Writing Adventure Poems

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Details | Alliteration |
~STRIP TEASE~     Featuring:) SKAT

Silver Skimpy Ink, String, A POET DESTROYER's bling, bling
Think of me as a human ditty delicious decoration,
Something along the line of a sweet tooth temptation
Cherry tastes, between the slit of tender toast 
Fine jumble jam slams down the tongueless throat 
Dance like a diamond on The tight South Pacific Rim
I'll feed you with a slithering seductive sound
My hair soaking, -wet and wild, tonight I trim
A dulcet apple acrostic bottom, to squeeze the greed
Feathers, on top, poetic diction describing to please
At times, I'm in deep dire need of something sweet, and sour 
Endless epic words, and ode to the naked poetic world
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, the freaking awesome
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)

---

Symbol of the spiritual Sexy SKAT Slang
--Provocative-- A slippery succulent, scrumptious kiss 
Counterparts working the tension, another arrant appetite
I am the Illuminati illusion, laminating luscious illustrated letters  
Indulging in the, satire of one stilt spoken sunset
Like a child's spiking temperature, I often throw tantrums, 
Teasing attentions, by incorporating a pole, paper and pen, 
If someone is uncomfortable with facing the fact, 
When I reveal everything, without removing my high heels
Then you must not be worldly or women and man enough 
I love to spoil and slur my scenery, using my best assets
My strength and power parallel, any unique universe 
That's how confident the audience makes me feel
We The Women and Men of poetry,
Reveals far more than any nudity found in a bar
It does not matter how you do it or who you are.
I'm an entertainer, of Poetry, 
The good, the bad, fantastic and fabulous
Don't worry, I keep my clothe On :)


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014




Details | Dramatic Verse |
I often sit for long periods of time
hoping the perfect beginning will come to me.
To write a poem that starts with a pristine Capital
leaving readers with great expectations.

But after much torment, with not a fleck of gold in sight,
it's comes to my attention
that much like life, How it Began
isn't half as important as How it Finishes,

(And neither as important
as How it Is in the Present)

That's how it was, in any case,
when the landlord dropped the news
that sunny Idahoan morn;

It was a time for a change, they all said in unison:
my sister, my brother, my mother ---
And like the sweetest melancholy, I couldn't help but agree,

For I knew no matter where I went
I'd always have poetry ...

(but now it seems she has alluded me)

Through 2,500 miles and 9 states;
through a million and a half brand new things 

... and yet

Inspiration refuses to sing.
As I sit here in suspense
for that metaphorical gravy train,
wondering when the words
will start flowing again.

Will it be like it was before,
when it comes to me?
Ears perked to the extreme
with expectations of a symphony?

When it comes to me ...

Will they laugh? Will they cry?
Will my words come across
like softest lullaby?

Because sometimes our muse just up and leaves,
we wonder why.
But no my most cherished friends,
we mustn't cry,

for it's been a great adventure,
has it not?

Remember the words of Dr. Seuss:
Don't be sad that it's over,
Smile that it happened.

Though words were once putty in my hands
I now take in the beauty that encompasses me,
content to just let it sit,
without the need to express it ...

But don't be fooled, Dearest Reader,
for I have the highest hope
that stars will dance,
leaves will fly,
birds will sing,

WHEN it comes to me.

But will you believe me when I say
I've watched the stars fall and flicker
between the leaves
a hand's breadth from my fingertips?

(go on and take a sip
the magic's free)

That I've breathed in the air,
as if it were honeysuckle blooming in the sky
just for me.

Oh and how I wish you could see
beyond the words of this page,
for it's beyond a tragedy
that all I have to give is this poem.

You know I'd offer you my eyes
for you to see the things I'm seeing.

(put your hand on my chest,
can you feel it beating?)

Like the petals of a rose
she holds me close:
the place where the bright rubicund clay
makes way for my Armstrongian footprints

---just one small step
then comes the leap---

My arms spread wide
hoping for discovery,
but preparing for catastrophe ...

And believe me when I say
I couldn't dream of sleep,
for when it comes to me
the minstrels will weep,
the prisoners'll be set free ...
as emotions become ablaze
in new and surprising ways.

