Poetry Suicide Poems

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

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Details | Rhyme |
Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.

Copyright © Madison Marie | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Suicide Dolls

Tiss a maddening state of affairs
Why my lovers don’t gas themselves to death
Have they not the decency to assist my endeavors?
Is my future to be written in stone of no importance to them?
The public would breath and eat the words
Of all my little suicide dolls
If only, if only they would find the ovens
Yeast you have failed me in these dire moments
Let me rise above it all
With poetic verse
Sing to all my tragedies
My death and re-birth
In the gas chambers of poetic verse

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
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 | Prose Poetry |
I tied a balloon to my heart,
  and watched it float away
up up up
( 1416 days since your suicide )
  heading off towards Cheyenne,
( where you were a girl )
  slowly, foolishly drifting you down.

As you left, so have I,
  Like a figure cut from a picture,
  and poorly pasted back.
Among/upon the picture,
 but no longer, of it.

I shall put a smile over the hole it left,
  and stoically wait out this body,
  cueing up an "I'm OK"
  to club those who ask.
Hoping to not be damned
  with too many decades.

Because, I have learned you 
  have not left me.
Every time I work at higher math,
every time I focus on science,
every time I revisit the place
we worked together, 

there you are. 
And the hole my heart left 
turns cold and numb,
and I descend into (hidden) tears
and crumble into despair.

A logic bomb to blow a hole
  in my head, 
to match the one in my chest.

Love ties us together, 
  and draws me after you.

Wait up, dear.

Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I have found my refuge
in the arms of death
Take away this soul
the life I used to have
To live in darkness
in the middle of nowhere
Standing in adversity
with noone to hold me
This grief I felt
has tortured my brain
Great deal of misfortune
to carry this burden..

~Chrisna Vergara

Copyright © Chrisna Vergara | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |
Poetry stew.

My poetry stew has ingredients of goo

The ass end of a warm drink

The chaser for an anti depressant capsule

A five o' clock shadow 

A hangover and panic attacks

The tears of a psychiatrist 

Blood from the hands of an ugly poet 

A terrified suicide 

A kiss never sober 

New York City blues and a trip to a toilet after every drink

A friendly goodbye 

A stool at the bar with your faith written all over it

Cum soaked napkins that turn yellow like your dying skin 

Pathetic messages from people who don't know what you've been through 

My fellow punks and beats, modern day philosophers 

A strait jacket that fits

A functioning psychotic 

A poet with messy hair who hates his reflection

Get me out of here 

The lovely taste of a depressed man

Everyone gets a shot 

Everyone gets a taste 

Everyone can have a drink

Enjoy or be sane.

Copyright © Feo The ugly drunken poet | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Having another crisis,
and feeling overwhelmed,
Kim stared at the bottle, 
with all the pills,
feeling depressed and dismayed,
she felt she couldn't live another day…
Reaching for the bottle,
screwing off the lid,
she held her palm out
to catch a bunch of pills,
Sitting with them in her hand
on the couch, she thought,
"this is it," and was about
to put them in her mouth,
when all of sudden,
her door bell rang,
and putting the pills aside,
she temporarily postponed
her suicide...
Opening up her door,
stood an Avon lady,
saying to Kim,
"Hi hon, can I come in?"
Kim said "I guess so," with a weak grin,
Their conversation quickly turned
from make-up to Jesus,
Kim explaining to her,
that her life was such a mess,
the avon lady said she also
did Bible studies too,
and before she left
she gave Kim a new Bible,
her cell number,
and a scripture or 2,
Kim looked up the scriptures
and then she read
Jeremiah 1:5,
saying that God knew her
before she was formed
in the womb,
and then Matthew 11:28,
saying that if you pray to God,
that He will give you rest…
after reading those 2 scriptures,
she felt more at peace,
thinking maybe this was all just a test...
thanking God for that Avon ladies advice,
and for making her think twice
about taking her life.

