Poetry Happiness Poems

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Details | Light Poetry |
The Library of Trust and Hope
The Bank of Trust and Hope

(Cant decide on title, so feel free to pick or suggest one)

She was all but four years of age
Birthdays were such magical moments
The cake was filled with candles
The balloons still in their package twelve on the table

Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!!
They are not magic like you said!!!!!
Do not fret Maria, its daddy who is magical
I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons

Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons
Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers
She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile
Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be

Maria was now ten years older
Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories
On this fall day, home from school
There was grandpa in the back yard as usual

He was tending his garden of roses
When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses
Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden
From the heavens above


Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop
A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table
A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes
This is for you, beauty for beauty


She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance
They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime
Until the morning she awoke, completely alone
Both lover and credit cards did abscond


Now twenty one, and wise to the world
Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age
A chilly fall day in an empty library
A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose

Hello he says! I drew this for you!
Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one!
Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken
This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter

The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine
He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose
She politely declines his advances
Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks

The twelfth week and here he is again
What is the poor girl to do?
She is curious, and she can not quite help herself
She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers?

He smiles kindly and replies
How about next week, I show you?
We can have a coffee, and discuss art
Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness

They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself
Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation
He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red
She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard

She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her
Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw
You? she stammers, you made this?
He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings

Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness
Her husband of all these years has passed on
To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting
She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories

She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance
Contemplating the wisdom's of life
I miss you so much my love
You taught me trust is earned and not given
	Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, 
		I am yours eternally





Dear Reader

I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me. 

Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.

I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness

God bless
Maria Sefue

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015




Details | Prose Poetry |
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.

That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store

That was your appraised value.

But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.

Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood

“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards

I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter

We scream in misguided nerd joy 
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session

Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!

But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!

It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap

My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.

To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”

I chose to be a human this night.

Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall

A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table

Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums

In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form

It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose

At the TOP of my LUNGS,
I whispered.

“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could. You never responded to my open-hearted palm. You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man. But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say! You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows. Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday. So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband, Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall, With children pointing & laughing hysterically, “Security” enters the room As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder, “Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me. The Best Man that you will never hold again.” ©Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
They say it's a time to slip in the mud, and begin anew.
Kick off the dust of yester ...
      and put on the dress of Yes Sir! and Thank You Ma'am
She sure is a joy      This baby little season
And like moths to a flame we praise her name

(we don't need a reason)

And who can blame the helpless admirers
trigger happy on their Kodaks
drunk with Marigold Merriment.

No matter your profession, everyone's a poet,
when spring comes along, like a child, showing off her dandelion face,
believing in her curious way that death has been conquered.

But reality comes in firehouse red,
with silver sickle blades that say, No can do, Little Miss Spring,
not every bird, on every branch, has a song to sing.
The fact of the matter is ... you're just another three months
(Winter? Autumn? They're simply taking an overdue lunch,
but they'll be back with the same fire      The same ice)
Hate to break it to you, Sweetie, but not everything nice
is destined to remain (it's a cyclical thing ... you understand)

You can bet your slender green stem
even Little Miss Spritely has her down days,
but like teenage hysteria     it's just a phase

(we can just pretend those zits are poppies
they smell fragrant enough)

And yes of course      It's a time of LOVE!
Young and Fresh --- Tongue and Flesh
like good ole Elmer Fudd would say

(bweeding like wabbits)

Oh Little Miss Spring, surely you can't have everything!
Green grass and blue sky --- it's halfway sickening
the way you steal the show with your sunny splendor.
And Poor Old December ... you left him in the cold,
bragging up your warmth and innocent demeanor

(I saw what you did to the snow)

It can all be forgiven though      Truly it can!
I know it might feel like I'm freezing you out

            (but all the cool months are doing it)

... 'tis no excuse      you saw through my ruse
I'm just killing time before the Melancholy Mob
comes back into town.
Remember how they used to hang around Stick in the Mud Lane
poking holes into your joy?

(they annoyed me too)

And what became of the pessimists, the argument-ists,
the I-don't-believe-in-all-this kinda crowd?
Are they all hibernating somewhere like Mother Grizzly?

