Poetry Fear Poems

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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 | 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 | 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 |
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass.
His eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…   
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
 
Copyright © 2013
 

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong. 
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.

My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.

Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.

It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic. 
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.

In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.

Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.

Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?

Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.

Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.

The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.

Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.

That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.

When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.

I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.

© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |
I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
...oooOOO Tears of Gold OOOooo... Prickling hot glistening tears from the eyes above Fall in little rivulets round the nose out of pain, thoughts or love Hot tears roll down the cheeks cooling as they fall Salty on the lips they pass they don’t stall. Tears of pain, tears for the dead, tears for the dying Tears for the newborns the weddings and tears for the sighing. Tears that roll onto the bared chest with arms open wide Giving comfort and strength as they try to stem the tide Tears for the fears unrealised but real Tears for those lost or that’s how they feel Tears that flow for those we have not met They need our tears but they will not know it and yet They may feel our tears shed for them all Tears shed out of pity or love they can fall Tears for the free who think they are not worth it Tears for the captives that do not deserve it My tears are falling without knowing why But the tears that are golden never run dry They run for the love of all human kind Wishing and hoping the deserving will find Some one to bare their chest for them all And comfort them as their own tears do fall.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
I look in the mirror and what do I see
Who is that person looking at me?
I look round the back but no one is there
I don’t recognise, her she gives me a scare.
I check for the glass, my fingers touch it,
It’s cool and it’s silky, but the face does not fit.
Who is this person looking at me?

Nan told me once of the woman in the glass.
‘She gave me a fright I can tell you lass.
I walked past the mirror and what did I see
This old woman standing staring at me.
She came and haunted me every day,
I talked to her nicely and asked her to go away.
Day after day she visited often,
One day my sweet child it will then be your turn.’

I remember my Nan telling me these words,
I look at the reflection and it seems absurd
For standing in the mirror looking at me
Is a woman like my Nan or a facsimile.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
As the master potter plies his wonderful trade
To mould the clay his design in his head is now laid
He shapes, he feels and he moulds it with care
The finished piece still in his dreams to be fair.

With his skill and inner eye he sees his masterpiece
But before he throws it, he needs to find inner peace.
His skill in knowing and loving and he has the knack
Making sure with any pressure his piece will not crack.

His piece is here, and now it needs to sit and slowly dry 
Before it’s placed in the fire in temperatures so high
A worrying time for the potter, in the heat of the fire
Will his masterpiece survive and it’s his fervent desire.

But the potter with his skill has learnt his trade well
And his piece will survive so he needn’t’ dwell
All the love he has lavished on his masterpiece
Will survive all the heat, and will now bring him peace.

© ~GG~ 27/02/2013

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
A cover’s no way to judge a book
The first few words is all it took
To open up the memory chest
Of a dark past so long suppressed.

Like a dog let off its lead
The words are sticks I must retrieve
To read of someone else’s pain
The threats, the violence and the shame.

Lying curled up in a ball
Drunken menace in the hall
Racing heart cannot prevent
Looming shadow, no consent.

Calloused hands move from neck to arms
Leave no bruise or signs of harm
“I didn’t hurt you, you are mine
Say no again, I will next time”.

Each leaf turned brings back a time
When this memoir echoed mine
Tale unfolds upon each page
Tells of horrors, threats and rage.

I can’t take this anymore
Throw the book down on the floor
Sitting reading will not stop
All the heart ache and the rot.

If someone loves you, they won’t do
All these dreadful things to you
No person should endure this hell
Stop it now, it’s time to tell.

