Poetry Confusion Poems

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Details | Rhyme |
Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.

Copyright © Madison Marie | Year Posted 2013




Details | Couplet |
I See You...

Wanderer, wanderer, lost in the haze
void of direction, succumb to the craze.
Give ear to my madness, so deftly designed;
deception de-jour: aimed to muddle your mind.

Hocus and pocus no need for free thought, 
erase your opinions, your conscious to rot.
As sugar and soda your smile decay,
a hoax and swindle, then off on your way. 

Smoke and a mirror, please don’t look too close.
The truth makes one banal; drugs for the morose.
Illusion can conjure emotions untapped
a quick misdirection, now I’ve got you trapped. 

You think you arrived here, quite all on your own
you’re one of a billion, another sad clone…
I’ve stolen the treasure that once made you free
brainwashed you to thinking all’s as it should be.

Gobbledygook and hyperbolized drivel
platitudes, platitudes, mentally shrivel;
accept what I tell you, and not an ounce more,
wanderer, wanderer, you’re lost evermore. 

07/12/15

Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2010




Details | Prose Poetry |
Under 65 degree starry, onyx blanket
Containment of quarter moon identity

A whimsically soothing song exuded
In muffled taps & Prohibition era lyric

In the distance,
Snow-capped mountains reflecting lunar clarity
Off its tips of freedom

As we lay on recycled steel hood,
Made in 1950s USA, when it mattered,
Her silhouetted fingertips released from my right arm
While insistently looking towards stratosphere’s vocal chord

“Can’t it be like this forever?
Oh, how I want to just make love to the stars.
Become one with Orion while riding
On Sagittarius’s arrow”

“What about our stars?”, he softly questioned.

“I’d like to be your never-ending shooting star.
To ride on blue moon’s comet, by your side”

Cricket whispers manhandled his romantic clef
Mother Nature’s afterglow, upon her ears, fallen deaf

Inherent waxy build-up from illicit tongue,
She pat his shoulders like a dog
Being taught his first lesson

Her eyes, still sky high.

“Sigh, I like how you think.
You’re such a nice friend.
You’re going to make a woman so happy one day.
I hope to meet a guy just like you.”

As her eyes sighed with a powerful lack of substance
Into the arms of Leo,
A slammed car door supplants the reverberation of the car’s V8 engine.

He confidently turns back the hands of time.

Reversal gears become his new tune

“If you get lost going home, follow the stars.”

As he pulls away with majestic, amplified lyrics
Of Whitesnake’s “Here I go Again”

Going down the only road he’s ever known

While she stands in fraudulent gasps of shock,
Looking back up to the stars in blank wonder

As he accelerates into a new page in his book
Closing his chapter with wondrous questions

“Why would I taste your starlight?

When you never believed in our constellation?”

©Drake J. Eszes
It’s good to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But, be careful what you wish for. For Earth has its own gifts…

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Too hard for me to say goodbye
For all apparent reasons why
Even though we all know it must be
Each heart will someday stop the beat
When the rhythm of life, and silence, finally meet
.
Yet I always seem so surprised 
To find that death is part of life 
Knowing that regret, will now haunt my every rhyme 
The specter called "if only", will inhabit every line.
Wish I could arbitrate a deal to have gained a little time
Just one more talk with Sissy, to ease my guilty mind. 
.
And the sun now sets on my regrets
I gamble on time and lose each bet
Thinking I'll move on and yet, 
here I set . . .
Wishing for one more time 
One more pun
One more smile 
That will never come 
.
If I could just recall the things you said that mattered to you most.
Memories un memorized
That now I'll never know
Years of conversation when I didn't pay attention
Times I should have said I love you 
And somehow failed to mention
.
Then when you tried to tell me you felt your time was drawing near
Your selfish little brother pretended not to hear.
Even when you did your best,  and tried to let me know
You'd made your peace and you were ready, and that for you . . . 
It was simply time to go

