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Ballad Write Poems | Ballad Poems About Write

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Details | Ballad |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |

where are the words

Why is it that when, you want to write a verse
that your mind is really blank, you're thinking with a curse
I'm really bored, yes bored to tears, and would like to say
I wish that I could find the words or even write a play  

Where are the words that normally, just pop into my head
and when a verse just pops up from something someone said
I really can't understand where those words can be
one can usually close one's eyes and there's the words to see

Oh, I'll have to give it up, for nothings coming right
I'll go to bed, and then they're there right within my sight
but dam and blast It's typical but it is very true
as soon as you close your eyes the words come right to you

Copyright © jacque lee | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |

Circles a co-write

Yeah, life is a series of circles
There's no beginning and no end 
Everyone of us came from others 
And in death a seed is born again 
A circle brings brilliant sunshine
Comfort and warmth in every day 
In the evening It feels so romantic 
Majestic moon lights up our way 

Circles, circles always circles 
Time turning round and round 
Seasons come and seasons go 
Life is a thrilling merry-go-round 

I've prayed for a wheel of fortune 
To one day wear a wedding ring 
Be like a Knight of the Round Table 
I feel a circle's magic in everything
Circles, circles always circles 
Time turning round and round 
Seasons come and seasons go 
Life is a thrilling merry-go-round

Like an amazing, beautiful flower 
Spiralling colour you're set all ablaze 
Live every moment to the fullest 
Around the bend is another's days 
This circle will never be broken 
It's a reflection of eternity.. 

Circles, circles always circles 
Mother Nature knows 
Seasons come and seasons go 
It's from circles true life flows 

Circles, circles always circles 
Mother Nature knows 
Seasons come and seasons go 
It's from circles true life flows

written with Dave Lyric Man
based on my poem Circles

 Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/circles_634356

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Time to Write a Football Poem

My team - The New York Giants
won a smashing
I was cheered by this 
  I used to be able to throw a football 
pretty far!
Once played catch in Central Park with a Moslem 
   and a sexpot
Used to hear about the great Sid Luckman 
Used to live in Brooklyn
  But no more........

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

The Doctor And The Old Man

From doctor-trade he takes a leave,
From tiresome work and sleepless nights,
For faking life, the mighty heave,
By wearing cap and creepy tights.

He boards the train in second class,
And stands beside the open door,
But pushed along with flowing mass,
By fighting people on the floor.

The mighty winds through window space,
With fearsome smoke from searing train, 
Sprays dust upon his weary face,
And burned his brain, and cloth, sweat-stain.

The boy in arms of sleeping mom,
Then touched  his shirt while clapping hands,
But in disgust he place his palm,
Upon his head in unknown lands.

The man with smile, he asked to sit,
And offered drinks to get his trust.
He stood because he thought unfit,
Afraid of men, the gay and lust.

Not knowing truth and world around,
In stop ahead he thought to end,
The long and weary tour he found,
While failing thoughtful task to blend.

He leaned on him to see outside,
Rushing towards the crowded door,
By holding strength with fright inside,
The old man wakes and starts to roar,

"Hey you ugly little creep,
Move away from me, afar,
Are you thinking, I am week,
Then throw away your thoughts, creep.

Faces ugly, little hair,
All you people are alike,
I have a son of your age,
How you push and how you dare?

Do you know he works and earn,
More than you can earn in life,
And he lives a life, far good,
When you see him, you will learn.

That old lady is to blame,
He being now more like her,
That old ugly wife of mine,
And he is now all the same.

She won't cook nor share the work,
All my life I gave them food,
Paying bills while taking blame,
Though I was only a clerk.

And along with her, he lives,
Far away from me, my son,
You all people are alike ,
You all should be killed with knives."

The doctor, saying sorry, goes,
From faking life, the scary train,
The old-man shouting, scaring, goes,
From weird to mad to rabid brain.

©Anees Rahman

Copyright © Anees Rahman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad |

My addiction

I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby... 
You are my...
My heroin...
My ecstacy... 
My cocaine...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...

