Poetry Introspection Poems

These Poetry Introspection poems are examples of Poetry poems about Introspection. These are the best examples of Poetry Introspection poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Hourglass

Sand falls
Through the glass
Love falls
Within the past
Memories dance
They never last
Head in my hands
As I stare overhead
At the hourglass


Falling Down Stairs

Stairs broken
Wheels unspoken
I fell
Grasping for air
Are you there?

Piano Keys

Playing me
Rhythms dancing free
Clouds in air
Notes tossed in despair
Are you there?


Voices

Echoes
Broken wings
Wounded sparrows sing
Clinging to clouds high in sky
Chirping symphonies
Knowing not at all the why
Never loved…
Never loved…
Never hugged
In solitude wonders fly
No one
No one is there



In the Key of Despair

Tap tap
Music in the ear
Flowing freely in the salty air
Beethoven, are you there?
In the breeze, I hear the notes
My mind runs away, it floats
Pain drowned in the river
Limbs frolic on shores of hope
Keys somber in black and white
As I touch them
It conveys the fright


Strings

Choking, not me, but the air
Credenzas and waves
Washing away the realities
Of all your trivialities
Whilst I whither and fade away
Inside a musical symphony
Strangled on lusty desires
Are you
Are you there?


Sleep

Notes hither and floating in the breeze
I look up
The moon
My last breath
My last hope
My last wish
A kiss from the one I never met
The moon hides under cloud
My eyes in tranquility close
The beat no longer in time
No longer there
Where ever I am going
My last thought
Are you there?






Violins and Other Things

Distractions
Deformed from loves inaction
Teardrops falling on time
Rolling down passages
Where darkness does dine
Notes high, notes low
Treble as I grasp the clef
The conductor knows all that is refined
In the end
He shall consume the wine
As I, was consumed by time


Masterpieces

The piano full of dust
Brushes dipped in paints
Now turn to dust
There is a poem over there
In the corner
By the naked painting
Of my Caribbean liver
That cried and wept
Day and night
Night and day
When willows swayed
And the raven landed
On the sill
Of the empty room
For I am no more

Silence whispers
Are you there?


Guitar Strings and Clouds

I caress the strings of discord
Melodies shouting
Displeasure
Credenza’s and interludes
Wine intrudes
The senses squished like sour grapes
Emotions boxed in crates
I caress philosophy
As my garden sadistically does undress
Taunting the desires of my illusions unrest
The rose and the rain drop
Embrace
I cry


Last Act

Once was life
One…… tear…   one tear…… drop
One gasp of fear
Fate licking……………………… deaths ear








Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017




Details | Free verse |
              (For My Younger Self)



You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.

She grieves.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.  
You have lost touch with your muse, 
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer, 
more introspective part of yourself?  
Please do not say, never.

Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless, 
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.

Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost 
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace, 
write once more.
Write, and write some more.  
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.

Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !






31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place  -  What Would You Say Contest


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |


Wanting to leave a small footprint when  I die
I often ask myself that age old question "why?"
When the mask I wore is stripped away at last
Will I be just a pebble dropped in seas so vast
Might I scribble in the dust some sign that I was here
A word or phrase that might bring a smile or tear
Now that the days are marching toward December
When there is not but words, will anyone remember
A simple poet's cry; the chapter closed and done




Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015




Details | Free verse |
My shadow flirts with the sun
As I caress the darkness
We are one and separate
As my shadow smiles
Anxiety suffocates me
The shadow will soon fade
I shall die
One happy, one not

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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 |
Poetry

Is not the poem
Is not the poet

Is the observations
Is the emotions

Is the diversity. entwined
Opposing views always sought

Is the love
Is the hate

Is the sadness
Of losing to fate

Is the laughter
Of a child’s dreams

Is the love
That is sometimes unseen

Except by the poet
Who in his lonely sadness sees

The beauty of all
That surrounds the depression in he



In Poetry

I died
Long ago

My heart something broke
I became cold

I cried
For childhood days gone by

I died
A million ways

Now I write
From down below

Where darkness is the sea
That I sail in eternity

Of in the distance
I heard the notes of a symphony

So now as I sleep
A thousand deaths

I hope
For that one musical note

To wake me up
Heart and soul

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
I am but a dreamer
and in my dreams I play
where I live so happily
writing them my way
inside my illusions
where I know I belong
whistling a joyful tune
as I go along

