Writing Introspection Poems

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Details | Verse |
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM


Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012




Details | Light Poetry |
I am but a dreamer
and in my dreams I play
where I live so happily
writing them my way
inside my illusions
where I know I belong
whistling a joyful tune
as I go along

Like a little spirit
I venture on the breeze
skipping in the gentle wind
doing what I please
with the rising sun I dance
wrapped inside his charms
across the golden morning sky
twirling in his arms

I can climb a mountain
or live among the trees
sail in a silver sailboat
on the seven seas
I can draw a moonlit night
ride on a bright moonbeam
and swim among the diamonds
in a velvet stream

I am but a dreamer
there's nothing in my way
living in the place I love
loving everyday
maybe it's a fairytale
but that's all right by me
I'm the master of my dreams
where I wander free

No one there can tell me
what is wrong or right
following what's in my heart
I live in the light
happy in my dream world
that's where I choose to stay
in the world where I belong
writing dreams my way

Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
Sometimes, life has no reason unlike the seasons
It aimlessly drifts with the wind
We find ourselves in places of unfamiliar faces
Bathing in the shadows of sin
Our souls become lost up in the holocaust
That once was a beautiful life
Like a ship drifting upon the tide we bang and then we ride
The white horse straight into death
Into a giant black hole we dive in with our soul
Until we have nothing left
We then fall prey to our host who spreads butter on our toast
Our habits take over our lives
Everything we hold dear falls with one last tear
Into the darkness of night
Tired and defeated all our hope is depleted
Because we have nothing left to lose
Sometimes the storm passes as slow as molasses
Left frozen somewhere in the snow
Then our red eyes run dry with no tears left to cry
As we admit, I’d rather be dead
If you have a desire to live right, please take heed of my plight
And know that it’s never to late
Soon as you give it away find your knees and pray
You will find the comfort of home
And all of the disgrace will fall off of your face
Like the leaves that fall off the tree
And just like the bare tree soon you will see
Life is reborn in the spring
Like a warm days cool breeze, God fills us with his ease
And through him we find some peace
One day at time the trials all unwind
As the jigsaw falls into place
As everything gets better we become one with the weather
And the seasons suddenly become our friend
Our lives suddenly fly past, because we want to make them last
Like an ice-cream on a really hot day 
We are overcome with the obligation to tell of our salvation
Remembering all of those left behind
Some will find their way, others all we can say
Is Lord, we truly did our best
Dear Lord we write for your glory, telling our stories
That we would rather keep hid on the shelf
Our desire is to aspire so we can rise ever higher
With the words that flow though our pen
Giving of ourselves becomes our greatest wealth
As our souls become one with the Son
No high could be higher than faith and desire
Knowing we have been born again
One day we will stand before the gates that shall open to our fate
As heaven welcomes us in
We will look down on this earth, spirits of a new birth
Watching over the seeds that we spread
Knowing their lives were made better, because we were able to weather
The storm that raged through night 
Until the day I become shadows and dust I'll forever trust
The words that flow through my pen


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010




Details | Epigram |
FEELINGS


Feelings,
Masters of my destiny
Lords of my life
Strength of my dreams
Instigators of my actions

Burning fire you are 
Consuming my whole 
Being:
My heart
My mind 
My soul
My spirit,  
As you relentlessly
Demand: 
To be conceived
To be formulated 
To be understood
To be expressed!

A Herculean task it is,
I swear, 
Such an enterprise,
For how one could ever
Constrain, you, the unconstrained 
And mold you into:
Phonemes
Syllables
Words
Phrases
Sentences 
And still retain 
Your explosive 
Dynamism?
 
No language exists,
So vast
So deep
So accurate
So supple 
As to pay justice,
To your intensity
To your desire
To your beauty
To your love!

Thus, having no
Alternative, 
I turn to the only language
There is,
The one that the 
Cosmos speaks,
And
The universe alone
Comprehends:
The language of 
Harmony,
That we humans 
POETRY name
BUT 
Even then 
To describe you
I AM UNABLE!



©Demetrios Trifiatis
   28 January 2013

 

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |


Blue words cry, 
smearing bare 
               paper walls. 
I am only   this poem
to share.         

   Crimson lines 
ironed, too perfect, 
scratch romantic notions. 
Sorrows brew. 
Shush, 
listen to
each whimper’s escape, 
ink hurled at pages 
not long ago blank. Bittersweet 
sobs thunder -
cathartic storms impart
a verse   to bridge      hearts 
over this deluge.

Words enchant, coax  
from nostalgic dreams,
  over and between
dusk and dawn’s enlightening.
I awaken weightless  
  adrift in lyrical seas.
 