Copyright © Tricia Lucas-Clarke | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
I have died to see my life grow from this dark holes of endless torture, nothing is here to 
stay, I do not want the nights to fall upon dead eyes, sober the ecstasy the devil put on your lips, behold the end with embraced cold, this night will kill us all, fear the dead for been the ones to judge tonight, the clouds walk straight to grave, the moon shines bright in red, the sun dances under endless fire, we the child's have failed to acknowledge wrong, we have fought the war by ourselves, we don't feel the sun warm our face at morning shine by our behaviors, we don’t die for free, either vane, fear this hell to rise upon your shoulders, I fear the end with shattered dreams of desperation, cant scream either punch, walls are too strong, sweat blinds my eyes, sweat cleans my filthy soul, take down the moon tonight dear, I shall pay you with my blood, devils stealing souls, we cant sleep to lose it all, loosing my eyes to see beyond the horizon burning, the smoke makes the day die fast, I don’t want to live if all I feel is pain, either do many, my name is not of importance, but the feeling is the one to make the night, dancing upon the chest of the earth, tonight we shine with the moon dressed in red, tomorrow we rule the sky, for yesterday we ruled the grounds, underworlds are dying to see me arrive, I am welcome to this dinner, deals are broken tonight, we have sold what we don’t have to give the better plan, oh green threes, they still live inside a cruel dead state end, bring me the horizon, bring me the hells, that I know this will decay, that I know this will perish, oh my heart will stop the night of the red dance... Prayers are heard yester night, the song is loud, making the clouds tremble and dance, darken eyes, you see the sky full of darken eyes, you lay at night to line the clouds and you make pitiful devils out of the big galaxy above you, this is not the end, I am the man who writes down your prayers, who writes down each tear numbered by deceitful plague, bring my eyes to see the skies, please break me free from this night, from this cell, cold and chained, far away, we keep on trying, breaking the trust of our friends, no one will save us now, is not now, I don't need the time, I am dead to you and I refuse to be your slave, engrave my eyes in this decayed kingdom of fallen messiah’s, please give me time to fear your wrath, please give me the signs of victory, I want and need to know how much you feel for me, I feed you with my blood, now repay

Copyright © Derek Ortiz | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
Just a regular curbside puddle,
It really wasn't that big.
But it had the look of an ocean,
To a sweet little puppy named 'Pig.'

"Your paws might touch the water,
No chances that you will drown."
Pig looked at his master- all crazy,
And was frozen like ice to the ground.

"It's only a wee-bit of a puddle,
You'll easily make the grade."
But Pig wasn't ready to listen,
He stood there and was very afraid.

On a leash Pig's brand new owner,
Tried in vain to nicely persuade.
But Pig just wouldn't listen,
To pleas that his new person made.

Again -"it's only a little puddle,
You really won't get very wet.
You could see Pig was thinking,
"Wets wet! And I'm not ready yet."

"But the water is only a trickle,
If you try you'll see you can wade."
No matter all the sweet talking,
That pup just couldn't be swayed.

The pup felt a tug on the leash,
The water was coming too near.
So Pig stared his squealing,
And squealing was all you could hear.

Discouraged -his person relented,
And lifted the scaredy-cat Pup.
He bypassed the wee little puddle,
And lost, by picking Pig up.

I wanted the end to be funny,
With a moral to find I could spin.
Yep, a guy with a pup he'd name 'Pig,'
Has a pup that is smarter than him.



Copyright © Margaret Wade | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
Cheater Cheater
I am sorry for you both he has an hour to live
Is there anything else you would like us to give?
Our baby boy was given a death sentence,
What could we do - this made no sense.
With pain in our hearts we handed him over,
To doctors and drips he was covered all over.
They do say miracles don’t happen today,
But how wrong they are because he’s with us this day.
The grim reaper he cheated many years ago
Twenty one years later he’s still on the go.
Meningits he cheated, it did not get him
He’s healthy and happy tall good looking and slim.
So keep your heads high and don’t give up hope,
All those with the problems, we pray you will cope.

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry |
“Metallic skin"
I dont lotion anymore
Such acts would soften an  amour now immune to abuse.

Its now 8'o clock and I can tell that mommy is already asleep.

I prepare a clean skin to be dumped in acts of unwanted desires.
A child's room to become the scene for subjected sin in sex!
My Innocents awaits to be taken once more, soon my Dora underwear will be torn off by a gentleman with the courtesy of secretly replacing them.

