-A poet in heat-
Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails
This part of you
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"
You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet: "Ink Never Lies."
Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Why I am here in Poetrysoup?
I like a seed carelessly thrown
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow
despite big rough blocks..
words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas
but how can I?
When will I?
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava of emotions.
Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:
'til a shoreline glistens
in the name of hope
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.
Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built
slowly, slowly fell to short.
Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
sleeping poems from my head popped,
teasing and tickling,
unafraid, I bite every challenge
swimming, soaking, diving deep.
Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...
I clamor to learn,
I clamor to move on,
I clamor to sing,
I clamor to run,
I clamor to fly,
I clamor to soar
from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love
I hide behind the mask of metaphors
I tease torrid with personification,
I sassy seduce using alliteration
I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul
Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate,
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression,
this you and I yearn.
Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!
Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.
Finally, my congested suffering heart
today, beats systematically:
gratitude, I can only inhale
smile, I can only show
prayers, I can only blow...
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
Each one is unique
Each one has a style
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015
I play with words, but I’m not sure why I write poetry.
One day I just felt the need to try! I write poetry!
It fills my heart with such delight. Oh, could I ever stop?
Can you keep the sparrow from the sky? I write poetry.
With pen in hand, I wait to hear the whispers of my muse.
Soon enough, the verses multiply! I write poetry.
At times the words come over-flowing; but sometimes a phrase
flits as if it were a butterfly. I write poetry.
I strive to capture flutter-words! They are so beautiful.
Amazed am I when I can’t deny I write poetry!
I’ll see a sunset, taste first snow, or smell a ruby rose.
Mother Nature I must glorify; I write poetry.
A poetess I call for myself as one who loves sweet rhythm.
God willing, may I say till I die - I write poetry.
For Julie Rodeheaver's 'What inspires you to write poetry' Poetry Contest Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.
I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.
I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.
I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.
I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.
I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.
I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D
** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014
We met in Valletta city on a fine November day
Introductions...hugs and kisses; we got talking straight away.
All agreed to go sight-seeing – architecture , harbour view
Made a stop to buy an ice-cream where there is a constant queue .
We strolled on and at Cordina’s chose al fresco to sit down
Next to regal Queen Victoria, a stone lady with a crown.
Drinks were ordered and pastizzi, which were followed by some cakes
Freshly baked and appetizing, all adorned with chocolate flakes.
We were served by cherub Fabio busy running out and in
Second time the badge said Mario, then we found that he’s his twin.
Jan and hubby soaked the sunshine, the Calluses hugged the shade
Those around spoke multilingual, a musician plied his trade.
We stayed there and spoke for ages, watched the tourists walking by.
Valentina took our photos; she is young and sweet as pie.
Jan and Bob will be returning in two years on Malta’s shore
Although Maurice has predicted it will be a year before!
They will then be celebrating married bliss with silver ware
All on Soup will be invited; this occasion is to share.
That’s a promise made for keeping – friends will meet for sure once more
We shall have some cake and snickers; sweet surprises lie in store!
Fun poem ~ co-written by Paul-Jan-Valentina on 2/11/2014
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014
A very wise woman once said I must write just for me,
let there be no other reason for e x p r e s s i n g my soul-
For I’ve l o n g e d for this passion to continue for eternity,
and at my worst is when my journal seems to be full.
LET my pen proclaim my adoration for only my heart,
let my verses s c r e a m my insight for only my eyes to see-
If there are souls who would like to t e a r my words apart,
then I shall sit back and let it go very calm and quietly.
No other can determine MY worth as a poetess,
I am who I am and happen to appreciate my benediction-
Tonight I will s o f t l y lay in bed and sincerely digress
on the meaning of what my QUILL releases without restriction.
I may not be famous or hold a popular moment in the light,
I may not be the best at every l i t t l e thing that I do-
I can sure be stubborn and I’ll admit, not always right,
but s e r v i n g my internal purpose I shall ALWAYS continue.