When night returns 
   bruised,    I lie 
with incarnate spirits, 
   my midnight blue disguise. 

A smile     from cobalt eyes 
speaks.       Blues reach
like friends to beseech
my soul. 
While my pen glistens through tears, 
these starry hazels gaze  
as livid-blues turn
cerulean.   A poem breathes -
loose layers, discernible beauty, strength,
prayers answered.   Wise,
I purge my pain
in letter’s curvaceous rise.
  
I rest in hollow 
                         of spaces, 
stolen tranquility.
 
For now, prisoners are released, 
but oh, how I know 
morning 
tightens fear's hold.
When blues speak, 
I'll seek 
           love, acceptance 
and find my pen. 

I’ll unlock my heart again.
 
May my poem birthed 
remind in lonely hours 
of my power, 
my worth.  
May light 
             fall 
upon God’s poema.

Ink-stained, I am
one woman heard, 
only blue words.                
   
(200 words)
5/31/15

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

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 |
Life spins out of control…
today I slip into oblivion, floating without roots
over the sun, slowly turning from all I can see,
spinning against the wind, against the earth.
When do I fall?
                    I should be enjoying the ride.
                              I’ve always been afraid to fly…
                                       
 afraid of what’s below and all the spaces between –
                          maybe afraid of me.      
How old will I be when the spinning stops?
I’m getting dizzy, feeling faint…
Minute by minute, I count down – 10, 9, 8…
I’m surely not alone!

Words ground me…yes, I’ll write a poem.
Every letter’s like a hum in my head –
notes in a never ending song.

I’ll write a poem for you and only you.
A poem you’ll never read
               because you think you know me.

You think you know my song.
Perhaps, if you took the time to really read,
you’d find a little piece of me…carry it in your pocket
like a treasure to behold.

I’m spinning out of control…you don’t know, you don’t see.

Only God knows why…help me God enjoy the ride.    

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric |
 
If the spirit moves me I will speak
 I will share words
 that no-one wants to hear
 I will speak them
 I will speak them loud and clear
 If the spirit moves me

 
If the spirit moves me I will see
 I will see Beauty
 that no-one else can see
 I will see it far and near
 around me and in all things
 If the spirit moves me

 
If the spirit moves me I will hear
 I will hear things
 no-one else can hear
 I will hear the universe
 speaking to me and I will hear
 If the spirit moves me

 
If the spirit moves me
 I will feel
 I will feel the pain of others
 I will feel their happiness too
 I will be able to empathize
 If the spirit moves me
 

If the spirit moves me
 I will taste joy and laughter
 I will live my life in peace
 I will find love
 I will live on in the ever-after
 If the spirit moves me

 
© Christine A Kysely All Rights Reserved
 (October 25, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)

Copyright © christine a kysely | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sonnet |
I Recall Mockingbirds Singing To Me

My life now so far away in the past
resting back in that glowing red sunset;
in lost memories where dreams always last
wishing for lost time, I can never get.

As fading shadows dance in bonfire's glow
I recall mockingbirds singing to me;
precious gifts such memory plants to sow
so like seeds dropping from big red-oak tree.

My eyes filled with falling tears, my soul sees
far beyond, well past my mind's window sills;
Green forests in my life with their lost trees
resting back there, lasting memory hills.

As my life now sends me yearning anew,
images parading forth, treasures so true!

Robert J. Lindley, 4-03-2016

Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables:	140
Total # Lines:	17  (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:	Total # Words:	105

Note:  I had to visit my favorite woods yesterday(AS WAS MUCH  NEEDED RELIEF), this came to me this fine morn, a sonnet..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Bio |
He told me to write a poem
About beauty, wind blowing
Hair tossing , dream making stunning
Gorgeousness of living
Beauty addicts and blind ambitions
Movie stars and historical happenings
Formal dresses, women in high heels with 
Faces meant to smile
That’s what poems should be about, he says, 
Your good at that kind of thing, just spit it out

                “Shawty, write a poem about beauty, that’s real poetry”
                                 “Everything is beautiful, baby…”
                 “But what is beautiful to you?”

Beautiful.
Births and rebirths
Phoenix Red celestial torching of the hearts
Interlocking fingers in twilight
Kisses, Death, sorrow, crocodile tears
Laughter, Ecstasy , black
White, brown, yellow, silver crimson
Skin on skin, chest to chest, on and on, soft
Hard City light heaving, breathing against the Ebony sky
Natural Twinkle of diamond shadows, 
Cosmos, Atoms, Hydrogen bonds, Electrons
Nucleus, matter, anti-matter
Smash together, slither mutually
To create harmony.
Everything. 
Everything is beautiful. 