Like a little spirit
I venture on the breeze
skipping in the gentle wind
doing what I please
with the rising sun I dance
wrapped inside his charms
across the golden morning sky
twirling in his arms

I can climb a mountain
or live among the trees
sail in a silver sailboat
on the seven seas
I can draw a moonlit night
ride on a bright moonbeam
and swim among the diamonds
in a velvet stream

I am but a dreamer
there's nothing in my way
living in the place I love
loving everyday
maybe it's a fairytale
but that's all right by me
I'm the master of my dreams
where I wander free

No one there can tell me
what is wrong or right
following what's in my heart
I live in the light
happy in my dream world
that's where I choose to stay
in the world where I belong
writing dreams my way

Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
Shattered glass
Broken promises
Loves untied knots
Black roses weaving in summer winds

We all will die, the days are duly marked
In the book of reaping angels
Who till the fields of human decay
Whom take what they can, young or old

Piano keys sound the waltz
Of the oncoming
Shaking fingers and smiles to deny
The raven will have his feast

The death of you is at hand
The death of me was long ago
Yet I still breathe, and you still smile
I am full of tears, you my friend are life

A life to be stolen
As we sit silently
Knowing my hands are as useless as yours
Later smile upon me, and welcome me over

I who have lost long ago
Walks along the shoreline of hell
Alone, no hand to hold
Wishing it could have been me

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Two statues of stone
On pedestals in the park
One male
One female
White objects of a perfections beauty
Yet they stood erect and alone
When the rain fell
This was their tears
The stared at each other with longing
The trees grew tall
Season by season the flowers bloomed
Two statues standing erect in the prison of life's hold

A poet walked in the park
Glancing at lovers, kisses at dusk
He stared at the statues above his head
He knew, with dread, the loneliness of stone maidens
He waited for the park to become enclosed in the twilight
With toil and sweat he did succeed on his lark
Pushing the statues close rather than apart
As one statue danced and the other one sang
They kissed the sweetness of night and felt the tears of joy
All because a poet
Wished them a lovers embrace
He knew them like they were his children
For here he was as well
A statue
In love

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
I wrote a letter
With teardrops from my heart
I walk the streets of Antoinette
My mind dances with Baudelaire
Love flutters as the pigeon’s wings on statues
I see them, so close and feel the emptiness
Like the cold stone upon which their wings rest

My wine glass is empty
Then full
Then empty
My veins are red like bloodshot eyes
I am tired
Confessions made
I cried

As I walk across the bridge of god
Over the seine
Notre dame stares back, am I insane?
Have I been alone all this time?
Perdu, in time, perdu inside my wine
Hidden words and lost letters
You shall never see
Tossed thoughts in salad dressings
Away away as the river decides to run

I look back inside black and white photos
How did I become this way
How did I become the stray?
Fallen spirit, burning heart
Completely and utterly torn apart

I stare at the Eiffel tower
A mighty spear, that pierces me
Into the million lovers of gay Paris
Angels weep, pain flows
The blood of time, the blood that becomes the wine
The pain, inside of me
For all the lost letters
Mother and father never did see

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I have always been alone
I have always been the lonely one
In the corner, quiet and silent
Inside of dreams to come

So with determination
I build and build and build
Possessions compounding
Wealth is the only scorecard I know

Now, it’s amassed, and I have it all
So with pride and confidence
I do what anyone should
I must purchase a possession of my desire

I read in the paper of a sale very fine
A Garage sale of many old antiques divine
Within it all is treasure so very deep
A broken heart of golden hopes

I am not sure how one goes about
Such a purchase, of infinite value
I am succumbed with depression and sadness
For all my wealth

I have not the currency to buy this heart
So I burned my money that very night
I learned, there is another currency of delight
I wrote words and music and poetic verse

My Snow White she refuses to awake
Even my heart at the bone it shakes
Vaso the empty vessel of life
Learned there is no currencies at all

To acquire a broken heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic monologue |
The handwriting became darker,
And I imagined your hands pressing upon the page,
Wavering whether to write your thoughts or not
Soon, sure, the wavering became conviction,
And in your mind you decided to write,
“Always yours”

Tears sprung from my eyes,
As convicted as your burdened letters

I condemned myself to love again,
How cruel the ink seeped into my marrow
To flitter and flutter upon mere words on a page
Words with promises, confessions, and affection
I could barely read through the gasps of my soul,
The screaming of my mind, and the bleeding of my heart
“Always yours” . . .

