Poetry People Poems

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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 | 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 | Prose |
You came when I needed an etheric friend,
though I never knew you in life.

An angelic guardian I see in dreams.
You died just before I was born yet,
it feels like we've spent a lifetime together.

Protectorate, eternal spirit, arriving when needed;
an infinite connection.

Cartoonist that you are;
in childhood, I knew you as a giant panda bear,
my invisible playmate after grandma died.

You understood just what my
child-mind needed to heal.

Others only labeled me a,
“weird child”. 
You inspired me and gave me hope.

To you I attribute my imagination and creativity;
from you I inherited my love of the arts.

Now, astral visits give birth to fresh ideas.
Being an adult should never be boring, 
grownup or set stagnant.

If “faith is believing”, then I am rich.
I believe in spirit and soul.

Yes, you came when I needed a friend
and now I believe I can truly be me;
without the condemnation and judgments of others.

You came and you gave me…
back to me.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014




Details | Prose Poetry |
People make me smile the way 
their eyes shine when they talk 
about something they love 
when they feed me food. Or tell 
me how much they love me 
when I look into someone's 
eyes and see it I see that look 
in their eyes I see love in them 
When I see someone laugh and 
have fun in what they do 
The way they cry for there lost 
ones
When they give me a smile and 
tell me how beautiful I am 
People are beautiful well some 
are and I wish someday I can 
find someone who will look at 
me and say "you have that look 
in your eye"    what look?
"Happiness" 
I want to find someone so 
beautiful in the inside I can't 
stay away they amaze me with 
what they say an do how they 
will dance in the rain and know 
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a 
rainy day and just talk about 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Ana
She writes her songs and her poems,
not one person know 'em.
She listens to the sound of her music,
she's stuck to it like a tick.

If someone took the time to listen,
her true colors would glisten.
She's put on a mask,
and hid everything when someone asked.

She was the type of girl who would always laugh,
making you wish it would last.
She was the type of girl who would smile the day away,
too bad it is no longer that way.

She is now the girl who is depressed,
I bet you're impressed.
Since no one could tell
that she was going through hell.

Everyone thought she was happy, 
when really, she felt crappy.
Everyone thought she was having the time of her life,
who would have guess her best friend was a knife?

She spent her days alone,
she seemed to do everything on her own.
Never once wanted help.
Thought she could do everything herself.

Then the day came,
when she lost the game.
She fell apart,
and everyone saw her broken heart.

They saw the way she overreacted.
Oh, if only you saw the way she acted.
She bruised herself, scratched herself, and made herself bleed,
no one knew what it was that she needed.

They saw her tears,
and that was what she feared.
They found out she wasn't okay,
oh, she hated that day.

Everyone found out about her secret,
and she wish they'd just forget,
but she knew they couldn't,
and that they wouldn't.

She left that town and started over,
no one knew she went undercover.
She said she got better,
when really... something else occurred. 

She secretly hurt herself,
and walked away from help.
Everyone thought she recovered,
when really, she was undercover.

She secretly wanted to get worse,
no one knew of course.
No one cared to ask,
if she was wearing her mask.

Now it's too late,
she locked the gate.
Killed herself,
everyone had forgotten she needed help.

Goodbye cold world,
this was a story of a girl
who once loved everyone
then feared who it was who won.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Poetry Soup
Rare Group

Copyright © Tyesha Ehigiator | Year Posted 2009

Details | Limerick |
While doing my daily internet loop
I read some poems at Poetry Soup
Some souls were bared
Emotions shared
By a wonderfully talented group

So many unknowns are gathered together
Brandishing their talents without a tether
Notable skills
From gifted quills
Flocking together like birds of a feather

Whether mundane or totally bizarre
Through words they express just who they are
Some young, some old
Some shy, some bold
Each as marvelous as a shooting star

To the nameless owners of this great site
Thank you for giving our poetry flight
No longer adrift
Because of your gift
You are the beacon that brings us to light