Hebrews 13:2
This poem is dedicated to anyone who is thinking of suicide
and my older sister Patti who lost her son Joey 16 years ago to

Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dramatic Verse |
Who wants violence?
Dark dreams;
Evil screams,
Hold on strong,
The fight is nearly
Fighting to breathe,
Fighting to see,
It's hard to believe
this is me,

I never saw myself
falling to the
But in the end this
is how I'm paid,
Suffering from
Torn from fears,
All I know is that,
I'm not sure why I'm

Told to live,
But living a lie,
Stuck in a place
where everyone wants
me to die,
Hurt and confused,
Broken and bruised,
Not sure what to do,
But i Will fight
till I can't move,
This is what I must

Copyright © DaQuan Bowrin | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |
She once painted a picture of a girl who wanted to fly, 
Jumped right off the canvas and took to the sky.
Her brush nothing fancy just a dull chipped blade, 
nothing more to do now than watch her paint the page. 
She's an artist...
Ink swims through her veins. 
She could paint forever because she controls the pain.
She's a natural, 
watch the way the canvas comes to life. 
peels itself from the fabric as the blood begins to dry..
its beautiful, sickeningly so. 
looks just like water color as the paint starts to flow.
relief crawls over her skin as her painting takes its shape,
blurring at the edges and her hands begin to shake..
She's dizzy now and her painting begins to fade, 
this is her masterpiece and shes no longer afraid.
She's ready,
it all started with a paintbrush, a simple dull chipped blade..
nothing left to do now. 
Just to clean the mess she made.

Copyright © Wendy Boutin | Year Posted 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Notes: I am putting the notes upfront, suicide is no laughing matter, however, anything that makes it something that can be discussed I think is a good thing. Humor really is an aid to many an illness. Note the poem starts with a reason, when someone is at the point of suicide, there is NO reason. It is an illness like any other. Also inside humor  and innuendo is meaning. Enough said.

I went to the casino of love last night
I placed a bet on romantic seven
Lost all my chips, ain’t going to heaven
Broke me heart
Lowered head, I walked back to the car park

Next morning I woke up
Put a gun to my head
I can’t even win at Russian roulette

Need a change, to get away
Mending the pain or soul, some might say
Took a plane to Bengal
Ended up in beuruit
Walked right into the middle of a war or 2
Explosions all over, around me head
Thank god, soon I shall be dead
I saw a terrorist with a real mean look
I waved hello, shoot me, shoot me!!!
I am sure he would have given a chance 
But someone else tossed into him a lance
Seems even in a war I can’t make myself dead
Sadly I lost at even this deadly dance

Then an explosions tossed me sky high
Was i going to heaven, was this my grand demise?
No, I landed in the sea and just on time
For a cruise ship to save me, soul and all
Off too Florida it seems
Death sure has some gall

I was walking along a sunny beach
When all of a sudden two gangs appeared
One Cuban, one Mexican, they sure looked mean
Two gangs known as killing machines
Here is me smack in the middle
My lucky day, for how could I lose
Suicide was assured, come on, you know it
I yelled to both of them
I am DEA, and I think all of you queers are very very gay
That out to get me the bullet I wish
What the hell, they all dropped their guns and surrendered
I admit I was starting to be mighty offended

So now I have this Medal of Honor
For saving a community of drugs and plunder
I just can’t win at the casino of life
I can get myself killed no matter the plight

So back home I go
What the hell
I’ll fill the bathtub
And give that a go

You think I’m bragging or boasting of death
I am serious, this will work, why drowning for sure
What could go wrong? with such a fine plan?
All I want to be is a dead dead man

So yes, I fill up the tub with water and suds
I down some pills, some booze and some bud
I am drifting off, to my purgatory bliss
When I hear an alarm the wakes me
What’a darn bitch
The buildings on fire, ok I can burn in my sorrow
Except the bathtub collapses and doses the fire

I am a loser, this is for sure
They gave me Medal of Honor again
For saving all the seniors by making it rain
I am not dead, and I am not happy
Seems I can’t accomplish 
Even my death
Even this task I make a mess

Now I am curious, I have to ask
Have any readers killed themselves yet?
This tale that’s a mess, being alive is giving me stress
If not read on, it’s gonna get better
Someone I will succeed at this suicidal adventure

