Writing Courage Poems

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Details | Epic |
This pledge that l,Ntando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed l am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only lie
in word alone but in action as well.

For that reason in every season
I shall show steadfast commitment
to the implementation of this pledge
with a great deal of astuteness.
I therefore commit myself to be your
devoted and delivering husband for
all the years l shall live with you
on this earth.

I shall treat you with the love and care
you deserve as my wife.
Indeed l shall treat you with
the distinction and dignity
that is befitting of the queen of my heart.
That body, that bone, that breath
shall be my mine to treasure,
for sure;
a dearness to promote and protect
for dear life…and love!
I shall stand by and with you in all the
situations of our life.
If the situation demands that we sail,
sail we shall together.
If the situation demands that we
climb,
climb we shall together.

I know very well what l am getting into:
I am getting into a marriage that is
overflowing with blessings.
This marriage- with our mutual
commitment-
will stand the test of time.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
brims over with a transforming power
of love.

This marriage-with our
mutual commitment –
will transform naivety into maturity
troubles into challenges
pretence into practice
pride into progress
bachelorship into companionship.
I pledge to be your steward and partner
for all times.

I shall value the consultations
and decisions that we make as
husband and wife.
As head of the family I shall do nothing

 

to derail our love train for anything else
least of all for personal and selfish reasons.
Now and forever

I am your lawful and loving husband…
This pledge that l, Nothando, make today serves
as my guideline that I shall follow
happily, ungrudgingly and tirelessly
for the sake of our love life.
Indeed I am well aware of the fact that
the beauty of this pledge does not only
lie in pronouncements but in practice
as well.

For this reason every season
I shall demonstrate untiring love
and loyalty to you;
a love and a loyalty that is a living
embodiment of our marriage vows.
I therefore commit myself to be your
honouring, supportive and loving wife
for all the years l shall live with you.
I shall treat you with the love and care
that you deserve as my husband.
Indeed I shall treat you with
the dignity and nobility that is befitting
of the king of my heart.
On my mind it is always fresh
that I am the flesh of your flesh.
Green or grown

I am the bone of your bone.
I know very well what I am getting into:
I am getting into a relationship that
elevates me into a kingdom of wifehood.
I shall endevour to put my family first
with all the rights, obligations
and privileges that come with wifehood.
I shall endevour to wipe off and ward off
loneliness and lostness from our relationship,
seeking nothing but your companionship;
banking on your stewardship,
sinking together any hardship.
Since you are mine
I shall not do anything else to undermine
our relationship for personal
or egotistical
reasons.
Now and forever
I am your lawful and loving wife…

Copyright © Ndaba Sibanda | Year Posted 2012




Details | Free verse |

oh, let me tell you a twisted tale . . . 

of robin hood and a merry band of followers
but my story does not take place in folklore but in reality
todays story is of an archer, a person skilled with swords and words
skilled in disguise, taking many false faces
and like robin hood of ancient tales, draped in green but this green is jealousy
like the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together
blanketed in secrecy, having no moral compass to guide the evil
oh the hate is a cancer on my poems and beautiful words
my poetry a garden ravaged by this outlaw with a sharp arrow
devious, crafty, sly, calculating, deceitful, fake, scheming, shifty
we know each false disguise you hide behind
every fraudulent name and game
oh, back to the story . . 
lets raise the curtain to this ancient tale
this robin hood and a merry band of followers
pretend to be good and kind but shoot arrows
trying to murder my words 
from dark hidden places, mingling joyfully
shifty and crooked, shady but quite artful in ways of destruction
a shining star shaped shield of silliness
the way is dangerous in this spider web of lies
bloods seeps from my broken heart like red tears
leaf-strewn gales utter low wails like violins on my murdered poems
robin hood and the merry band of followers
spit them out like stones
and when I read their words, the words squirm like snakes
robin hood of ancient lore stole from the rich to give to the poor
this robin hood steals our poetic muse 
not quite the hero of old
but be assured your swords and sharp arrows are nothing to me
because my poems will sail like swans on quiet waters long after you 
are burning down below for your deceitful ways

______________________________
January 21, 2016


Free Verse

For the contest, Twisted Robin Hood
Sponsor, C.T.

Third Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
*(For Me, the soup tastes good, For others...not so much.)

INDEED, there may be something wrong with the Soup
if spices don't get right many people will be leaving the table soon.

Good people have pointed out problems with taste and temperature to MGMT
only to fall on deaf ears.
Apparently the problems have been stewing for years.