Copyright © jaremy mount Jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

My Morning Dew

If I had luck with a guitar
I would pluck you a gentle tune 
If I had been blessed with a soothing voice
I would play you the sweetest melody

I would carve you an effigy of love
If my hands were humbled with the Skillman ship of a sculptor
I would your statue place at the centre of my town
With the sweetest caption known to the statue race on it

I would with the brightest colours, to reflect your charming smile,
Paint a portrait of your beautiful face
If the gods had favoured me with a painter’s talent
I would hang your Mona-Lisa like portrait in all the museums in the world

I would dare the fires of Mordor
Just to mold you the most glistening pieces of jewelry
The purest of a golden ring with the biggest diamond
A Hollywood girl would forever dream of I would make you

Or I would bring you the freshest roses
The smelliest of their kind
If only I had enough to have my own orchard
I would grow you pink and red roses in my back yard

I would stuck you a pile of riches in your pillow case
Then I would surprise you to open it when you wake
That would be if I had a good fortune
To spoil my honey dew with abundant life

But I am a frog with a guitar
My hands are too weak for a sculptor
A blind man would outshine me at a game of paint and brush
The fires of Mordor, ho! I wish the Hollywood supermodels would envy your golden ring
But I would never muster enough bravely to dare the ever blazing flames
I would indeed collect the sweetest pink and red roses
But I lack even my own daily bread to own an orchard
That goes even for the fortune I wish I would surprise and spoil you with

I however have muse’s abundant gifts in my quill
Thus with it I scribble you this poem
To soothe you my honey
To pluck you that tune from my virtual guitar
To carve you the effigy of love
And paint you the Mona Lisa of your own
To endow me with the courage to dare the furnaces of Mordor
And bask in the fountains full of rose’s red and pink
For in my virtual world I have all the riches to spoil you with
And with muse’s gift I with this quill
Scroll you this piece my morning dew

Copyright © Dash Black | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

What Did You Dream Last Night

I blow my Saxophone strictly for the pleasure...Its my gift from God one of my many Treasures.
      Took care of all eight of my children; Some have college degrees.....I take things
like they come,never hard to please.  Took care of my dear ole dad tho he neglected me.
Used to steal moonshine,to help my ole granny.  Long ago I did that stuff, myself still a
boy. No small stuff do I sweat ,No strangers have I met. Work hard,hard play,moving
obstacles out of my way.I love my wife, I love my life "Hey what did you dream last night!
God I love my music:My music I love by God! Seventy years old I am,still working in the
mines.  "Hey what did you dream last night" When he hits the number he's doing what God ask...doing what God loves,sharing and caring; Blow David ...Blow Your Horn,against all odds,against all adversaries. What a good brother! Hey that's my husband! Hey that's my dad!..Hey that's my uncle Dave,loving his own and others. Passion is his saxophone. He said to write a poem,especially for him..I call him uncle Dave, you see,but he's really a GOOD FRIEND! 

                                                     End poem
Dave ask me to write this Poem

..he's amazing! And he is still working in the salt mines,playing his saxophone,playing
numbers,and house painting on the side..And asking what you dreamed.



Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |

As i write

Lonely fingertips cling to 
the edge
Of a loving and 
compasionate pen
Excuse me miss heartling, 
my rage
Took cover shortly after 
love rain
From South to the North
East to West
Envading from all corners 
of the earth

Tickling little rhymes
Lunatic excitement rises 
As a fun chaotic master 
Trembling little thighs
Gnashing feeble teeth
Please poor eyes don't cry
Motivation manifests as 
As my caring fingers write

Oh Too fast, too furious
Excuse me Doubting 
I can't slow down my 
Tip taught me a hot tip
--Love is like a stereo--
As i write
My feelings fly away like 
Stuck in the love Matrix
--Chanting a WWE MOTTO--
"It's either you're NEXUS,
Or you're AGAINST US"

Tear drops as i write
Tear apart sets of lies
Truth blooms and shines
Kimberly blow up mines   
More diamonds like stars
As i write wounds are 
My ears hear your cries
My touch heals your scars
Redeemption and 
salvation of hearts
As a kind master writes 
and recites

Copyright © Godwins Piyo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

I want to write

I want to write
This time of that cold night
when I heard my mother cry
When I saw her lie
Flat on her belly
Her back bare and scaly
Her eyes swollen
Her right stolen
By one she called husband.