Swiper's car pulls up
A man of work, he stops not to say a thing, he pulls the door and creeps right in.
Right on schedule sir!
Yes sir!
Yes sir!
The soldiers on the television, I turned their voices up.

I sit in the corner, further away from him, I pressed my face into the arms of meeting walls, the spot where my tears kept me clean.

His five knives went jammed in my neck! I bit my lips causing my metallic skin to flick a tooth in the back of my head.
I swallowed it as my signature, approving this sentence.

Molten lava between my legs.
The friction scrapes me in and out!
Head held down, bowed to the name who sits on my family tree, I am green but he still picks me!
We are dogs, family on top of family, he did it horridly, a gentleman without hospitality.

He gave me something much bigger than me, pressure to the pipe,
it laid inside of me.
My reflection shows a prospective whore
Daddy what should I become a Lady of the night? For every night you open my little books to read me!

This red liquid drips me colourful, I paint a dead colouring book.
Daddy I am small but my tears are big, a million times I died in my own liquid.
I don't have a shadow anymore for I am not worthy to be seen. 
My skin grows but I shrink, dreams died one stroke at a time. He smashed my metalic skin.

Now I am HIV “Aladeen" my curves curls up cursed touched by a related beast. I am done, I am drowned in my metalic skin.

©Copywrite
By: Ramone Young
Poetic System Kidz Entertainment.

Copyright © Ramone Young | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
A Poet's Dream of Freedom in a dusty old Amsterdam attic Anne and I find refuge outside the dreadful Gestapo seeks wordsmiths to persecute Anne adds another page to her diary a book state police would surely burn her memories of Frankfurt are blurred by pains of hunger and fear my pursuits tempt Gestapo even more poetry is regarded as frivolous if I played an instrument or sang opera I’d be saved merely to entertain fear of being caught makes us prisoners of the pen starving artists leaning on each other seeking strength to continue are more souls needed for the death camps must we trade our pens for weapons should we seek out others of our kind and band together in the name of expression late is the hour as Anne falls asleep my own eyes strain to stay open still I drift off as the attic’s doorknob turns
*Written March 28, 2017

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
The shadow of the eyes
Is suffering of death
Through the vines, they grow
Through the fires I light
Through the winds I leave

             D.L.V

Copyright © Delilah Ventura | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry |
                       Hurt By Your Love


Today as we sat side by side,thinking of
 how we been together and how we both
 bear scars.But you who only shows your 
good side to me.I who only cries and 
complains how do you put up with it.
Knowing me knowing you knowing what 
hurts,why, why do you hide it from me so 
much am i that untrustworthy.It hurt so 
much that I know no time in this world can 
make me forgive this feelings,i wanted to 
be the light that helped you out of the dark
 but now I see I'm the dark surrounding you.
Keeping you from shining. keeping you down
 how could I be so foolish?These wounds the
 salt you poured in them.I'm walking away 
today not wanting to hurt but i want you
 back.So I'm just going to walk away.

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
IMPLODING REALITY Silent scream wildly flapping of wings unseen around this crying head where eyes are no more and mouth a wide silence where ears hear only madness while mind is anywhere but sane Violence throws me out of bed every night on legs that collapse forgotten they don't work lugging, tug drag into that corner they fly around cursing me lashing out insane insane Eyes unsee, ears unhear, mouth unscream imploding reality If I am insane Why can I describe this so vividly? *** January 3, 2017

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
snakes-owner
…………………..
poet-mrs.anjali denandee , mom
…………………………………………..
i am a snakes-owner…..
i catch snakes from here and there….
by my own-hands……..
i am very-expert……
i live in a village-corner…..
to my snakes , i take too-care………
i put , in bamboo-baskets……..
give to these , milk…
all drink it………
on many-ways……
i show the dance of the snakes……..
many people enjoy it………
the crowds give me foods , cloths and also money……..
i am not poor..
by these , i eat..
i dress……
and also i buy my useful-things …
by the money……
one day ……
a doctor says to me ,…………
‘’ if you give me the poison …….
then i shall give you money ‘’ ……..
i agree with him,then…..
at every month…..
he contacts with me……….
and i give him the poison…..
and take money……
he goes back in his city , then…..
we contact , again and again……
after some years…
i become very-rich-woman…….
one -night …..
i give milk ……..
to my snakes…
and at that time…
a snake bites on my right-hand….
i think that …
i shall be dye…..
without any treatment………
yes…by my collection …
of the poison……….
the doctor creates the medicine …
but i can not take it………
i know that….
after some-times………
will stop , my heart-beats…….
yes.it is the reality……
where is my safety ……