(If you ask me they can take all advice from this soda pop
fade and fizzly)



Written March 15th, 2016
For the Spring Contest Hosted by Catie Lindsey

Poem of the Day: March 18th, 2016

Placed 8th

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016




Details | Verse |
-Poetry Soup Kitchen-

Grab your aprons and spoon
Today we will not think of the stars and the moon,

Open your eyes, be grateful for all we have
Together we can paint the world
In any which way we desire

Let's give, live and celebrate the New Year
Poetry Soup Style
Happy New Year 
2015


By:PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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 | Lyric |
The words we use become pictures into lives
Pictures from words spread out for all to see
This is what becomes of our poetry
Has the makings of a montage to me
With words we complete many pictures
Pictures then arranged to fit in closeness
And so with our poetry I do believe
We create a montage for all to see

Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
It’s not enough to have a Dragon plus his penguins and pigeons, too?
Darn it! I had a limit, until a cute Cuddling Cricket found my shoe.
He was just a little baby, who saw the pigeons and decided to hide.
Now, he won’t let go of my pants leg; he’s definitely along for the ride.

The first time I saw him, I Eeekk’ed and I jumped, yep, about to pounce.
But at my response he sighed, and slumped, and he began to cry, at once!
At first I couldn’t believe it, so I pulled out my magnifying glass.
What I found were soulful eyes, and a face, so very cute, but sad.

So now when I stand, A Cuddling Cricket, comes along for the ride.
Yeah, he’s now part of the family… Well, of course! Sigh! I replied…
He sleeps in a cute little plastic bug box, with a matchbox for a bed.
But it’s hard to explain, to others found, in my life, which have fled.

I bring a magnifying glass, so they can see him bow so proper and nice.
But carrying my Cuddling Cricket around, does have a certain price!
Food stores aren’t very understanding, and restaurants, Not At All! Truly!
But the paparazzi seem to understand a Cuddling Cricket, completely!

He does have his own type of novelty as he carries around his blankie!
And he’s just a baby, who needs a Mom, and of course, his little binkie!
Honestly, I’m not kidding! There’ve been a few, strange turns, in my life.
But, if I have Trolls and Dragon, then a Cuddling Cricket seems, so right!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |
We start out this life all the same-
Looking for happiness while playing life’s game;

We search for another to help us get through-
For we think that’s the easiest thing to do;

We hope that someone else will make us feel whole-
But then what happens if they decide to go;

Do you turn to someone else or try something new?-
Where else can you look? What else can you do;

You can have another drink or pop another pill-
But that kind of happiness just isn’t real;

To life you feel like you don’t belong-
And you wonder to yourself where you went wrong;

Then, you look in the mirror and what do you see?-
A glimpse of yourself saying, “Look inside me”;

For happiness is purely a state of mind-
Something you must look inside to find…

Copyright © Sue Phillips | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
I live on poetry
Instead of money
Means and ends reversed
To alter the curse

Lifeblood runs thick
As stoic veins bleat out
Their passionate terrain

I will die knowing
What life means
So while money hawks circle
Chasing beer and dreams
I will float along
Making food out of song

Copyright © Justin Debrosse | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |
With flow and rhythm, poems can sing,
Music to ears: sounds are heard,
Euphoric eruptions it may bring,
Quintessentially spoken every word.

With words and lines, poems can rhyme
Caress the senses, soothe the eyes
In so few letters, through all times
Poems create images, soar the skies

Evoking emotions is what they’ll do
Fuelling the mind and inspiring as well
Metaphors and more and some even true
Open the door, let poet cast his spell

     Enriching the world in wonderful ways
     A poet and his poems: a pair that will stay

***

June 8, 2017 
Copyright © White wolf and Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |
My sweetest love hearest thou my advice
Let's leave for the garden of sweet paradise
We will live under a rainbow with cherries
Eat sweet mangoes and bright berries;
Build a cottage in its midst with a skylight
Bake gingerbread as the sunsets at twilight
Shower in the misting rain on our lawn
Sing sweet songs with the birds at dawn;
Make fireflies’ lanterns soothing our mood
The ravens will bring us nourishing food
The sparrows will build our resting nest
Oh my love—my darling, my earnest:
Together we will wish upon a shining star,
And from each other we shall never be far!


~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Revised 5/31/10
© All Rights Reserved
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

5th Place Winner - Parody Poetry Contest. 
Sponsored by Dr. Ram Mehta, 6/10/2010

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is 
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which 
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the 
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; 
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for 
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.

~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2008

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 | Light Poetry |
News Flash! Dragons Back! He’s the News Hog of the Day.
No one can print, without him, becoming entangled in some way.
He heard that there’s a new newspaper lurking, around the bend.
He wants to know… if he can pose as the new Super Hero, therein?