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
       This women in my home argues why I leave her so-much along.
        Together she say, the two of us should make the weakest link in
        the chain strong (relationship).  "but she's all along".  The bird's
        chirping as the sun awaken and stretch forth its arm as another day
        creeps through the curtains and not one word is spoken. "This stran-
        ger in my home".  Whoe, I guest - I-guest silent is the proper thing
        to do, don't say nothing to me, and I want say nothing to you.  
        But I break's the ice and reach for her  hand, she stubborni-
         ily pull-away and storms out of the room, I'm confuse and now I'm
        angry, "You men's just don't understand", is the response she say's
        to me, cann't talk to this stranger in my home, "but she's all along".
        I head-out the door for work, not to be such a jerk. I leave her a
        note to meet me after work. at a nice cozy lil restaurant secluded so
        we can talk. I arrive there first, then she walk's in looking so sexxy,
        my whole head spins, (she's) looking this good can not be a sin.
        We rap and we talk, this stranger (my wife) were once there were 
        danger of never seeing her again-now after a few drinks and the pro-
        blem becomes vaguily clear, we toast to communicating, and sometimes
        two people will not alway's agree on the same thing.  Touching each
        other's hands-looking into her eye's, she's wearing a very provocative
        dress that clearily has awaken this man. Talking is refreshing and I tell
        her, your perfume smells aahhh soooo--sweet, now at home we stop and
        began Kissing, and together we floats-on to heaven.  "With Wing's be-
        neath my feet's".

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
He'd be typing away on his desk
with blueprints for the next big thing,
While I'd be staring off into the azure sky
appreciating the "insignificant" things

You really are a genius
in your field of technicalities,
with which you thoroughly water;
A wife, a place of your own,
and a destination in mind

Me?

You'll find me in the corner
(no not a corner... think rounded edges,
much more safe)
Half past ten, still in bed,
with rolls of cash in a Ziploc bed
(I'm not dealing and I'm sorry if I gave you that
impression... more likely
just a descendant of Scrooge)

Your perfectly organized life
(my just screw it attitude)
Well I must say you are on your way,
but where exactly too?

I solemnly wish
we had, but one thing
in common, dearest brother,
Even with the knowledge
that I wrote this for you
I'm sure deep down
you'd think this quite sappy

And being the person that I am
I'd immediately think of tree metaphors
(now what what rhymes with cedar?)

And being the person you are
you'd probably just go about your day
wondering about the latest Apple product

You live next door
and yet somehow
galaxies came between us,
Practical you gathered sticks and stones
for your shelter here on Earth

(I was too busy daydreaming
on Mars)

From the moment I opened my eyes
and peaked my little head out
from the pool in the backyard,
we were brothers, through and through

... so why do I have this nagging urge
to shake your hand and ask



"Have we met?"

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
‘Enter and explore’ read the sign above Blake’s Hall.    
Sliding open the French doors I stepped inside
where I was greeted by a row of coloured doors.

Intrigued, I approached a green door, rested my hand
on the knob and turned it slowly. Peeping in I glimpsed
hope and harmony holding hands...then behind I espied 
two scary beasts, eyes gleaming with greed and envy.

Hastily I closed the door and moved to the next, a red one.
Its intensity drew me like a magnet, and unhesitatingly
I opened it to reveal a room divided in two sections; in
one, passion, love and desire lay in warm embrace...
in the other, danger and malice lurked in the dim light.

Unsure of myself, I walked on to the next, a yellow door.
With renewed energy I stepped in to be met by joy’s
cheerful countenance, but this soon was obscured by
the unpleasant smell of sickness and foul decay.

Again, another hasty exit which led me to a purple door.
Inside I witnessed luxury; felt an aura of power, mystery...
at the same time foreboding gloom, and frustration
sent a shiver up my spine; uneasily I closed the door behind me. 

Perplexed, abandoning my curiosity, I headed for the exit.
At that moment it dawned on me what Blake’s Hall stood for…
It was a clear reference to ... the doors of perception.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -                                
 © 31st March 2017 

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
      EMOTIONLESS

By morning wake
When the light in my face
I'm reminded of your disgrace!

How can I do this to myself?
How do I wish Calgon would take me away?
Will I ever wake like the melody of the Blue Jay?

