Writing Summer Poems

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Details | Rhyme |
Ana
She writes her songs and her poems,
not one person know 'em.
She listens to the sound of her music,
she's stuck to it like a tick.

If someone took the time to listen,
her true colors would glisten.
She's put on a mask,
and hid everything when someone asked.

She was the type of girl who would always laugh,
making you wish it would last.
She was the type of girl who would smile the day away,
too bad it is no longer that way.

She is now the girl who is depressed,
I bet you're impressed.
Since no one could tell
that she was going through hell.

Everyone thought she was happy, 
when really, she felt crappy.
Everyone thought she was having the time of her life,
who would have guess her best friend was a knife?

She spent her days alone,
she seemed to do everything on her own.
Never once wanted help.
Thought she could do everything herself.

Then the day came,
when she lost the game.
She fell apart,
and everyone saw her broken heart.

They saw the way she overreacted.
Oh, if only you saw the way she acted.
She bruised herself, scratched herself, and made herself bleed,
no one knew what it was that she needed.

They saw her tears,
and that was what she feared.
They found out she wasn't okay,
oh, she hated that day.

Everyone found out about her secret,
and she wish they'd just forget,
but she knew they couldn't,
and that they wouldn't.

She left that town and started over,
no one knew she went undercover.
She said she got better,
when really... something else occurred. 

She secretly hurt herself,
and walked away from help.
Everyone thought she recovered,
when really, she was undercover.

She secretly wanted to get worse,
no one knew of course.
No one cared to ask,
if she was wearing her mask.

Now it's too late,
she locked the gate.
Killed herself,
everyone had forgotten she needed help.

Goodbye cold world,
this was a story of a girl
who once loved everyone
then feared who it was who won.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013




Details | Couplet |
                                A CLASSIC SUMMER IN GREECE

               Viciousness and mystery erupt on arid soil.
               Summer heat and idle time can make the spirits boil.
               Languishing in stuffy rooms with very little sleep--
               Night time flickers of the light-- imagination leaps.
                  
               Heat that beckons times long past invade a fevered head—   
               Athena pleases lovers mid her goddess silken bed,
               Grecian legs march bravely –- prelude Olympian races--
               Soldiers dream they sail away to see exotic places.

               Heat waves shimmer landscape –men will do what they are told--
               Spearborn soldiers helmeted sing down a dusty road.
               Tho in mind they join their lovers whispering by the sea,
               Drink of mountain waters --rest their head on sweetheart’s knee

               Helen, when she sailed away –a wayward selfish wife
               Without a backward glance she risked the cost of human life--
               Was it the heat that made her crazed to do this foolish thing?
               A fit of summer boredom could create this witless fling.

               Autumn winds are blowing now-- Troy’s nights turn cool and fair--
               Does Paris try to ditch her --as naked Helen combs her hair--
               Does Hector tell his brother--get this woman out of here--
               Does Helen beg to stay-- and tell her lover not to fear?

               Heat can play the brain and make it dance a backward tune--
               Clarity as sun tricks down—repeats a former June,
               Perhaps there is a lesson learned from heat that sears the soul--
               Summertime romance will write us each a tragic role.

Victoria Anderson Throop ©
1/11/13

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
I can’t speak for every writer
of prose and poetry,
but from my own experience
this is what pertains to me.
As there are seasons in the natural,
some lovely, some not so inviting;
the same thing occurs when it comes to my pen.
There are seasons of my writing.

I’ve been through some winter like seasons
longing for inspiring urge,
but my pen felt cold and lifeless
almost like a funeral dirge.
These times of seeming deadness
when it appeared there was no inspiration,
although some of them lasted for years,
were really stages of hibernation.

Then at last there came a thawing,
a melting of my frosted pen;
sap that lay so still and dormant,
miraculously flowing again.
Suddenly, my quill, alive with bloom
and flowing like a fountain.
Free verse, limerick and haiku
come skipping over the mountain.
Poetry it starts to bloom
of various hue and shade,
stirring refrains and ballads 
that sweetly serenade.
The forms that now are breaking forth
to me, they might be new,
a villanelle, a tyburn or perhaps a clerihew.

