Writing Nostalgia Poems

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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 | Couplet |
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.



Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |
           I bent over to touch my toes
               and the ground tore open like a backbone.

I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe 
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars, 
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.

Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees, 
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]

The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.  
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.

   I dared to taste oblivion,
       and the sky swallowed me. 

My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming, 
but inside out.

            I bent over to touch my toes,
              and my spine tore open;
            the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
          like the tines of forks.
            I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
              but I only found where I end.

Copyright © Elizabeth Nathaniel | Year Posted 2012




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

Details | Light Poetry |
She, Of The Cosmic Essence
Aware Of A Power
Aware Of A Presence
And Aware Of The Need For Our
Desire To Rise Higher
… and Higher
To Our Optimum Height
Patricia … You Are Like The Alaskan Lights
Those Northern Flares and Colors In Cold Night 
Floating Dreams, So Mesmerizing
Patricia, Brings It To Her Poetic Themes
Such Are The Verses She Shares To View
And Reading Them, She's Showing You
Her Cosmic Essence Insight
Oh Patricia, You’re An Alaskan Light …
So, Keep Reaching, Keep Speaking … and Write !


For The Girl, Who Shared A Comfy, Snug Book Read
On One Of Her Snowy Days … (Via Her Poem- ‘Autumn’s Passing’ 
Also - Your Poem ‘Journey’ is One)
See … It Brought Back Some Wonderful Memories To Me …

                   Your Poet-Friend,
         
                           The  MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

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 | Free verse |

O impetuous Muse surround me
with ashes of moody youth
Recall silken moments,
 uncertain, where 
marbled words wrote
an elaborate history.

Nectar thoughts,
 not moments, dappled drab
where ruined feathers in darkness dwelt.
Ornate  years of passion, spilling fire
allusive to all consuming ire.
	
When summer spoke,
when spring day-dreamed
and Autumn kissed me with
gaudy leaves.

Swift and sweet, how memories rise
diamond- strung in a room of silver
Slick and sleek from a stormy world,
 solid tree trunks on a bell- clear morning.
 
Blithe, dramatic, reckless dreams
 flowing with precocious,
 peculiar streams
 Luxurious with sadness,
 time’s cruel wheel
  rolls vast recollections 
 that slowly  yield
 cold, closed canyons of
endless  truths,
touched with the starry
  kiss of  youth.

Suzanne Delaney


for Harry














Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Blank verse |
Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.

Copyright © Nick Hertzog | Year Posted 2010

Details | Lyric |
For a time I've been writing as the stream idles by
as dust storms are rolling, across a faraway sky
while sheep are a'bleating; as the cattle lie low
as I'm writing I'm watching, the white falling snow
it drops down in silence, from the dark coloured sky
I feel distanced, from the home that I'm holding
here in my minds eye..!

 © Joe Maverick 09-01-2010

Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme |
"Everything is gonna be alright".
A simple writing stared at me from wall.
Somebody drew it. Why, for whom? Don't know.
And what they meant by it, if anything at all.
.
A busy day, its noise - tried push me out.
I had to rush, fulfill, complete and run around.
How many times we're busy making someone happy.
Forgetting us, allowing be somebody's puppy.
.
Forget it all. I stood and watched, amused by simple phrase.
And getting warm inside remembering old days
Few silly words became highlight of day.
Brought smile, optimism. Continue? You may.
.
A pause in life. Relax, refresh, review.
Continue wiser - now happiness in view.
How cool it is to write and throw rope,
To those of us who needs a boost of hope.

Copyright © Russell Grushco | Year Posted 2016

Details | Personification |
The Cafe’s Appration 
_______________________________
The Mahogany door... was smooth,
as my palm kneaded its rich burgundy finish. 
Solitude… 
neath the red door and golden handles,
Journal’s are leafed through, and written 
in fine ink of a pen.

spiced cinnamon.. glazes the windows,
and allures Writers from the 
frigid cold.

homemade mugs of mandarin orange..
and teal blue.. stir within 
the cafe’s serenity, 

blue bird's warble their finesse..
The harp players, with marmalade 
tinges, strum...

strum the gilded strings of people's
 hearts.