There are hard working mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and grandparents
fighting for a cause in which they firmly believe.
They pay fees each year to a leader who they don't know and cannot see.

They taste and they eat and they share with the community.
They've invested with time and money and poured out their hearts with much 
continuity.

Forty to one lopsided comment reply ratios have made their day hard
all these folks want is a little quality soup after punching the old time card.

I've sat at the table and witnessed smiles erase in defeat.
I've listen to their requests get neglected each day on repeat.

Where is the owner operator, could someone please step in and perform a 
table visit?
Getting this restaurant up to code ain't everything I suppose, but it'd sure be 
exquisite!

Now I'm just an outsider, secret shopper if you will,
Getting this change in motion would ease so many emotions...
consider it dessert taken off the bill.

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014




Details | Ballad |
I LOVE THEE I am no voluptuous beauty nor do I live a life of purity I can only say: I love wholeheartedly with all I am so truthfully I keep my heart open though it gets hurt so often I avoid to be irate as I know love changes the heart rate.. Guys tried to coo and woo, they say words as for "only you" Yet, hard to believe it is true as I see some untrue I give chances as my heart marks with tact entrances I learned from various instances looking man in romances In places where rules impede, two persons who wants to bid Not of money but of affection, in them must be determination I love thee not of what you have… Not even of who you are but to how you are to me… If I love you, don't tell me much what to do… As me, myself will show you, I am that real and true.. Yes, I am liked by many but tell you what: I don't like this honey nor am I proud of it in anyway One is enough to make me stay Stand with me through it all, I give my best not to fall My name your sweetest call echoing in every wall.. Hold me firm yet dear; allow me to move closely We'll make it anyhow, treading smoothly on flows... We are strong, aren't we? No one moving alone Together we'll face phases in tune, though there will dunes.. ________________________________________________________ © OLIVE ELOISA D. GUILLERMO 3:25 pm, 07/13/2013 ***CONTEST: ANY POEM GOES #13 SPONSOR: POET DESTROYER 8TH PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY) ***Sponsor SKAT A Contest Name Any Old Poem #5 4th place

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic |
By the light of a window sits an old man, his pennies he does count.
His hair is gray, his eyes are old, and there’s little in his bank account.
He has lived his life by the book of what is good, kind and just.
He had some fun when he was young, was a man you could trust.
He’s done all the things you have, he worked his whole life thru.
And now he sits, by the window of life, wondering what he will do.
As his health went away, his life went away, he never doubted it would.
He saved and was frugal his whole life long, he did the best he could. 
But the way of money is often misunderstood, and it often slips away.
Now he wonders how he will keep all those predators at bay.
The economy went bad; his job went away, his medical insurance, too.
He’d already been sick, medicines were high, and he lost his house to boot.
The new medical insurance is high, so much he can’t afford any treats.
Air conditioning’s a dream, heat may be soon, but he’s not on the streets.
Now in an apartment he will rest his head, and sparingly he does eat.
Gloom and doom are not his way, so a new life he will greet.
He can’t write, he shakes too much, but with a computer he gets it done.
He has trouble traveling. Finding work is hard. None his way will come.
His mind’s not sharp, but he’s seen so much, he’ll find a way to get along.
And he still has a passion for words, the world, and of course for song.
So with that in mind, as a poet he was born. And as a poet, he has grown.
He’ll never be Shakespeare, Milton, or Poe…but a poet all his own.
From his work, great poems will come, as his foundation is solid as stone.
He’ll write about people and places, and in time his light will be shone.
Some poems will be up, and others down, and a few of dreams he knew.
His thoughts and work gave him a passion for life, to which he will be true.
So tell a friend, and buy his book, have them use it in their school.
It’s the history of people, places, and things, a beautiful history jewel.
His life went to dust but now thrives, and he’ll gladly continue to work. 
The rest of his life he’ll be a great poet, it’s a responsibility he’ll never shirk.
In his poems, his hope, bright soul, and heart will continue to shine.
It’s something that again calls to his heart, that he can say is truly mine.

Impress Me4 Epic Carol Eastman Written 2009... for all poets...