What am I suppose to do?
Shut myself down from this misery?
Emotionless, because I am too weak to be strong

It's my fault for inviting
-he that dropped my heart from cloud nine
Well, I have nothing else to say.
Except, "life has no meaning, and here I am GONE!"
Emotionless

SKAT

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
Ah the lovely seasdie
Ah the lovely seaside

Childhood scents
Salt air, Salty bitter memories

Jacques had turned just seven
He dreamed to walk along the seashore
He dreamed to see the seagulls sore overhead
He most of all dreamed to leave his basement

All the windows were covered with curtains
The days, nights no matter
His life was the darkness
His momma and papa, gave away their smiles

There were many days, the lightening was eternal
Well into the night
His mother held him tight
They both absorbed the fear of the other

Many mornings, Momma, can I walk to the beach?
No Jacques my little one, you must stay here
Help is needed in the kitchen
He wondered what help. We have no food to cook?

Many a day when no one was watching him
He would peek out the window, longing
The beach was simply down the street and to the left
Oh how he dreamed to run and play and splash in the waves

Summer was warming up his heart
He knew his momma and papa loved him
He knew these were bad times
Even so, he decided, tomorrow, yes tomorrow

So on the night of June the 5th
He planned well, hiding his boots out back
Made a small backpack for snacks and his jacket
He fell into a deep sleep, so very pleased

Up early he snuck out of the house
Past the bakers and in between soldiers patrolling
Quite easily he found the path down to the beach
Little did poor Jacques know he was to become a part of history

He ran from a little inlet out onto the beach
Jumping and dancing and gleefully singing to the seagulls
As he observed boats of all shapes and sizes and sailing to shore
His spine tingled, with a foreboding

The seaside
Became hell
Darkness clouded Jacques world
Bombs and gunfire rained down from all sides

Jacques tried to run, but his feet became heavy
He stumbles and fell to the sand
Thousands of solders emerged from the sea
Racing towards him, some running, some falling

A young Canadian man, Victor was his name
Firing his rifle, and racing for the shore saw the young boy
He had a new born baby back home, named him jack
Well he ran and fell atop the young boy, yelling above the fray

Stay quiet young man, don’t move
I will protect you, fear not
Even fear was the meal of the day
As the seaside became Dante’s eternal hell

The Germans above, fired all they had towards the beach
Machine gunners fired, mortars rained and snipers took aim
A young German man with a rifle was shooting anyone
Whom by miracle was still moving

His sites were set on that particular Canadian soldier
He took aim then saw a boy underneath the soldier
Well at the end of the battle, that young German soldier
Had one bullet left in his rifle

He could not fire
In the heat of battle
He pulled out a photo of his young boy Erik
He kissed the photo, and wept

It was the Germans last thought
As a bullet ripped of his head
The Canadian soldier was staring at this exact moment
Pain ripped his heart, as if he too was dead

Miraculously Jacques survived that day
When he made his way back home
His momma and papa hugged him so tight
They almost strangled him

For the rest his life
Jacques never went by the seaside, not once
For him he tasted the bitter smell of cordite death 
He lived his life in the vineyards, far from the sea

One may wonder now
How do I know all of this?
Well I work at an old folk’s home as an orderly
I take care of poor old Jacques

I remind him daily
No Jacques we will not be going to the seaside
Somehow, I feel obligated to this old man
As did my grandfather those many years ago

Who saved the life of a little boy named Jacques
June 6, 1944

Sidenote

Erik and Jacques both developed a passion for wines and vineyards and became the best of friends

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Suicide Dolls

Tiss a maddening state of affairs
Why my lovers don’t gas themselves to death
Have they not the decency to assist my endeavors?
Is my future to be written in stone of no importance to them?
The public would breath and eat the words
Of all my little suicide dolls
If only, if only they would find the ovens
Yeast you have failed me in these dire moments
Let me rise above it all
With poetic verse
Sing to all my tragedies
My death and re-birth
In the gas chambers of poetic verse

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Acrostic |
L-iving in a world of vast 
souls formed from 
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals 
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell 
and wail when the chips 
are down.
N-urtured from cradle to 
adulthood-independent
entity with a new world 
to face.
O-rganizes oneself for the 
task ahead,passing thru 
hurdles of life unabased 
and unabashed.
R-eaps the fruit of labor 
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission 
accomplished or not will 
dawn on the entity.

I-n retrospect,he thinks 
about his childhood and 
how life was to him.

L-iving in confidence or 
shame,he bows his head 
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time 
will tell the durability of 
his achievements.
V-oid of preference the 
aim result bears the 
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies 
with the works of the 
man,for there is no food 
for the slothful.