Steamed milk brews… sifts through
cinders of what was an Author's
handwritten notes,

Through coal caressed firewood.

Saucers meet eyes with each other..
their aged souls murmuring in 
simmering of 

An apparitions chatter.

Cinnamon-sugared pastries 
are nibbled by 
poets.. sipping on their
Turkish coffee’s.

Milk Foam.. dollops atop
the espresso brown 
facade,
 
Traced within the facade of 
spiced brown.. be 

cursive hearts.. branching 
off the rim of foam.

Although to me.. the laptops 
with documents in view, and
fonts spontaneously printed,

neat papers written with french poetry..
so beautifully penned by the ease of a
lovers palm.

be nostalgia’s message.

The apparition of it all..
the man behind the maroon curtain..

and effortlessly he always draws 
the spirals of winters flurries

Upon our snow blessed hearts.

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2016

Details | Salaam |

Jab Meri Bechaini Mit Jayegi
Jab Mere Dilko Sukoon Mil Jayega
Yeh Khaalipan Mit Jayega

Do Pal Ki Chandni Ke Liye
Aj Bhi Zinda Hoon Main
Meri Khaamoshi Ke Ageh Aasmaan Bhi Khatam Ho Jayega

Kehne Ke Liye Toh Roz Marta Hoon Main
Thoda Aur Marne Ke Liye
Yeh Deewana Kal Phir Ayega

Copyright © shadab shaikh | Year Posted 2013

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 |
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Sitting on top of the mountain
I was exclaiming  at the beauty
of a sunset I wouldn't want a life 
without nature in it.

Now as I age I face far greater 
limitations,
I felt so many varieties 
of emptiness lately.
 I need to block the 
meaningful communication, 
and be willing to become 
transformed to ignore 
what my ego is saying, 
and listen to my soul.

I have but one dream
that's my family, 
one heart that's me in them
 with them no matter
 wherever they are,
 near or far we will reach
 that star, we will spend 
much time as a family,
it never happened .

My life is sad although 
I did nothing that bad 
to deserve to live, 
as lonesome as it can get.
I yearn to live a life 
where all is bright 
and everything is alright
before losing my insight. 

That is why unfortunately 
my choices and options 
became more limited.
Living in the past
I had to learn how to live 
my life with those restrictions,
imposed on me due to our 
financial circumstances,
because of the sixteen years
of war in our country.

My heart is homeless
escaped to lay on a pavement, 
beg a passer by offer a tissue 
to wipe away the unspoken,
 that was hiding in me
 for years.
 
Oh! twister, whirl me strongly 
towards spring showers,
wet my brain with a drop
of water to surface intact,
accept that my loneliness 
is doomed. 
     Alone I am. 

Therese Bacha
14 September
     2014       Contest for PD. A poem never put in a contest before.

Copyright © Therese Bacha | 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

Details | Rhyme |
Peggy Anderson, what can I do
I've tried all evening to get through to you.
I loved your poem about your friends 
And the Iron Bed is like the one I once had.

Keep up the good work 
And thanks for your nice words
On my poems My Guardian Angel
And Stubborn or Gifted.

Keep up the good work
And I'll try again 
To let you know I enjoyed 
The poems you put in.