My pen loves to rhyme and my parchment loves my pen,
I’ve become a woman with whom has great worth-
Then please tell me why I seem to get so upset when,
I am condemned for what I WRITE when f e e l i n g at my worst.
I am a child of God who pours sunshine upon every word I write,
if there are others who don’t see the value in my words-
I will no longer be losing any more p e a c e f u l sleep at night,
and I will continue to write just for me, EVEN IF UNHEARD.
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: September 19, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.
So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.
I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.
Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
One’s poetry not always will unfold
beneath its author’s pen as some suppose.
And poetry one is to yet behold
might slowly bloom before one plucks that rose.
At times the lines come breech, the labor hard.
A trial of thought; a repositioning
of words emerging, offspring of the bard!
And then at last, the poet’s heart will sing.
The poet must write always, lest his mind
grow barren, for not always can he know
his muse will be there. She’s not always kind,
but oh, the joy, when verses want to flow!
1/8/13 For Russell Sivey's Poetry About Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp
Hey, babe, your style really sucks
Call that art, I have seen kids write better
Have some heart, instill it in your writes
Feel the moment, feel those letters
My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue
Oh, i see you have posted another piece
Let me read and determine my thoughts
Excellent shape and so true to form
This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught
Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness
The last write you wrote, has invited my see
It has clearly shown, your writing to be
Scope, shape and the form you have written
I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Staying near to light my way
now that there is no more day
You're needed to so brightly burn
before to black ashes you return
Flames dance high upon your wick
and fall across the well-worn brick
Like those flames once in the hearth
when you go out there is no rebirth
My mind alight with persistent thought
beaming from an inspiration caught
In ink my quill takes another dip
my eyes watch your melting wax drip
Furiously now my script does flow
to finish the lines before out you go
I can do no more, there is no time
my slowing pen can no longer rhyme
The ink still wet, not even dry
as your glow continues to die
Words on the page begin to fade
while creeping darkness starts to shade
Wax and ink overtaken by night
and devours all your candle's light.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
I carry our friendship in my mind
And like a “Welcome Home” banner
It warms my heart.
When I see flowers in bloom
I think of your poetry;
How your words paint such colorful,
Even on the greyest of days
They brighten my world,
Shed light on my emotions,
Lift my spirits, and give comfort to my soul.
We are kindred spirits in our love of nature,
The gift of children and the wonder of the
Animal kingdom, how it nurtures us in love,
Inspires us to want to share through
Poetry the beauty of this planet.
When you write of waterfalls
I feel the cool mist on my face.
When you write of trees
I see their lovely trunks and limbs
And how closely they resemble people.
When you write about the wayward wind
An awesome chill cloaks my body.
As you relate the power of the moon
I feel her tug at my emotions and
Her authority as she reigns over the seas.
The contrast of serenity and excitement
Abound when you speak of the sparkling
Stars, their soft glow or burst of beauty as they
Burn a bright light through a cobalt sky.
Tears of joy stream down my smiling face
As you describe the sunrise and sunset
In a rainbow of hues from silver to scarlet.
It leaves me breathless in awed elation.
Each season offers a new delight in what you write
And our friendship grows deeper and more
Meaningful with each creation.
When you write of love, I feel loved.
You are a blessing and a joy in my life.
I carry our friendship in my mind.
© 2011 Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2011
When you pick a pen and paper to write
A line or two, or poem you feel just right
In your heart you feel, in your mind you think
The best you will give, your heart and soul’s link.
So you let the feelings flow from your heart
Use all the words to form a work of art
You write down and smile, when it’s one of joy
Cry when it is sad, still words you employ.
So you write and write, till you feel it’s right
Then you stop and read, now it’s taken flight
The words you have written have formed a life
It can heal or kill, start or quash a strife.
Be mindful then, your heart and soul is right
When you pick a pen and paper to write.
