Poetry Hope 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 | Light Poetry |
An old man
A Grumpy bitter old man
Bitter face
Red nose
Wrinkled beady eyes
Scruffy clothes his best attire

Life has not been kind
So his bitter words bite those around
He lived alone, inside his madness
Leave me be and go to hell
His favorite expressions

The phone rang one night late
This is the Court sir, your brother’s son and family 
Have been in a terrible accident
Only your niece of four survived
When can you pick her up?

The old man was in a daze
What the hell was he being punished for now
Keeping care of a dam kid
What the bloody hell did he know about that?
"Well sir, we will be expecting you tomorrow, 9am prompt please"

Walking back to his flat, with a 4 year old girl in tow
Well the neighbors gawked to say the least
The poor little girl, tears and teddy, trying to keep up with grumpy
Once inside his flat, he looked at her with disdain
Said "Guess you be expecting some food or some such"

She nodded, as sad as she was, she was indeed hungry
He showed her the cupboard and fridge, milk and cereal in there
Help yourself, and wash the dam dishes afterwards
Don’t got no extra bed, so you sleep here on the couch
She nodded silently, thinking the world truly must have ended

Days, turned into weeks, turned into months
This little girl complained not once
All she could think of was her pain
Mummy and daddy were in heaven where ever that was
Why they left her was truly confusing

Friday was her birthday
She was sad and missing her family
Getting ready, she went to the cupboard for dinner
The old man said what the hell you doing that for?
She shivered in fear, he was always so so so mad

She apologies, sorry uncle Pete
He replied you sit your self down right there
And you be quiet you here?
Then the lights all of sudden went out
Bright tiny candles burned in the night

The old man, said, is your birthday after all
Hope you don’t mind these little cupcakes I got us here
She looked at him with new eyes
He turned, not quite smiling, no miracles just yet
They ate in silence after which, he said good night and happy birthday

The next morning even they really never talked
Other than who does what chores
Or how expensive she was to care for
She asked out of the blue
"Uncle, why do angels have wings?"

In his usual grumpy way, he replied
"So they get the hell away from us as fast as they can is why
This world is no place for happiness or angels get used to that"
She was taken back by his bitterness, still………
She replied, “but I dream on them looking over me uncle"

Well he looked at her, and somewhat softly and with unusual kindness
He answered her "that’s because you are one of them, a sweet little angel"
She ran into his arms and gave him a big hug
This was a very good thing.
For then she could not see the single tear the dropped to the floor

He actually hugged her back and with all of his heart
That day, a day for most people that was a normal day
Was for him and his little charge, a miracle
A small loving child, held that secret key
To opening an old mans heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009




Details | Light Poetry |
Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be well 
With him, for they shall eat the fruit of their doings.
                            -Isaiah 3:10


Though peace your soul is denied
But your heart seeks many a things well
Hear ye the word of the lord
"It shall be well with you"

Though sorrow your home reside
And thy pain comes with the day
Hear ye the word of the lord
"It shall be well with you"

When darkness has passed away
And a new day has come your way
This is what the lord had said
"It shall be well with you"

When the sun's sleep begin
And the stars are out in grace
This is what the lord had said
"It shall be well with you"

Though thy shame be great indeed
And your name has a date with pain
If thy hope remains in God
"It shall be well with you"

So a poor wage you endure
But an entrepreneur you long to become 
If thy hope remains in God
"It shall be well with you"

Copyright © Ingibo Benson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
STOP RIGHT THERE!!!						
NOT SO FAST….							
Just where do you think you are going??!!
Do you think you can just walk away!!
You have work to do.
Tighten up that Sonnet
	Tidy up those rhymes
		Feel the drumbeat of that meter
				…the juxtaposed delight
					….of sitting back and knowing
						     …..you finally got it……WRITE.

WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE!!!
You know you love it.
	The torture of the keyboard
		words tumbling from the pen
			the beginning
				  the middle
					 the all elusive end

DON’T GIVE ME THAT OLD SONG AND DANCE!!
Remember those first crumpled
				unfinished
					discarded
						recovered
							reworked
								polished
									failures

DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE!!!
Have you forgotten that first poem??
	The one you read to your dog?
		in a whispered voice
			as his tail wagged
				and your voice
					brushed his coat
						        with poetry.

YOU ARE A POET!!
Your words,
	like butterfly wings,
			gently alter
				the currents
					of the universe.


John G. Lawless
©7/15/2017
					

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
When you take a stand and say what you choose,
Without hesitation, or being confused,
Not holding a fear of what others may say,
But to say what you mean in every way,
It liberates your soul, by setting you free,
No longer a prisoner of insecurity,
But a teacher to others who sometimes hold back,
By seeing in you the strength that they lack,
Releases their fears and doubts that they hold,
And helps them now see its ok to speak bold,
Just do it with dignity, kindness and love,
Give all of your fears to our friends up above,
Don’t compromise yourself to collude with the rest,
Speak truth in your words and remain at your best,
If others don’t like the control that they lack,
Because of your strength to speak truth and talk back,
Let that be their issue, don’t lose who you are,
Keep making that stand and you’re sure to go far.
We all have the right to express our beliefs,
Our ideas, opinions, happiness and grief,
But we must allow others to do just the same,
Respect them and their wishes without drama and pain.
To allow them to shame you or belittle your voice,
Says “its ok I don’t mind” like you don’t have a choice,
And the more you keep quiet, the more they control,
Giving up who YOU are so that THEY can feel whole.
It just doesn’t make sense to allow this to be,
I'm no better then you, but your no better then me.
So keep trying hard to find that strength deep within,
And Let old habits go, so new ones can begin.
 

Copyright © Teri Hopkins | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
(it's cliché to admonish clichés in their entirety)

I. (love)

We are meant to live the clichés;
we are meant to resuscitate the words,
and rehabilitate their wounds
into a fertile viewpoint
where we build respirators from clichés
to filter the virulent dust kicked up
by the marching pigs.

(re-invented clichés offer back breath
in an exchange of circular breathing)

The swine contort love
into armaments of antipathy;
they push buttons, 
squeeze triggers, 
pull pins,
and aim where it causes the most damage.

Even though we are natural born hypocrites,
we don't have to let that knowledge corner us
into using love as a weapon.

The pen is mightier than the sword,
and I wield both;
I sharpen the quill on the blade's edge.

If need be, use the pen for a counter-strike,
but only channel love in defence.


II. (poetry)

The pigs march to a beat 
of nuclear blasts
that bring poetry's flag
nearer to half-mast.


Poetry should stand on its own merit,
instead of leaning on shanks that hide behind smiles
constructed with aspirations of popularity
that churn out lazy, aspartame-laced lines
devoid of accountability and integrity,

or leaning upon smiles filled with slivers 
from far too much fence-sitting,
too worried about the trending majority,
to see the complexity within simplicity

and clarity,

or

propped-up against degrees
while writing poems that are drier than the Sahara:
husks of lines tumbling across dunes, 
only to be imploded 
by atomic-pork mushroom clouds, 
their fallout marring parchment 
into a poisonous terrain. 
.

III. (dreams)

(revive, twist, and switch)

We must not fear saying "never".
Surrender to love, but never surrender
to the jealous captains who attempt 
to hook and net the defenders of Neverland.

With compasses of conscience
beating in hearts kept young,
navigate through the smoke and mirror-smog
emitted by the marching pigs.

(we must never give up on our dreams)

Dream about the courage needed 
to love everyone and everything,
including our enemies
who conduct genocide 
on the language of a purer intent.

Dream about word-seedlings
pushing through the arid rind
of dying poetry,

in hope for a more organic fruition
to grow in our hearts and minds,

so that poetry gains back its strength and vitality
to once again stand on its own merit.