He’s already has a cape, and cell phone, so those in trouble, can call.
But beware, of his landings, he’s known to knock things down, even walls.
Still he gives a striking pose for the paparazzi, who always following him.
He’s been made a junior fireman, because fire simply, doesn’t bother him.

He saved a cat form Old Lady Moores’ burning barn, just the other day.
Don’t believe the rumor, it started from a stray spark, one of his, they say.
Remember don’t say that, it makes our little Dragon cry…it was the wind!
Our Carpenter Trolls are building a new one; to replace the one, he did singe!

Acorn Falls is our town; Dragon seems to have put it on the map, to stay.
Folks in town are wanting a name change, to Dragon’s Mayhem Falls, today!
If you want an exciting vacation, let me know, I’ll tell you where, it’s at!
Here are the numbers to call, to contact us, and we even rent hard hats.

The carpenter Troll’s are             1-800-555- Repair & Fix
The town number has become      1-800-555- Mayhem Falls
My number for a joyous write is    1-800-555- let it rip
To Rent a Super Hero Dragon is    1-800-555-Dragon Here

Just remember that if you call Dragon, Please keep the other numbers on hand.
There’s a free coupon given, for first time services, if things don't go as planned.
And remember, if repairs are needed, a free barbecue, can be on the house.
Especially, if that’s what’s burning, so be prepared, eventually it'll be, put out!

Written 10-18-2014

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
It was raining and all were feeling blue. Writer’s block wasn’t helping…
What was I to do? Suddenly… in popped the Possum of Possibilities!
Then a most peculiar thing, my mind had lots of ideas. Boy it did sing!
How did he do it? Do I really care? I wanted the fun, he makes everywhere.

He quickly grabbed our sleepy Dragon, who’d been spread out upon the couch.
And they soared above the rain clouds, grabbing rays of sunshine from above.
Well, do tell! Naturally, it was still raining, so he had hid them in his pouch.
Then he found Dragon’s selfie stick, when he got back, into our little house.

He then attached a ray of sunshine, where the camera would normally, be put.
Then, to protect it from the rain, to keep the little ray of sunshine, dry all day.
He put it under an umbrella, and for all in the house, did the exact same thing.
Now, we’ll all have fun, playing in the rain, as our little rays… light the way.

No more, Dragon flying around, trying to… fan those dark, rain clouds away.
He’s using that ray of sunshine, to get his summer tan, while adding his own…
Fire glow detailing to his scales. Looks rather smart. Don’t you think? Do tell!
Dragon is now splashing in the water puddles, and singing ‘Twist and Shout’!

His penguins are following, along behind, and dancing to 'Singing in The Rain'. 
Indeed, we can’t seem to get the umbrellas and selfie sticks… from their…
little penguin flipper, hand thingies. Oh well! If you can't beat them, join them! 
As ALL the town has done! Dragon’s the new Pied Piper of puddle jumping… 

Newly found… Goes to show that. You can’t keep a good town down! Indeed!
We’ll be doing ‘Singing in the Rain’soon, instead of ‘Shakespeare in the Park’.
Grandpa Troll has now mastered the art of jumping into one water puddle…
And coming out another… later on… somewhere along… down the road!

His new lessons on how to do this… Have now begun… So TAKE THAT!
Mister Rain Cloud!  Remember! You were the one to enter… Mayhem Falls!
Where even you can brighten the day, and where, even Mayhem can be fun… 
Now, if only, I could get you to behave, and leave that Little ray of sunshine… 

On MY selfie stick, ALONE! …What? He’s flirting? With me? Do tell!!!
Well, if he learns to smile a bit… He’ll be welcome to hang around!
After all… The Possum of Possibilities says he has more fun to bring!
If you come along… 

Written 7-22-2015

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |




                                   ~ Life Beads ~ 
                      In my pocket small words on paper
                               Like pearls on a string
                                             *
                            We follow a track, an illusion
                         The gateway to the unconscious
                       Never prevent your own happiness 
                             ~ Realize Your Dreams ~










28.02.2016
A-L Andresen :)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

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 | Light Poetry |
Dragon got to thinking… And that’s always a frightening thing!
One of my son’s went into the Army, so he would do the same,
He’d been told, Soldiers are our Heroes, and he wanted to be one.
So he flew right down to the recruiters, and quickly signed up. Huh?
When I found he’d done it, the Army declared it a legal, done deed.
As a mother hen, I jumped up & down; for those silly clucks, to see.