31 March 2015
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
. . .
as a child I had an unwritten history in this world
blind, wailing and unaware, totally helpless
crying is all I knew of life at that time
deep in my throbbing heart a love was born
every day I was kissed and hugged by mother
full of wild mirth and infant joy, I laughed and smiled
gone now is that love for she lays in her tomb
hanging my head I write poems, pages and pages
in my soul I keep the memories from gathering dust
just yesterday, I reminisced a happy day of us
keeping the love from being lost, I write and write
look at me with your sad eyes
mother, I will paint poems full of love and grief
now and then, I gaze at the past with quivering tears
oh, and with my throbbing heart memories flow
past the clicking, ticking clock of life, I remove the dust
quietly, I bow my head at your tomb and let tears fall
returning often to clean the cold, weathered stone
sweet memories, memories, memories is all I have
till my last breath, no dust shall gather
until we meet beyond this domain of earth, I keep
visions of a realm where your beautiful soul sleeps
whatever time has destroyed, I must strive to remove the dust
xanadu, a garden lovely is where I dream that you dwell
your memory will never, ever, ever, ever gather dust, for
zillions of years from now my poetry will speak of deep love
February 26, 2015
For the contest, Gathering Dust, sponsor, John Lawless
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Mary Godwin -- soon to be Shelley --
Writing with Percy, Byron and Polidori
To create the scariest horror story,
Gave life to a monster of immortal glory.
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
I regret not writing you down,
You swam through my mind
Linking words and thoughts
With gossamer chains
That glistened with meaning,
But the kitchen can was calling my name
Using the voice of my wife.
There were skinned knees to be kissed,
Equations to be sorted out,
House rules to be followed.
Has the opportunity passed?
Have you flown, like a caged bird
Through a conveniently open window?
Are you even now winging toward
Another poet, a different writer?
I have the scraps, the fragments,
The word-pieces I had intended
To build you from.
I will try to arrange them so,
In hopes they cast the same shadow.
Like my grandmother’s smile
You linger just behind my eye,
Waiting for me,
Wanting to be released
In just the ‘write’ form.
Copyright © Christopher Reilley | Year Posted 2014
A love poem
How do you write a love poem
First of all:
You need inspiration
The best inspiration
Is a person
Or to hate even
Yes, even hate or jealousy
can be an awesome prompt
to write about
you once felt
Or perhaps puppy love
for that little boy with braces
two blocks down the road
from where you lived
Or even secret love for that
stud that never saw you
because you're that wussie
that nerd that stutters
So how DOES one write a love poem?
Never EVER use the word 'love'
it's a cliche
all critics in the world agree
on that one
also never use:
"kissing your moist lips"
'kissing' is a gerund
'your moist lips'
is a cliche worse than 'love'
Then how to write a love poem?
How would I know?
I've never written a decent one!
August 5, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
2014 Robert Frost Poetry Contest
I am proud to announce once again
I have had the honor and privilege, have had/ had
to be allow to line the trashcan of the allow/allowed
Poetry Judges office at Robert Frost Farms.
An Honor I look forward too next year !
This Year' trashcan liner Year'/year's
The Poet Frost
That poet lived not far from here
But I could not see, nor hear him talk
I read about His chopping wood
And Mending Fences make of rock make/made
I heard that he had pasted away
When many eyes gave birth to tears
I was only six, that fateful day
Now, five more score in years
But through the passing of the seasons
His rhymes and verses have remained
A guiding light, that I find pleasing
And as for this, I count it gain
I did not meet the man called Frost
But know him well, for words he penned
I try sometimes try to think his thoughts
And walk his fields from end to end
I feel his presents, while on his farm Presents/presence
Where nature speaks his sonnets so
With loving hands he planted words
Then stood and watched the poems grow
If I could only farm, like this
to draw from natures inspiration
Then writing poems great like his
Would be my cherished occupation It's no wonder I end up in the can
lesson: Never proof read alone
by JT Curtis
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014
I don't write poetry, I write little pieces
of my heart, hoping they will touch yours
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Poems flowing from my heart
Words filling sheets of paper
Feelings pouring through stanzas
Until rhymes make sense
Who says what should be written
Who says what should be felt
Only who writes knows the first
Only who reads capture the last
My words can resonate in some hearts
It can pass unfelt through the rest
It'll grow roots in someone's lives
It'll be ignored by the mass
And that's okay, you see
Because it's impossible to please everyone
I hope who matters will read
And my words will have a life of their own...
