Writing Sister Poems

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Details | Quatrain |
On the Way to Memphis

On the way to Memphis, Graceland-bound are we.
I know a way to pass away the time.
Since there is a challenge to write with somebody,
Will you help me come up with a rhyme?

A what?? I’d rather just tour Presley’s home.
I’m hearing rules asking me to find
iambic meter just to write a poem?
Pentameter rhyming? I just feel blind.

You’re doing well, but we’ve been BOTH off beat!
Why must this weather have to be adverse?
To think up lines in rain is no small feat
while you are driving! Think up one more verse!

That made me laugh! My brain I have to use.
You back-seat writer, what now must I do?
Your suggestions make words so hard to choose.
The beat’s not right now? What will you do? Sue?

Now THERE’S a funny line. You’re getting good!
You’ve got the humor and you sure can drive!
Who cares about it? We’ve got sisterhood;
So when to Elvis-land will we arrive?


July 5, 2017
For Jan Alison's PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR WRITING PARTNER FOR MY COLLABORATION CONTEST - Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017




Details | Free verse |
There was a time as a child when I knew I was different. I felt lost and enjoyed thing other girls may not have. I hated dresses, loved wearing ball caps and watched football at the age of five. I’m sure other little girls loved these things as well, but to me I felt alone. I needed to express myself in ways I couldn’t. Growing up was difficult, yet at the same time I enjoyed my way of thinking. I never knew how freeing it would be to admit I was a lesbian. Back then, it was frowned upon and I felt dirty at times. I remember having boyfriends and I just didn’t feel the connection I should have or could have. I did not feel normal, but as I grew older I realized there is no such thing as normal. I should be proud of who I am and not feel confined to a cell for who I love and why. I struggled with guilt because I was raised in the church. I needed liberation and as soon as I met her I knew she was the one. She turned my world upside down and from that moment on we became the best of soul mates and lovers. Twenty years had passed and my past crept up on me very quickly. I fell into addiction and suffered from bouts of depression. The days were long and the nights were spent weeping. I pushed everyone away including my lover. I did not know myself anymore. I had no idea who I was. My drinking had become out of control and I felt despair and hopeless. I wanted to give up all together. I sought medical council and tried medication. But is that what I actually needed? Or was it just my past catching up with me? Memories of abuse and ridicule from peers. Feeling like an outcast because I went alone to prom. Living in secret from my family for so long. Thankfully, my family gave me full support and loved me no matter who I fell in love with or why. My family never gave up on me and in the end I caused them more pain than I had faced when I was alive. Why did I choose to end my life? What was so hard on earth that I could not muster up enough courage to live one more day? Was death the answer to my problems? I had a deadly disease and in the end it killed me. I tried three times before I actually succeeded. I ran away from life and never looked back. Now I live free, but was the pain I inflicted on my loved ones worth it? I left my lover in such anguish that after six years without me, she still cries herself to sleep every night. She feels responsible and wishes she could’ve saved me one last time. I didn’t deserve all the struggles I faced, but she never deserved the pain I inflicted upon her. I left my sister Laura. She was my best friend and I watched her grieve for me in ways I never thought she could. She is so strong now but deep down she suffers from deep remorse and pain. I caused that pain. She will never be the same again…because of me. She needed me in life, and I deserted her like a swift breeze in the night. She showed me such compassion, love and support during my final days and as I watched her read my farewell letter, I wept until my wings broke. She misses me dearly... Dear Bird, I am sorry. Please forgive me. lu Love, -K September 28, 2016

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Two To Tangle -Dinda Minardi