For there's a lily pad pond,
just outside my backdoor ....
that's begging for a tale to be penned.
There's a place called Mount Alto
sitting just like a storybook
outside the backdoor, my friends,

whilst I sit here
listening to the cicadas sing
in Valley Soprano,
reminding me that everything
is but a poem-in-waiting:

The rolling green hills
bearing witness of mountain familiarity;
the black butterflies
flitting between
the berry blossoms of May.

Everything is so new here ...
far beyond anything I could ever say.
And I hope I can do it justice,
to paint a picture in your head,
with every ounce of the things I've said ...

(auto-biography? fantasy?
you won't be able to tell the difference
when it comes to me)

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |
Raindrops
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
whatever
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
home

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010




Details | Free verse |

In the dusty cobwebs of my inspirational mind,
I’ve written volumes of scripted details, pondered
Epic thoughts, and let mine imagination roam the
Fields of complete abandonment.
A wild child of freedom’s reckless spirit, I’m dived
Head first into the untamed wilderness of the human
Stratosphere, seeking beyond the unknown country
Of the mental unconscious mind, then free fallen into
The waves of insecurity, rescued by mine own self
Sustaining life preserver, called survival.
Line by line I’ve written into my life journal, leaving a
Legacy behind me worth preservation’s finest gilding,
Bound are these pages of mine existence with love,
Tenderness, and freshly cut rose petals, of remembrance.
Reflected in the cover of my life book, are the joyous
Faces of those whom loved me beyond words of
Expressions comprehension, without emotions tears
For they celebrate my life, not with sorrows regrets
But with prides respect and honor.
Through hell’s fire I’ve rambled and traveled, being
Tested by friend and foe alike, but I’ve lifted myself
Beyond the flames of reality, bathing within the warmth
Of a divine faith of loves power everlasting.
I’ve been given the spark of the eternal, it breathes
Within me, it drives my spiritual being, to over come
Ignorance, intolerance and ambience sloth of spirit.
At times I’ve been tempted to dance, against the flame
That flickers in the night, teasing me, taunting me,
To choose wrong or right, but mine feet stood stead
Fast, yielding only in my secret world of dreams escape.
Yes I’ve mused amongst the fantasy realm,
Flying, soaring into the abyss of illusions mirrors,
Clashing as a bird smacking at the glass of reality,
But I’ve awakened wiser, a soldier better prepared
For the battle known as life.
In this journal I bequeath all that is the best of myself,
To those for whom I’ve touched, and in memories moments
Of stilled realization that I’ve gone, dare let no tears blind
Thine vision let no words of sorrow spill from your trembling
Lips just do me the one last favor for which I ask of thee,
Simply look upwards, and smile.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

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 | Verse |
Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
 
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
 
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
 
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
 
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
 
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart

Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | ABC |
 

Apples.. beetles.. caterpillars..
daisies everywhere.. 
fertile ground.. hollyhocks.. 
Ivy jumbled kegs..
leafy mint.. nematodes..
oregano..peas.. 
quiet rest sunsets.. tomatoes under vines.. 
wheelbarrows.. xanadu yearning zeal!

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
New partners at each meal, oh my, what fun.
This time its Andrea, Sara and Carolyn.
Our entrée is fish. Give you one guess who caught it.
She had offered it free but the restaurant bought it. 

Michael has pulled this convention together.
Everything has been perfect to even the weather.
John has just given the inspired invocation.
We’re all on the program in convoluted rotation.

My attention right now is on these three friends
Who have given encouragement and love without end. 
They are just as I pictured, so pretty and sweet
and each as delighted as I am to meet.

Now that I have met them, I am suddenly shy.
They are so talented that I wonder why
they would spend time with me, the oldest one here.
I soon feel included. Each one is a dear.

To get more acquainted we speak of our lives,
Andrea and Sara are both happy wives.
Carolyn is a young widow the same, as was I.
We laugh at some stories, at others we cry.

We talk very fast to get everything in.
To miss such a chance would be a grave sin.
We find deep connections to carry away
to ponder on later on some lonely day. 