                      “Just write about that then..”
                                 "Not everything has to be written, somtimes you just have to
                                  live it out.."
                      "What's the point then?? What's the point of writing about butterflies 
and waterfalls? I just don't see it? Why do you have to doll everything up and 
make it more then what it is? Not everything has to be picked apart and analyzed."
                                "Mmm, I suppose."
                        "What's real poetry to you?" 
                                 "Everything..."
                         "I don't understand."

I recline and rest my head on his chest
Tracing lines of thought on the ceiling
Helping him dismantle the universe and put it back together
In his own way
Enjoying lyrical symphonies of life
Breath by breath…
Together
Silent

                                     "This, baby, This is real Poetry.."









 


Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007

Details | Senryu |
‘The Power Of A Poet’      32nd  Senryu


        Look How Devoted
       The Power of A Poet
    See How Words Spoke It



This Poem is My Tribute to:

Carolyn Devonshire (The Dove)
and James (The Highlander) Fraser
for your Powerful collaboration on:

      Mother Nature's Revenge

        It Was Truly Awesome

              MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
Sometimes when I’m alone --
                          I start to think ---
Had I not been an addict ---
                          What could I have been?
           What kind of life could I have given my children?
Of course these are questions not yet answered ---
                          A work in progress so to speak
Not a day goes by ---
                      That I don’t think about doing a shot ---
              To release myself from this pain, shame and guilt
           Because when I’m high I don’t think about any of that
I think only of myself ---
                         What I want and how I’m going to get it
I thank the Lord ---
                   For delivering me ---
                             From that way of thinking ---
I thank him for the gift ---
                           That gives me the chance ---
                                            To reach out to others ---
Almost every poem I write --- 
Comes from the bottom of my heart ---
                     And the very depths of my soul ---
Very seldom do I allow myself 
               The pleasures of writing a simple poem --
        That doesn’t carry with it a very profound message
See, I’m just like Jake and Elwood Blue’s
                   --- I am on a mission from God ---
God has transformed me into a poet teacher
The only way I can make any sense out of my life
Is by doing what I’m doing right now
                        Which of course is ---
                               Nothing less than ---
                   ---Owning up to my own mistakes ---
                             For the world to see
Thus allowing me to answer
                             --- The responsibility of my own pen ---

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |
Erase a word
Mundane and wrought
Smoldering fire
Of indifferent thought

Pluck a phrase
Wild and untamed
Primordial howl
Of random flame

Sing a verse
Naked and free
Poetic gale
Of crashing seas

Tell a tale
Endearing and true
Passionate prose
Of life’s muse

Ask a heartbeat
Women and men
Who feels
100 shards of pen

Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme |

A gentle heart

        So full of love

Yet no one feels

        It's worthy of

Their admiration

        Care or time

So I am left

        To barter rhyme

Matching words

        To arbitrate

The things I feel

        Be love or hate

So others fawn

        At what I pen

When deep inside

        An endless end

Crafting prose

        To coaxing sighs

While deep within ...

        A slow demise.



* SECOND PLACE in the "Contest 380" Premiere Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. *

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

Details | Blank verse |
My attention span is short. Yet, my pen’s is still shorter
It looks absent only after a few words… a few lines
Though ink in its intestines and subject to furnishing hands
It never finishes what it begins. At least, what I want it to finish
So, I hold it’s face with both hands, as we share eyes
“Write, will you. Do not stop until I give consent.”
“Ok” she says, “I will focus”…as her eyes are carried on a light wind 
I presume that’s why my poetry is never more than a few lines… a few 
expressions.

Copyright © Mark Pringle | Year Posted 2008

Details | Verse |
As the wind ripped the leaves from the trees
I thought of you
As I stood there like those trees
Stripped of all their glory
Their only crime
Giving birth to beauty

I watched them fall
All those brilliant leaves
And knew you could never stop
Poetry in motion.

THIS POEM IS NOT FOR ANY CONTEST

Written:  September 14, 2014
Author: Elaine George

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |
My head slightly bent over a table of happiness.

My feet, sod with white lilacs, dance merrily 
to a moon stroke music of twilight night.

My finger-tips childishly sip 
the sweat of quill, like red wine of Mother Earth 
that runs down the skin of my heart.

Down in the chores of primal things 
I have been to the bowl aquarium, mostly at nights 
where I breathed and twitched with the fish, trying 
to catch the warm winks of stars. Ahh, 

I know all about human arts, although I 
dabble in the language of my adopted father; still
I know how to sketch 
in my own words a lovely butterfly, fluttering 
awhile in the night to say hello

and to kiss me, 
ere on a fluffy pillow 
of dreams 
I close my eyes. My name is nothing special, 
but honestly I am what I am… a poetry dancer, dancing 
with emotions for my fictitious lover.



