ueri | Year Posted 2013
Write a poem for me
from the bottom of your heart,
look for the words still there waiting,
waiting for your nod
to bloom into flowers
like the roses of your garden,
give them a chance,
place them one by one carelessly
stitch a poem with those flowers to be.
Write a poem for me,
listen to the words
deeply embedded in your heart,
their desire to become a stream
and dance down a mountain's lap
to drench you,to drench me.
Write a poem for me
carelessly picking up those words
may be with some mistakes
I like as they are
I will touch them and watch
how they bloom into flowers,
and everyday among those words
my undestined walk
to reach to a stream
and wait under a mountain's lap
to get drenched.
Copyright © kash poet | Year Posted 2012
The poem must begin with .. And the cemetery was then continue with your poem
And the cemetery was shrouded in a veil of early morning mist
which rose eerily from the grey granite and marble graves.
Desperately searching I crept silently from gravestone to gravestone.
My breath came out in tiny white clouds
as soft white snowflakes performed pirouettes,
falling like a downy blanket over the cold marble.
Eventually I came across your final resting place
I recognised the two golden cherubs, carved on either side of your headstone
Gently I brushed away the snow and traced your names with my fingertip
It had only been a few weeks since you had fallen asleep forever
How I longed to hold you and sing you both a lullaby
But it was too late and you lay together in the arms of Jesus
I placed two red roses on the snowy pillow
Then lay down and waited for the sleeping pills to take effect
So we could be reunited in death
Submitted to Laura Loo's Best sad poem ever contest.
Fictional write for ‘And the Cemetery Was’ contest sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
I am wise
I am misunderstood
I am under-rated
I am inspirable
I am unknown
I am profound
I am articulate
I am logical
I am passionate
I am powerful
But I am this only because
I am a leader
I am a follower
I am a philosopher
I am a teacher
I am a student
I am a lover
I am a friend
I am a man
I am a son
I am a brother
But this only means that
I have a mother
I have a sister
I have brothers
I have friends
I have pupils
I have admirers
I have seniors
I have fighters
I have dreamers
I have muses
And I have all of this because
I am not a nigger
I am not a hater
I am not an idiot
I am not a punk
I am not a thug
I am not an atheist
I am not a liar
I am not a bully
I am not a faker
And that is why I write
“Why I Write”
by: Eric L. Boddie
Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015
Trickling over my mind
Came scampering the question
This dilemma of a heart
Come running into my embrace
Stricken with fright
It asked me
Father, why do we write
And so I dipped my feather in the darkness of my mind
And brought forth my answer
I wrote of fear and the love that comes at a dreadful cost
Of meaning and of the fight for knowledge
I wrote for voices unheard
I cried for emotions long forgotten
And the answer came to me as the tears wrote their own tale
Painted in pain was the image of a long forgotten glory
Of emotions left unstirred
Come to see what these words have conspired
Come to see how these words have called them from their sleep
To ensue in them an undaunted hunger
Well my dear son
Here comes my answer to you
I write not for you
Nor for me
I write for what is within you
What has bubbled forth within me
I write to stir the masses
Willful subjects of our being
They huddle in wait
The towering limestones of their cave grow eon by eon
As they rot away, moment by moment
I write for them
We write for the grim
The unnoticed prestige
We write for what you have neglected to see
To bring it forth before your eyes
To fix your head with an iron collar
To make you a slave of our direction
We write to be your masters, when you need one most
We write to fix your gaze on what you have never lost
We write to drag forth from the depths of your inky heart
We are the harbingers of emotion
Be it hate or lust
The unseen veil of ignorance, or to shatter the blinding globe of pride
We are the harbingers of sight
With our binding collars, our guiding feathers, dripping the black sweat of our labored toil
You will come to see
What has not been seen before
Fathers of a relationship sown by words, sealed by the dawning of the sun, the dawning of
Your feathers, to your wings or to your ink
And feathers will flutter
Bearing you into the frigid embrace of the skies
And when the winds will them no more
We will descend upon the ground
And speak to the earth as we are reclaimed in its rough embrace
We will write to the trees, when we cannot write to the birds, the sun, and the sky
And through the trees we will see the stars
And to them we will write about the shade
© Samir Georges
Edited for Deb's Free Verse Contest on why we write.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2010
I have entered a room filled with handshakes and friendship
Sharing hugs here and there, there's a buzz in the air
Soupers queued, center stage, with a rhyme and a theme
One is reading a poem with applause from the wings
There is laughter, and sharing......and a microphone blaring
A few poems being read, but no one is hearing,
since the chatter is loud, and the crowd's having fun!