Copyright © ANJALI DENANDEE | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Put a bullet in my brain
as the rain sweeps her out of my arms
and places her into another's.
Put a bullet in my brain
for I don't want to see love slip away
please end my suffering,
for I don't want to dare see her in the arms of another man.

I fear the tear that slips away from my soul
and touches the ground with a splash
as she is washed away by the lashed memories of the rain,
please, someone put a bullet in my brain.

I can't bear to see her with another man
laying in his arms
as he charishes her beauty
just like I did to her.
As she smiles and laughs at his jokes
my heart would not bare the sorrow and pain
that would tare my heart apart into pieces of tainted love.
Please tell the rain to stop,
as the pain grows when rain comes down,
please someone end my suffering,
put a bullet in my brain
and stop the rain
that washes away every memory of her.

Stop saying you miss me
and just kiss me
for I can't take the pain
of the rain that takes you away.
Kiss me and stop saying you miss me
for those are useless words to me.
Love is where it's at, so show me.
Don't go with him, he'll treat you wrong.
Love and laugh with me till the break of dawn
as we yawn the long night away.

Kiss me and don't say you miss me.
For if you go away from me,
I couldn't bare to take a tear and waste it away.
Tears, sweet tears crying for you,
doesn't that mean anything to you?
I ask you, stop the rain,
stop the pain and put that bullet in my brain.

Let the red blood flow from my temples.
Let the plow dig my grave,
for I can't bare to see you with another
in his arms, him kissing you, where I kissed you.
I can't take it, I have to make it,
make that pain go away.
Prayer didn't help, God turned a blind eye
when I came up and said why!
Put that bullet in my dome
and when I lay in the coffin, looking at the roof of the church
you come and kiss me, and then you can really say
that you'll miss me.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    No creepy troll 
    under your bed                                                                  
    Nothing to fear                                                                  
    Mommy is near  

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    There is no tiger
    under your bed
    Nothing to fear                                                                  
    Mommy is near  

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    The dust dots under the bed        
    That is angels slippers
    Nothing to fear
    Mommy is near

    Close your eyes
    Sleep tight
    Let the moon and stars
    be in your dreams
    Nothing to fear
    Mommy is near




    - A good night comfort ....... many small children need
      some comforting in the evening - Small simple words :)

    18.02.2015
    A-L Andresen :)
    Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

Several years of my childhood I spent with my aunt and uncle
who lived in an old rectory in Northern Norway
It was a hard time, much work, little food never time for play or entertainment
My aunt and uncle were strict, we had to work for food

When I had some time to myself, I spent time at the old church yard
or in the woods close by - No other children to talk with
therefore I spoke loudly to myself
The old church yard was my secret world
Old gravestones that were far over a hundred years old
People who were forgotten long ago, no flowers on the graves
The man who we called "Gravedigger", was always serious and rarely smiled
but he was always kind and often had time for a little chat

Earth was sunk and often I found bones, buttons or needles on the ground
"Gravedigger" said always put them back in the ground and I did as he said
One day I found a shiny white incisor
I didnt put the the tooth back into the soil - I took it home with me
This happened in the fall and it was dark early
It was dark in the castle room at the rectory
I did not dare to light the candle
It was my work to rekindle the fire
As I fumbled my way after the wood I suddenly felt like a light stroke
on my head - looked around me and listening
I whispered "is there anyone here?" ..... No sound, no answer
In silence I sat ... suddenly felt someone stroking my hair through
Ice cold fingers which had a nasty smell
Now I was really scared
I hurried in from the woodshed with wood and fired up in the fireplace
Stuffed my hands in the pockets it was still so cold
There .... I felt the tooth from the cemetery
Looked at it from the fireplace light
A powerful knock on the windowpane I turned to see
You will not believe what I saw
A face pressed against the window, a face that I had never seen before
He had red hair and lots of beard
The face scared me ...
He started to laugh a scary laughter with open mouth
Now I could see ... he lacked an incisor
I walked a little closer to the window,
but then the face in the window diseappered