I saw the tears
I saw her fears
she sobbed between the whips
she tightly bit her lips
And tightened her hips
to swallow the pain
just for her stay.

I want to write
this time of that night
that night without stars
when I saw the scars
On her back
the scars stuck
made a permanent mark
on her back.

I want to write
I want to write
This time of my mother
write her as a victim
tortured by male chauvinism.
write her as a strong woman
Who challenged the stress of a man
Mama who raised us
built us
Made us.

so rise mama and shine
All will be fine
Mama rise and shine
All will be fine
All will be fine.

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Best Teachers

In the presence of my gifted teachers
our classroom becomes a delightful place
In the hands of my gifted teachers
There is laughter in every student's lips
In the company of my gifted teachers
Creative thinking is everywhere
In the palms of my gifted teachers
There is hope that genuinely prospers
In the lectures my gifted teachers
Imagination and knowledge are awakened
In the voice of my gifted teachers
The memories of the past are shaken
In the advice of my gifted teachers
Creativity and skills are modeled
In the prayers of my gifted teachers
All kinds of blessings are shared
In the guidance of my gifted teachers
faith and Talents are finely set
In the encouragement of my gifted teachers
My future is made complete

Copyright © Edgar R. Eslit | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Who's Lonely

I could never say I am lonely

With God and my Hubby and my Kids and Family I am never one only,

People whom are lonely want to cry out

The way you treat others and how you are is what it is all about,

I feel very lucky to not be a lonely person

Being as creative as I am and blessed with friends it is certain,

My life as I live it isn't lonely and I feel very blessed

But, if you are some one whom is lonely my heart goes out to you and that I must confess.

Written By: Unique Poetry 2015

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Our Creation

Simple things like love arent easy to understand
My pen trembles, my thoughts scramble 
All my monsters are weak in her presence
Its sad how they no longer seem ugly
she says I do not write poetry for her no more
I found simple pleasure in her presence
Thieving a man from his madness
Like a candle forcing the darkness to speak
We still play but no longer keep score
She is my poetry but...

But she says I dont write poetry for her no more
I left that role to my daughter sitting in her womb
Her tiny fingers like thunderbolts and tornadoes
She catches placental waters like raindrops
And scribbles like her father
Silent as the night before a revolution
At a bonfire listening to insects recite their stories
About their evolution and our revolution
She says I dont write poetry for her no more
In a world full of fury, sin and silence
Choices choose us. We got nothing to lose except strangers
I live poetry through her beautiful life
The beautiful matrix of our creation embedded in her belly

She says I dont write poetry for her no more
I let my faber castell assault the paper
I write about non existent revolutions
Spread propaganda like a library of lovers
No full stop to my literary nonsense  
I m like tepid pause in a witch's cauldron
I m a poetry proctor peddling my stories to wishing wells
I m a failing bridge giving her away to the chasm below
In one life there is a trillion choices
But in two lives there is none
She says I dont write poetry for her no more

Her feet burden with the weight of my world
My secrets and sins between her toes
I rub them off whenever I get a chance
Her legs long and divine like the history of my lineage
They follow behind the absence of my steps
She says I never write poetry for her no more
In my head I found answers, tenfolds of answers
Answers too complex to pronounce
So I decided to scribble this love poem on her maternity dress
She says I dont write poetry for her no more


Copyright © Prince Katlholo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

Why I Write

I write
 to verbally wrong those who are blind
 without written rights 
with no lyrical sight
 living in the poems day not knowing its what happens in the poems dream at night shedding literal darkness upon my lights 
with a bit of courage feeling fright in the sky
 flying like a chinese kite 
eating away at the core sugar cake bite
 chopped verbs like cow skin tripe 
in the words personal hype through letters slowly but surely typed 
small yet reaching heights 
among a culture bleeding yet still choked tight
 because its not a maybe or a might
 poetically doing what I do when I WRITE.

Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

I Love To Write

I do love to write my inner thoughts down

Whether it is happy or sad or about a town,

I let it flow out of my mind and on to the paper

If I am not in the mood then I will just do it later,

Most of the time I am feeling creative and write some poems

The tiles can very from love to hate or even gnomes,

Writing is just one of my passions and I enjoy it very much

Especially when I write about a subject I like a bunch,

I pray I can keep putting my thoughts on paper till the day I die

Because if I can't it would make me cry.

Written By: Unique Poetry 2015

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Why we write

 This is why we write, when times are bright or even in fright, this is why we write; to give more meaning, more glory, more timing even, this is why we write to every situation whether it be years ago, or minutes away, we love to write about things to show our real feeling,  threw paper with pen for your eyes, To show how much we love threw a love poem or how much we despise threw a not to friendly poem, why we write is to care, why we write is to spare from actuality, why we write. i write because i can and all of the above will play out in the end.  

Copyright © Robert Bessel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

Hydras - A Rhythm Ride

I come not to enlighten you 
but in my way destroy; 
embellishment of personhood 
gives me such little joy. 
The dark I bring on wings scarred black 
shall blind the morning light; 
No trace is left to levitate 
humanity from blight. 

Tell parasitic paranoids 
who need to bleed their hate, 
I am the Hydra coiled to wrap 
around their garden gate. 
I'll feed upon the multitude 
your little bastard brood, 
to satiate the darkest fate 
of my eccentric mood. 

This universe in multiples 
(beyond redundancy) 
where thoughts are bound to mind around 
a new complexity. 
The time has come to end the end 
begun so long ago; 
the human race is baseless space; 
corruptions putrid flow. 

And I have countless duplicates 
who rival even me; 
lips drip to sip your succulence,
a feast consumed with glee. 
If could grasp this world within 
the palm of your right hand, 
you will not be released or free 
to walk this worthless land. 

It is a universal vice 
I share with you this day: 
All life will ebb in ember fires 
turned cold and powder gray. 
You ask of Poets in my world? 
I say they all are ONE, 
each moving like a metronome 
until their verse is done. 

You pass these perfumed days of rest 
'neath flowers round your gate; 
but wretched stink of old decay 
enjoins Mephisto's hate. 
I write my rhyme in verse to curse 
and tease with soulless ease. 
Perhaps I write to steal your fright - 
we Hydras love to please. 

Now count the words for I shall not 
and you will find them true - 


Copyright © tom mcmurray | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |

Just Because Of You

I'll write this just because i love you,
I'll write this just because it's true.
I'll write this just because of you,
I'll write this just because i do.

When you smile, I feel alive again,
When you smile, i can feel no pain.
When you smile, my world is free,
When you smile, it feels like you have owned me.

I love you, 
I love you.
I love you,
I love you.

Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

Low Man Is Due

A low man is due...
My eyes seek reality,
My fingers feel for faith.
Touch clean with a dirty hand,
I touch the clean to the waste.
I fall cause I let go,
The net below has rot away.
And I cry to the alleyway,
Confess all to the rain.
But I lie straight to the mirror,
The one I've broken to match my face.
The fire is so warm,
But nowhere safe from the storm.
And I can't bear to see,
What I've let me be.
So wicked and worn.
So as I write to you,
Of what is done and to do.
Maybe you'll understand,
I won't cry for this man.
Cause low man is due.
So low the sky is all I see,
All I want from you is forgive me.
My eyes seek reality,
And my fingers seek my veins.
There's a dog at your back step,
He must come in from the rain.
But you bring that poor dog in from the rain,
Though he just wants right back out again.
So my fingers feel for faith,
And my eyes seek reality.
So as I write to you,
Of what is done and to do.
Maybe you'll understand,
I won't cry for this man.
Cause low man is due.