Author’s note:  I wrote it in response to “The Invitation to Write”, by Gather 
Essentials: Writing Challenge, based on Carl Sandburg’s poem “Who Am I?”

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2008

Details | Light Poetry |
Where Are The Words …
I Am Looking For Words …
… That Will Give Meaning
To Meeting You, This Evening

And What Can I Say ? …
What I Long To Say …
Instead of, Good To See You Friend
And Oh, How Have You Been ?

… Such Polite Conversation
Is Safe Presentation
Nothing More … So Much Less
I Need Hunger- Honestness

Packed With A Passion
Full-Out Conflagration
Instead of A Shy, Dulcet Tone
I Wanna Torch-Talk You, To The Bone !

Use Words, To Sear You To Your Soul
Singe, Deep Inside Your Soul
Soft and Husky In Confessions
Words, That Demand Actions

Emotive, Elusive, Essential
Elocution of The Quintessential
Romanticism Expressed …
The Pleasure Of Your Face, Eagerness

In Bold Explorations, Evolved
From Virgin-Feelings of First Love
That Make It Seem … Like Last Night
Invoking Future Visions, So Bright !

Oh, Where Are The Words ? …
I Am At A Loss For Words …
So Many Things, I Want To Let You Know …
Instead of Just Saying … ‘ Hello ’…


              For:  Ismael Nieves 
Who Has Such A Passionate Style To His Poems
(and Also, The Little Joke of Big Words Between Us …
Hope You Enjoy This One Kiddo - Smile)

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
LIFE'S UNDISCOVERED PASSION 

I reached up far to touch a star.
It only took a second.
I thought I heard a salient call 
alas it did not beckon.

While looking for an artful craft
and finding none; the time blew past
I looked toward the heaven's stars
for talents that could break these bars 

Like thickened paint on canvass fashion
Mixed with rich excitant passion 
From Starry Night to sheer delight
but never wrong and never right.

Should I envy those with deep affection
with skills that move in-synced direction
for passions born into their soul
to define their purpose-- take control.

Athletic prowess, artistic flavor, 
a builders trade, a science major,
musicians joy and mountaineer
for all of those we stop and cheer
and think if we could only be
but they are they and we are we.

Somewhere, somewhere deep inside
are struggles there we cannot hide
doubts and fears that suck the joy
from life's sweet gifts; a noxious ploy
of destiny failing in an attempt
to re-discover a lost lament.

CAK  12-2-2012

SYNOPSIS
Sometimes, I find myself lamenting
that I do not possess an 
exceptional skill or talent. It seems
many people find great joy from theirs.
It seems to gnaw at my being and
I grow sorrowful that somehow
I am missing something.

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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 | Epigram |



The appropriateness of our actions, the Lord

Expects from us to see


Not


The eloquence of our masterfully constructed

Verses, He to hear!



© Demetrios Trifiatis
    09 February 2015

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
The word’s speaker and listener would hear 
Cackling, 
Not from one another, 
But from a burning Sixo; 
They would feel
As though
A noose was choking 
Their voices 
Before they could even tell 
Themselves to “rest in peace”; 
They would see 
The bullets
That rushed, 
Jealously, 
Into the bodies of intelligent black heroes and heroines; 
They would taste 
The blood 
That could have filled all the courtrooms 
Where racist murderers were not convicted; 
They would smell 
The human 
Waste of those treated like human waste –
A stench strong enough to make some jump 
Ship just for a breath of fresh air, 
Before the waters 
Then enslaved them …. 
These effects may sound 
Insane 
But are they any more 
Out
Rage
Us 
Than our current 
Usage of the “n”- word? 
That is, 
Many of us would say nothing 
If a black friend declared, 
“A ______ will never become the President of the United States of America ….” 
To be honest, 
I even agree 
With the essence of this statement. 
For only a full black man or woman 
Will 
Eventually 
Become 
The President. 
Thankfully, 
That still leaves all black people in the running.