I felt I had done something wrong
Decided to go back to the graveyard with the tooth
The darkness and the fear took me as I approached the gate
The laughter came back, he stood there waiting for me 
I placed the tooth gently down at the gate
He just looked at me and laughed again the frightening laughter
It is many years since this happened to me
but I remember it like it was yesterday
One autumn night many years after I awoke with
a cold hand on my forehead
I heard the laughter, saw his face and red hair
long beard .... but he lacked no teeth



 - A story written by A-L Andresen 1973 :)
   (17.01.2015)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Hide me,
take me to a place
where my tears
can fall onto paper
and become words.

Hide me,
away from a harsh world
that will not escape me.
Only you, poetry
will let me be me.

Hide me,
in between your lines,
give a lonesome girl
your warm sheltering.

Hide me,
in a dark corner
where shadows blend in,
only there can I
remove this disguise.

Hide me,
in your peaceful sanctuary
away from lying eyes,
laughter and ridicule.

Hide me,
from this reality
and take me somewhere
.....better.









Written by : Kelly Deschler

June 4th, 2014


Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention contest


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
In the Work That Reconnects,
we have a dialogue exercise
in which Person A asks Person B
"Who are you?"
several times over a few minutes,
as it feels right to reprime this exploratory pump;
then person B does the same for person A.

The person hosting, facilitating, enabling
this reiterative question's redundant possibilities
is merely an echo-present listener,
noticing diversity within these multiple evolving responses,
without judging good, bad, ugly, or even indifferent,
quietly hearing rhythms of longing for love
between the crippling cracks of anger and fear,
compelling and compiling self with other hatred,
pathology.

The question,
Do all these diverse self-descriptions truly fit
this same love v. anger-fear polyculturing elephant?
does not usually arise.
Rather,
we accept all these scrabbling voices
and hats
and feelings
and ideas
and beliefs
co-occurring within one bilateral
positive-health v. negative-pathology mindbody ecosystem,
seeking diastatic fullness
richness,
poly-empathic
polymorphic communication,
design, development, co-empathic investment,
and cooperative-integrative implementation outcomes,
at the end of this elephant's rhetorical day,
if not sooner.

Why is this not always the case
when we ask our friends and families,
our public sector leaders 
and financial sector investors,
"Who do you hope we are becoming?"

What loves are we preparing to invest in 
and which past angers and future fears to divest of?

What indicators can I give
that I already invest in cooperatively regenerate health
agendas,
platforms,
designs and intentions,
co-mentoring therapeutic diapraxis
of which I preach so positively to others?

I know you support restoring regenerative health to our soil
and preserving clean water,
as I do.
So does it bother you,
as it does me,
that we still contaminate our water with poo and pee
instead of investing in nutrition-starved soil,
where both could be positive resources 
countering past neglect and abuse,
rather than doubly-negative pathology?

We say we support cooperatively vibrant and healthy local economies
and empowering political vitality,
so does it bother you,
as it does me,
to so often hear "either-or" deductive reductivism
and wonder why not first cooperatively consider "both-and?"

I appreciate what you just said
and I wonder if adding X might make your idea
even better.
Do you agree,
or maybe you see concerns for yourself and others
new to me,
of which we might learn together?

Could a cooperative election or social change campaign
begin with compiling interdependent hopes and wishes
and loves of Who Are You?
thereby more smoothly avoiding stuckness-traps
of fear and anger and dissonant pathological constipative outcomes.