Copyright © Tyler Knapp | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |


I am going to try my hand in writing a book
I have shared my writing poetry and you all have taken a look
But writing a book requires being precise and concentration
I often think do I really have what it takes to write
At times I feel people are just being polite
When writing a book, I am not sure if I will excite
In fact, it might become a plight
Words will have to be just right
Sentences and phrases that should be tight
I want my book to have the rainbow and enduring light
This is how I feel perhaps I am making a big deal
Yet this is my thinking seal
I need encouragement but keep it real
I want to know how you feel.

Copyright © ANTHONY BLAKE | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Kathy and the Woman of Old

There was a girl, who felt as though there was no place for her in the world,
And so she worked to discover a place in her thoughts, a place of sanctuary.
And she worked and worked, but all that came was derision and abuse.
And she found God.
And worked for God with abandon, undaunted, unafraid.
And the enemy saw her light and became afraid.
And so he sent her souls to sap her confidence, and she writhed in torment.
And she cried out to God, “Woman of old, I do not know you.  But I need you.  
Save me now!”
And the woman said, “When it is time, you will change the face of a generation.  
But for now, be still and know that I am Lord.  The Lord who birthed you.  The 
Lord who watches over her creation as a mother hen, always feeding not too 
much and not too little, but just right.”
And the woman became angry and said, “Though you slay me Satan, yet will I 
vanquish your lies, and praise the Divine for ever more.”
And she decided to study. 
This woman decided to study the words of a Word everlasting.
To bring light to a generation, lost in the spoiled vanity of dissolution.
And she met a woman.
A hard woman to some, but to those who knew her, they knew of a softness sent 
down from Abraham to bring light to a people who were not her own.
And the woman said to the woman, “You must study until your mind aches with 
pain of a generation, and then study some more.  You must write, until your 
hands ache with the sorrow of the bitterness of women passed over for eons. 
AND THEN WRITE SOME MORE.  But if you hold on, you will surpass all 
expectations and you will rise to give light to the world.”
And so the woman said to the woman, “I will study and I will write.  And I will study 
and I will write.  And when I cannot go one step further. I will write some more, 
until my hands shed the blood of Gethsemane.  And from this blood, wounds of 
old between woman and man, woman and woman, man and creation shall be 
healed forever more.”
And so the woman wrote and read, she read and wrote.  And finally she began to 
shed blood and lost 2 near and dear to her.  And she cried out to the Lamb, “Son 
of my mother, what am I to do?”  And the Lamb responded, “Woman, you have 
done well.  But now just bow down and let my grace do the rest.  For my yoke is 
easy and my burden is light and my grace endures forever.”
And so the woman learned mercy.
And with mercy she shared her love with every soul she passed.  Simple words 
of light she shared.  To the fallen souls of a forlorn generation.

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |

If My Pen Had More Ink

If my pen had more ink
I wouldn’t think of you as much
I would write all my thoughts for my tears to touch
If my pen had more ink
I could write about your smiles
And watch the paper run on for miles
If my pen had more ink
I would write about your voice
Forcing me to listen, leaving me no choice
If my pen had more ink
I would send letters to heaven
Asking why he chose the age of seven
If my pen had more ink
I would ask who and why
Who likes to see a lonely father cry
If my pen had more ink
I could write away my sorrows
Then maybe, just maybe, I would want to see tomorrow.

Copyright © Matt Anderson | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

A Country Song Writer's Ballad

They told me, stay away from you, because you had a past,
They told you that I’d be no good, my future would not last,
But your past is all lies,
And no one realized,
That I could get along
Writing songs.

Your daddy beat you up at nights and treated you all wrong,
Your momma smelled of cheap liquor, before the day grew long,
So you went out with the boys,
Let them tell their made-up stories,
Cause being out all night,
Sure beat going home.