Then spring gives way to summer
with weather oh so warm;
palm trees and sweltering breeze
an easy feeling in my form.
Those hot August nights can quickly pass
with refreshing iced tea in my poet’s glass.

Then on into the next season
for fall, it now is time.
The colors are slowly fading.
Still there’s reason in my rhyme.
Hot apple cider, the pumpkin patches
And gloriously fun hay rides,
the air is stiff and cooler
yet inspiration continues to abide.

Finally, it’s ‘round to winter again,
and in spite of the holiday hustle;
it seems my pen has fallen asleep
and will not move a muscle.
I may feel unproductive
and like I’m really sluffing,
but it’s at this time God reminds me
that without Him I am nothing.
So, I’ll read and wait and pray
until God sees fit, and then,
when the timing is just right
He will send me spring again!

Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017




Details | Sonnet |
baseball and poetry love them both
just like writing baseball excites me too
and during the recent months they’ve gain growth
love it as much as writing an haiku

can’t wait next month the season will begin
I'm not like others I never played golf
if I’m lucky I’ll catch a Red Sox win
outside of Fenway was a sign for Gulf

besides Poetry Soup may be else where
such as MLB dot com checking scores
I love baseball because it has some flair
as a kid bought cards from many stores

when summer is here I’ll be watching more
wife and I caught a Red Sox Phillies game
and my wife didn’t find the game a bore
but lately the Red Sox have brought us shame

but the new season will be starting soon
enjoy the games even from the saloon

Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
She has so much pain inside of her,
she doesn't know how to address it.
So she turns the pain into anger,
after she explodes, she becomes quiet.

She goes up to her room, upset.
Why does the world hate her so?
She thinks to herself, “That’s it!”
But in reality, it isn't though.

She lies on her bed,
Pulls out her book and reads.
As she turns the pages, she loses her head,
In her mind, she thinks “This is what I need.”

A place to escape the world,
Somewhere she can run.
For it seems everyone hates this girl,
And nothing she does is fun.

She plays her cello 
And loses herself in the music
She does this when she feels low
Then she plays the song of her pick

She listens to the beat she makes,
Trying to make it sound perfect,
But oh, she keeps making mistakes,
She thinks that she will never get it.

She leaves the cello alone
And watches her shows
She then grabs her phone
And tells her best friend the show as it goes.

She leaves the TV on, 
Then she enters her laptop.
She stays on till dawn,
She just can’t seem to stop.

She loves the idea of leaving the real world
And entering an imaginary one.
That’s the story of the girl,
Who is never done.

Copyright © Ana Jusino | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.

The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.

"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.

Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart 
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.

The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.

Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
without you.

I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Concrete |
There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.

Copyright © Frances Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
I sit upon the river bank watching in reflection
Low  stretched arms of mountains spread, calling for attention, 
Our camping place is worry free, no one here to bother me
I want to write a poem, a verse.....and curse my own distraction

Here in summer’s languor, no words could ever tell
Beholding beauty such as this, would cause the tongue to swell
Where the slopes of other valleys, or longing lakes afar
The heart feels quiet sympathy, they cannot compare as well

So overcome with majesty, and tranquil peaks of snow
The stillness of a mirrored lake, unlike I have ever known
If heaven could be so beautiful…Dear Lord, please take me now
If heaven’s gate, is such as this, I'll never hesitate to go

But, I must put away the waiting pen, and put away my muse
For, I hear the family calling me, and though I have excuse
It's time to gather kindling wood, for a fire in the pit
Those s'mores to make, they'll not forsake, marshmallows on a stick!

_____________________________________
For Francine's Contest: "A Summer's Day
6/19/13

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
I am a summer poet,
I cannot write during school,
And just however hard I try
I end up like a fool.
 
But when vacations start,
Ideas begin to bloom
And then I start to write
Until there is no more room.

I am a summer poet,
I really do not know why,
When I try to think at school,
Million other things come by -

As I start writing a poem,
I make a list to rhyme,
That reminds me of English class
Which is due in just some time

When I want to think of a title,
All that comes to my mind,
Are the names my teacher would call me,
Because my book I could not find.