In four days of convention, we’ll meet all the others
and soon we’ll be closer than sisters and brothers.
When the meetings are over and it’s time for goodbye,
we’ll know we’ve made friends to the day that we die.

“A Table of Four” contest
Joyce Johnson
Carolyn Devonshire
Andrea Dietrich                      Won a 4th in this contest.
Sara Kendrick

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Senryu |
‘ Raul Moreno, Poet- Sen•sei … ’   56th  Senryu


   Like Marco Polo
Haiku Master, Moreno
Explores Nature’s Show


From Magnanimous Me (he! he!)  (LOL)
             Love Your Poetry, 
        Your Poet-Pal, MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |

The art of my pains 
is in the blood stain ink of me
while I write day and night 
to give insight of me that bleeds
while the world reads ,
 
this is my own battle cry's 
that are left in my mind 
I see all the dead souls around me
while I dream my darken pains
of the days of rain that hasn't gone away,
 
I was born in a painful storm
the memories stayed with me 
oh how the pains had cut me deep 
the words that hurt made bigger storms 
I hold my breath like I was dead
thinking it would all end ,
 
I now realize as I got older 
you cannot fix anyone 
that don't want the help 
so why in the hell did this life paint me
and put me down into a devastated storm 
the past has away to paint my life gray 
this is the art of me that bleeds .
 
Poetic Judy Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
It waits...
A prickle about to lodge
In the heart of a Mighty Light

Above the low-dipped setting sun
The Knightly Night prepares to come

To lift me like a rising fog
Up to greet the countless stars -
That twinkle at a Sun's descent.

The horizon painted with lullaby
Of colours and their somber tune
Day's bed is laid behind blue mountains
And quietly it goes to sleep.

Inside the womb of a Sleeping Day
Begins a fierce protest 
of dreaming thoughts
Now stirred awake.

Then out of the thick and cluster
And whatever dangers of flight await
Newborn wings of thought emerge
And rise and rise and rise
Captured by the winds of Night -
Arisen

To wander heights
To kiss the skies
To dance to the gentle humming
Of spirit drums -
Wings beating
A duet with the breeze.


So when day comes breaking through
Dawn is greeted by what was writ
At the festival of it's eve.

With merriment's ink: 
A Kiss; 
A dance; 
A song etched deep: 
Art carved out of sky.

Title: Night Poem

Copyright © Camille Casserly | Year Posted 2012

Details | Couplet |
  In God's own ink
with bloody hands,
he writes his life away.
        Incarcerated.....
   yet he's free
to have his final say.
        Dark and dank,
his tiny cell
         becomes a living tome,
to tell a tale of villainy,
      of madness 
    and of home.

 His maiden fair
     returned his love
with evil and deceit.
    She led him here into a trap
his enemy to meet.

    At length 
she saved him 
     from an end
a death both quick and sure.
She left him in this dungeon dark
forever to endure
the memory 
     of her false heart
and one who stole it all.

He tells it all right from the start
      it flows upon the wall,
and when his bright red ink runs dry
    the angels come to read.
He falls upon the stones to die
    with no words left to bleed.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

Details | Bio |
Hello, Farrah....
It's 7Am here, and cold
Just awoke, with,
Oh, Here We Go Again!
Fever, Pain, Confusion,
And Lots of Other Groovy Things
To Keep My Mind Busy...
Many more people know of you
than a few days ago....
Did you ever hear of Rod Mckuen?
Professional poet/ musician/songwritter-
One of the reasons I love poetry...
Not only will you understand him, you should
enjoy him.....Sorry about your work load....
My French is rusty.....I'm pretty good in geometry though;
received 100% on NYS Regents Exam when young-
an unheard of thing, scores in college of 97-99% for the term's work,
and it seemed easy as pi    (joke- pie, etc....oh, why am I explaining it,
sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.......)  Hope you have a happy day.....write an 
indepth poetic bio??   I'd love it, so would many others....
you are known in literary circles here now, I'd venture to guess....
surprising, the power of words, n'est pas?  Je ne sas pa, rien du tout....pardon 
my spelling and french......it's unused since early 1960's (ancient history)  What 
city are you in?  Ever travel???  A favorite destination???  Any questions about
the enigmatic nature of "Americans?"  We're really well meaning, just sometimes
seems we might misinterpret, or misunderstand things obvious to others (and 
vica versa....) Do you get to see movies???  Need books to read??  I got a library 
of 10,000 books, at least, being handicapped gives me too much time on my 
hands, and my health leaves me precious little of a future to expect.   I have lots 
of funny stories.   I hope you are okay....I never met anyone so brilliant in 57 years 
of living.   Youf friend in poetry, tom."