07.30.2013






+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Like water that flows in a river
Time will not stop and wait
It comes and then it goes
And now will soon be late
The sun will not rise
And forget to set
Today will not stay here forever

Time was born and passed away
While I was chasing dreams
I never dreamt of
Dreaming of things that were 
Not for me to dream about

I didn’t know at first 
That in my inside
There is a seed germinating
Deep in the roots of my heart 
Where veins and arteries
Carry blood in and out

The eyes of my eyes
Could not see
The ears of my ears
Could not hear
The tongue of my tongue
Could not taste
The nose of my nose 
Could not smell
The mind of my mind 
Was uncounscious
As this seed
Was patiently growing

It was watered by tears
That couldn’t fall off my eyes
When I cried
It was fertilized by my deep thoughts
That denied me time to rest
The pain I felt within
Was manure to it

And now it has grown
It has grown into a tree
it has grown into a green looking tree
A tree that sprouts colorful flowers
And I am hopeful
Hopeful to reap tasty fruits
Of this seed of poetry
Sown in me by God

Copyright © Bojosi Ditshwele | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Giving Thanks 

In advance, I wish to heal the mind, body, and soul
Thanking all God's creatures
Coating all my expressions from-
-Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Conceal every worry, 
Focus on the goodness that fills my spirit with thankfulness
And, well, honored comments. 

This is a rich tribute to:
All Poetry Soup Poets, with grateful and appreciating hearts
Enjoy the time, you give each and every Poets

:)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Clouds hang low, muffling the maple-covered mountainside.
Fog rises from a saturated earth, weakly wetting a soft breeze.
Mist maintains the connection 'tween earth and eternity.

Within the gloom, where barren treetops scrap the sky, twigs green.
Hope springs with random bits of color to the opened mortal eye.
Soon, soon, a brighter pallet will appear, light will live. 

A gray day lies upon the wane and weary eye of morn.
Soon, wind-born blossoms wipe the cinders from the pale eye of sol,
melting the chill of fog and mist, warming the home of man.
  



First Published by Mused: BellaOnLine Literary Review 2015

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016

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 |
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 | Light Poetry |
The world use to taste like oyster's, and my hunger reflect the possible.
"Why I cann't see my shadow, cause my destiny goes forward, into the
Impossible".
Been out and about for too long, all within me are sad songs.
I can not see my shadow, trying not to look back leave's me
constanily along.
"Along to face the battle's, the battle's of, Why I cann't see my shadow's".
Its Been a long journey, this road that leads to homeliness and despair.  A
road without future endeaver, a road I wouldn't reccomment to noone, a
road with danger, a road were noone care's.
Drug's are not for everyone, either is hardluck. I wonder if tomorrow will
there be provision for all to make a "buck". ($$)
'Yes-yess..(yess).... I been so-down lately, No my spirit is of the sanity of being poor.
"Why I cann't see my shadow, cann't explain it, even if answer's of
crying to feel the world, is in response once more. Been so-down lately, Why
want oppourtunity come knocking at my back-door.
Not the front, no dare not make others think, favors is clearily my best friend.
When I am ashame to face the world today, my shadow will not follow me,
when I am weak, and excuse's are to no end, then I do see a shadow, but
it is the shadow of someone who once was a "friend".
The world use to taste like marshmellow's, and I didn't have to beg.
The job market was plentiful and so was happiness and worshippers to no bitter
end.  "Why cann't I see my shadow", there is joy at the end of the rainbow.
"Why I cann't see my shadow", are the pain in my life so severe.
One day I know I will get back up, One Day (when) it happen, maybe I will be
there to see if my shadow is able to show my tear(s)...









Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
Sitting alone again, wondering if you're okay.
being alone, i remembered how i wanted you to stay.
looking for something I can hold on to.
It's the pillow that reminds me of you.