True, an ancestor was a knight, but he’s 2 year old, too young, to fight. 
He still holds his blankie and nappie times tight… it wasn’t very bright.
All they saw was a big, fiery, weapon thing, THEY wanted to hold tight.
Grandpa Troll said, let him go, for they have a Dragon, by the tail, alright.
You know! He’d be home, in a day or two; the Army had much to learn.
So to the Army, Dragon did go! With tears in my eyes, I waved goodbye.

Then the fun began! The first night they couldn’t find him enough to eat.
His tummy growled, so nobody could sleep, and his blankie, it was gone!
Hurry up and wait, was the name of the day, so not a good Dragon Day.
Nappie times were frowned upon, so Dragon became grouchy and tired!
He marched so hard the earth did quake, flew to the end, to finish his nap.
The sergeant, not impressed, KP, & pealing potatoes became his thing, so…

He fired and cooked them clean, then toilets got a blue fiery sheen, it seems.
They put him in the field again, to crawl thru the mud, with bullets overhead.
He was temped to fire them up, you know, but as usual, he was a gentle soul!
Tired, he collected mud & stones, flew & dropped them, on the shooters heads. 
Until, They were all out cold. Missing the sergeant by an inch. Ooops! Yep!
Here we go again! He was to police the beautiful parade grounds, but, then… 

It came out crisp, not green. Now the sergeant was getting mad, mean & lean.
But when he tried to stand nose to nose… He stepped on little Dragon’s toes!
A sight ensued as never seen! The Drill sergeant’s eyebrows and his clothes…
Disappeared. He coughed and blew out a little smoke! Our hero came that day.
Yes… Walker Texas Ranger came to camp…but Dragon came over and…
Dragon cried in his lap, then Walker got him to do his chores, right after his nap.

Walker’s not dumb, you see! And serving second breakfast was the right thing.
Dragon then did everything, Perfect and looking, oh, so, fierce. But then again,
This time Dragon did his poopy thing… On the General’s wife’s prized roses…
Not a good thing! So the TRUE chain of command, Declared Dragon…
A baby again… Especially, when he cried, cuddled, and napped in her arms…
What could the General do? Orders are orders… they say, And the General…

He’s no dummy, so Walker brought Dragon home that day. My hero in the end!

Written by Carol Eastman 1-29-2015

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
For  sure


Monsieur .

Copyright © Sean Kelly | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Then I Opened That Door…

To The Question: “How was your Day?” came this response…

The other day I arrived at work and found my chair was gone.  Oh the Horrors!
No way to rest at my desk.  I looked and scurried all about for it.
Someone said to just grab another one.  “Grab another one?” I queried?
I told them that this is no ordinary chair.  It was special.

It was the legendary Chair that lays the Golden Eggs.  And I did not stop there.
I had back and leg pain and someone named Billy Beanstalk found this chair for me.
He had gone thru his network of vines… I mean friends.
He talked to Penny Patty (middle name CowPie, but I digress).
 
And when she heard about my missing chair she had a cow.
No, really.  She owned a real cow with farmland to spare.
Anyway, Billie had the beans to spread the word far and wide.
It caught the attention of Penny and the cow.  The cow wasn’t talking.  He was mooody.

Penny mentioned the penchant of Ogres with flagons from wagons,
Who lived in caves by the waves. (I am not making this up!)
They loved chairs by the pairs and tables with strange labels.
This story should not be confused with dragons with issues.

As I was saying, Billy and I were able to sneak into the Ogres Lair.
And inside I found my chair.  How did I know it was my chair, you ask?
I didn’t put the label on the table; it was on the chair with the hair,
On the flagons were dragons, where the brew was true.

Billy and I will have to tell Penny and the cow about this.  The cow still isn’t talking.
We proceeded to sneak the chair by the Ogres who slept by the hour.
It wouldn’t be nice to bring the Ogres awake by the lake, 
That’s why there were waves by the caves.

So that is how we were able to retrieve my Chair that lays the Golden Eggs,
And I can finally rest my back and legs.
Really now, I did not make this up.  It really happened.
About the cow, I think the Ogres had one too,
 After they found they didn’t have an even pair of chairs.

Written by Hubby at the encouragement of Dragon and Wuffie Poo
Written 6-25-2015

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Romanticism |
Pursue love,
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.