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Cowboy |
On dark hillside
A lone cowherd
Wrapped in his blanket,
Gazed up at the sky,
Dreamed into the night.
A wisp of crescent moon,
A sky full of stars,
In his thought
He was asking:
Does my small fire shine up to the stars?

Copyright © NWANDO OBIANYOR | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
‘ A  Metaphysical  Moment ’

A Metaphysical Moment
Electrifying To The Touch
Breathless, Thru The Clouds
Can My Heart, Take So Much

… Can My Eyes Endure
All This Vision, I See
Can Voice, Even Speak
Over Roaring of This Sea

… Can Ear Even Listen
When I Am Flying So Free
Soaring, So True With You and
Metaphysical Moment and Me …

A Metaphysical Moment
Will I Ever Understand
This Mystery of Our Universe
The Mystery of Woman and Man …


(And I End This with an Haiku for
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno and
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))


Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

          Understanding A
      Metaphysical Moment …
      … Nature’s Mysteries


Metaphysical (definition) as an adjective:

Metaphysical of early 17th Century Poetry
Relating to the poetic style of John Donne,
George Herbert and other early 17th Century Poets
Who used consciously intellectual language
And elaborate metaphors that compared things

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Imagism |


As midnight bursts like stardust on a cobblestone My raw vision transports me beyond earth’s floor, Where marbles with painted dots turn into hallways And shamans in long robes on axis roam: Here I write of gothic myths and folklore Releasing secrets through drumbeats of old tribal songs As dark mysteries lay deep on hidden pools… The acid in my bones spreading unknown lyrics While stylus of quill darts on flamed parchment Unraveling my soul … coaxing the young to dream. Ir0nic ZiNk’s Contest written 1/31/2017 It’s Too Early To Write Poetry

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
A poem including following words/phrases;
Nuclear waste
Baby food
Deodorant
Smiling Moon Face
Dog waste
Fortitude
Malicious love
Miracle of Fatima
Broken alarm clock

Lets see what you guys come up with;  by Feb. One
Bonus points if you add; Peanut Butter and Jelly with Meatballs the daily special

tom

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

Details | Couplet |
After reading your comment to Sharon so true
I decided oh yes, I must tag Phyllis to

”Tag game” is about people sharing their heart
It would sure be special if you shared your part

It seems sometimes we just run out of time
Remember when a phone call cost a dime

So did a bottle of soda as a matter of fact
Remember the machines when they slid on a track

Well hopefully not because these words are true
Remembering those things means you’ve seen life to

So many changes between those times and now
Now days they have lasers that operate the plow

With me it all changed way faster than most
Years in day is the story of a convict ghost

But that is the past and praise God I am free
Exercising my right to tag Phyllis you see

Every game should have a Mentor Raul is his name
He was tagging us all without knowing of the game

I’m tagging Phyllis and giving honor to Raul
For without a doubt he is a model for us all

------------------------------------------------------
You know a while back the "Tag" game was a part
of our site. This was a very special part of our site
and Raul with his unselfishness writing Poem's to 
members on our site reminded me of this and to be
honest I tried hard to ignore the impulse. So in Honor
of "Our Mentor" lets bring that special part of our Soup
Back, spend our time writing of love instead of some knack.