OK now a bridge I hear is a good place to die
Not to hard, you jump and say good bye
I can do that, doesn’t seem hard
So now I stand on a Golden Gate Bridge
Happy at last that life will be over

All of a sudden a huge shaking occurs,
An earthquake , oh lucky me maybe the bridge will collapse
Not to be and you know that now, it tosses me infront of a car
The car brakes and halts and honks its horn
Till it sees the crack in the road just up ahead
If not for me falling right right there
That car would be the one drowning in the ocean of despair

They jumped out and hugged me and kissed me with thanks
Apparently I saved an ambulance full of pre mature babies
You know what happens next, and don’t you go crying
Another Medal of Honor for me, a hero without trying!

What the hell I give up
This suicide profession is harder than you think
Hell I might as well go back to my whiskey and drinks
Live in the darkness, and pray that one day
Life has enough meaning that I wish to actually stay

So now that these ideas so dark and so deadly
I have discarded without hope, so now I will be friendly
I will join the world of human souls and laughter
Even if inside I still lack such basic character

No more silly ideas of death
I need to move on and make life the best
So off to the store, to get me some groceries
A new leaf I have turned and I confess to a smile
When I am crossing the street, I see to my horror
That I am hit by a bus, and finally no damn tomorrows

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Doubting the fire in your heart
Firewater to wash the tears
Laughter hides the rain
Witty lines to overshadow the silence and the pain
Missing Doubts, fired from life’s strains
Acting roles, never I me
The Big screen, keeping you all over there
As I play my own role, hardly can I bare
Enveloped in sadness
No letter inside empty walls
Fulfilled now, the dead poet
The comedic tragedy
Hanging up side down
Too tired, I retire

To the society yonder

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Have I?
Captured you?
Rapture’d you?
I stare at you
The moon at my back
Wine dripping as blood
Life dripping from your soul
My red hair shines and glows
My Naughty thoughts so sublime
I will devour you
I will make you
Make you be who you are
Make you howl like a wolf in the night
Pleasures as you have never known
Caressing upon your chest
My love, we have no time at all to rest
In peace, just yet
Do you see me, full of your essence?
I smile at our fate of the evening time
I know in the end
All the pleasure I bring to you
You oh great love will return ten fold
I will moan like a satisfied feline
We have accomplished what our tribes said was not
Allowed or possible
Hold me dear
Hold me forever
As we plunge
Together in the depths of love
And leave this world

Notes: This poem was all over the map, and finally I molded it after the famous Romeo and Juliet.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Do you sometimes wonder about your self identity
seen through your lens for suicidal risk as opportunity?

It interests me that this lens
evolves as we age.

In later adolescence,
we often look in the face of transition
from good nutritional outcomes on a small stage
about to enter more competitively sharkish waters
within a significantly larger landscape.

Or so I focused my lens in my younger lack-time of wonder.
Not sure why or how these same transitions did not also apply
to nearly all those nonsuicidal 18-24 year olds,
enjoying a more Positive Psychology.

But now, in later adulthood,
I more often look in the face of a potential suicide
as one with at best mediocre outcomes
on a too-small stage,
often familial, or lack thereof,
about to enter no stage at all,
thinking maybe why postpone this mortal inevitability
of decay and disappearance.

From younger suicides,
"What would be the point of continuing
this WinLose Game,
when we all feel RealTime drill,
you never clearly win
until you stop losing,
and you never stop losing,
until you stop playing.
Clearly I am about to lose
what I don't feel all that great about
ever having won
at others' expense."

From older suicides,
"What was the point
of taking so long
to end this rigged Lose to Lose
death-embracing game
called life?"

It feels like these despair and suffering questions
co-arise within exponentially more of us,
asking echoing silos
as our encultured Earth moves
into a new revolutionary millennium.

Given the now nearly inevitable demise
of our polyculturally and climatically climaxing
exterior and interior lenses
of healthy hope v. toxic pathological 
and monocultural decline
of ecological
and economic
and political balance,
how do we know
we are more than an overpopulating parasitic blight
riding Earth's mortuary-in-waiting
where Elders remind was once
a healthy regenerative place
to continue living?