TWO STRENGTHS  (( COLLABORATION )) 

by~ Dinda Minardi

Do you still remember how we played around? 
Mocking each other over our guys 
We were princesses in our parents’ lawn 
Bonded by our laughs and cries 
When family downtime crawled 
We hold each other as we’re the older 
Our maturity has been boiled 
Ready to serves as a breaker 
We are one and stronger 
Always love and respect for you, sister
To fight with you, is all I willingly to do 
When you give up, I’ll be your whip
As you‘re a jolt if spirit’s asleep


by~ Poet Destroyer

I could never forget the way we played around.
Yes! We played patty cake to showoff in front of boys.
We built a white castle than, brother tore it down.
You were never afraid to show how much you care,
Especially when we played tag, and you never played fair.
Now your heart is filled with greater love.
Your like an angel that fell from above.
Your invisible wings protect me in every fall,
When we where small you protected me from nightmares.
I secretly enjoyed the way you pushed me around.
You held your head up high, and never let me down.
Our fights where silly ways of building a better bond.
My stubbornness came from trying to be just like you.
Now "the strength of me",
Comes from "the strength of you."


A collaboration with * Dinda Minardi

my collaboration contest

Copyright © Dinda Minardi | Year Posted 2011




Details | I do not know? |
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | ABC |
I'm writing now oh big bro
Oh! sorry I forgot, yes you said no
To say goodbye and to let you know
That you'll be on my mind wherever I 
go
Well you know I'll never be ur pussy 
cat nor teddy bear
Whatever you wanna call me now...I 
dnt care
You think you're the one who's hurt, 
well you're wrong dear
The truth is that I'm the one suffering 
here
No no plz dnt you ever apologize
I'm the one who's sorry for telling 
lies
To you?! Yeah right that's what you 
have always thought
But I was lying to myself believe it or 
not
No more stories,no more pain
Gonna spread my wings, fly in the 
rain
Now each one is going his own way
Well that is all I have to say
If you change your mind I'll be 
waiting for you
Ready do hear and forgive like I 
always do
The fact is you'll never know what 
you did to me
Though I'll never consider you as an 
enemy
Oh how I wish to hear from you 
these words
Saying, sister come close to me, 
together we will run the world.

Copyright © dreamersis poems | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
knobby-knee’d, toes that stop 
bend and pick up 
penny, marble, rock 
outside chalk 
on concrete, begging, for me to turn around 
for one more try 

Copyright © Gerry Mattia | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Christ showed and proved His Divine power chiefly by His miracles
Which are extraordinary works that can be performed 
Only by the power received from God
Therefore, His sanction and authority

11282011

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011

Details | Quatrain |
On the Way to Memphis

On the way to Memphis, Graceland-bound are we.
I know a way to pass away the time.
Since there is a challenge to write with somebody,
Will you help me come up with a rhyme?

A what?? I’d rather just tour Presley’s home.
I’m hearing rules asking me to find
iambic meter just to write a poem?
Pentameter rhyming? I just feel blind.

You’re doing well, but we’ve been BOTH off beat!
Why must this weather have to be adverse?
To think up lines in rain is no small feat
while you are driving! Think up one more verse!

That made me laugh! My brain I have to use.
You back-seat writer, what now must I do?
Your suggestions make words so hard to choose.
The beat’s not right now? What will you do? Sue?

Now THERE’S a funny line. You’re getting good!
You’ve got the humor and you sure can drive!
Who cares about it? We’ve got sisterhood;
So when to Elvis-land will we arrive?


July 5, 2017
For Jan Alison's PLEASE CHOOSE YOUR WRITING PARTNER FOR MY COLLABORATION CONTEST - Poetry Contest 

Copyright © Jennifer Walker | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
I wish people would quit picking on my sister. She is a wonderful writer and I know her
work is dark and creepy but that is who she is. She writes to entertain and to take you
places that make you uncomfortable. If you read her poems and you get the chills she has
done what she set out to do! If it creeps you out to much then when you see the name
Illyanna De La Keur then don't read it. This is a place where we all can demonstrate our
creativity and I would hate for her to remove her work and quit writing. Illyanna is a
writer that is an acquired taste and if not for her and my other sister I would never have
explored my own talent so please lay off on telling her to change her subject matter.