I just wanted to rhyme my words, and write my thoughts in poems.
Teachers always told me, my structure was all wrong.
They didn’t say what I did right,
Just why I would fail,
So after the eleventh grade,
I told ‘em go to hell.

I met you out late one night at the Diner down the road.
Your date ended earlier then the both of you had hoped.
I was jotting down some words
Of a song stuck in my head,
You sat in the booth across from me
And this is what was said:

“I haven’t seen you round at school, how you doing Joe?”
“I dropped out bout a month ago. How did your date go?”
“We went to a movie,
And I fought his wandering hands,
He left frustrated,
But will brag about becoming a man.

“I didn’t feel like going home, my old man’s still awake,
Can I see what you’re writing there and have a sip of your shake?”

“A song I wrote for a local band has gotten some air time.
A man down in Memphis town wants to read other songs of mine.
So before I left for Tennessee to give my dream a shot,
Thought I’d write a good-bye poem for a girl I like a lot.”

You looked at me with a tear in your eye and said, “I didn’t mean to pry.
Didn’t know you had a girl, glad you can give your dream a try.
I always liked reading your poems, ever since we both were kids,
I guess as the years went by we stopped being such close friends.”

You started getting up to leave and turned to hide your tears,
I reached out and touched your hand for the first time in ten years.
“I know you see other boys to get away from your home,
And I never had the nerve to say how I wish I were one of ‘um.
But now as I’m leaving here for a first and final time,
I’d like to leave you words that say, I’ve loved you all the time.”

Now twenty years have come and gone, I’m still glad you came with me,
We started out so long ago on a trip to Tennessee,
And as our kids start finding out just who they really are,
We will not make the same mistake of telling them who to be.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |



It was never easy for me to write
what I am feeling inside
not easy to state all the changes my life made
when it comes to love I didn't know how to give
Oh, I pray that you will one day forgive
If I'm alive why do I feel so dead inside?
my poor heart feels so heavy like a stone
that makes it so hard for me to breath
I try so hard to never bother you will it 
but deep within me you known all along
I have my dark side that has become habit
because that is all I had ever known
because love was never shown 
if you look deep into my small bald eyes
you would find a painful story 
that is written deep within my heart 
but this you had already known
because it was you that tore my world apart
you left me without any hope ,of course
you left me broken 
while you sliped away like a old snake
mastering what you do best
winter is a home for me 
where my own neighbors take pleasure 
in all my pain you had left me in
each moment my heart begines to melt
each year a new tear
forgive me if I couldn't find love in my heart yet!
but I am doing my best to write this mess
what was stolen from me is hard to forget
each time I think of you 
my emotions turned into tears for years
just like angels crying for me from heaven
over the sad weeping winter lands
those tears become frozen
like my heart become ice
like my life has slept on 
while you cared on your life 
on bent fingers I write
where many stones made a tall wall
for no one to get near my heart
I don't know what to make of it 
but with time things are starting to unfold
I'm learning to stand on my own
while I write my emotions out on paper 
my heart is pouring out like fluid
that has stremed the old path of you and me
I wasn't a fool when it comes to you
but then you played me like one
I knew you once loved me
or was it all a dream ?
the tree and stones glittered in the summer 
but you always found away to shadow up my days .

Poetic Judy Emery

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ballad |


They dont write country music  like they use to.
About love gone wrong, nothing more to lose
No They dont write country SONGS like they use to.
About moma,trains and booze.

Old HANK would turn over in his grave,.
if he heard the songs of today.
The country songs of today, dont seem to last.
Like the old country classic songs of the past.

Times has change,the songs of today are new and strange
There not like the songs we all knew
No they dont write country songs like they use to.
So we can all sing to.
Its sad,but it is true.
They dont write country songs like they use to

Copyright © robert ray | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |


i'm trembling ,

 my safest place... right there in my chest.....is bleeding ....