                            Cile Beer

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Light Poetry |

To Commemorate My 300th Poem Here On The Soup

300 Solomons
300 Beacons
300 Spartans
300 Martyrs

300 Tales Done
300 Threads Spun
300 Heartsongs
300 Touchstones

300 Scheherazade
Only 700 More, GOD
and Wherever YOU Beam Me
10,000 More, Gleam Me

 - - - - - - - - - -

… I Have Lost 200 Poems
But Here Are 300
Because I Open My Arms
To Inspiration Undaunted …

“ Pancakes, Preserves, Poached-Egg & Pork
Maple-Syrup, Milk and Sun-Motes In The Morn
Calling My Name, Just Like Flapjacks To A Fork
Psyche Is Picking Up Poems, Like Babies Just Born “

- - - - - - - - - -

A Childhood Poem Remembered …

           I See The Moon
      and The Moon Sees Me
       GOD Bless The Moon
         and GOD Bless Me

… and Long Live, The Love Of Poetry …

                                 The  MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2010

Details | Idyll (Idyl) |
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011

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 | Quatern |

Waking unbridled offering,
eyes open to nostalgic thoughts.
Lady Day* sings "Some Other Spring" -
by midday light, he's overwrought.

Hands brush the dust from typewriter
waking unbridled offering.
No tryst of words or deeds slight her.
He pecks the keys in smokey rings.

Those days long gone, one gold earring
reminds of when love did persist.
Waking unbridled offering -
a ticket taunts of red eye missed.

Faded lipstick on cigarettes,
a full ashtray still inspiring -
He types again to not forget,
waking unbridled offering.


*Billie Holiday's nickname
For Craig's Chopped III contest, 11/21/14

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014

Details | Haiku |
Water licks your feet
Far cry from the beating sun
Desert sand to sea

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ghazal |
My roots are trembling
through clay orgasm,
tumbling the landslide
that speaks every shake or so.
Leo roars and I await life,
Generic roving rumbles
reminding me of the world around,
but I never remember
how to cling to the ground.

Copyright © Jennifer Ratcliffe | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet |
You know what I hate about writer’s block,
How my creativity is hidden behind a lock;

Time ticks away as I stare at my screen,
My heart beating faster from the strain of caffeine;

The cursor flashing lulls me to doze,
Til a fly lands smack on the tip of my nose;

I swing at the fly and glance at the clock,
How did 10 AM turn into 5 O’clock;

I stand and I stretch and then walk away,
And say goodbye to another wasted day;

Maybe tomorrow will inspire my brain,
Or I could be slowly going insane…

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |




My Wishes are Simple


My wishes are simple,
my desires few,

to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.



My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,

to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.



My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,

my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,

healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.




Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
I thought that it will be just a dream,
That YOU and I will become ONE for real;
Before, the least thing that I could do,
Is to be a dear friend to you.

We’ve known each other for almost a decade;
Classmates, Groupmates, Schoolmate that’s our label.
And after graduation, I thought it will fade,
The relationship we built that started out late.

Our lives shifted from highschool to college;
I’ll never expect that we’ll still see each other.
Then just from a single text we got this privilege,
Of continuing to get to know each other deeper.

We usually texts every now and then;
And we only just tease each other often.
Then to our cleverness, we come to an end;
To call each other “CHURA” by our pet name. 

But our journey to love wasn’t that easy.
We had our own relationships in between;
Still, I believe that we both own each one, kinda silly;
And maybe we prayed in God’s time we can call each MINE.

Unexpectedly God came in our way,
From a single question that I throw away;
We started to build the strong foundation,
Of genuine trust from our constant communication.

Trials came but still we stand firm;
Because we face those hurdles with grin.
We may not be the best couple,
But we are stronger and better if we’re together.

As you mentioned in your poem:
“That we don’t know what might happen next,
But let’s be patient and think for the best,
And be thankful coz we’re blessed
By loving each other and the rest.”

Yes! We really don’t know what might come;
But we could make things happen if we remain calm.
Let’s set aside our fears and give ourselves a chance;
By trusting each other and we’ll survived this romance. 


Michurz ko, I really do appreciate everything you do;
From constant reminders, teases and sweet nothings from you;
Even your efforts to make me smile everyday;
And off course to be there full of love on my birthday. 

I really don’t know why I do love you;
But one thing is for sure, I want to grow old with you. 
I will embrace the negativity and fears that you shed,
And make those scars you have mended.