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

Details | ABC |
Alphabet Constructs 3 2 1

Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees

Bulimec Barbies browse media monkey banalaties

Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios

Dopamine dreams dilenate check cash desires

Echo endorfins eulogize bullet brain excrement

Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivoloties

Gonadial grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities

Helical hemorriods hinder senior stricken hemocraps

Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate post partem iconoclasts

Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers

Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs

Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies

Malovent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules

Nevertheless nightengales nourich ruby rich noonbeams

Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages

Pensive picses picnics lovelorny passions 

Queer quiet quintensials release rancid quotients

Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble reprocussions

Silky seafoam silohouttes fornicate frothy sandlets

Tepid torch trilogies belie beligerent tourniquets

Useless utterences utilize organize orgasmic utopias

Venimous vixens violate cruel.com visions

White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds

XY XX xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms

Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yeilds

Zen zealous zions mirror maginfy Zoneotones 

Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Calling oneself a poet takes unmitigated gall and guts  
And he or she should be prepared 
To throw oneself off a high cliff
Or under the proverbial bus
Whenever the expression of innermost thoughts,
Emotions, ideas or beliefs are concerned 
Those who lay it all out on the line often times
Get busted, beaten, belittled or burned.

Speaking straight from the heart 
And soul typically involves taking 
A road less easily traveled 
Or mountain made steeper to climb   
From those who read but cannot see  
Beauty if it hits them between the eyes.

To write of an ex-lover may tend to uncover 
Bones buried deep in the past
Which are better unearthed for whatever they’re worth:  
Old nightmares rarely fade fast. 

Or perhaps you agree with riots in the streets
And nothing is worth more attention 
Than a poet who subscribes
To every person ought to strive 
Towards the greatest good for self and other friends 
While you might think it better to mind my own business
And stop writing about reality and make pretend…     

Penning one’s personal moments 
For others to debate 
Is akin to placing their head on a stump 
While waiting for the blade to penetrate
Skin and bone and taking us home 
To a place where no one laughs
At anything we say or think 
And our poetry will forever last. 

Longer than the blood-letting that oozes from our brains 
While others stand outside of us laughing in the rain
As we foolish, fussy writers keep on 
Twisting words and phrases
And the world keeps right on turning 
Like our pithy, poetic pages.    

12/4/2014

Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Was it all that long ago
  when we drove thru the streets,
Singing those crazy drinking songs
  that you taught me?
Oh, how I wish for those days again
  when the boulevards came easily.
Our voices in the open air as we sped
  in that sports car of yours.
Your death gave me a voice that
  I did not know I had until you left me in that void.
Now, words fill the pages of a writer
  instead of the notes of a musician.
Sometimes the tempo rises 
  Other times it is staccato and slow.
How can I tell others my memories of those days
  as I watched your courageous battle.
Your voice still sings those songs in me
  from I know not where.
Was it all that long ago...

written: 8/11/2015

Copyright © Dan Cwiak | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |

There is no limit to my poetry,
    and the infinite words;
sorrow that drips from my pen,
    has no end and no limit.

Dreams flutter like butterflies,
    and I pen sad poems;
this weeping has no limit or end,
   it just is and I accept it.

I know this girl well you see,
    I know who I am;
I can and I will go far beyond,
   any limit set by others.

Life is full of fears and limits,
    and I could fall;
or soar with courage and fly,
    to write limitless poems.


__________________________
August 3, 2015


Verse

Written by Broken Wings

For the contest, Limits, sponsor, Chase Trevi 

4th Place 
     

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
5/24/17



Not going to adjourn
Since you never learn
Going to make you squirm
More than a worm
With a stance that is firm
Then make you burn
So that you never return
Showing no concern

No more chances
Or free passes
You'll find out what happens
Over such foolish actions
When you are thrown into sulphuric acid
Or taken out through using gases
Then put below the grasses
And any branches
The universe continues on, as the scales tilt or balance
Whether it was done in good will or from being callous

Once or twice
Might not take your life
But make you pay the price
With the ultimate sacrifice
The outcome chosen by a roll of the dice
Since you never took advice
I think this should suffice
And if not then it will not end nice
Getting eaten alive by rats and mice


Too late to take back what you said
Going to bring you to the edge
And toss you from the ledge
Doesn't matter where you land or if it's on a hedge
So long as you remain dead
Oh well many other lifeforms will get fed
Body parts including the head, brought back to a den
Never seen or heard from again

Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
Out of all the questions I have been asked in life
None of them stump me more like this:

Why do I write?

It does not stump me because it’s tricky
It stumps me because it’s a stupid question to ask

Why do I write?

Because there’s nothing more relaxing than it.