.but.. all i can do is write .

i swallowed a dagger today....i know what it is doing to my insides ....

but all i can do is write........

 i see colors...

 but none of them bright , i see a future that makes me sad to think of the past....

but all i can do is write..........

 i failed the test of the right one to trust, now a spot on my back is cut deep....

but ..all i can do is write......

 everytime i belived,

every time i calmed down. . .i cut away a piece of my freedom and wisdom. . .

but all i can do is write. . . 





Copyright © maureen peris | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |

Only For Show

I’m a Type A Poet,
  literarily incorrect

And in the company of fools,
  my pen goes for their neck

They sing to the choir,
  while we cry and spill blood

Their trash in the fire,
  their lies in the mud

The things that we struggle with,
  just folly to them

As their dilettante pleadings,
  ramble on and pretend

Their self psycho-analysis,
  and the time that they steal

Turn to dead broken promises,
  masking what they can’t feel

The thing they most run from,
  we welcome inside

As they tunnel and burrow,
  trying harder to hide

And their one greatest fantasy,
  … for us never to know

That their self-proclaimed mastery,
  was at best just a show

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

The Tradgedy She Wrote

Everyone has these beautiful stories 
Whether it be of their family in reality
Or with that prince in their fantasies
But no one has that tragedy
That one sad story where there was a death and a suicide
Or the prince ran off to be with someone else and the princess left alone

There can never be a happy ending
Without that perfect twist in fate
Don’t worry I’ll stop the dreading
I’ll write a story where you were too late

Let’s start at the beginning when everything was still alright
Together every night and the only thing being watched was the T.V.
The only thing being consumed was unhealthy food 
And the only thing being played was hide n seek
How could this possibly turn into something as evil as murder
Well honey we’ve only just begun

There can never be a happy ending
Without that perfect twist in fate
Don’t worry I’ll stop the dreading
I’ll write a story where you were too late

Time passes and the friends you once had are all gone
You don’t remember what happened and you’ve lost the ability to even care
They drag your drunken body to a dark alley
You’re beaten and they leave you for dead revenge for what you once did to them
The last words you heard are bone chilling 
“There’s no sympathy for the dead, not where you’re going.” And you’re deceased 

There can never be a happy ending
Without out that perfect twist of fate
 Don’t worry I’ll stop the dreading
I’ll write a story where you were too late

Copyright © devin colomb | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |

Mind's Lacuna

Open space within an embrace
My trials are almost done
Executioner tales I failed
While the rest I don't recall
Poetry became a backbone
Each time my eye struck twelve
A masterpiece I strive for
But humbly feel I've failed
A pen stroke feeds into my shadow
As memory's are still returned
From a cracked skull to my knife's old home
My fingers and wrist still motion
Moving slowly in a off form of cursive
Trying again and again into ageless times
To compose a mockery of rhymes
Simply stating what my mind tells me I've beheld
A memoir of a death-less writer
While I write I forget
To read or hear
What my hands have written
Or my heart has feared
Tis a trial of errors
I can hardly come to believe
That while victory instilled fear
My poetry brought motion
Gave a sense to my background
Something to which, I had no notion
Short but sweet I try to achieve
But my execution is always due
As I cannot fail to meet
The standards I feel true
I pushed so high to exceed
But can't help to decide
Enough's enough, my mind says
Because within the gap of my head
A small serenity raised true
As I put pen to paper
My eyesight tracked down
To begin to read as I write
It beckoned a small shout
My poetry I can’t read
But only write 
As my head cannot conceive
What mysteries are contained within
The gap that has completed my mind

Copyright © Hannah Wooldridge | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad |


She doesn’t know that I would be her for a second
Just to spend that second
That she spent with you

She cries because you walked away
But I am jealous because of that day
That she walked with you

She tells me about the things she said
The things she did
That she did with you

And she says it all with tears
And when I listen all I do is fear
That I’ll never be near

to you

Copyright © Tyshawn Knight | Year Posted 2016