Every time the clock ticks,
I would always find a way to entertain myself &
hoping i can do some magic tricks.
before i close my eyes & go to sleep,
every night , i hope, i can be w/ you for just a glimpse.

every time it rains, i would always go outside,
but i guess no one would like to hold my hand & be by my side
I touched my face & i was already crying under the rain.
will there be someone willing to cast away all this pain?

until now, no one would risk,to wipe off these tears.
The shadow of my past, well those are my fears.
i always want to hide myself from this world's madness.
I often feel that I'm inside a bubble or in a dark sanctuary,
where there is sadness.

I hope there will be a wishing star that will pass by.
I'll make another wish,to find the guy who cant make me cry.
i sat at the corner of my room, and in my hand, was a ring,
a question that even i cant answer,
"will i forever be waiting like an Angel w/ a broken Wing"?

Copyright © Marianne Nolido | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
Life has a meaning that nobody knows, like the past and the present everything comes and goes. your life is a mark that can't be erased your problems get worse and they need to be faced. you think things over as you lie in your bed your whole life flashes in your head. where did the madness ever start why won't the pain go away in my heart you ask and you ask when will it be gone, will the hurting inside ever pass on. no one knows the answers except one God, so just live your life to the fullest and try to have fun. because then you may find a love that eventually falls apart and again there's a aching deep in your heart. once again there's that meaning that nobody knows like the past and the present everything comes and goes.

Copyright © tiffany franklin | Year Posted 2014

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 | Free verse |
I have dropped my pains on pages of poems,
the ink in my pen treasures my groans,the 
quill is my sword, with edges sharp enough
to sculpt the perfect picture, the quill is the
only thing you got when those devils try to 
get ya, the only warmth when those men or
women forget ya, I bet ya a million bucks 
and yes it sucks, but poetry is more than
just writing, its healing, remedy of feeling, 
dealing with the worst of you,  quenched the
thirst of you, a doctor or a nurse to you, 
sometimes you  get delusions and think it
gave birth to you, as it pours on its immensity
of worth on you, that's what enchanting words
will do.



One day I gave poe to a dying tree 
now it has grown it looks fine to me, boy oh 
boy the tree said to me, if it wasn't for your 
poe in tree  another day I wouldn't have seen,
but now I have STRONG roots running below
city's a million  feet strong and a billion feet 
long and I can stand to bear the blues jay on 
my branches, with songs all day long, I wrote his 
song it went like this poe in tree poe in tree gave
ETERNAL bliss to thee, oh by the way, I am
the tree saved by poe in tree poetry poetry

Copyright © Elliott Bowe THe DrUnKeN POeT | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
                                         In this tangled web of chaos
                                        Trying to untangled my being
                                            Of this spiders lacework
                                         If my soul would just assend
                                              To a haven of order

By eve roper 11/2/2014

Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2014

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 | Free verse |
Shadiness adores you
Bleakness is exhaustin’

Now, I’m so fatigued and my volume is set way low
Because you tore me down with social media craze…
You were there just for the temporarily show…you know…
Buy me black and blue flowers for the grave of my old ways…
2016 – my pride and my weaknesses take advantage of me…
I'm in pieces, Jesus... let me muse on your past life...
I love you, companion. I appreciate you, Son of God. 

I close my eyes
Losing track of time...
I’m too young and foolish to be God’s Chosen One
I am nothing compared to a million men…

First of all, I was in the wrong…I want to belong…
My mistakes have put me at stake
I suppose I was being a player…a rights’ slayer…
I’m reduced to this bitter-salty lake…

Something smells fishy here…

I sense some conspiracy garbage once more – what about you get dumped, you myth 
What in the world is wrong with me?
21st Century – the fury it reduces me to is something peculiar to the highest degree…

I’m sippin' on the Lament liquor - cheers to that, lad…
Schizophrenia manics made me bust out in tears and fears – from past peers…