Sure sometimes it’s frustrating
Difficult, fundamentally challenging
But that’s part of the beauty of it

Letting you emotions spill out across the page
And knowing that people read it
That people expect who you are
It’s brilliant

When you live a life of not speaking up
Of being that quite person in the background
Expressing yourself is… magnificent

I’m not me when I write
Something takes over me, controls me
So much so that I don’t really know what I am writing consciously
But it works so well 

I guess some people will never understand 
The joy in it all

When you're my age and you develop some characteristic
That doesn’t suit the normal criteria you get picked on

It happens, you can’t stop it
But I feel sorry for them

Expressing yourself through writing is one of my greatest joys
And I’m not going to stop
Not now
Not ever 

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |
I'M FOREVER YOUR'S

You always told me your love is like no other
the more I read I discover
your heavenly spirit is all over me
it's the most beautiful feeling 
my spirit feels deep within my soul
your love I never want to let go
I know I am only human 
just a small grain of dust  
but you love me for who I am 
your words are the flame 
that burns deep within me
even when life throws me stones
and my my spirit very weak 
you make way to clean me up 
you are my strength when I have none
you are my protector from everyone
that keeps me on the run
youre my forever friend to the very end
your love is the candle that will never burn out
you give me holy spirit 
you having my emotions in a rush
of goodness and peace 
this world will never tear our love apart
our bond will always be
I know people always seem to judge me 
because they believe they are better than me 
that is fine whatever they think
as long as you judge me for who I really am
you are my everlasting love
your love is all I need
your enough for me 
I know I lived a very painful life
where people were never nice
I became homeless and very afraid 
but you were always making way
you promise me a forever after
that you will wash my sins away
as long as I keep my faith
and walk in your path
I'm all yours forever
my love for you is eternal
you are my everything 
even in my painful dreams
you shine your light 
even in my darkest times
you are always on my mind
I love you Jesus my Lord
I love you Jehovah God
I am your's.

Poetic Judy Emery

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Sometimes what i write scares me
But not as the ghost that’s been chasing humans including me
I scratch my ford head for couple of days sticking glue in broken metaphors
I come across fake crosses claiming blessings in my feelings about the cross you know the cross
But the ghost in me knows every move before every due date
Pre-written metaphors are difficult to paint easy in due dates
Like freezing feet, they can’t walk in sunny days

Imagine sitting in a cold weather imagining things in cold blooded poetry death row settings
Wearing words attached to all addicted talkative lips
No one can pay attention to the rain of anger
Poetry and a microphone will die as blood brothers
For better or worse as long as creativity keep his promises
Imagine if you can’t imagine words put together by faith
Even Faith Evens puts faith in her words before she loses faith
Faith comes in bags of hope transported in faith
I hope this scary moments i turn to see when i turn my metaphors will reward this bags of hope in faith
Like any born rich fly will want to hunt with all other starving insects

To gain more exposure in between the skin of darkness
In between things trying to meet and make up with Mr and Mrs Sense and our understandings
it’s hard to speak confessions in other accents
Poetry make all sense become your inner response in every word that’s sensible like sensitive regrets

It’s so scary to scare your own little creature skills
While dialogues can easily mumble around wasting time trying to paint a non-existing Bible
I am scared of the ghost chasing babies crawling to kiss poetry goodbye 
Guilty for staying young in poetry for decades
I imagine the Creator walking across countries in shapes of different faces in clouds 
Faces written in the sky reflecting what was the meaning of poetry in the first place

(c) Raymond Ngomane 

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2015

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 | 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 | Free verse |
"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Copyright © Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack OMS DD | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
"Daddy" the way I call my father
The man who loves my mother
The man who gave life to me
And the man who will risks his life to protect his family.

He's not showy about his feelings
But I know he loves us unconditionally
He gets angry when his siblings were hurt
And he makes us laugh the way he dances and tells us jokes

Now..he left us already
His silly jokes,crazy dance moves now were gone
Coz he went to a far away land
In a place where  hurt and sorrow has no place in man

I miss my daddy a lot
His voice,
His jokes,
His crazy dance moves
And his being father to us
I miss everything about him!

I know God has a plan
And I give everything into His merciful hand
Pls.take care ofmy daddy in heaven
Coz someday we'll see him again
And continue the sing and dance with him again...