Let’s be strong for each other.
Remove “I” but used “WE”
Coz we’re ONE in this battle;
And together we won’t’ be rattled.

Thank you for loving, trusting & inspiring me;
The smiles we shared and the problems we faced,
Only makes us stronger and wiser.
A couple centered in GOD and constantly understands each other.

I love you, I love all of YOU, Forever.
YOU and ME everyday. 

Michurz mo.
7.25.2013
#weeksaryceleb

P.S. Imissyoumuch. :(

Copyright © Michurz Mo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Prolog:   This poem is about how much you need to struggle to ‘survive’ as an accountable and matured man. Child demands what he desires and the man sacrifices his desire, to fulfill the child’s.  It’s funny how you would be made a king for a day, and then a ‘somebody’, or even a ‘nobody’? Moreover, as you grow up, linearly, the problems breed exponentially like bacteria. Yes, it is true that the assimilative power to bear the offsets increase as you grow up too and how we breathe with the mere hope that one’s integrity pays back at some point in life. These verses symbolize the seldom hidden pain as adolescents in antithesis to the trouble-free life of a kid. Being a four year old playing with crayons, it’s all about you and your own little world!  
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
 
From learning to put on the bow-tie,
To responsibly having the handkerchief in your pocket,
From experiencing the toughest times
And still standing upright like a ship in a storm
Like never before,
Manhood, here comes, like a raging warrior,
Resilient in form, stronger than its former,
And kills your innocence; darkens your heart.
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising
 
Life slips by ‘unlived’ and under cut-throat competition
Little merry-time, patchy hangovers and a far-fetched ambition
In trying to enrich and reclassify his social status
Life is yet adventurous, travelling rough miles
Reshaping himself, constantly adopting new lifestyles,
Every so often, he needs a little time, damn-it
In the end, faith grows numb in breaking the habit
It’s flabbergasting dad, how you stood up on your feet
Such burden of liability on the shoulders, how can one keep?
 
Politics was detested, conspiracy unheard of.
But now only has become an essential strategy for survival
Pain only makes him stronger,
Thanks Kelly Clarkson; that makes our belief finer
And brings a hope of fresh revival
How true Darwin sayeth!
Fittest subsists, and the rest are extinct species.
However, gratitude to such reformation
The inception of adulthood, cognizance!
Teaches him to be & believe himself; thus push his limits farther
Only critical moments, binds his relationships sturdier
 
The journey is tough, the journey is loathed,
The journey is necessary, the journey is promising.
 
 
Inspired by : friends, fam, eminem, linkin park, my fellow poets, my world

Copyright © Dhruv Panchal | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
Pumped

Reams of paper sit upon my desk accordioned untidily, dimpled where the cat stood or sat too long. The wastepaper basket was full of crumbled balls, reflecting the topography of the Nepali  adventure  I am trying to re-count. The heavily grained desk of golden oak supports a range of dictionaries and thesaurus’s, any one of which was heavy enough to use as a doorstop in a windstorm. An old Underwood typewriter sits, holding court, in the midst of all this, enamel black, with chrome edged keys and struts which depress at the tap of a fingertip. The radio blares, God Bless the Child Who’s Got His Own…as I formulate the saga of a heroine seeker, lead by two caramel colored Nepali boys, toward the foothills of the Himalayian Mountains.

The spindles holding the black ribbon snag in the clip-like opening which holds them taunt. Adjusting the tape turns my nails blue-black. I brush the hair from my eyes decorating the tip of my nose. Dirty business this writing. I tear another sheet from the rubber roller and crumple it with a sigh. “Damn, irascible machine don’t you have a soul? Give Mama something! Anything” I whine. 

Scared by the abruptness of my outburst, and the carriage's leap left, the scared-y-cat is propelled to the floor, sending a half-stack of unsullied paper to ground, covering my patent-leather pumps.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKNtP1zOVHw
Enjoy...while you read..Billy Holiday

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013