Do not inflict me like the plague, oh destroyer!
Do not soon crawl into these open arms
That would not dare push you away
I will love you till the days swallow me whole,
Till the light in you bellows cold with indifference! 

We are words, my corresponding dear, 
Deepening upon a page about to break
We are words, nothing more,
That are always, 
Always Yours 

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggle to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seek tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved 
(October 18, 2014) (Rhyme Septet)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
You all see a romantic couple kissing
I see a lonely lamp post
You all see the blossom of love
I see a fading light
You all see the spring of love
As I see the terror of another lonely night

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
I’m looking at an old house
Called home    by someone

I will look at any old house    new    or    old    but
Home is ALWAYS an old house

Old people open doors
Walk the floors

Old people light the candles
Decorate the mantles

And    the roof ever slants
So young thoughts may go

Sliding down    to settle on ground
In front of home

Seasons come
Seasons go
 
Cloudy    bright
Rain    or    snow

Inside    though
Home is    ever    warmed

By timeless ghosts
Of hearth    reborn

I’m climbing the stairs of an old house
Called home by someone

To open a door
Find stairs     and    climb some more


To follow the footsteps of some vague someone
In an old house called home
...............................................................
For Trudy





Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
My Guitar weeps
And not so gently
It strings together broken tears
It has seen my feeble attempts at love

My Guitar laughs
As I try to serenade
A song that lovers play
It strings together broken romances

My guitar sleeps
For I am not doing to well
In charming your heart
My guitar is bored

My guitar kills me
And steals my girl
They were meant to be it seems
They joined chords and sang

The funeral was brief
The music was good
Guitar music after all
Now they travel onwards

Musical journeys
With not a thought of me
With no guitar
As the ghost of me weeps

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
And He
my dearest
maturest mate to date
has bitterly regressed
to a child irate
from man of logic
to impish state
a hexer vile
filled with hate
while I don't believe
I've changed a bit
he thinks me evil
my mother split
as saccharin 
as the Harpie race
bewitching temptress
evil face
necessity
I do suppose
for his childish fit
to so dispose


Dug out of an old journal for John Lawless' Go Ahead I Dare Ya!!! Contest

Copyright © Maureen McGreavy | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
Whispering to be heard                                                                                    My lips touching your ear in the darkness of the night                                         Your head rests upon my shoulder                                                                    And sex never enters into it                                                                              I love you that much                                                                                        As a part of everything I am                                                                             Waves of light run back and forth be tween us                                                   Still and quiet there is no need for words                                                           But I whisper I love you anyway                                                                       And with your eyes closed you begin to smile                                                     If I were a cat I'd be purring now                                                                     Contented with who I am                                                                                 And thrilled by every blessing that comes through you to me                              To make us who we are as one

Copyright © Michael Ainsley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

A gentle heart

        So full of love

Yet no one feels

        It's worthy of

Their admiration

        Care or time

So I am left

        To barter rhyme

Matching words

        To arbitrate

The things I feel

        Be love or hate

So others fawn

        At what I pen

When deep inside

        An endless end

Crafting prose

        To coaxing sighs

While deep within ...

        A slow demise.



* SECOND PLACE in the "Contest 380" Premiere Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. *

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
Touch Me Touch Me I Wanna Feel Your Body!

Touch me touch me I desire your gentle caress Feel me, feel me As I move deep within Kiss me kiss me On the belly, all over me In the dark, in the dark I desire your sweet soothing words Your heart beats along with my mine My love is held by angel’s string So this is the night This is the time I wanna feel your body I wanna feel your hands Wrapped around me As I enter this world From the darkness to light Here I am Momma momma Touch me hold me Caress me and hold your breast I am the creation of your loves delight! Thank you Momma For creating another soul!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
As the wind ripped the leaves from the trees
I thought of you
As I stood there like those trees
Stripped of all their glory
Their only crime
Giving birth to beauty

I watched them fall
All those brilliant leaves
And knew you could never stop
Poetry in motion.

THIS POEM IS NOT FOR ANY CONTEST

Written:  September 14, 2014
Author: Elaine George

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.

Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”

Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine. 

Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):

	Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
	Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
	Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.

Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it:  morning, noon, evening, after midnight.

Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about 
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.

I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.

I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is: 
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited; 
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me. 

Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.

Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.

This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of  
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”


Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Where Are The Words …
I Am Looking For Words …
… That Will Give Meaning
To Meeting You, This Evening

And What Can I Say ? …
What I Long To Say …
Instead of, Good To See You Friend
And Oh, How Have You Been ?