Copyright © Jerica Sanchez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
I stood atop of my pointed view and felt the sharp tooth of truth.
How elegantly we lived the lie,  a fictional legend always on the edge of a prequel.
But the sharp tooth of truth really cuts the fat right down to the bone.
So what now? the bitter taste of nonfiction or an unauthorized behind the scenes biography? 
No no no Biography…… what are you thinking,  you’re not dead yet!
There is no beauty in the truth nor secrets will she keep,  just pointed teeth.
And much darker than the ink that stains your fingers.
Oh how the truth hurts, and not the good kind of pain.
No not the pain that makes you wildly creative. 
Or the tickling sting of a smacked ass from one of those paperback nights.
The sharp tooth of truth has no words,   it’s just a dull ache. 
A dogmatic nervousness ready to argue with the will of an unreasonable child.
You know you can’t bend it nor personify the truth,   it’s much too matter of fact.
But for us it’s the somatic experience that tells the tale rather than the context of the event.
That’s what keeps us lost within the pages,   riding the pulse of the story.
So what are you going to do face it?  Leave the audience hanging without an ending.
You’re not an extra you know. You’re not that girl killed off just as the plot takes off.
The one only remembered for her gruesome death and great tits,  
 I can surly tell you no one remembers her name.   And why should they?
You going to join the watch of nightingales,   singing your night song…….
Off key karaoke at the bottom of a bottle of Bushmills.   
You can’t go out like that!   You’re the star of this feature!
Bide your time amongst the unkindness of Ravens, birds of a feather…. Ya know.
 Or they’ll peck the flesh right off your bones. 
Lets hear it for the props and the posers, how they served you well.
But you certainly don’t need them anymore,  this aint no dime store novel.
You just gotta twist the truth, if you want to loosen her bite.
It’s going to hurt like hell!  But it certainly won’t lack in emotion.
That’s all the fuel you’ll need to ignite this revival.
So when the sharp tooth of truth releases her bite, and is finally pull from your waning thought. 
When the blood is pouring out,  grab your fountain pen and plunge it into the wound.
Draw up the blood and write the paper can be your salvation. 
And when the Jazz funeral passes you by, join the precession.
Taste the music,   feel the sound,   all the way to the cemetery of creative writing.
Art will rises up when credence subsides. 
This is when you know you have to make it up as you go along.
When you reach grave throw in some ceremonial roses,  turn to face the crowd and smile.
For the show must go on.

Copyright © Vanth Seven | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide

I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight

My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign  
I twirl my hair and make it bend 
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends

As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin

The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions

I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane

Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed

The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair 
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose

I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key

It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore



Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |
What once was true can never be erased
It must remain a testament to time
In mind and heart it cannot be defaced
And to it will not cling denial's grime

To hide what was a part of history 
The story of your life and heart's desire
To now pretend that it's a mystery
Will serve to burden heart and make it tire

Be not ashamed of feelings that were true
Of love you found the will so to express
What heart extols through words must shine on through
To bury truth, the harm will not redress

Be truth to self, and stand by what you write
Or lose yourself, and thus lose poet's might

Eileen Manassian

Post Script:

A poem is a living breathing entity that exits outside the poet's control. When we write, we risk being judged and that is painful, but...if we never write, we risk the judgment of our own hearts, and that is cowardice. I've deleted a poem or two here because I've been afraid of what people will say of it, particularly the sensual pieces. In the end, I've felt like I'm not true to myself when I conform to what others think of me. Have I been attacked for it? Yes! Has it hurt? Yes! Did it make me evaluate myself? Yes! Did it teach me a lesson? Yes! It taught me to be STRONGER...and stick to my guns. What we most fault in what others write is what we are struggling with ourselves. It's true. There is a fine line between being vulnerable and being wise. That fine line is the POET'S to cross, and no one else's. :)

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
I am a heart full of love
that shook the pilars that held her colussium up
her heart filled with sorrow,
I swing such fury toward her heart and soul
she cowards away from me,
in fear of falling in love and not knowing what is in black
and not searching what is in the light of pure white.

I am a heart full of love,
she runs and takes the long dirt road,
through the raging mountains of the quiet countryside,
as the meadows of lilacs slowly die when Spring comes,
the blooming of the rose,
like the blooming of my heart,
a blossom on a cherry tree fall and harbour in the wintertime.
I swing toward her, she falls in fear of wanting attention and love.
Lost in the midnight twilight,
the flaming torch guides her through the dark holes of meaningless souls.
and like a frightened hummingbird,
she flees away from the secrets of falling in love.

A heart full of love ready to love,
it is diffcult to feel and to show,
but as if a rose that blooms in Springtime
my love is ready to bloom.