Copyright © Dawn Drickman | Year Posted 2006

Details | Limerick |
A poetry convention is a wow
Our writes we endeavour to plough
We'll meet so many friends
To enhance writing trends
Our strengths are as thick as the bough

To my table I have decided to seat
Three ladies whom I'd so love to meet
They are favourites of mine
And they will be for some time
Their poetry to read is my treat

The first lady to seat is a gem
Her novels just shine from her pen
She's a New Jersey girl
Who makes my heart twirl
Her poetry flows 'tres bien'

The second lady to sit at my table
If given the chance, I'd surely enable
She's Maltese, she's Celene
A Mediterranean Queen
Her name would be beautifully labelled

The third lady who I now show to her chair
Her writing just makes me openly stare
It's oozes life's desire
It makes me aspire
Table Top Mountain, I wish I was there




<*> Not for any contest, but I thank Michael for the idea, ty <*>



Thank you Carolyn Devonshire, Celene Crescent & Wilma Neels for being you,xxx




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-16.php








Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
In the beginning God said let there be light
Then God said, let there be poets
Then God said, let there be light poetry
Then God said, let there be all kinds of poetry
Then God said, let the poets multiply
Then the earth was full of poets
Hundreds of thousands of poets
All in hot soup!
Poor God now
He can not read all this fine poetry
There are billions of them
Multiplying like the stars in the nighttime sky
Then on the seventh day
God said, I need a break, and he went to the bar

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Daylight fades, a city pulsates, and traffic is reflected in store windows.  
Hurrying headlights come out of the darkness. 
They crisscross like dueling knights.  People in the crosswalk scamper 
as if squirrels and streetlights leer gleaming yellow eyes, like watchful hawks.
The shrill trumpets of the charging gale force winds, rattle an awning,
and newly planted maple saplings bend and sway 
in random pairs.  Set in concrete planters, they hang on by tender rooted toes. 
Pages of a discarded newspaper are hurled into the air, 
buoyed on the steely breath of a frigid winter evening.  
Several leaflets scatter into the street and down the sidewalk,
into the path of one lone pedestrian.
He slaps away the sports page, that flies into his chapped, red face. 
Without hesitation, this castaway vagrant, down and out 
by the rape of hard times, will accept an offered dime,
from a passing man in a Red Sox ball cap. 
Head bent low, face hidden, a worn and dirty pea coat
pulled tightly around his thin frame, he carries all his meager belongings
in a large paper grocery bag, wrinkled and beginning to tear. 
Serving as his satchel, the brown bag, damp and worn, 
still displays big bold red and black letters 
advertising "Smart and Final Grocery"--"Located in Three Convenient Locations".
A city bus roars by, splashing through three days of rain, 
and a siren and a blaring horn is heard from the next block. 
The dark silhouetted outcast, stops for a moment, 
peers into a sidewalk trash receptacle, then continues slowly down the sidewalk.
A taxi pulls up along the curb behind him, and the attractive couple, 
dressed in evening wear, emerge, pay for their taxi, and arm in arm, 
enter Mario's Italian Restaurant, the brick bistro 
that sits on the corner of Broadway and 1st. 
It begins to rain again, and across the street people open umbrellas 
and like the afore mentioned squirrels, they scurry home to supper.
The lone man walks in the rain, his pace doesn't quicken, his voice never spoken, 
a spirit broken, ............ his sack held together by circumstance. 
A passerby takes a brief glance...just a quick, chanced moment, 
to take notice of "Smart and Final's" last stance. 





Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose |
I am a rock; earth, air, fire and water;
a child of the elements.
I grow and erode; 
my greatest strength is stillness; 
my voice, the silence.

I am a tree, a child of the elements.  
I grow and decay; 
shedding leaves and bark.
My voice is a whisper; 
my strength is the stillness; 
though I bow to the winds.  
Immobile am I; a conundrum of nature.