I'm checking who's here, are they cool, are they new?
Is she who I had dreamed behind her avatar screen?
Is he who he had seemed as his poetry deemed?
How great is this chance, to catch a real glance
and see all those faces, my computer just beamed
I look for a friend, who has traveled quite far
Taking trains, or a plane, in a bus or a car
I'm happy to say, they are nicer by far
than I'd ever expected.......these Poetry Stars!
10/31/13 ......for Yasmin's Contest: Meeting the Soupers
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
I regret not writing you down,
You swam through my mind
Linking words and thoughts
With gossamer chains
That glistened with meaning,
But the kitchen can was calling my name
Using the voice of my wife.
There were skinned knees to be kissed,
Equations to be sorted out,
House rules to be followed.
Has the opportunity passed?
Have you flown, like a caged bird
Through a conveniently open window?
Are you even now winging toward
Another poet, a different writer?
I have the scraps, the fragments,
The word-pieces I had intended
To build you from.
I will try to arrange them so,
In hopes they cast the same shadow.
Like my grandmother’s smile
You linger just behind my eye,
Waiting for me,
Wanting to be released
In just the ‘write’ form.
Copyright © Christopher Reilley | Year Posted 2014
I think it’s time I write
Write you OUT
Of the coming pages of my life
On every page
that's ever been
Keeping the plot a disguise
My heart's demise
Slowly but surely
By your unseen hand
I reread chapters
You were in my yesterday
You haunt my today
I don’t want you in my tomorrow
Not when you only bring me pain
I’m going to write you out
Cause I couldn’t write off
The debt of pain
I STILL OWE
To your oh so exacting heart...
I can't write it off
I’ll do the next best thing
I'll write you OUT
Out of the next scintillating sizzling sexy sentence
Out of the next dreamy dreamscape
Out of the next contentment compartment
Out of the next feminine fruition fantasy
For you've written only fragments
Sentence fragments of the greater picture me
I’m going to write you OUT
Of MY book
The book of ME
Oh, it could have been
The best seller of your LIFE
But now you'll never know
Cause the coming pages are clean
for some beautiful soul
Some expert author
With the plot of pleasure
Bursting from his heart
I'll LET HIM
Scribble his lines
Those glorious curves and dots
all over my body and mind
all over me...
Yes....spill his passion inked words
I'm going to write IN
Oh...so deep and gloriously...IN
The book of ME
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Poems flowing from my heart
Words filling sheets of paper
Feelings pouring through stanzas
Until rhymes make sense
Who says what should be written
Who says what should be felt
Only who writes knows the first
Only who reads capture the last
My words can resonate in some hearts
It can pass unfelt through the rest
It'll grow roots in someone's lives
It'll be ignored by the mass
And that's okay, you see
Because it's impossible to please everyone
I hope who matters will read
And my words will have a life of their own...
November 11, 2016
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016
In a world where we are constantly told how we should do this and that,
we must learn to thank them for their opinions…but, to listen to our own
hearts and THINK for ourselves.
There is a difference between guidance & being told what to do; where
opinions are sometimes, sadly, just glorified pre-judgments in hiding. In this
world today, more than ever, we must stand our ground and water our seeds
with our own heartbeats.
Because in the time one could spend listening to loud/louder/loudest opinions
of why one should or shouldn’t do it someone else's way, one could have
already done it their own way. Always move in the direction of time:
Another herd of evaporated soliloquies
Flashing warning signs of good-will
Unto the lost
The righteously blind
They simply ask for a sip of strenuous cognac
To lighten regurgitated burdens
Yet, throats become condensed with
Under a cratered moon, afflicted with two-faced vertigo
How can one stand in the face of adversity
When our legs are kicked from the same foundations
That opinion’s high court built
How can I be told to write with syllabic serenity
When a rambunctious rhyme
Would be the socialized death of me
“Guided” by educated parchments, recycled without signatures
If poetry is freedom,
Why do critics scream in beer-battered rings of opulent contradictions?