I’m a flame, hunted down like game…

Drum rolls…drum rolls… drum rolls…

On my knees…speaking words of wisdom from the Holy Bible...
Watching you swing on your last string in a daze - you're so damn unkind
CUZ you didn't let me know...
How to let go...
CUZ I can't let go...what's been done has been done.
Rapidly, I can outrun these obstacles, sneering at viciously... 
A crease of a wicked smile runs down my face...
"You can't catch me! Ha! Ha. Ha! Ha. Ha!" I said childishly

You’ll smell another scent of freedom
That's been eavesdropping on my violent, maniac-like, criminal battles…
Riding on my crazy caterpillar cattles…:P

Not all dimensions are fairies and flowers
Magic doesn't exist...or does it?
Paranormal splendor sanctify me with salamander swords (kind words that sting)

Diamonds seem to sprinkle 
I’m spiraling like tree branches… 

Misery monsoons made me a mistake in my madness…

Hypocritical lies you spoke to me once upon a dream
Hypothetical facts squeeze out the opinions that ruined my self-esteem...
But, we are...surely...on God's team...? Right?

I glance at the spiralling galaxies on your right hand
A pirate ship with a flag...is shown in the veins, beneath the skin...
Much...like...2 lands, colliding into one another...
You'll see another light side of me
You'll see another light side of me...

I'm on my knees, sucking on my thumb in a hundred degrees weather...

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
Burning so bright
With new found life
Released from his ball and chain
Out of the dark
And into the light
Flying… on wings of freedom again.

As he writes his life
His soul ignites
In flames of wisdom and sight
Brilliantly claiming 
His God given right
As his truth kills the evil ‘Black Knight’.



Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2006

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

Details | Free verse |
I can imagine : staring in the eyes of : Elizabeth Barret Browning
Seeing the " Glory of LOVE '; bring on the " Sorrow of LOVE "
The sweet outstanding " Black LOVE " of Edgar Allen POE
" Edna St. Vincent Millay " and I Believe in GOD'S Creation

To  sit beside Carrie Richards; Watching POETRY Created
To Live , In the mind of  the Teacher “ Carolyn  Devonshire”
To Understand the Language , as the  Great Master “ Dr. Ram Mehta “
To know ,FOREVER LOVE as the “ SweetHeart” ~ Linda-Marie ~

I have Forever Dreamed: of someday being a POET Laureate
How silly is my mind, when Emotions, have Died Long Ago
Words are Earthly : I can not understand their meaning, “PURPOSE”
If Only the HEART deep with-in the Soul  : could write POETRY
                                 “ I Could “

Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2010

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 |
hope is a dream 
a wonderful thing
like a kite it takes flight
and flies
as high as our string will let it fly
in the wind it twist and dives
but hold on to the string
by my faith i will

hope is a dream
a beautiful thing
like an egg lain to hatch
we wait and wait
and keep it warm
waiting for it to crack

hope is a dream
an expressive thing
a seed we dared to plant
we water and feed
and attend it's needs
till something from the dirt turns green

hope is a dream
a colorful thing 
a vision to be realized
we hold to our hopes
and act with our votes
to see our dreams materialized

hope is a dream
a mysterious thing
that most men say don't matter
but given time to pray about
the immaterial becomes matter

hope is a dream
a magical thing
with out it we may as well die
but beyond the clouds
and things that we see with our eyes
is the promise of a great surprise

Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
As i lay here in my waterbed
Many thoughts enter my head
Wish my mum hadnt garlic for tea
Making me cry and raise my knee

I hope my life will be full of fun
Laughter and tears for me her son
With parents who'll guide me to do whats right
Not blindfold me , teaching me to  be trite

Teach me right from wrong, manners do pay
A hug and a kiss will go a long way
Want to grow up Noble and proud
Pride in oneself and in my world

Meanwhile i wait, waiting for the time
When after a long journey will meet, mother of mine
Hope she will love me! my eyes only for her
My smile of satisfaction! my waiting is over

Am all warm again as i lay in the bed
Wrapped up tightly with a tum for my head
Dreaming of life as I am sure it will be
Full of wonder and  knowledge, for me


Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
I don't know why your talking like your saying goodbye ?
Broken wings I really don't understand the reason why ...
Your a nice person deserve to live happy long life..
 Don't cut hope with death knife..
Your legacy will always remain in my heart and in my soul...
I'll read one of your poems to cheer me up if I ever fall..
Don't write about your end just write about your beginning write it all from the start...
Don't cause a big hole in your soul from the death dart ...
I'll raise my hands and start to pray...
To you be fine and doing okay...

Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Every once in a while I lose myself
But I’m glad the dreams are coming back
I feel the thrill filling me
I feel my heartbeat rising
I see redemption rising in the days ahead
I still realise once again that I’ve earned another chance to begin anew
Still glad that it’s early in life
...and I can apply the lessons I’ve learnt before I’m twenty five

Phew! Boy, my heart’s beating fast
I shall no longer look at my past
For the past is just that
...opportunities gone with the wind, never to come back
I look towards the days ahead
I spend today to dream of the future I intend
For I know now tomorrow is bound to come
Today was but a dream ten years back
Had I realised then how soon today would come
I’d already be rich riding on the wings of independence
I pledge never to make that mistake again

Today I shall live like I plan
...and not like my neighbour Mr. Wright
For I know not how much he earns to spend the way he does
Today I shall not live like the society around me
For I don’t know whether they think ahead 
...of the days that are bound to be raining with storms of emergency
I pledge to live as befits me
I plan to live today in a way that enables me to save
For now I know I was right ten years ago
But I hadn’t the courage to follow a route of my own
Now I’m determined ten years to come...
I’ll be riding on the unicorn of delight

I pay no care for what those here and there may air
I wanna be happy today in my moderate ways
Knowing all too well I’m headed where
There, in the future where my heavy dreams will float in the air
I’m no hater so for the rest of the players here
I wish all the goodwill and good wishes my subconscious can air

Copyright © Wiseton Prins | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet |
Man is an excellent work of God---
His visual poetry or art, out of mud.

Being one of God’s many creations;
Man must not forget his obligations.

Thou, man know God’s everywhere;
And yet, he does not bother to care.

Either man lives by God’s command,
Or, he will not live in a promise land.  

Man must take this into consideration,
If indeed his heart craves for salvation.

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
THE ONLY THING I KNEW, BUT IT WASN'T SO NEW
TO THE WORLD BUT TO FEW, THOUGHT OF BRAND NEW
LITTLE I KNEW OF MY WEAKNESS, I THOUGHT IT WAS LIKE STEW
GOT ME TRAPPED AND INTO THE MOUTH IT GOT ME CHEWED
THOUGHT I OWNED IT, BUT IN REAL I HAD LOST IT

TO ONLY THOSE WHO'RE FOCUSED
THEM LIFE IS NOT LIKE MORNING DEW
DETERMINED AND WITH ONE AIM LIKE DORCAS
STICK TO ONE SINGLE AIM OF SUCCESS LIKE JEWS
TO WIN I THOUGHT I OWNED IT, BUT I REAL I HAD LOST IT

THE GENIUS IN EVERYTHING THOUGHT  I WAS
SIMPLETON THE WORD I USED IN REFERENCE TO OTHERS
KEEPING TO MY SELF AND PRIDE AS CHARACTER I WAS
AND MINE TO THINK WAS ALL THE BEST TO HIT THE CRACKERS
PRIDE MADE ME OWN IT ,BUT IN REAL I HAD LOST IT.

NOW LEARNED IN FULL AND  IN CAPACITY
REAP BEHAVIOUR AND EARNED A CHARACTER
HIT WITH THE ROD OF CHANGE  AND REALITY
BACK TO TRACK  FULLY LOADED LIKE A ROAD-STAR
AWAY WITH I OWNED IT,NOW WE OWN IT.

Copyright © LEE REUBENS | Year Posted 2013