Yet it is so important to notice
not only all despairing souls
jumping off roofs
but also healthfully repairing spirits
building polyculturally positive-deviant landscapes
of organic and synergetic opportunity,
cooperative networks of resonant resolve
sounding Time's dipolar appositional
issues of despair as opportunities to repair,
still seeking reasonable,
yet deviant,
hope for shared regenerational vocations,
with WinWin reiterating integrity
between Earth's adaption and humane adoption,
within  history's proposal and culture's co-evolving disposal.

No ego is autonomously responsible
for feelings or thoughts,
ideation or even beliefs.
So it is no one's right to judge feelings,
our own feelings,
the feelings-beliefs-ideas of others
as unacceptable or somehow cosmically dysfunctional,
condemning or worthy of global applause,
taking all we have been given
far too personally,
too unrealistically removed from comparative
and nuancing context
to discern how we might choose to carry on.

It is our responsibility and opportunity,
personally, and as a species,
to notice trends of suffering and despair,
compared to trends of multisystemic health diversity,
polycultural density of nutritional choices,
ranges of harmonic freedom and wealthy cultural balance,
as they appear to reflect
and not reflect
our shared experience to date.

Not to judge and condemn failures and despair,
but to praise our most regenerative successes
and love for equitably accessible hope
to include all Earth's cooperative economy
among our emerging synergetic Tribe 
of curious interests.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
I am a writer. The odds are in your favor that I bet you may be a writer as well. It isn't that extremely bold of claim. I type. I text. I make words. Words make me. Make up my inner most amazing molded version of myself.  
I write with conviction. Words are the convict. Perpetrated as is, words are like magic. Illusive words are. Words are illusions. Illusions may be a little on the wordy side. I stand side by words. Words stand as is, by me. That is super simple for possessive intent by a random you. I stand by my self claim of written evidence of many wordy phrases.  
I would, personally, in a social setting, find it nearly impossible to self compose a suicide… 
Why do I need to limit easy answers? 
That is just my style. Likewise I withhold little to every(none-thing). 
If I made it cut and dry then why would I waste our time in its composure.  
I'm busy so a summary will conclude. 
I write as personal therapeutic release.  
In the act of writing a suicide letter. I would write myself right out of that idea.  
I would just pull the trigger and leave a photo bomb of some (none-thing)  
Suicide all letters are not 26 and z.  
They are forever 27 and lmnop.  
Picture me writing.  
In the act of writing a suicide letter

Copyright © Ir0nic ZiNk | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |
I know a girl more broken than the aftermath of a bull in a china shop. She knows that her pain wont stop, so instead of trying to fix that, she only ever tries to make others happy. She puts everyone above herself and if life was a shelf shed be the ground. The most common sound escaping her lips is sorry. She cries herself to sleep every night, she has cuts on her arms as if too tally up all the hate she receives daily and if she could pay the bills in blood she would be able to afford a living. Lately all she's been doing is forgiving. 

	I want you to know that it's always darkest before the dawn, so if you have to wait another hour for the sun to rise, I will sit beside you with a watch and a red bull the size that two people need to keep them up just long enough to fall asleep together. If the weather is on our side or not, I will stay just to make sure you know you stay up long enough for that sun to rise. It's not a surprise when it does, and if it means you've gone a day without painting in blood, I will do what it takes to keep you from it another day. I suppose what I mean to say is;  

	Put it down. Just pretend its not there; let it disappear into thin air without a hair of a trace, because all it ever does is hurt you. those cuts mark the scars of your pain that will never fade. Cut into your skin, you don't remember the beginning, but you can find the end. Send a message to all the people that made you start, you're a work of art that just has a splatter; it doesn't matter, you can paint over it. Just sit down and look around you. You've built so many walls. You're trapped in a labyrinth made to keep people out but in turn you've locked yourself in. You can't climb the walls, all you hear is the echoed calls of your pain. 