Could investing both-and cooperative communication norms
better lead toward co-investing in healthy wealth,
politically strong-embraced policies,
procedural and dialogical transparency,
polyculturally inclusive design and development and discernment
of poli-eco-logical therapy
v. multi-morphic pathology;
co-arise local through global health outcome networks,
diastatic eco-normativity,
embracing each and every sacred Person A and B response
to Who are we?

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
       Chicken Head

       Your a bird, with no wings!
    Your soul is lost and lives in the streets.
     Why sell your body the way you do?
        you least can get your son some new shoes.
     If you going to sell your body,get what you can get.
         You have kids, you need to get a grip.
          Do you really want your daughter to grow up like you?
         To flag down cars for every man that comes threw!
           Why are you selling your last food stamps?
          To pay a cell phone bill that has laped.
      This is no debate, your son lips is cracked from being dehydarted.
     Why do you make them suffer for the things you do?
      Look into their eyes. thats the hatred for you!
         Your baby is crying tears, for you can hear.
               Crying to be loved by you,
            You can really fix the things you do!
   Each child is a gift from God, A bright shining star.
                 Look inside your heart,
    and ask your self is this is what you want to be.
          A chicken head that stay in the streets.
      Ask God for help, when you lay down to sleep.
            Pray the lord your soul to keep.
          If you should die before you wake,
       ask him to help take your kids pain away!
             Some one should decapitate you,
       for all the pain you put your kids threw.
      So stop having kids just for someone eles to raise them.
    I guess it's for the best, because you really don't deserve them!
           They cry for help, they beg of you!
     Your a lost soul, and only God can judge you!
    

Copyright © twanna Irisha | Year Posted 2011

Details | Dramatic monologue |
Greatly influenced by rock, rap and country music,
They say I'm too creative, that I still need washing,
Yet they ain't bold enough to give the soap, it amusing,
I lost my fear of gravity, I already had an epiphany,
In the words of Lecrae "it is what it is"

Just like John, I am a voice, the world is a wilderness
He ate locusts but me I give my words out at low costs, 
Simple enough for those in my hood with eagerness
Their changed and better lives brings joy like no other,
That's the point of this.

What does a man have to do to own his world?
What exactly do people gain when all they say is sour?
But man will always be man never to become God,
Me I've lost my fear of heights I'll ride my world,
It is what it is.

They ask how can a 6.2ft man love God and poetry,
I shake my head, smile, keep mute and walk away,
Not everyone's creative, most will rather be predictive,
They will make the title of my next poem and victory,
They are who they are.

See, these right here are thoughts in my head,
They are words even you never say but think,
They are my unspoken words,
I'm glad you now read minds,
We are who we are.

©… @Official_Xplosive?
???JustInspiredConcept

Copyright © Victor Ifedotun Aina | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

                 ~ Doctor Save Me ~

              Help me aging got worse they say
                           sources of problems are solutions find one 
                                            my beauty is wrinkled
                                                         my heart stopped blinking
                                                                   don't shrink my hopes
                                                                              I`ll sink hurry think
                                                                                        & Save Me.
                                                                                   
                                                                                      Therese Bacha
                                                                                                24/4/2013

Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.

Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.

Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass

Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws

Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.

Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Look at you, you have found my heart
With love I stare into your eyes
With passion I devise
I can not part with you or can not stop the things I have started

So I raise my hands to embrace you and you alone

Look I walk by your side and I found my self crying
With your hands so soft with gentleness
With your smile so beautiful with carefulness
I do notice life with you without sighing

So I raise my hands to embrace you and you alone

Without a fear of losing you, you are in my visions
With beautiful roses by your side 
I love you more than twelve times
Without doubt I do love you, I care for you and you alone

So do not walk away 
Please lets talk about things anyway
With feelings of letting you go is make me ache in the heart
Do not stop believing my passion has fallen apart

So I raise my hands to embrace you and you alone

Look I want us to grow old with each other through years of journeys
With hope of sharing life of fulfillment that gives us memories
With this I hope to give all of my faith and I hope it is not to late
I Look into your eyes with such full life because you have been my life date

So I raise my hands to embrace you and you alone

And you alone

So I raise my hands to embrace you

you alone


Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013