I am a mountain; a child of the elements.  
I grow and erode, by layers.  
my strength is the stillness;  
My purpose is a home for rock, tree and beast.  

I am a human, a child of the elements.
I grow and decay like everything else.
My voice is a gift; 
my strength is the still silence, 
where I rarely go.
Haphazardly, I run amok; 
relying too much on things I create, 
instead of my silent strength.

My greed crushes the rocks; 
destroys the trees;.  
My ego dynamites the mountains; 
poisons the water and air.
Because of me, the earth and her children, suffer.  
Wallowing in my greed and ignorance; 
my siblings of the elements, are dispensable.

I am a human, a child of the elements.  
I destroy because I ignore,
the still silence; my strength.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
This's the world of dreams  and 
reveries
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things 
besought me,
Is it a mere dream? 

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |
It is a sin for Gregory to be a miser even to himself accumulating infinite fortune with a half-bedroom to show for it It is a sin for miss Zane to gain special gratitude from her male mates. Coming late every night with a different driver, parading her flashy dividends as she becomes a model for fashion updates It is a sin for Sarah, not taking care of herself with her body becoming rounder but still feeds more than an entire Orphanage. Initially, a very attractive young lady but now looks like an Old sorcerer. It is a sin for Baker to be a clergy and at the same time a gambler lavishing in style and losing without remorse Hell will let loose if his sponsor is the Church's finance. Regardless of his anointing, he's still not beyond the people's wrath. It is a sin for Dawson to drive through many open legs as he jumps from skirt to skirt and acquainting himself with all forms of underwear, playing the bad guy who never gets caught. It is a sin to stay idle and observe them wrongly drawing conclusions from every action without minding their motives or reasons analyzing closely even while sitting from afar giving no consideration to the human Nature which exists in imperfection and faint stains. It is a sin castigating the weaknesses of others while overlooking mine thereby condemning the crimes I do not commit which does not make me better either. As much as they do not know where I faulter Judging them makes me worst than a sinner.

Copyright © Funom Makama | 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 |

A drapery flutters of sunlit glory With lustrous stars gleaming near; Hovering around the ‘ Pearl of Orient ‘ Where seven thousand islands adorn Tints of liberty, peace, and independence; Radiant in hues… crimson, blue, white Flaming the hearts of a race blessed By lush rice terrains and summer winds. O, a banner of smiles freely glimmers Through a homeland destined to imbue Love for all brethrens as it stands proud, As the harbinger of native warmth Offering comfort to voyagers , but Fiercely defending a birthplace’s right… Where one mighty streamer rides high, Guarding folk and children…Philippines! Judy Konos' Your Country State City Flag Country: Philippines by nette onclaud...7/29/2015

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
WHY
WHY


Why? 
Why, oh my soul, you perpetually 
Are yearning to: 
See the unseen 
Hear the unheard 
Feel the unfelt 
Touch the untouchable
Attain the unattainable 
Believe the unbelievable 
Think the unthinkable 
Conceive the inconceivable 
Know the unknowable 
Appreciate the unappreciable 
Express the inexpressible 
When, no heart of Man, ever able will be 
To understand the purity of your language,
Its honesty and grandeur
Unless 
Totally it is submerged
To  
Poetry’s divine depths? 

© Demetrios Trifiatis
      25 AUGUST 2013

(This is inspired by Eileen’s Ghali poem “Behind the Words” and was initially intended as a comment)

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Of writing she's got it, simply read her writes Lines flowing into lines her words delight Intelligence with aplomb, crafted so Viewing leads to smiles our eyes bestow Elegance via quill, generates, grows Each and every theme written by she Launched by her mind to every degree Outstanding use of forms I so agree Interesting differences, learnings desired Sharing others cultures, so inspired A heart of hearts, that will never grow tired .

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Tip toeing
she entered
mine lair
to leave the note
to visit
her sett

For the
just because,
I admired her
burrow

Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2010

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 | Quatrain |
I don't like nasty limericks.
I don't like vulgar words.
I'd rather write of better things, 
like maybe watching birds.