	If you search for a while, maybe you'll find another face trapped in their own maze and you'll both smile; because it's comforting to know that you're not alone. Maybe that person you meet can give you a boost over your wall so you land feet first in grass. You don't need to ask, they're still there; trapped in the maze. Its sad how the price of happiness is almost always someone else's pain.


Copyright © Will Ayling | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
You say you're ugly,
You say you're fat,
You say you hate reality,
but it's not just that.

You say there's nothing good,
you say everyone hates you
you say you can't eat food,
I wish I could help you.

Because in my eyes, you're beautiful.
In my eyes, you are perfect.
In my eyes, you are wonderful.
Please take the time to reflect.

You want to die,
I want you to survive.
You're trying to say goodbye,
but I'm holding onto the knives.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
We sing
Dance in the sky
We form societies
To read aloud
What others dare not say
From Shakespeare to Byron
Poe to Moe
We sit around smoke filled lounges
Spewing words forth
Love, hate, Hemingway’s mojitos staring in mirrors
Whiskey permeates the air
Smokey flavors absorbed into flowing ink
Towards the graves
We always gaze onward towards the graves
From the inside out, and looking up on coffin roofs
The seas of depression like waves to surf
Some might say we any maniacal and crazy
Today we welcome a new member
Mork from Ork

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Heroic Couplets |
Keats’ Nightingale

The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism, 
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.

Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active, 
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth, 
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth. 

Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure, 
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure, 
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm. 

When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn, 
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety, 
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity. 

Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.

He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement; 
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles, 
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.

His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.

Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects, 
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects; 
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Romanticism |
Oh my sweet and beautiful Penelope
Oh how beautiful you are, and when I see you come down
to the pearl gates of immortality and come down to see me,
as we join hands and walk the shorelines
I see you my beautiful Penelope, she you who walks through beauty,
We shall join in immortality.
Your heart built of stone and paved in golden
you born out of the beauty of a rose and maturity of a lady
you are the one who never sings a depressing and low melody.

My Beautiful Penelope,
The one beautiful lady form Napoli
Oh, how you walk in such glory.
See me look over you and hear my heart beat
for you, I love you, see me for I care about you.
Take it from me, for I shall take you by the hand
and as our shadows rise to meet us in the morning
I can make love to you, then we shall love the night away.
My beautiful Penelope, as I take you through the twilight
we dream of shooting stars falling from the evening skies,
as we hold each other close,
take me and I shall take you and bring each other together,
and fuse us together with a sweet and loving kiss.

She is my beauty and I love her
she takes me by the hand and curels me to her warm chest.
Cares for me,
Makes me laugh,
Makes me feel good and uplifts my soul
everytime I lay my almond eyes upon her beauteous body.
My beautiful Penelope, oh how I see the glory in your blue eyes,
your luxurious, long flowing hair colored golden
like the rays of the morning sun.

Dare to care
about such beauty in her eyes?
Dare to care
about such beauty in her cries,
as she tells me of her suicide struggles?
I hold you close to me
and I hope you to be
my love for all eternity.
See me and I see you to tell me about you and your day,
as you come home and say,
That you love me.
And I shall say I love you too,
with a zealous attitude in my voice
I shall take you into our room and you shall tell me about your day.
You shall tell me, under the shadows of the trees, the houses, the red rocks.
I shall show you love in a handful of roses,
deliver you a bouquet of roses and violets,
as we see the breeding lilacs grow tall,
we shall lay in the grasslands and look up at the clouds,
that shape themselves into beautiful paintings in the glorious blue sea
we call the sky.

Oh My beautiful Penelope
my glorious maiden lady,
who sings such beauty in her melody
that it brings tears to nightingales' eyes.
My beautiful Penelope, you are my love
here are a dozen roses for you to express and show my love for you,
my beautiful Penelope.
Love is eternal with you.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Sweet were the days though too few in number
When dread was lain over all tomorrows
By those whom upon the Rod of Asclepius swore
Sending him to seek solace
And pass by unseen
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

A blue star burned cold upon his brow
In the darkness to proclaim his coming
To this place he claimed
As the home of his heart
To play his part in this most sacred scene
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Alone he arrived 
To no greeting or welcome
But gladness filled him all-the-same
No company would be kept
For this final thing
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