Y-oung ones,a stitch in 
time saves nine,make 
haste while the sun 
shines.
O-iling your lamb always 
like the ten virgins is the 
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer 
pressure and focus on 
the course marked out 
for you by fate,so a 
fulfilled life you shall live.





An acrostic for you 
Leonora Galinita.

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |
-Infected- with *PSD

My luck is tough, 
My life has been rough,
I cannot feel my dreams,
I dream of dreams, that can't be felt.

In the deep corners of my mind
There is something there no one will ever find
I close my eyes and disappear into a world of loneliness
CAN I TELL YOU HOW I FEEL??

This is how I feel!

I feel lost, then I feel complete
How can this be?
Poor little old me~ 
I find myself with this crazy addiction
A state that moves me causing all kinds of unnecessary friction
Becoming another weak addict to something greater than, 
------------Drugs and Alcohol
This affects my entire family
No one around me is sure on how to react
This addiction makes crack look like an antibiotic 
 
I see it in their faces
The disappointment!
The disgrace! 
They gave up the practice when it comes to tough love
Guilty I confess, an addict in my own house
Far from reality, not caring about that man once called my spouse
Yes, I chose my dose of non-fictional poets over him
I don't feel the shame the day I let him walk away
Far, far away, I had nothing to say
Hitting rock bottom, maybe it's too late to rebuild my life
Not wanting to claw my way out of the hole
Rebuilt I will, through a magical poem, in this soup bowl

Here, you find me swimming with a crowd of wonder
Other creative people whose words speak louder than thunder
At first I thought I found a means to lock out all the bother
Hiding from all my responsibilities
Letting go of all my possibilities
Lacking the strong point of running out from the shaft
I sit here--
Sadder than the saddest tears you've ever experienced
Behind the soup screen, is where I found myself
I told nobody else.

I'm failing to admit to my fellow poets
The soup is a wonderful disease,                         
It keeps me from a good sleep,
With all these poems that put my mind at ease
I love the way it has full control, no matter where I go
It's true like an addict, family, friends don't matter anymore
I log on and want more, more and more.

Every poet here has been here for me through good or bad
Like a drunk suck!ng it up when I feel sad

The poetry soup, ~ IS MY VERY OWN SIN CITY!
Here is where I want to spend eternity

Embrace, me in ways that make me happy
Here I feel - - I feel - - SO! - - SO! - -SO!  Free!

A simple disease that needs no cure
Here I feel very secure
This is no drug, here you find no rock & roll
I'm drinking up the soup, like an alcoholic's goal

Spreading the poetry soup disease, puts my mind at ease
Knowing poetry over powers' suicidal thoughts anytime.

Here  ~I~ 
REST IN PEACE 
With A Poetry Soup Disease

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Impulsive or compulsive

Either way it's not conducive

Living with this disorder

Can't be good for my liver

Obsessions, when do they stop?

Compulsions, when do I stop?

Let me illustrate and reiterate

My demons make me infuriated

To the point, man, I really want to escape this

Live everyday like your last?

These hours go by fast

Trying to obliterate every ounce of the past

Always with the imagery and self coping insanity

That broke me and continues to break me.

Another day, no not another day

I just got out, please let me stay away.

Copyright © Stefan Cote | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |

You cannot articulate in words To the one that is glancing from the outside The total chaos on the inside Because on the outside you wear a smile Of order and calm In silence you mull over The I “wishes” And the I “could haves” Even though deep down you know That is burnt ash That it will never come to live again But it is the only thing that keeps you going For now At times the in between moments Are the ones that take your breath away Because they happen unplanned Those tender moments of joy You know you can have again So this is not you throwing in the towel This is you at rest Preparing yourself for the next step Because when you eventually get through All the chaos You will smile with your soul

Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Each night, bitter tears flood my cheeks, none of my former lovers are there to offer comfort. My friends have betrayed me despising me as they turn deadly enemies. I'm a slave to my own nature humbled with no rest from sorrow humiliated like a deer which cannot find pasture and hunted down till my strength is gone. I can't even remember the good Life that was once there because my existence has become a joke. A beauty, young and untouched now trampled like grapes in a wine pot. Tears of suffering; shouts of mourning becoming my closest triplet sisters. I reach out my hand but no one offers comfort instead I'm being treated like a filthy rag. My eyes red from crying, my stomach is on knots and I feel sick all over as I wait for the healing of my wounds; gaping as wide as the oceans Deep in my heart, I cry out now letting my tears overflow my walls day and night. my skin and flesh waste away and my Bones broken. The constant insults and hard knocks chain me down to eat gravel and be rubbed in dirt. My Life has turned sour; terrified, trapped, caught and crushed as tears flood my eyes and they won't stop. I was once worth much more than fine stones from Australia yet now counted worthless like dishes of clay. I stagger around naked and wounded exposed to the Red vultures of the Jungle and to the babarian brutal desert tribes. My skin scourched from fever and hunger and finally, the desert trap, immobilizing me, makes them swoop down faster than the Eagles from the sky to feast in the delicious meal of my ruin.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
 You've caused me, so many tears	
That our home
Is flooded
			
                                                 You stepped on me, so many times
			 That my heart
			 Is flat


		                                              You have lied to me, so many times
		                                              That my soul
		                                              Is broken

Copyright © Delilah Ventura | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Sitting at the table, with prim and proper guests
We only started eating after the food was blest.
While chatting to the Vicar, I felt a sudden twitch
My voice started trembling, because my bum began to itch.

I wiggled on the chair, hoping to rub the itch away
It would not bloody budge, the itch had come to stay.
I poured the wine quite calmly, while wondering what to do.
The itch was now quite vicious, my mind was in a stew.

Though the itch had started slowly, it was now a raging pain
I had to scratch it quickly, or I’d go insane.
As my hand was moving downward, ready for a scratch
They made me light the candles with a ruddy match.

The meal dragged on so slowly, it seemed to take so long
And every time I tried to scratch, my timing was wrong.
But when the meal was over, the Vicar made us pray
I prayed with such intensity, the itch just went away 

Copyright © Patrick Maitland | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
A misty  reflection
in the mirror
of life


a fragile shadow
on the wall
of boundaries


A deep echo
in the tunnel
of thoughts

A  soft whisper
in the voice
of dreams


a broken emotion
in the beat
of Hearts

a flash back
in nightmares
of death

a roller coaster
in the subconscious
of minds


a thunder storm
in the dilhema
of soul

a water mark
in the shade
of light

an immersion of words
in the baptism
of truth

an ultraviolet ray
in a shattered prism
of glass

a moonless sky
in a presumption
of total eclipse

a tempting apple
in the garden
of forbidness

a white angel
in the purity
of lusty sin

an ardent paramour
in fervent yearning
of passion

a jealous lover
in the destruction
of love

a stop watch 
in the moment
of time

a deep crack
in the crust
of the  world

an earthquake
in the hot core
of  lava

a forest path
in a jungle
of lions


a gold circle
in waterfalls
of a crazy affair


a wave of trust
in the vast ocean
of betrayal

a soften glacier 
on the bedrock
of seperation

a chess game
in the loss
of forever


a weeping petal
of a wild daisy
in last goodbye


a big question mark
on the edge
of destiny.


(3rd May 2010)
Charma








Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
You have a twinkle in your eye
I confess as you pass me by
I gaze over at your thighs
Thinking would she ever, ever
Call me maybe

I see you dance with passions glow
You have that way, and such a sway
I dream of nights I held you close
I wish more than anything dear
Call me maybe, maybe

Maybe I can love
From torments past
Maybe I can express moments to last
I think of all the wasted doubts
Maybe one day I shall call

Call to arms, the lover’s battle
I just called, to maybe say
That my careless whispers may hold sway
We are callous day to day
Dreams we forget, they slip away

Call me, maybe

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |

                                          
                            Swallowed by the night rain;
                       I chased the light.
                 Though you knew I could not trust it.
               It changes itself when it meets a black hole.

Copyright © Umme Salma Alam | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
wake up to serendipity
ignorant and unknown
shaken and not stirred
blond can be bond

Reality, metaphor and cliche
cheesy juvenile decay
Love, care and hate
past the use by date

of fights and torment
and well deserved lament
salute to the solitary reaper
with Metallica... I disappear

Copyright © Anwar Hussain | Year Posted 2009

Details | Blank verse |
Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
What is the world,
But an oyster to you?
What are other people,
If not aids to help you

What purpose do you serve?
What do you know how to do?
Nothing. Nothing at all
But sit, waiting for someone to save you.