Pettles lay along a darkened atmosphere
lit up only with four wax candles
a portrait of a woman hung over a mantel piece
in honour of my one true love.

As the twilight shine though my bedroom window,
I show a heart full of love,
to take and to hold for eternity.

And as she slowly moves forward,
she takes me home with her,
and opens her chest and shows me her heart
with a glass of red wine and charming cigarette.
She sheads tears of pain and sorrow on my broud shoulder,
I curise her hair, silk laced hair,
shining against the twilight and the moonlit sky.

My heart full of love,
so divine, so original
a one of a kind.

We make love in the midst of the twilight,
as my dream girl is now reality and my pain is no more,
her pain is no more.
Too show such love makes a man feel free
and his soul lighter.
She holds him there,
as the sun rises over the mountains.
The birds sing a tune of cheerfulness,
and they talk about everything beautiful and kind,
that is still left in this cruel and empty hearted world.

Romance and love shared
with a heart full of love,
smile and kiss upon smooth lips,
feel me against your tight body,
and love me till the morning
when Blue eyed Death is staring us in the face.
and we go with him,
and play a game of risk,
and together forever,
onto a diffrent world
we shall love each other forever,
for you and I both have a heart full of love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
I once was like a catipiller young,naive,and new
Always living from my heart not knowing what
else to do.Easy to take advantage of, that is 
just the case, people would walk over me
like I was their dirty used up suitcase.
Now I feel a newness coming, like a light
shining from the sky, colors fill my world
and I know I am blooming into a butterfly.
Purple,Pink, Blue and Green I can feel them
flowing through. Colors of the rainbow raising
me into full bloom. Wise and strong I am becoming
My faith leads me where I need to go giving me
insight and wiseness for only me to know.
I have not  done this on my own you see
I have been guided by God and Angels
on this Earth. Wise words the wisdom at
it's best comes from a wise lady who
seems to know me best. Lucky, I am 
to have her in my life, she always shoots
it straight and tells me like it is, knowing
her words touch my heart and gives me tons of faith..
I feel like flying through the sky or climbing 
a tree way up high. I feel like observing the 
world just like a brand new butterfly so as I
Bloom I become Anew something unlike the past
Smart and wise beautiful on the inside and outside 
 a touch of color here a touch of color there
makes me glow and become a beautiful blooming butterfly...


Written By: Christina A McCullouch 
04/09/2013

Copyright © Christina McCullouch | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Fulfilled fantasies and legitimate realities…you do know how to please…
Are you listening to my voice of longing and yearning?
No, don’t backstab me with your broken promises…stop being a horrid tease…
Do not worry, Lord, I am still constantly…learning…

God is here…

I’m scared, so unprepared… my flames are flared…
I’m impaired by depression wars I have fought over the years
Just a hair, faced this nightmare and no one cared
Slayed by the mocking sanity of society…reduced me to tears…

Healing is near…

Exceedingly exasperated by your empty empathy 
Vacant stares flood the room in despair and envy
I adore you, you’re my door of countless opportunities and yet, time flies
Play me on the radio again and again and you’ll find where your heart lies 

Don’t worry, dear…

Rising in the moment of remarkable letdowns
I had a miscarriage of misery a long time ago
You blew up my cellphone with texts, calls and happy frowns
I can do this, I have done this before, I…know…

Cower away from sheer fear that veers the head…don’t let it appear…
 
Yank away from my dreams…
Turn me on with your musical talents and interests alike
Broken by the useless seams…
Ride me like your favorite, childhood bike…I let go of the mic

Therapeutic aftershocks draw near to me…honey, don’t shed a tear…

Get off of my chest, heart attacks of our love from below above
I’m chasing the water under the bridge over you, can’t you sea? No possibly…no possibility…
Can’t you just leave me be?
I swear without cussing, I was being sincere with my speech you knew not of
My flow is far from yours, so don’t intertwine with my flow of ecstatic me, in need of being free
Can’t you leave my side for now?
Just leave my presence somehow…

Jealousy is key to the gates of selfish ambition, so don’t have the spirit of jeer

You served as a distraction more or less
Sorry I got you in this hell-heaven of a mess
Everything can last a while, but not forever
It is impossible to say what is on my mind whatsoever
I’m a Positive Poe and a Silly Seuss all over again…so, cheers! 
Raise up your wine cups and bubblin’ beers…

My request is to kiss your lips, so warm and lovely
In my tamest dreams, I’ve looked all over for you…you were lying on stones and stix
I am raptured in this love affair; barely breathing, baby...
Do it again…do it again – the verbal abuse is a bruise I fix…you are as hard as billion brix