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Senryu |
‘ Devonshire and Fraser … ’      44th   Senryu

Some Poems, Highland Fling
Kilt-Clad-Portrait, Scotland’s Theme
The Laird of Sweet-Dreams

Devonshire, The Dove
A Vision Of Light and Love
Highland, Speaks Well Of …

Together They Write
All Combinations Delight
Deep Thinkings, With Might


For:          The Dynamic-Duo of Poetry Soup
      James Fraser and Carolyn Devonshire – ( 2 Scoops)
                  You’re In My Must Read Group …

                              Your Poet-Friend,
                                        
                                             The  MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Senryu |
Kids go down
The slide…they head toward the swings
TIME TO SCREAM!

Free time ends
Their parents want to go home
Frowns exchange 

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Hope in truth/
When tears rule/
It’s cool/
She's got chainsaw teeth/
She's the planet pilot/
She drives your earth with one breast/ 
Bullet milk/
She pukes food for the poor/
Your earth mental slavery/
Backwards you keep sniffing blame/
Blame you keep eating blame/ 
A native using a blade for a plate/
Singing blames/
It’s a shame she's just a teardrop/
Truth lies between seconds before yesterday/
Dark/
Dreaded brains never stick to one pain/ 
Light/
Tears drop dead when days strain babalaza pains/
Throwing verbal stones I promote stick to one goal/
Its not a bate a way through the gate/
When curtains call/
It’s a mob of angry spoken bilinguals/ 
Spitting words after Shakespeare’s dead poetry/ 
Symptoms of a broken heart/
Teardrop/
Teardrops left in the dark with the child you curry in pencil/
The monk edited his preaching watering life with Drops of tears/
I am only 2 weeks away from feeding you your president’s brain/ 
In the demise of this tears you curry/
Drifting towards the endless life branches/
I breath symptoms of a broken heart / 
The tap of blood was left open/
The tap of blood was left open/
Hope in truth/ 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
I am your words
Look at my face 

I look like your angry poem 
I am your word
I speak with your thoughts, wrongs pipes and fonts
You’re shaking hands

I am your words
Hold on to my omissions so i can deep kiss your pauses in vernac 
I am your worst prophetic translator 
I arrest and never rest my visions
My word 
Hands over parole to bad missions 
I am that expression you keep for unconventional connections
I am that useless announcement around retired believers 

I am real 
I am your word
I am your words

Look at my face i grow taller in sentences 
Call me a tall teller who tells it like it’s not tall at all 
Piercing every straight forward sentences 
The word that stays up tall in short days

Look at my face
I am your words
See me in your eyes 
The sharpened thoughts jumping conclusions 

I am real
Kids play with my paragraphs before puberty turns real
Unifying words that customize common lingo's in black and white colours
I am that word you mean and swear to never say
Until identity identifies me in anger managements 
The therapist cleaning male rooms 

I am real 
I am your word
I am your words
I speak poems
I am that useless big poem 

She went down on her broken knees of respect
Africa has always been respectful in front of her fears
She broke her knees while carrying nieces above all rules
Her babies came from one tunnel
The umbilical cord of Africa
She speaks like a poem

I am real 
I am your word
I am your words
I speak poems
I am that useless big poem

© Raymond Ngomane 


Vernac = Vernacular 
Lingo's = Languages


Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet |
A different time, a different place
A different life and different face

Different wants and different needs
Different values and different creeds

Different Pomp and Circumstance
Different songs and different dance

Different likes and different hate
Different foods on different plate

A different boat on a different sea
A different you and a different me

Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
He draws you in -
Compelling mental images
of atmosphere and entryways;
state rooms; glades; soft nudges.
Letting your fear flourish unaware. 