You poor damsel
Always in distress
I wish I could respect you
But you're just too helpless

Other people use their legs,
Their feet, and their brain
You know one day,
You should do the same

But you would rather be a burden
It really is a shame
I think you like to struggle
You want life to be a pain

You poor damsel
Always in distress
I wish I could respect you
But you're just too helpless

Things could be better
If you would at least try
But that means you actually have to do something,
You prefer to just cry

Cry and complain
Complain, moan and sigh
"World look at me, please!
Or else I'll die"

You poor damsel
Always in distress
I wish I could respect you
But you're just too helpless

One day I pray you learn
To do things by yourself
Instead of choosing not to move
Without the assistance of someone else

One day no one will be there
To hear you when you call
And the world won't stop
To brace your fake fall

You poor damsel
Always in distress
I wish I could respect you
But you're just too helpless

Copyright © Ashley Chanel | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
What's up?
What's going on?
How come it's 3AM?
And bright as noon?
Have I finally made it
Into a Looney-Tune?

Who left me a hot breakfast,
Then disappeard?
How the hell did I
Overnight grow a green beard?

And that new Lamborgini
In my driveway
Painted purple, black,
and red, each a circle round

Am I a mad old hack?
I see a cab's roof light
On it, like a crown.

The door sign says
$100.00 first quarter mile,
$200.00 each following quarter
So ridiculous I had to smile

Is this someone's idea
Of a joke?
To make of me,
A fool , one to poke?

I grabbed my pants,
To go out to inspect
Golly, gosh darn
This I did not expect...
Every pair had four legs,
you see...
Someone tell me,
How this could be!

Perhaps I'm yet asleep,
And this is but a dream,
Maybe a nightmare brought on
By last night's ice cream
So I dug out the ice cream,
To see the brand and flavor,
Perhaps laced with acid,
By some angry neighbor...

"Trolley Madison" the brand,
The flavor "Mulch"
I start to feel a panic grow,
Turn on the TV to distract me,
You know?
But it does not come on,
The dryer does,
And the radio blasts
A Taliban song,
What the hell is going on?
What part of hell is this?
What did I do so wrong?

Guess I'll go back to bed,
And hope my next awakening
Will be more normal instead,
So I return to my bedroom now,
All I can utter is "Holy Cow!"

For my bedroom is now
A subway station,
Out here in the Kansas plains, to boot!
I better get some whiskey,
I sure could use a toot!

I pour some Southern Comfort,
And out pops corn bread and grits...
I guess I should be grateful,
It wasn't a bowl of horsy sh_ts.

I better call my boss,
Explain I'd be late to work,
But he had never heard of me,
And thought me but a jerk...

And I could hardly
disagree with him,
For when I put down the phone,
The chord was a garden snake
And I was not alone

The cats I don't own,
 the dog I'd dreamed of getting,
All crowded around me,
For food and some petting

In panic, I went out the front door,
Not knowing what to expect
Found myself on the conning tower
bridge,
Of an atomic submarine quite wrecked

Enough!  Enough! Enough!
I cried,
Clenched fist aimed at the sun
Why have you forsaken me?
What wrongful sin have I done?

But the seas did not part,
And the nightmare did restart.
I dove over the side of the submarione,
Ending up next to my bed
On the floor with reality shed.








Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Light Poetry |
A Sin

In a daze attacked by bullets of pain
Sharp stings to the heart and soul
Another lie opens up for a rear view
The hour of departure reaches its goal
For in a field of gold lies the inevitable
My patience to unravel the truth 
Like a shadow on a wall she moves
Destroying what’s left between me and you

Copyright © Gwen Lemmens | Year Posted 2009

Details | Prose Poetry |
For now I am in pieces.
I say that optimistically,
Forever hoping that the pieces will come together and form a beautiful puzzle.
I've awaited this moment,
But waiting is all I seem to do.

An inept and crumpled document is what I am.
An aptly written and folded one, I am not. 
The creases are the amount of times that I have encountered a moment of distress.
The rips and tears are the times that life has been unfair.
Inside the crumpled document contains a set of words that reveal a rather special story,
The story of my life.

Copyright © roman cavazos | Year Posted 2011