We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.

My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.

Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.

-9/26/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

                                         The pleasure of life
                               is the happiness together with you
                                       I can feel the happiness
                        throughout my body as a wonderfully warm
                                   that spread pleasure in my life
                                      Love in every breath ....
                     Love in your eyes when you smile at me and says:

                                    "I love you with all my heart !"

                                            

                          * *         * *                
                        *      *   *      *
                        *       * *       *
                         *       *       *   
                           *           *
                             *       *
                               *   *
                                * *             
                                 *

     
                                                                             


04.10.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
If you are 50 and you are naked
Please
Make it a poem and not a photo
A poem we see your inner beauty
A photo we see out of warranty
A poem we see you’re giving spirit
A photo we see your sagging dreams
A wilting flower is majestical poetry
On paper is part of a suicide note
A naked mind will melt hearts young and old
A naked old man will scare away the scare crows
No one wants to see grandma naked
Not even poor old grandpa
But we will love her all the more
For chocolate chip cookies and loving hugs

You however my princess
At fifty x three, lovely and naked just for me
And I will love you to the very bone

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
I rode a star to catch a cloud, which told me, how the sky was made. The magic wand that birthed it, sang it into being; each note, danced it into place. From one lone star, there arose Gaia’s precious face; her fertile womb, delivered me, into life’s embrace. Miraculous are the heavens; the siblings of her kind; how they swirl and twirl; a square dance, in the never ending sky. When I gaze upon them; telescoping eye does find, that these celestial wonders, enjoy watching my own kind. The faces looking back at me; I feel within my chest; are no less special than I am; we’re all Gods personal best. Now you may think that stars, are much different than we folk, but upon you is the greatest, of all the cosmic jokes. All of life is energy; the planets are no less. Like us, they were all thought into being; just made manifest. The breath of God, is in us all; plant, animal and rock. There is no such thing as time; no ticking, cosmic clock. Perception’s an adventure; whatever you perceive; be sure your mind stays open and miracles, you will see. Just leap upon a star and ride; it can take you anywhere. Infinity is wondrous; you’ll forget all your cares. Come taste of the ambrosia and satisfy your nose, with scents of sapphire and ruby; your senses will be transposed!

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Pantoum |

Among my pleasures every day,
     though I am blessed with quite a few,
a time that pleases most, I say,
     is writing thoughts that come to view.

Though I am blessed with quite a few,
     one path I take to gather joy,
is writing thoughts that come to view;
     creating poems I enjoy.

One path I take to gather joy,
     I write the thoughts within my mind
creating poems I enjoy;
     here happiness with words I find.

I write the thoughts within my mind,
     a time that pleases most, I say;
here happiness with words I find
     among my pleasures every day.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: Happiness Of Life
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 04/16/2016

~10th Place~
Contest:: What Makes You Happy old - new poem
Sponsor: Royal Ninja
Judged: 07/24/2016

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |
Flowers dance to tunes
Of flapping leaves in mild wind:
Nature's orchestra.

Copyright © Suresh Babu Palani | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me

The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest

& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers

There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys

There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells  … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted

There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove &  Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search:  For Soup & Treasure-Trove

Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A  Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !

There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay

There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That  Sir Lamoureu Pledge

Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But  She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords

We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman

Part 1  of  2

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
***This poem is to all of my fellow soupers who have 
kindly and generously read my poems, and lifted me up
with your kind words and opportunities....you are all 
appreciated***

Tears of joy do linger
In the corner of my eye
The support that's offered here
Makes me want to cry

To all my newfound friends
on this godsent poetry site
Thank you all so much
You truly are my light

I was deep down in the dark
Seeking proffessional help
Then I came accross the soup
And you all read what I felt

Some Comments on My poems
Lifted my spirits way up high
I don't even "know" you guys
But still your always nigh

I dont need a therapist
To listen to my grief
God showed me this place
where I would find the most relief

I had to let you all know
My faith has been restored
It's a real tough year
But now I can thank and praise the Lord

He brought me here to you
From the pits where I was consumed
He knew you all would listen
And help me through this doom

It may not be much
But this is coming from my heart
Soupers, you saved a life
From you all i'll never part!!!

-Miranda Lambert-

Copyright © Wandering Butterfly | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
Dragon is such an adorable and, yes, kindhearted, dear, little soul.
But he has a few, very, important lessons, that he has yet to learn.
Like what he can do to help our the birdies, we feed in these tales.
Temperatures plummeted deeply down, as the wind blew in gales.