Even if I am almost ready,
Meddling with my pen to think,
The pen just breaks out open,
Blotting the whole paper with ink.

I am a summer poet,
I cannot write during school,
And just however hard I try
I end up like a fool.


Copyright © Sneha RV The Literature Lover | Year Posted 2014

Details | Romanticism |
I am dead without my love.
It is simple as that.
I cannot breath without her,
I cannot eat without her,
I cannot write without her.
I cannot live without my love,
I am dead without my love.

I cannot prosper without her warm embrace,
I cannot think without her by my side.
always thinking of her, sharing her love I once had,
with another.
My heart breaks,
and my mind is gone.
I weap... I weap...
I cannot handle the betrayal of my once love.
I am stuck, sitting in dark corners of dark rooms,
staring at blank walls, thinking of what once was.

Her beauty,
her smile,
the laughs shared, and the tears we weaped together.
Holding hands, you and I, walking down sandy beaches,
and beautiful highways, full of love.
How we sat on park benches and kissed the night away.
I cannot believe you are gone, with another.

I did what I could,
I loved you endless time on my hand.
Our time spent together was special and near to the heart.
Do not expect for that happiness to come again.
For that has sailed, to far East, to the rising of the new day.

But, I cannot live one more day without my love.
For what I had with her is unexplainable and beautiful beyond definition.
I have seen the wayward signs point me to the direction of you.
But when we see each other, you don't spare a passing glance,
as if I was a ghost, an invisible man, like air.
That is when my heart breaks, torn in two, I cannot see me without you.
Walk with another, shall I go, now this without you.

For she is my everything, beauty and nature.
She is my rose, my violet, my nightingale singing her songs, in the twilight.
She is the sky, the sun, the moon, the trees, the grass.
She is everything to me.
She is even the summer storms and Winter blizzards that roll in and destroy,
beauty and harmony.

I cannot live without my love, for she is my one and only.
I do not like to beg, but love me once again and live with me forever.
For you know and I know, and the world knows,
That I cannot live without you,
I cannot live without my love,
For I am dead without my love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
There’s something about the way
The air is in summer
Like its been pumped full of freedom
That is pesticide for the limits we create
We feel like anything is possible 
When the sun shines so often
And we run free in those days in the sun
And remember them fondly, each and every one
Maybe it’s the way the waves crashed 
Or the way the sun set
Or maybe it was just the person next to you that mattered
Kicking his legs on the swing set 
And the words you spoke 
And the roads you walked 
The things you dared to do 
Like jumping off the dock 
You were crazy 
Freedom was like a drug 
And we were high on love 
And the sand we walked on 
Was pumped full of it 
But just like you wake up from a beautiful dream
Summer must end and you wonder if it was all real
If you really did those things
And if the things you felt were even possible to feel.

Copyright © MaryEllen Gozzo | Year Posted 2014

Details | Chastushka |
    THE GUINEA BOOK-PIG

At four she was a guinea pig
For a rising college geek
‘Cause the kid was talkative
Perfect brain to take a peek

So the testing started there
Little questions never ended
Hungry little mind was bright
Former life was now suspended

Didn’t jazz and didn’t play
Let her mournful dogs run wild
Didn’t swing and didn’t climb
Became a different, sober child

Read newspapers, wanted more
‘who is what and what is why’
Annoyed the neighbors and her cats
‘tell me how to testify!’

Reading things beyond her years
‘here’s a book, now zip it up’
No one paid attention what--
So she read to fill her cup

In the summer age of seven
Brother studied long and hard
Morte D’Arthur spent the night
Flashing with his mighty sword

Dashing all the summer long
With the heroes of the Table
Rode and battled, saved the day
Brushed her horse in Arthur’s stable

Ulysses sailed in close behind
Wicked Sirens plied their trade
Then a buddy left a Fleming
Full blown sex was then displayed

So she passed the books around
To the friends who had no sources
Little girls with Barbie dolls 
played at passion and divorces

What a start to what a life
Wouldn’t have it changed a bit
But if Mother would have known
Certain she would have had a fit.

By Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
November 30, 2012

Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
After the storm ends the sun peeks through the clouds, the rain stops suddenly the thunder clapped clear and loud. Nature is being replenished by a summer storm, it's nice to see the sun again but, I know storm clouds, when they form. Copyright © Cynthia Jones July.14/2006

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |
Summer's late,
I am left here to die, 
Stuck in a phase, 
And time wouldn't fly. 
Asking me to change, 
What do I be?
More like you?
What's in it for me?
Do I be a two faced man,
Or a ten tongued woman,
I'd rather be,
Alone & Inhuman,
She's selling my soul,
She's getting her gold. 
She's got an endless greed,
More of me she needs. 
A soulless man,
I do what I can,
Kill me now, 
Like you kill my men,
Kill me in the middle of my dream,
So, I won't feel the pain. 
If you see me in a piece,
Shoot me again. 
Summer's near,
For her it's a fear,
She has to now bear me,
For I will be near,
In her home,
And on her bed,
While she's dreaming of others,
Inside her head. 
Asking me to change,
This summer breathes a new life,
Look at her face,
Doesn't look like my wife,
She's already found,
Another man,
I'm a soulless body,
I did what I can. 
Shoot me now,
While I'm alive,
Let me watch my blood,
Can't take anymore of this world. 
All the kids playing outside,
Oblivious of this ride,
This ride called life, 
Death is my wife. 
Summer's far,
I am closer to death hour,
Do I bury my grave,
Am I so brave?
Or do I find a rope,
My only hope, 
One thing agreed,
By all the wise,
Suicide,
The best advice. 
Let this summer,
Take away my life,
And breathe one in her,
My beautiful wife. 
I have nothing to live, 
I have no place to stay,
Where is the light,
I don't see the end of my day. 
I've got her by my side,
I'm promised her the best ride,
She's smiling,
So hard, I know she's pretending.
So, I take a gun,
Shoot her in the head. 
I promised her,
This one last ride,
A beautiful death,
To my beautiful bride,
Drifting away,
Into the Sunset, 
Love is an illusion,
Built in your head. 
Shut all the voices,
Shoot yourself instead. 
Summer's here,
And I am not there.
The price for her lie,
We've both died. 
She's getting her gold. 
She's got an endless greed,
More of me she needs. 
A soulless man,
I do what I can,
Kill me now, 
Like you kill my men,
Kill me in the middle of my dream,
So, I won't feel the pain. 
If you see me in a piece,
Shoot me again. 
Summer's near,
For her it's a fear,
She has to now bear me,
For I will be near,
In her home,
And on her bed,
While she's dreaming of others,
Inside her head. 
Asking me to change,
This summer breathes a new life,
Look at her face,
Doesn't look like my wife,
She's already found,
Another man,
I'm a soulless body,
I did what I can. 
Shoot me now,
While I'm alive,
Let me watch my blood,
Can't take anymore of this world. 
All the kids playing outside,
Oblivious of this ride,
This ride called life, 
Death is my wife. 
Summer's far,
I am closer to death hour,
Do I bury my grave,
Am I so brave?
Or do I find a rope,
My only hope, 
One thing agreed,
By all the wise,
Suicide,
The best advice. 
Let this summer,
Take away my life,
And breathe one in her,
My beautiful wife. 
I have nothing to live, 
I have no place to stay,
Where is the light,
I don't see the end of my day. 
I've got her by my side,
I'm promised her the best ride,
She's smiling,
So hard, I know she's pretending.
So, I take a gun,
Shoot her in the head. 
I promised her,
This one last ride,
A beautiful death,
To my beautiful bride,
Drifting away,
Into the Sunset, 
Love is an illusion,
Built in your head. 
Shut all the voices,
Shoot yourself instead. 
Summer's here,
And I am not there.
The price for her lie,
We've both died. 