There were no songs in the Hall
No one to sing
Of loves lost or left behind
Succored and scoured
By compulsive dream
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

No proof against arms was his armor
Though many times it had saved him
Against ravage and rage of weather
Their service no longer in need
He laid them before him in offering
To the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Although weakened, quickly he kindled 
The first glowing embers
Coached them and coaxed them
So fragile and nascent 
Till they brought into being
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

His presence in this hostile home
Alone would suffice
No grief-stricken children
Or wailing of women
No beeps or buzzes of cold machines
Only the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

He dreamt of the First Dawn of his absence
And was surprised it weighed nothing
Against the many that he was graced to see
Contentedly he caressed them
Comfortable in his memory
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King.

His star dimmed slowly before the First Dawn
With dignity dwindled the last flickering flames 
As cold grew the King 
On his throne of Stone
Set free near the ashes 
Of The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Then Alpenglow burst the first rays of day
Round the only monument 
To a life lived like lightning burst forth from the storm
So proud stood the peak 
Glad alone to have seen
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King

Copyright © Shaun Herron | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Pain became my friend today
She showed me how to hide
She’d been watching from a distance
Every tear I cried

Pain became my friend today
Reached out her hand to me
Then pulled me into darkness
Introducing misery

Pain became my friend today
Emptying my heart
She’s now my constant companion
Tearing me apart

Pain became my friend today
She isolates my soul
Now without her I am nothing
In her I’m consoled

Pain became my friend today
When she saw me kneel down and cry
Then she lay down right next to me
To kiss my joy good-bye

Pain became my friend today
She introduced me to the sorrow
Who showed me how to dwell in agony
And fear the break of tomorrow

Pain became my friend today
Making my heart cold
Pain became my friend today
The only hand I hold

Written by Shannen Wrass
Copyright © 1995 Shannen Wrass. All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Shannen Wrass | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
She thought that he’s charming
Her friends says he is so cute
But little did they know
It’s the furthest from the truth

Her mom buys her a new dress
Because he ask her to the prom
But during the fun and laughter
He spikes her punch with rum

She wakes up in his BMW
He,s smiling with a cigarette
A morning she will remember
A night to forget

She can’t stop crying
She lies on her bed
Feeling hurt and disgusted
Suicide thoughts comes to her head

Her mom notice the changes
But she don’t know what is wrong
She use to sing in the church choir
The preacher says she stops coming around

She hugs her mother last night
Then walks out the door alone
And its now early morning
She didn’t come back home

She jumps over the bridge
They pull her body soaking wet
She couldn’t live with the memory
Of the night she can’t forget

It’s sad that her young life was ruin
By the evil that lays hidden behind a smile
Her mother life is shattered
Never knowing what happen to her child

This is happening to innocent girls
All over the world
Taking away their dignity and pride
Sucking the life out of their very soul

Another girl sits under a tree
Reading a book of poem by kaz ishmael
He said “excuse me just got to say
That you have a beautiful smile

She brushes her long hair
Think her jeans didn’t fit to right
His BMW is waiting out side
They are going to movies tonight

Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2013

Details | Personification |
Titbit scars to feed emotions crimson;
In Her gloomy heart by her wet season.
As Her solstice endorses a greasing red,
She revels off a goad instead...

To each bliss cusp she gladly deflowers,
I cavort rue to each rose's hour;
As fingertips writhe in snow-white flesh
the sate of Love's cappella caress...

My emotions ascend to a God with black wings,
And soon this soul taken from pentacle rings.

But first I am descending before Her throne,
Her chest still racks that abyssal stone!
Prurient crucifixion of an annulled witch hunt.
Nascent Shangri to Her mire c*nt.

Her emotions strong enough to splendour fires,
This libertine forges Her foreplay desires.
Taken of the pulpit by a tyrant crevasse,
Splay out on an Oratory's cerise glass.

As she leers like the silver Moon...

I sprawl to Her with greatest tempt,
Only for me to feel contempt!
I scream ''You are my salvator'' as,
Blood pours where my sanguinary blade caress...