Going Justin Beiber on you...disappointed, you scoot away from me…drove me to laughter tears…

Plastic reality can’t undo what has happened to me in the past…I’m the mast in Antarctica, left behind at last 
It is the captive soul that needs some healing…I seek something more than what meets the eyes
You are Australia and I am America…opposite directions…we drifted our separate ways oh so vast and fast
Cast away this sorrow from my sullen cheeks and these eyes that are like mood rings daily…it’s best if you don’t ask your what’s and why’s

Instead, you go Lady Gaga on me – good one! At least I’m not going Demi Lovato on you, my wandering deer

Wipe away these lament drops from my cloudy eyes
Because they won’t even consider my cry for help, but hopeless like withered kelp 
Ripen me with radiance and reveal to me no sly lies
No vulgar talk please…he speaks genuine words and hear my helpless, muffled yelp 

If I was your man, I’d be the happiest man alive…like Rihanna that arrives in Los Angeles for the first time…I’m getting it on poetically and popically up in here

I got you in chains in my heart…you feeling it? Are you ready? Do I need to feed you regretti?
You ain’t coming out of my ribcage
Try to plan an escape route…just try and give up already…here’s a celebrated fail with confetti
You make me feel this painless rage

I bit my Cyrus Tongue…hold your tongue before the fire consumes all…or if you whisper it in my ears, you’ll reduce me to ashes...nowhere to roam it appears…

You shelter me with laughter and peace disaster
I don’t understand the words you utter, but I know it screams out those hear-me-out’s
I can’t make out how we made it through this hardship that has torn us asunder 
My ears will listen to you acutely, so I’ll be your butter on warm toast when you let out your desire shouts

Killing me alive by your sensual and passionate nature that give me dream infatuationmares…my obsession towards you is dastardly, disturbingly serpentine to my evanescent heart of stone in a sight’s gleam

I need saving, for I am caving…fell victim to lustful, ugly craving
It takes me to levels of languishing hopes
I know I was unfaithful and misbehaving…force-fed your raving 
My voice of angst anguish…it still mopes

I know my rights and wrongs…
Catastrophe connection lost its link and my positivity peace is in the brink of spring – so, in winter, I sing these sad, sad songs

I was the class clown…in pointless, humor town 
Now, I’m the loner in class
Let’s not categorize others and put everyone down 
I am lost in a multitude alas

Inside and out, I have the hearts for you… and you had no clue
Through silence and shouts, I’m blue without you… so true…

I freaked out suddenly…
It puzzled me and bewildered you too…I’m sorry for my cyber-outburst
Dating goes bad madly…
Needed you really badly, but you were…oblivious of it, it seemed at first

Whistling to myself in a blissful moment of musical, magical muse…
I speak mindlessly with my imaginary friends and it’s amusing because I have some good and bad news…
My Silly Seuss released from my writing of childish conniving
Emerge from the volcanic vanity, scorching…warped-up writhing… 
After being verse-tracked, I have some good and bad news: 

I passed for being the biggest loser on Earth
I failed on being a good leader…
Mirth gives birth to a rebirth of faith hearth 
Okay, fine…I’ll be a follower…

Remember, I am titaniumb and I am Rated R for Recovery 
December, the month in embers…January is a new discovery

Hang on the ceiling, chandelier fear 
The spotlight is on me…once and for all…
After all I’ve said and done, I’m of cheer
Because I fear no more…996th poem, y’all…

Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Bio |
Teach me how to speak your history. Do not judge my sense of hearing or abilities of my vision. I was born after you took a rest from your freedom fight poetry protest actions and the rest. Please teach me how to speak your poetry. I have no threats behind my pen. My inspiration rose from the love of words.  Mounted from poets that turned words into swords cutting through dark images carrying oppression. Soldiers, who puked words inspired by anger, hope, desperate needs and i am a part of that breed. Is it a fault if i enjoy the victory of your fight without the knowledge of your history? Amandla spirits has turned into commercial songs please teach me how to speak your volume.

I am that kid chasing composers of protest songs instead of cleaning my skin with the meaning of those songs. My writing exposes self-taught language that speaks in mute sentences when the kings of spoken word throw punches of disbelieves from their highness expectations. My history is only relevant to the now as the then history has been buried with the ideology of writing poetry for money and fame.  Discussions run within beer sessions in favor of competing with poets instead of sharing poetic languages with disciples.