Copyright © Alhad Barbadikar | Year Posted 2014

Details | Haiku |
A beautiful rose 
The wind strokes its pedals gently 
Leaves carried away

Copyright © Jaquay Atkins | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Upon the lake, where the water shimmers I sit, and think of you, the sun shines above me but, why do I feel so blue? You left me long ago your spirit had died, living through life without you I let God be my guide. I don't wear your ring I haven't for many years, remembering the good times we had sometimes, brings me to tears. The sun shines above me but, why do I feel so blue? Upon the lake, where the water shimmers I sit, and think of you. Copyright © Cynthia Jones June.4/2013 I had the picture in my head and went with it.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Weather Colloquy


I have seen the storm-
cometh with angry tones
steady in its wrath
dropping massive hail stones

I have seen the sky-
wet earth to its core
steady with its rain
pelting down forever more

I have felt the hot sun-
naked fire upon my back
steady with its heat
so fierce was its attack

I have endured the cold-
winter blasting all about
steading with its ice
wind gusts with mighty shout

I embraced the Spring-
soothing weather to me
steady with its renewals
of birds, flowers and trees

Robert J. Lindley, 05-21-2015

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Summer Special!

This is a great summer special.30% off
for all of my books, containing  wonderful poetry,
Biography, and humor. Hours of delightful,
Uplifting and inspirational reading.
Autographed copies are available from me.
My email address, eric3337@earthlink.net 
If you like to look at my web site at 
www.poetvienna.com where you will see
All the books. Thank you.
I donate part of the revenue to a food bank, 




Copyright © Erich Goller | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Call me:

And I'll wait for the Winter.
You never left your bed.
Writing flaked out sessions.
Toppling frigid dread.

Call me:

And I'll wait for the Summer.
You never left your yard.
Writing  heated lessons.
Toppling being charred.

Call me:

And I'll wait for the Spring.
You never left your porch.
Writing muddied questions.
Toppling rains galore.

Call me:

And I'll wait for the Autumn.
You never left your couch.
Writing changed confessions.
Toppling sit in slouch. 

Copyright © Holly Bohto | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
One year I went to a summer school. 
And there was a girl there 
With shining eyes and
An award winning smile. 
She was kind to everyone and 
Excluded no one. 
She always laughed with others
But you could go to her when you 
needed it.
We talked for hours and
Quickly became friends. 

Last year I went back to summer school. 
The girl was still there. 
She had sad eyes but
Kept the award winning smile. 
She was kind to everyone yet
Excluded herself. 
She never laughed properly 
But you could always go to her 
when you needed it. 
We talked for mere minutes and
I guess I lost a friend. 

This year when I went to summer 
school
The girl was no longer there.
Rumours of suicide surrounded
Her name
And no one was kind to us all.
Everyone excluded their-selves.
Silence consumed every thought and moment
Because no one was there when we 
truly needed it. 
Memories of talking haunted me and
I couldn't help but miss my friend.

Copyright © Teenage Frustrations | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
The future lies unwritten on
the blankest, blankest page.
I’m born today and, safe to say,
on track to boundless age.

At anchor in a harbor on
the leeward side of time,
engaged in making love to verse,
in making beauty rhyme--

the heart has placed before the eyes
what Gods of hope have borne,
a well of sweet serenity--
and love like summer morn.

Copyright © Dean Neighbors | Year Posted 2011

Details | ABC |
When the moon goes down
And the sun peeps up
The night breeze welcomes
When the cups are ready for tea
And the kids are ready to play
The sun sets for a rest
And the evening passes west
When the souls are to rest
In the dark deep blue sky
The stars lit the lanterns
So it is night

Copyright © kriya nath | Year Posted 2014

Details | Romanticism |
I want to muse—
without 
wearing eye-glasses, but 
urge my pen for words that guide 
to sea of love. Sun makes 

her lips fiery, we sip 
the day, 
swallow it, childishly! Hmm, Nitz’s heart 
pumps out breath, holding our souls 

like victims for ransom. Ah, 
etching our aliases in the sudor like wine 
on the lustful spread of green, I 

look for the cheerful shadow 
of sky, as we dress our minds 

with chrysanthemum of a summer day.
   

Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2008

Details | Blank verse |
I
my visions— i miss them. 


II
the summer i was 18,
i thought i could be a poet.

sleep till noon,
at night, at midnight,
in Gage Park,
a divine place of youth.