Copyright © Victor Kwansa | Year Posted 2005

Details | I do not know? |
As I place the pen
on paper
my soul beings
to bleed
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla 
fog around me, allowing
my mind
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
I write
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
and fears
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner 
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams 
of being a published poet
clearly float
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
onto pages
into an early sun

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010

Details | Haiku |
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)

           Understanding A
       Metaphysical Moment …
       … Nature’s Mysteries



                 This Haiku is for:
       The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))

                        MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
Meaning, ever bending, never ending-ly open to changing it's mind and opinions,
by moving around words and pulling and pushing in different directions,
until everything changes, rearranges pages in history
just for the mystery to begin again
with new songs, new players and these layers and layers
of summits and new beginnings. 
Of openings back to where we came in.
New meanings are foaming and forming 
within the fatted belly of doing and screwing until done.
Come watch a new one get sprung.
A new shape to take place of the old, behold
and believe in your prayers.
They keep coming these layers and layers 
and faces of women and men.
Turn around just to begin again.

Copyright © even flow | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.

Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse |
I used to think poetry was about expression
(but some it seems would rather make it a competition)
I used to think beautiful words were meant to encourage growth,
not be used as a pedestal for your ego.

But hey      What do I know?

You're the Master of the Pen
in whom we all adore.
Your advice is what we savor
... please tell us more!

But then again      Maybe you shouldn't      And just listen for a minute
Take a step back and breathe      Don't abuse the gift you've been given
You ought to delight in the fact that you are NOTHING      (as am I)
Because everything we write, and dream, is nothing but a gift passing by
They don't come because of what you did      They come because they come
It's nothing glamorous      Nothing special      It's like the rising of the sun
Each circuit is a blessing      Out of our control      Whether we like it or not
So here's what I have to say to the friend we all know      Mr. Big Shot

You may be Brilliant with a capital B,
have words that sing like a friggin' symphony,
but have you checked the pulse of your humility?

Is it still beating?      Still beating?
Or is it left in the corner bleeding
from your Excalibur Pride.

Yeah, you may be the next Emily Dickinson,
or Edgar Allan Poe.
Have verses that make the minstrels weep,
and thoughts so mesmerizing      So deep

But if your soul ain't pouring on the page -
if you write for reasons that are shallow -
on your Magnum Opus      I'd rather turn the page!

(yes, it really happened! I rhymed 'page' with 'page'
Shakespeare I know      Must be rolling in his grave!)

To tell the truth I'd rather turn my attention to the simple;
to the ones who leave those subtle ripples
on my heart, and on my mind.
Whose treasured presence are so personal,
it peaks on the edge of the divine.

So no

I'd really rather not dedicate my time
to your perfect metrical rhymes -
to your Magnifico Metaphors,
your Awesome Alliteration,
your Verdant Vocabulary
so lush that it's scary!

Your whoop-di-do-look-what-I-can-do
I'm so clever      How 'bout you?

If your heart is full of Me, Myself and I
To your poetry

... I'd rather say goodbye!

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose |
My soul rides the pen. Flowing through the nib, my thoughts are revealed; flowing onto the page in dark, liquid waves. As a vessel, I pour; all within me, spews forth. Naked rivers of ink Reveal muse’s secrets. Muse wields her sword, sliced opinions, fall away upon journal pages. Pen-to-paper, scratching letters and words that betray us both. She talks too much and insists that, there are others who dream and believe, as we do. Why do I feel like I must keep silent and Let her do all of the talking? With Pen, she speaks; with sword, she conquers. I am her vessel and I must let her pour.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
They say a picture is worth a thousand words,
but let me tell you what a word is worth

Worth it all      All of you
Eulogies of bygone days
Teleported feelings from here      To there      Here
from neurons to fingers
ligaments to pen

You look outside your moonlit window thinking      When?
A nagging doubt
      at what came out
Only to realize      It was you      All along
Paradoxically on the page
Drips of you on display      Your mirror says      Hello      How do you do?
As you realize      There is two
one in (brackets)      one in
Exclamation!!!

!!!

... trailing behind     Thoughts of varied choices      Whispers of
(by the way)
and      Let me think about this
Leading too      What if I did      This      This or that
This is not how it's supposed to be
Me writing about me      Writing about      Me
The words come in six and twenty
Combinations of anxiety of pErPlExItY of
i nd  e   fina  b i lit  y

Divinity

That's all it is      Not me      Not you
Just echoes of God's creativity

FADING      FADing      fading      ...      bliss

An epiphany wrapped in      How did I      Did I?
No      Of course not

You find the beauty in between dead
      s   p   a   c   e   s      of life      A word      Just a word

That's what it's worth



Inspired by the Writings of Joseph Granda-Padron

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
A coffee bar with orange paint --
   Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
   A neon sign hangs by the door.

I come here sometimes just to write.
   A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
   I do not see it as a taint.

Tonight an artist's work is hung
   Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
   Allows her dreams to have their say.

I like the color in these walls --
   A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
   A coffee bar with orange paint.

Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2006