November 11, 2016
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016
Your love flows through my veins
like the Nile River flows through
the sands of Eygpt.
Love flows through my veins
like rivers that break off into endless streams
and water the gardens of the green stems
of torn covered rose bushes.
In my veins, you flow, as a sparrow
flies through the blue skies in beauty.
You are the blood that flows through my veins
and later settles deep in my heart
and embraces me with a hug of intimace.
Love flows through my veins
like endless notes played by the sweetest composer
along with his private orchestra playing a lovely melody.
Rivers, streams break off and flow into lakes and oceans,
Like my veins that lead to my heart,
you are always there flowing through my veins.
Your love flows through my veins.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
The talentless, envious, plagiarist’s dream
Was to find someone’s ‘Works’ on a shelf or a beam
In a Pub, in a folder, alone and ignored
As the author lay slumped and as drunk as a lord
Stealthily taking those coveted sheets
He rushes off home via dimly lit streets
When his doors were all locked and the curtains drawn tight
He copied his windfall well into the night
First thing next day, not long after he’d phoned
He went to his agent with the stuff that he’d cloned
Dreaming of royalties and acclaim by his peers
But for him it was destined to end up in tears
There’s some gentlemen waiting for him in the hall
(His agent had asked two policemen to call)
“These poems aren’t yours, they’ve already been done
By that drunk in the pub, who is also my Son!”
So, if you aspire to a literary style
You should write your own poems or books but meanwhile
Twixt penning a story, blank verse or a rhyme
Keep your hands off my stuff or be Shamed for your Crime!
Copyright © Rob Bettridge | Year Posted 2015
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.
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
I write all kinds of things, about my husband.
He does not have a clue, to what it means.
If he was to sit and write.
I wonder what he would write about me.
Thank GOD for poetry.
A language that not everybody get.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010
Love poems are not written by poets in love;
They are written by poets infatuated with the concept of love.
Poets write of their dreams;
Poets write with their imaginations;
Poets write of hope and fantasy.
Only poets who dream of love, write love poems;
Only poets who imagine ecstasy and passion, compose love sonnets;
Only poets who hope to love and fantasize about love’s allure, pen lyrics of love.
Poets who are in love write poems of butterflies, bubbling streams and blooming blossoms;
For, when you are in love, butterflies fluttering by fulfill your dreams;
Bubbling brooks of cool, effervescent water engage your imagination;
Fields of flowers in bloom with rainbow hues and fragrant bouquets are what you hope for and fantasize about.
Poets in love, live love and write about other wonders;
Poets dreaming of love; imagining love’s splendor; hoping and fantasizing about being paid a visit by Cupid’s arrow,
And, only those poets,
Write love poems.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2014
Shine on me, Sunshine
Pretty woman where do your secrets lie
Empty arms and stolen dreams
Your stares of cold pale blue
Lavender brazen fire moods
You walk into a room bold and without shame
With a smile on your face
Swing of your hips
A twist of the wrist
Phenomenal women you are
What secrets lie in the cobweb cavern tomb?
Your heart honeycomb of pain endured
No one can touch that beautifully cry
Your poems make me some what kind of discern and sigh
No one could mend and fill your worn out shoes
But you still
With a smile on your face
Swing of your hips
A twist of the wrist
Phenomenal women you are
By: Eve Roper 12/15/2015
A tribute to our wonderful girl Broken Wing
Free Verse is an irregular form of poetry in which the content free of traditional rules of versification, (freedom from fixed meter or rhyme).
In moving from line to line, the poet's main consideration is where to insert line breaks. Some ways of doing this include breaking the line where there is a natural pause or at a point of suspense for the reader.