III
July, the cicadas are out, 
the band shell is painted soft green, 
come after the kids leave and write,
that summer i discovered alliteration

      “…slowly walking, sewing maple seeds,
      maybe her name was Mabel,
      maybe i should have asked her…”

a poem about a red-head on the Burlington bus.

	      “…but all i could say was
	      ‘Pure. Pure. Pure.’
	       the innocence in her,
		  the stupid thing in me…”

she got off the bus.
women always seem to know,
when to cum, 
and when to go.

all great songs are written about women.
all great poems are written about death.
so are the bad ones.
especially the bad ones.

IV
a swastika on the wall,
i wrote Hope Boulevard in response, gaudy in midsummer ink,
poems and hate immortalized,
covered over in September— sicky white paint. 
the light buzzes, steady— you wouldn’t believe,
in heaven’s waiting room, i am fluorescent,
ghostly,
in soft green light.

afterward i would sit on the swing,
know the feeling of childhood striving;
wrap the chain around the pole, win a prize?
i would sit quietly and know.

V
i will address no one,
as i remember,
the smell of summer air,
i vomit images; a-sundry and platonic.

do you like it well?         am i palatable enough?

will you address the problem of other minds?

ugh.

an infinite regress.

VI
on the way home,
and in my dreams,
across main st.,
i swallowed my heart.

in the 2am streetlight,
a ghost on the pavement,
my own, 
i would recognize.

he looks down the st.,
so young, i’m lost to see,
i look to his gaze, back;
gone. Raskolnikov.

VII
my visions— i miss them.
i want them back. 




Copyright © eric delmer millen | Year Posted 2007

Details | Limerick |
BLACKBIRD

The summer is hot 
where the blackbird feeds
finding buds, worms, frute  
then suddenly opens her wings
to fly on high in that summer heated sky.

Poetic Judy Emery

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
A word and a breath but it’s the thought that counts.
Up or down in or out love and trust is what it’s all about.
To you I say can you hear me perked up on the mounts.
You are in or you are out.
A touch and a whisper but it is the kiss of truth.
Knelt or bent I am down on my knees.
And I beg you please.
To me I say can I hear me or am I aloof?
Language arts is a dance in the breeze,
With a summer squeeze,
A winter’s pinch,
The spring’s stench,
Even the autumn’s leaves!
Bathing in the words and dancing like a twit.
Singing in rhythm and painstakingly making a switch.
Language arts is a breeze on the summer Seas.
Lifting you up or pulling you down and spinning you all around,
It will knock you to your knees,
Lifeless and unbound!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2005

Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2009

Details | Lyric |
looking in the mirror i say,
"i forgive you today."
but thats just a lie; 
just to pass me by,
just what am i supposed to say?
oh sweet summer pain,
slowly driving me insane!
i didn't want to grow,
but i just dont know;
i don't wanna go all the way...
and so i cry,
deep down inside;
i feel as if i lie!
but i dont know why,oh why.
you feel it too, 
as if it's true;
deep down inside you.
but you dont know what to do.
just believe in you...

Copyright © jessie sellers | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse |
The average one is restrained by mental leashes 
Bound and gagged twenty four hours a day
A common trap that remains difficult to avoid 
The free one is overwhelmed with possibilities 
Too much to do in one day 
An uncommon landscape that remains hard to locate 
Barricades mold the thought process

Copyright © Jaquay Atkins | Year Posted 2017

Details | Couplet |
  Portfolio packed with a life of illusions
a palette abundant with shadows and shapes
She sets out for Summer
on wings of delusions
wearing her cloak
that she sewed from the drapes

  Writing stories of pleasure
a third one of pain
one of the Wishwood
all sparkled with rain

  Four filled with children
tugging your hands
Five for her own heart
that makes its' demands

  She colours the pages
with paint and pastels
she's written it down
but there's so much 
to tell

  She flies on back home
to wash up the dishes
she packs all the lunches
and feeds all the fishes

  Tomorrow she'll pack
her portfolio tight
and find a new place
to let fancy
take flight.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006