Note: Author Dean Koontz

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Concrete |
Silly ants? 
No. Silly humans and maybe silly ants. 
So egotistical and naive to think we are the grand creation. 
We live in a world where there is hope to sell as many people on the idea that they actually have all the answers. 
If they are unable to find an answer nowadays it is assumed that well, 
someone must know it. 
Of course, this person must be wiser if they have the answer in mind. 
Who knows how much cognitive dissonance leaks out of those who assume they could know everything if they wanted to, after all, a grand creation would hold the key. 
What If someone who has not been deemed successful had the answer to their question? 
They are simply not seen as wiser than the one who asks, 
but merely, an uneducated soul. 
They want you to give into your limits. 
They want them to seep through to all who accept them in order to kill learning and thrive their tools to enslave. 
We must have belief of one's self over open belief itself. 
To be imaginative you must let your mind conjure all the possibilities. 
Considering it all, willing to learn, 
and your mind becomes an open feed to the energy of the evolution of thought. 
To continuously learn you must be open to everything that may hold the possibility of truth. 
How do you know that ant isn't your God, spying on you from the throne? 
How can you possibly think you understand the difference between the microscopic to the non-comprehensive? 
We are but an organic spec to the dominance of these barriers,
though they securely hold us to these realms. 
We must soar past it and realize that we are not alone. 
Next time you see someone looking down on those ants with their horrifying sense of might, 
remind them, someone may be looking down on us with a sure tale of remarkable power in it's true form. 
We must diminish our false sense of power and give way to sincerity to one another and allow ourselves to pick at each others brains in the hopes we learn as much as we can from this life to the next test. 
I like to think that you may have started as a simple drop in the ocean and then you were set free into the eye of another. 
And then a plant and then you died and so on until you found yourself here today. 
Finally graduated to a human. 
Perhaps it was the other way around and you have to learn what it feels like to go from the top all the way to the bottom. 
Again and again until you learn what you're suppose to.
And then, you will be allowed to go home.

Copyright © Drew Rutherford | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Back in roman times I was called a stylus
I wrote messages and stories on papyrus Writing since Before Christ, 
Don't matter what the time is 
Even wrote for the great poets known as the vikings 
I translated Roman-to-English with just hyphens
I can go back and forth on the timeline 
Used by the dude who even wrote "Mein Kampf" 
But before that used for maps to draw islands 
I even wrote that rap and I screamed "BYE STAN!!" 
I've seen everybody’s diaries, but I don't speak 
I write the dreams they have seen, it's punishing... 
I'm their best friend at quiet times 
For poets,and rappers that write rhymes 
Or artists, that compose the lights eyes 
Oops I mean the end of night, it's the "sunrise" 
I cry when they draw their mental picture 
I miss it easy, like the ancient Egyptian scriptures 
Last week I wrote a broken heartfelt letter of a boys dead sister 
His tears made me smear, smudge and bitter as well
 I mean i'm supposed to be emotionless, but this feels like hell 
I guess literature is the only way I help 
This is how I'd explain it, if someone asked how I felt 
I'm literally consumed in everybody’s literacy 
Different languages, but I still know their history.... 
I’m the victim see, every word written composes verbal imagery 
Even carved Mozarts spirit in every symphony 
I take everyones thoughts and write it down lyrically 
Have you solved my mystery? I need some sympathy 
One second i’m drawing so skillfully, then destroying paper so viciously 
So if you’re crazy just like me, take my spot and fight off this infantry 
Then you will see, all these sad letters of these casualties 
Of when France defended against the great Italy 
I’ll riddle more, I was even there when the bible was born 
I was even used for the art of the Tribal of course 
I even wrote of the tale of the Trojan horse 
I even seen the great GRA fight 
GRA meaning arts and culture 
I’m running out of graphite.

Copyright © Trent Billy | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Please, when you put 
pen to paper,

don't just paint
a picture with your words, 
or use the magic of language
to describe nature.

Tell me about people,
the ones you know,
the ones I've never met; 
tell me their stories.

I want to know you.
Tell me about life, 
how you've lived it,
what you've learned.  

Use poems to reveal your soul, 
the essence of your self.
Make the connection
between your inner being
and the person you long to be.

Tell me a story.





Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
As the darkness yields to the dawn to deliver the heart from any storm Of the blackness of the night so long Where my fears and sorrows do belong The new morn is a sigh of a brilliant song The child awakens with the light Ready to believe in the day’s warming sight To live and love with open arms And have no fear of any harms There is hope and charity in the new day Dreams and innocence are here to stay Sun sweet sun Come on, have some fun Chase the night away so the child can learn to play!

Copyright © Karen Dominick | Year Posted 2010