Dragon became very distraught as his birdies huddled in our eves.
Dragon loved them so, that he couldn’t watch them sit, in the breeze.
Their water became frozen, as they pecked at the seeds, in the snow.
So he decided to save his birdies from the elements found in the cold.

He gathered them up, rented a plane, and sent them to the warm South.
He thought to be saving them from a brutal winter, stirring here, outside.
But low and behold, his tired birdies came back home, the very next day.
They’d flown hard to get back, never wanting to go, come what may!

Home is what, this is all about, and the decisions that we tend to make.
And that we Can’t make decisions for others every moment of the day.
Yep, you can’t micro manage the world, for others, deciding Their lives.
Telling others what to do, that’s right, can turn out so wrong, not right!

You see, they were busily employed in building their beloved little nests.
But next, Dragon brought them inside, way out of that icky, frozen mess.
But they wanted to be outside, where their feathers protected them sooo…
They made a mad prison break escape, when Dragon opened up the door!

They needed to be where they belonged, as Dragon cleaned up their mess.
Now, even Dragons’ penguins went into hiding, fearing they would be next.
So we got all together, for a family intervention… for him and his friends…
All explained that they liked their lives, exactly the way, it has always been.

The penguins are happy playing at the lake; the birdies huddled under our eves.
They love the excitement the weather brings, and have work to do before spring.
Feeding them is really enough, and giving them the occasional water to drink.
For they are entities unto themselves, enjoying all that life can truly bring.

Dragon learned a lesson that day, that God has made us each, in unique ways.
But that didn’t stop him from knitting the birdies warm little booties to take. 
They immediately hung them in trees, then took apart, to add to their nest.
But what they really wanted was sticks and twigs that moisture never held.

The moral to my story is: Let others be who they are, offer help, don’t insist…
We were not meant to micro manage everyone else’s total existence.

Written  1-7-2017
Writers' Statement. A fun loving Fable.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
She, Of The Cosmic Essence
Aware Of A Power
Aware Of A Presence
And Aware Of The Need For Our
Desire To Rise Higher
… and Higher
To Our Optimum Height
Patricia … You Are Like The Alaskan Lights
Those Northern Flares and Colors In Cold Night 
Floating Dreams, So Mesmerizing
Patricia, Brings It To Her Poetic Themes
Such Are The Verses She Shares To View
And Reading Them, She's Showing You
Her Cosmic Essence Insight
Oh Patricia, You’re An Alaskan Light …
So, Keep Reaching, Keep Speaking … and Write !


For The Girl, Who Shared A Comfy, Snug Book Read
On One Of Her Snowy Days … (Via Her Poem- ‘Autumn’s Passing’ 
Also - Your Poem ‘Journey’ is One)
See … It Brought Back Some Wonderful Memories To Me …

                   Your Poet-Friend,
         
                           The  MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
I kiss-you a thousand times, a thousand times, and still I'm yearning for more.
Yearning for more-and still the passion that burns for ya is never enough as I
head home cann't get you off of my mind, I'm driving, you call just as I am about 
to open my front door; In a sweet and sexxy-voice you ask how was it (?) "If you 
could only see the smile on my face right now, is my answer to ya". you say: Bet
you say that to all your girlfriends.  I say: Only in my dreams is there ever enough
day's to incounter a night-like lastnight, "that's why I like lots of coffee in my cream".
Is she the one, (is she)-?..... the one I tell my mom about(mmm) she's the only one
that comes close to what Dad accomblished when he got caught by cubit's arrow when
he found you Mom. My mom reply: this girl most be something special. Happiness Illum-
inate's all over my room before the rise of the Sun!!!.. Is she the one???...
Is she (?) I cann't get you out of my mind, as I go to work, haven't talk to you in a few
day's, so I call you. you say: in your own lil-special way that You-too are having trouble
sleeping, (must be something in the milk) I try to make you smile: We promise to con-
nect later on, and as my workday finnally comes close to an end my friends wants to
go somewhere for a drink, maybe some other time (I say) cann't wait to be with my
baby the pain of passion has just begun. Its 11:00 p.m. the drive to your house has me  
asking myself....."Is she the one", "is she the one, you answer the door in a astonishing
neglige"..... The answer is 4''9 of all women....."Yes, she is the One"....

Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010