I am living in times were promises are faded by images of enemies practicing my tradition. Times were heartbroken souls return favors in death beds with no remorse.  Fingers pointed at leaders who promise flipping pages that give hope to empty tummies in that African book. Draining pockets with tax i know it sounds perplex. Please teach me how to speak your time your rhymes. My writing has only been a celebration of my abilities as tears emerge only in sessions in honor of appreciations screams falling from prophets who know nothing about your history. Dad, my dad had no clue in your time so his views make no sense a talk about ancestors becomes mystery. Please teach me how to spell your history. Teach and speak your culture.

My face is covered in spoken words but nobody sees them. My heart drives through Photoshop pictures we can never find our real leaders.  As i write this letter, my hopes and wishes are directed straight to your pen and paper, petrol bomb expert. I turn to question your existence as I am glued in this venomous pen yet still no reply to my status. I have never walked your struggles yet expectations rumble in bulk sounds anticipating my story in your history spelling victory please teach me how to understand these mystery.

Yours Lyrically

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Things get bad, then they get good again.
You can write yourself angry.
You can write yourself sick.
But never
ever
should you write yourself sorry.

The world, to me, is many things:
A canvas, a movie, a place to store
everything you are and will ever be,
but never a bell jar.

As long as your hands can shake
and your voice can quiver,
never close the door.

Love the ground under your feet,
and your only sadness 
will be that a blanket of sky 
can't keep off the cold. 

Smile with every breath you take, 
and you'll realize that, 
no matter how much you weep,
you will never fill an ocean.

Look inside your heart:
There's answer there.
You'll find,
deep in an oblivion of night,
there is a light somewhere.

It may not be much light,
but it's brighter than darkness.
Follow it.

If you seek, you will find 
yourself always involved in 
something,
and as long as that door never closes,
whatever something will be enough.

I promise.

Copyright © jes russick | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
Closer to the clouds 
Soaring through the soft misty flocks of vapour
Higher
Touching the overstretched never ending horizons
Stronger
Closer to the clouds
Reaching for the elusive galaxy scattered with stars
Wiser.


Metempirical
Scenes
Outside my window, birds perched on window panes
Breathing the hopes of life
Burying their worries, letting them go
Soaring away the pains of yesterday
Home
The distance reassures me of the longer road I have
Waiting working of what might come
Relieving the old alleys
Streets that left me hanging, roaming 
Stranded with loneliness

Pause
Break from the fast pace of life
Dive into total surrender
Break from our shallow life filled with plans
The never ending ambitious dreams
Capturing each moment, not giving any a miss

Forgotten
The small sentiments
The simple notions
The innocent thoughts 
And the crazy bedlams
Unfortunate
Life
Thrive, we will.

Copyright © Eli Mahirah | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |
                    It was a moment in time 
                  a fate of inspiration gifted 
            I believe I was lifted a destiny in writing 
                I would vibrantly pursue .
             Renting a cottage once in Monterey Bay
           this cottage special in some way
          
            The very minute moving.. I felt a presence 
                      giving me no serenity , no rest 
                            feeling I were a quest ~

                 After desiring this home so                            
                      telling the Realtor ~ I made a mistake     
                     She told me be calm ~
                        many have said this before you 
                               ~ this haunt was not a new 

                  For once lived a Writer ~well respected Gent
               His cottage a distillery during the time of prohibition.

                  Many Gents and Ladies came to this cottage 
                      unlawfully gamble & drink through the night
                    Who would think , Doc Ricketts in Cane & Hat
                               it was a party by moon light  ~
                      
                              In the back a distillery hidden in a old shed
                                    many Alcoholics were fed ~
 
                         The ghost popular quite the Ladies man ~
                                I was honored while feeling displaced  

                                 For those who have not read my poems 
                                    ~   and this may be new. 
                                          This really happened ~
                      The ghost of John Steinbach rented me his home True
                                   
 

                  Yvette & The ghost of John Steinbach's  , Teamwork  9/14/2013 
    

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |

I wake up with another tear for I have again, relived the nightmare will it ever leave me with any way to see when will I again be able to see my family the past is forgiven so why is it still living my heart was so broken but soon after it was frozen let it lie and the past die for I have a life to live with but the past is still being relived how do I stop this past of torture so I can find my new future

Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby... 
You are my...
My heroin...
My ecstacy... 
My cocaine...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...
YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

Copyright © jaremy mount Jr | Year Posted 2013