So many poets feel the need
to write such graphic things.
The art of poetry to me
is making words that sing.

It's easy to be nasty.
It takes no brain at all.
But I can't keep from wondering
where you get the gall.

My poems may not be 'genius'.
I'm sure they don't compare
to many other writer's work
but mine, I like to share.

No matter if you're ninety
or if you're only nine
you needn't feel ashamed to click
on poetry that's mine.

Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005

Details | Light Poetry |
Como’ Si’ Yama’, Senor’
Como’ Si Yama’, Por Favor’…
… for Below That Embroidered Sombrero’
Shone Eyes Like El Dorado

He Was A Tall and Handsome Hombre’
Like The Range of Sierra Madre’
…Now, He Sat Center The Cantina
Surrounded by Bonita – Senhoritas

He Smiled, “Buenos-Dias Senora’”
Por Favor, Por Que’ El-Hora’ ?...
If So, Have A Seat, Mi- Amiga’
And Mercedes, Bring Over More Cerveza

He Was… Rodrigo Reyes-Pacheco’
Best - of The West, of Vaqueros’
He Came to Compete in The Rodeos
And Win Fame and Fortune in Pesos’

He Came Thru El Paso De’ Tejas
Thru Dusty Rancheros and Mesas
To Ride on El Toro Rojo
Who Has Never Been Ridden Befo’…

La Viva’… Arriva’  … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’ !... Rodrigo

Now, El Toro Rojo, Was Dangerous
For Killing Men, El Rojo, Was Infamous
His Horns Had Pierced Many A Corazon
Ripped Flesh, Like It Was Piñata’ Hung

I Informed All of This To Rodrigo
The Hombre, Was Bent on Being Macho’…
… He Would Ride Toro Rojo, Manyana’
Said “Gracias”… But My Cares Were Por Nada’ !

La Viva’… Arriva’… Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero’
Champion Bull Rider, from Old Mexico
Vaya’… Con Dios’!... Rodrigo

… Now, He Wasn’t Loco in La Cabeza’
I Just Didn’t Comprehende’ … “Que’ Pasa”
But I Saw Rodrigo Atop… El Rojo 
… ! He Rode Like A Latino – Tornado ! …

He Rode El Rojo, To The End…
Then, Turned ‘Round and Rode Him Again…
Rodrigo had Won… Just Like He Planned…
Because El Toro – Rojo …   …  Was Mexican !

La’ Viva’ … Arriva’ … Rodrigo
The Brave and The Bold Caballero
Champion Bull Rider from Old Mexico
Vaya’ … Con Dios ! … Rodrigo….
Vaya’ … Con Dios !... Rodrigo o o o o o


for Ruben Ortellao... 
I Don't Really Know 
What Your Branch of Humanity is... 
(Spanish, French or Other)
But I thought You Might Like 
This Whimsical Poem...  
Oh... And Thank You For Your 
Most Generous Comments... 
(Cause I Know You Are A Fantastic Poet... 
I've Read Several of Yours 
and I Love Them Too...)

 (P.S.  Excuse the Spelling... 
I'm Spanish Illiterate (Smile)
MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Light Poetry |
As life has a way of letting us know,
There are two destinations of which way to go.
Should we follow our hearts and dreams?
Or let them flow away like a beautiful stream?

Who is really in control of here and now?
Your feelings are strongly beginning to prowl.
Professing your pleasurable inner cravings,
May not satisfy your wishful tastings.

To remain silent may be the ultimate shame.
Dare one say?.. Or should one dowse the flame?
With no intentions of destroying any life.
Oh, how struggles intrude to the extent of strife.

Perhaps share your mind and love will soon follow.
Allow the knowledge so we may indulge and wallow.
Will they be willing with their arms wide open?
Or will they remain in the life they have chosen?

The decision must find a way to be tranquil,
For both deserve happiness and bliss of ample.
All in due time will we commence that walk.
While minutes go by...tick tock...tick tock...