I love the freedom Free Verse gives me. I wrote a poem on 11/1/2015 why I like Free Verse if anyone is interested in reading. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/free_verse_722977
For the contest, Poetry Writing #1, sponsor, Broken Wings
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015
I am a child in weaving poetry,
trying and trying my arms of bravery.
Hundreds, I posted to jail your eyes
to cease a moment; raise your vives!
Diving to swim in pools of poem challenges,
I plunge to learn and thread the verses
unafraid to anyone, competing from no one but myself!
A rainbow topics curve to tickle my brain
even sending triggers to unlock any gain.
Contests' title to the extent blow my peace
with the inspiration that afire my train.
It ignites me to ink water and blood masterpieces
though some of the rules crack my skull
but yes! YES, still, I am all enthralled!
A mile long smile I have if my poem
bags the top podium place
with my name only one on that rank
as if I have done a slam dunk.
This means I understood the rules
and satisfied the judges' muse
but if I plank and my name none at sight--
a little dismayed then later I'm alright
Those honorable mentions,
those N/A's, no place even,
that I don't really care!!! Bleh!
(smile with tongue out! lol!)
THOSE ENCOURAGED ME ANYWAY:
to write and write!
to inspire others!
to free my thoughts!
to soar on places!
to paint in words!
Never quitting 'til I gain some points,
adding and adding tons of vibrant hues
to slowly, slowly relish a life breathing write
with a hope that soon-- kindles again a good fight!
©O. E. Guillermo
01:00 pm, December 26, 2014
Sponsor: Jerry T Curtis
Contest Name: The Contest
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2014
The 100 Year War
Mighty and strong
Armor plated and ready for battle
I shall behead the infidel
I shall conquer the evil doers
I am a warrior
Both great and bad
I am a warrior, and
I am sad
Tears fall upon my sword
I know not why
This great warrior why do I cry?
I can battle an army and rise the victor
Yet I can not rise out of me bed
I am sad and lethargic
I am weak in the knee
I am depressed
To much sadness in me
Lovers a plenty
Conquered lands and treasures
I have it all
Yet the sadness invades
The depths of me soul
I give my heart to all that I love
I feed the poor
From the spoils of my wars
Yet here I am, I think a kind soul
Burdened in darkness
Depression is my hole
My love I know this seems bizarre
You have all you wish, a rising star
A Black Knight with honors flying high
To you I say forgive me please
For battles you never shall see
I lie down
In our garden of roses
Thorns to make me feel more than I do
For the darkness robs us both
For me to feel you
Good by my love
Notes: Anyone for has suffered depression, knows that a 100 year war is nothing compared to battling depression.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
Wind so cold.
Fondles my face.
The tears from heaven.
I wonder if i wish
to stop them
The little voice in me says,
Wait, don't go.
Stay a little longer. I plead.
Sing for me today, rain.
With the gliding rhythm on my piano,
Chilly Wind, caress my bare skin
with the pure coldness that you bring.
like it's my first time in the snow.
the fire tree never fades in the picture.
The yellow sunkissed leaves, too.
What is it about Summer and Fall
that I can't forget?
Memories. Sweet imaginations.
The chilly rain. The misty wind.
You are here.
Freeze me with the sharp coldness you give.
Calm me. Maybe, comfort me.
And, if you leave
Will you visit me when summertime comes?
Before it gets too late
And again I fold.
Copyright © Wendy Meyer | Year Posted 2013
Why am I here on the Soup I'm asked
Well then, let me tell you why I'm here
Firstly to enhance my grammar task
To learn about poetries writing gear
On arrival at this site, forms I'd hardly known
But learning I sure did from many here
Welcoming me to this poetry home
Let me tell you what I've learnt
That few words can say many things
So descriptive that images paint
Allowing lyrical poetry to sing
What do I want being a member
By doing what was taught to me
To pass what I've learnt on
Without tutors I wouldn't be thee
Forget the trials and tribulations
We're writing buddies first and most
Not even family but poetry relations
Simply guests of the Poetry Soup host
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015