… Such Polite Conversation
Is Safe Presentation
Nothing More … So Much Less
I Need Hunger- Honestness

Packed With A Passion
Full-Out Conflagration
Instead of A Shy, Dulcet Tone
I Wanna Torch-Talk You, To The Bone !

Use Words, To Sear You To Your Soul
Singe, Deep Inside Your Soul
Soft and Husky In Confessions
Words, That Demand Actions

Emotive, Elusive, Essential
Elocution of The Quintessential
Romanticism Expressed …
The Pleasure Of Your Face, Eagerness

In Bold Explorations, Evolved
From Virgin-Feelings of First Love
That Make It Seem … Like Last Night
Invoking Future Visions, So Bright !

Oh, Where Are The Words ? …
I Am At A Loss For Words …
So Many Things, I Want To Let You Know …
Instead of Just Saying … ‘ Hello ’…


              For:  Ismael Nieves 
Who Has Such A Passionate Style To His Poems
(and Also, The Little Joke of Big Words Between Us …
Hope You Enjoy This One Kiddo - Smile)

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
insight into my insides
find and fight 
blinding light on the inflight
while others fly blind
reaching for stars and losing sight

words can be a fake display of might
or be used to increase the capacity of your mind
search and find
no definition to define
the way you can shine within a single rhyme
change the perception of others in a single line
if you truly desire peace
than stop writing about committing crimes!

Copyright © Sebastian Aaron Baez | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
I walk through the life of silent dreams
A museum of sorts
I passed by my reflection
Not a mirror in site
I was horrified
As I stared into my face
No, no, I could not
My eyes could not view such horrors
Shut tight for fear of light
The journey was long ago
Where emotions floated or not
The soul fell into the sea

I belong to no one
Thus they say I am free

I belong no where
Thus I am in a prison

I float inside a bottle
Like a goldfish in bowl
Waiting to be painted

Knowing too well
The drawing will never be done

The wilted rose shall weep
One more time

For the face no one shall seek
Incomplete

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Inspirations
Expressions of the heart
Kindness exposed
Bitterness sits in the cold
Storytellers
Poetic wisdom's
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets dancing
Poets crying
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all

My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
With poets
As all of you

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Here, as I wander
Many roads, many paths
All one shall see
Is I walk alone

She appeared, like a dream
Like the mist of night
Or the fog of morning light
But I swear she was there

I reached to touch
The sweet taste of what was
I longed for the past
Yesterday, when dreams were dreams

I could smell the fragrance
The smell of morning lily’s
One could taste even the air
And feel the suns grasp of the day 

Such desires burn deep
Within our souls, should one believe
Or so I have been told
As a withering candle, my desires have faded

Tears, oh the tears have faded
The heart grows, only in  the desires for thing past
And yet the heart, sands of time, becomes a desert
The music still plays, and I still walk

alone

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
I set the table, place for one
Pour the wine, cork undone
Filet mignon, to perfection done
Topped with greens, and a sauce of rum

The evening sets, as it always had
A gourmet meal, aint so bad
I make a toast to the other side
As silence waits, I must abide

As I hold my glass
Of Bordeaux wine
I dare to wish but for one more thing
In darkened silence, the phone to ring

Soufflé simply will not do
There is no sweet without you
The perfect meal evades me still
The evening fades into a chill

Sleep evades my dreamy mind
And in the haze of wishful thoughts
Dinner was served
With a Kiss

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013

Details | ABC |
Alphabet Constructs 3 2 1

Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees

Bulimec Barbies browse media monkey banalaties

Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios

Dopamine dreams dilenate check cash desires

Echo endorfins eulogize bullet brain excrement

Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivoloties

Gonadial grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities

Helical hemorriods hinder senior stricken hemocraps

Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate post partem iconoclasts

Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers

Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs

Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies

Malovent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules

Nevertheless nightengales nourich ruby rich noonbeams

Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages

Pensive picses picnics lovelorny passions 

Queer quiet quintensials release rancid quotients

Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble reprocussions

Silky seafoam silohouttes fornicate frothy sandlets

Tepid torch trilogies belie beligerent tourniquets

Useless utterences utilize organize orgasmic utopias

Venimous vixens violate cruel.com visions

White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds

XY XX xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms

Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yeilds

Zen zealous zions mirror maginfy Zoneotones 

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013