Copyright © Maggie Mae McAfee | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
A
long
lost art-
scolded by
female bravado.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
She smiled at him on the stairwell
He smiled at the man at the door,
He in turn said "Good Morning"
To the lady sweeping the floors.

She nodded at the passer by
Who then turned around,
And gave a smile to the little girl
Who was wearing such a frown.

The little girl started laughing
And simply passed it on
To her Mother who was with her,
Then they hummed a little song.

The painter in the hallway
Felt tired, and very blue,
Till the old gentleman said
"What a beautiful job you do".

If we would do this everyday
It moves along in stages,
When you smile at everyone
It truly is contagious.


Lynn Barany

Copyright © lynn Hanna Barany | Year Posted 2012

Details | Acrostic |
Poets sharing their hearts and souls
Openly and honestly with each other
Expressing their deepest feelings
Truly understanding and caring
Rights of others shall be respected
Yearning to offer everything we can

So much variety, the spice of life
Opens many doors of knowledge
Understanding others views on life
Provides us with each others blessings



You know not a day goes by that I
don't feel like I should do more to
show you all how important you are
to me. I love you all and I'm not
ashamed to say when your poems
are sad I cry, when their happy I 
laugh and when they teach I learn.
"Provides us with each others blessings"
Thats what the soup is! Thank you
"Team Poetry Soup", Michael

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Tricia Lucas-Clarke | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
Trust, Was A Bridge, Between Us
Now, Blown To Bits and Dust !
Scattered Upon Waters of Fear
Too Far Down, To Bring Near

Trust, Was The Bridge, Between Us
Tottering and Unsafe, Due To Rust
Its Base, Was Sinking and Cracked
Cables Snapped, No Getting Back !

Trust, Was A Bridge, Between Us
Used To Stand-Up To Raging Gusts !
We Could Cross Over To Either Side
Hold Onto The Girders … And Stride

Trust, Was The Bridge, Between Us
Repairing It Now … Is A Bust !
So, Can This RelationShip, Sail To Both Shoals
Build A New Bridge, With A Higher Toll ?

… Trust … Is A Bridge, Between Us
Guard It Well … This Time, Is A Must …

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
There are always those who say that you are wrong.
They are the ones who never stray from the herd.
They go to school and learn everything about life from manuals.
They write poems and stories like other poets and writers did.
They get good grades.
They stay out of trouble, but engage in acceptable rowdiness and fun.
They write and give great graduation speeches.
They become middle-managers, mostly.
They fold their socks and underwear.
They stay abreast of the latest trends and movies.
They quote famous quotes like they thought them up.
They attempt to belittle, passive-aggressively, anything out of orthodox thought.
They live their lives like lambs.
They buy big, beautiful things.
They wear shiny wedding-rings.
They drive down drowsy streets.
They form committees. 
They bake things shaped like commercials.
They invent rules for writing and art.

And

I 

Don't

Follow 

Them.

Copyright © Alex Roth | Year Posted 2014

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 |
What Matters…
What Matters Most…

… is Real Laughter
Not Lurid Echoes
Not Just To – Gather
But Staying Close
And Less Clatter-Chatter
Less Lies and Boasts
More Sweet Pitter-Patter
On Calm-Home – Coasts

… And Strong Rafters
And Stronger Posts
Preventive Measures
For Unneeded Dose
And When Bad Guys Scatter
‘Cause Good Guys Accost
… So, Need More Lone Rangers
… Less Alter Egos

And Real Treasure
Not Trinket Woes…
Real Pleasure
Not Powder – Rows
Peace and A Cracker
Than Quarrels and Pot Roast
And To Know Better
… Than To Just Suppose

… Happily Ever-After
Not Lost Co-Host
And When Love Shatters
Hate’s Glass-Frost…
… And A Holy Helper
For Human – Uh-Oh’s !...
That’s What Matters…
… What Matters Most …

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009