Copyright © Jimmy Brouwers | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
You see it’s complicated.
Just because his bones aren’t crumbling before your eyes,
And his organs are still vaguely breathing,
Well appear to be intact.
It must mean he’s fine, normal in fact.

Just because his skin isn’t blue and grey all over,
And his head isn’t spinning,
The voices still get to him.
Deep down beyond all the self-motivation talks
He still struggles to admit he’s wrong

Just because he can’t put himself through this for much longer,
the toil and torment you see in the news,
In front of your deluded eyes and mind,
this doesn’t reveal,
the secrets to your fogged mind.

You see, he’s not the stereotype, the typical
That society has taught you to look out for
And sympathize.
You’ve been hypnotized to call out 
“He’s just attention seeking”
When in actual fact
The cuts on his arms, are symbols of what’s wrong with the world.

You can’t see his ribs piercing though his dead, flimsy skin
The only visible damage is 
the blood stains on the floor
and the bloody razor blade 
shining under the expectations of his family 

You can’t hear his brain and body,
Working together, in conjunction,
Like a duet,
To slowly kill him off from this cruel world,
This cruel, judgmental society.
That we are forced to proceed to
This agenda of hatred
To leave no trace, of his sorry existence
To you he’s fine.
This is his normal.

Copyright © Gabby Dichello | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.

Copyright © Jewels Chavira | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
A bead of red rolls down my arm,
an eloquent prayer, a scream.
Alive in a way the arm is not
coming awake in a dream.

A drop of swirling living cells,
abandoning a foundered host,
drawing a line on the curve of meat,
segregating machine from ghost.

Cousins drop from a fluttering lid,
another line following a tear,
rolling along a wrinkly nose,
washing away horror, sorrow and fear.

life turned liquid
flesh to dust
aspirations unmet
iron will to rust


[ caught between galaxy and quark
a trivial flame in the dark
nothing cares that a mind was here
the flicker of a trivial spark ]


[ as my eyes dim, and drop finds drop
your voice, Erin, fills my mind
your hand reaching out to help me forth
horror sorror fear left behind ]

Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
Your symphony cut short. 
My heart rings with the tension 
of your unresolved fugues. 

Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
We don’t know what tomorrow brings
So we just can’t speculate
And it will make no sense
For us to just sit down and wait

The love we found today
We both know it’s real and true
All love with face some obstacles’
But love will always make it through

Some people will try to hold back
What they are feeling in their heart
When they know this love is a fairy tale
Romance Right from the very start

We are worrying about the future
Bout the unknown is like a blank page
But god can close the curtains anytime
Down on any one’s stage

I know a man who loves woman
He falls for her heart and soul
And his parents says it’s crazy
He’s too young and she’s too old

So they stop them from getting marry
Causing years of pain and sorrow
While driving he got in accident today
And they will bury him tomorrow

And the wound in her heart won’t stop bleeding
And every breathe she wish was the last she take
A little boy calls his dad, saying look, look ,dad
And they found her body floating in the lake

His parents was worried bout the future
Although they know it was unknown
But still they plant the seeds of pain
Now look what it has grown

Why didn’t they let them be together?
For today all that remains is sorrow
For trying to change the course of true love
They have taken away their tomorrow

For today they would have been married
And build a happy home of love
But now they are two lost souls
Forever roaming the world above

Some times one year of happiness
Is worth 100 years of being alone
For as long as two hearts are true
Forever the flowers of love will bloom

And as long as there are stars in the sky
And the waves must come to the shore
People of all different ages
Will be falling in love forever more

But what if tomorrow never comes
And you let today go
Then the real magic of true love
You will never get to know

Copyright © kasim ishmael | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
You see her?
Why don't go be like her?
No one likes you,
so this is what you must do.

You must stop being yourself,
get off of you shelf.
You must please everyone,
to do that, you must be number one.

She's the perfect girl,
you're the no one in the world.
So go ahead, and give yourself away,
since you're going the wrong way.

You are no longer you,
see what you can do.
You are now her,
that's better than what you ever were.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013