Copyright © Kristy De La Keur Scoveille | Year Posted 2009

Details | I do not know? |
My sister the poet
Will let it be known
Of her past life and her so many homes
Of all her good memories and all of the bad
She is quite talented and has a lot to say
Her life with the devilish man who called himself her father made her that way
Mean as a snake when you make her mad
But the nicest person you’ll ever meet
A down right Christian, she is
And when you do something wrong she lets you know about it
Most parents tell their kids ‘Santa’s watching you’
But my sister instead says ‘Jesus is watching you’
At the moment she is writing a book of poems of all her childhood memories
From the very first to the very worst
Her subjects vary from her sister to her brother
From riding in a toy car to building an outhouse
But not all of it is funny
Some of it makes you really appreciate the life you’ve got
Wether it’s happy or sad
Or makes you angry and mad 
It all flows together and it all tells a story of a life from hell that we are all glad 
we didn’t have
To my sister the poet
I love you very much
And I wish I had your talent
I wish you the best of luck with your book
Keep up the good work

Copyright © Danielle Davis | Year Posted 2005

Details | I do not know? |
Things were okay, or at least I thought so.  When you’re a 15-year-old girl your 
world consists of boys, girls that don’t like you, conversation for hours on the 
phone with your best friends about what you should wear to the upcoming dance, 
etc.  That was my world then, at least for a little while.  That world quickly came to 
a screeching halt.  I was at school, doing my normal thing when I was called to 
the office to check out for the day.  I took my time, gathered my things and walked 
to the end of the hall to find my step-dad (my mom’s second husband) standing 
there waiting for me.  I kept walking, but I knew something was wrong.  As I 
approached him he had no color to his face and he looked like he had just heard 
the worst news anyone could have told him. I asked him what was wrong and he 
shook his head no at me and started walking out the door.  I followed.  I 
continued to ask him what was going on and he still wouldn’t answer me.  Finally 
he turned around and looked at me after we had reached the parking lot, he 
said, “it’s your dad.”  I didn’t really know what he was talking about, I asked him 
what happened, he didn’t say a word, he simply put his fingers as though they 
were a gun to his head and pulled an imaginary trigger that all of a sudden was 
more real to me than I can tell you.  I asked, “Daddy committed suicide?”  He 
nodded his head yes and told me to get in the truck.  I climbed into the truck 
unable to speak, unable to think.  What he just told me seemed like a nightmare, 
seemed impossible.  We hat to go pick up my younger sister who was in sixth 
grade at the time.  He went in and got her and when they came back out she 
asked what was wrong.  I looked at my step-dad hoping with all my heart that he 
would tell her because I didn’t know if I could even begin to utter the words that 
seemed to make time stand still.  He just stared at me, so I had to look my sister 
in the eye and tel her that our daddy, our hero, our knight in shining armor was 
gone.  We didn’t know a lot about the situation until we got home.  We walked in 
and my mom told us that he was gone.  I collapsed to the floor.  It was as if 
everything in me wasn’t enough to keep me upright.  Nothing at that moment 
could have given me the strength to stand.  Every breath I took, every tear I cried 
as I lay there on the floor seemed to echo.  The saying, “time

Copyright © Chandra Hart | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
She is thunder and lightning;
powerful and serene,
terrifying and gorgeous,
cracking with white energy.

When she feels lonely she finds a blank canvas,
breaks him open looking for mountains,
hoping to see adventure and
adrenaline pumping in and out of veins.

When they leave, canvasses broken and torn and useless,
she is left an ocean of turmoil,
wind uselessly pushing through rain,
seeking warmth and love and life.

Her heart thunders and her eyes shine; 
a storm trapped in a plastic container,
rage and nature,
terror and joy.

She is so much
and she has given up
trying to see it.

Copyright © Ema Kenyon | Year Posted 2017