If poetry is freedom,
How is one frowned upon for speaking the word of Life, the word of God
The same God who told us to speak upon epiphanies’ climactic pain
Towards the same “heaven”,
They’ll arrive at.
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2014
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
I adore you
Because you think
I said something worthwhile
And your unsolicited uplifting response
Was that I strummed a chord inside
And made you smile.
Such are the curiosities of chance
Encounters from afar…
As planets and stars collide
Among the stars.
Though we know not why,
When or where
We may be
When the unforeseen collision occurs
Changing the course and destinies
Of traveling bodies forever…
There’s no denying you and I
Were spinning uncontrollably ‘round and ‘round
‘til we both hit solid ground
As the pull of gravity brought us both
Into the infinite
Azure blue atmosphere
Where ideas and words roam free
Waiting for the dust to settle
On poets like you and me.
PS: This one's for Delysia Hendricks
Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2013
And I love you
Like a dog’s first date
With a fire hydrant
No, that’s not right.
I worship you
As if you were a wine collection owned by Jesus
Minus the prerequisites
Wait, it’s you again, my yesterday.
Why are your eyes seducing my stanzas?
You linger in my mist
Equivalent to a bipolar lighthouse
Blinking rapidly for hope to notice your sadness
While your light bulb remains cracked
Ok, back to it.
No longer do I need careless whispers.
I just want to hold your hand
Swinging life away from skeletons’ demeanor
Be my sun, as I rise
I’ll be your sun, as we set
Damn it, I smell your unwashed lyric again!
Why do your illiterate, colored eyes remain atop my mountain?!
I tossed your heart off my peak
That humidified night in June
When God’s tornado told me to stay away from your fallacy!
You’ve become a rejected stranger, stranger.
Sigh, ok, one last try.
You want me to be your diamond
On platinum band
But, I just want to be an “I miss you”, tomorrow.
I can ask no more than this.
To be a chorus in your daily songs,
You continue glazing my thoughts
Hang gliding your way through my handsome vernacular
You were an exclamation point
Turned into closure’s period
Now, my fortitude shall delete your dialect
With whimsical laughter compiled
From shattered dreams of old
An illuminated solstice
To onyx, cotton puffs in my Ionosphere
My Angel, I’m sorry I drifted against my sea of distant memories.
Love does not frighten me.
But, it tries.
I can only be certain of today.
I will sacrifice my pride
To become a pauper in your royal presence
If it means our eyes can become a correlated breath
Be my tomorrow
These stanzas were only ever gifted for you
Be my tomorrow
For I’ve dishonorably discharged my yesterdays
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
I write all kinds of things, about my husband.
He does not have a clue, to what it means.
If he was to sit and write.
I wonder what he would write about me.
Thank GOD for poetry.
A language that not everybody get.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
serve me well friend poet;
flavor anew words I've
eaten all my life.
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
July 16, 2011
Copyright © kathryn collins | Year Posted 2013
Love poems are not written by poets in love;
They are written by poets infatuated with the concept of love.
Poets write of their dreams;
Poets write with their imaginations;
Poets write of hope and fantasy.
Only poets who dream of love, write love poems;
Only poets who imagine ecstasy and passion, compose love sonnets;
Only poets who hope to love and fantasize about love’s allure, pen lyrics of love.
Poets who are in love write poems of butterflies, bubbling streams and blooming blossoms;
For, when you are in love, butterflies fluttering by fulfill your dreams;
Bubbling brooks of cool, effervescent water engage your imagination;
Fields of flowers in bloom with rainbow hues and fragrant bouquets are what you hope for and fantasize about.
Poets in love, live love and write about other wonders;
Poets dreaming of love; imagining love’s splendor; hoping and fantasizing about being paid a visit by Cupid’s arrow,
And, only those poets,
Write love poems.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2014