-A poet in heat-
Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails
This part of you
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"
You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet: "Ink Never Lies."
Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
Why I am here in Poetrysoup?
I like a seed carelessly thrown
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow
despite big rough blocks..
words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas
but how can I?
When will I?
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava of emotions.
Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:
'til a shoreline glistens
in the name of hope
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.
Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built
slowly, slowly fell to short.
Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
sleeping poems from my head popped,
teasing and tickling,
unafraid, I bite every challenge
swimming, soaking, diving deep.
Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...
I clamor to learn,
I clamor to move on,
I clamor to sing,
I clamor to run,
I clamor to fly,
I clamor to soar
from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love
I hide behind the mask of metaphors
I tease torrid with personification,
I sassy seduce using alliteration
I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul
Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate,
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression,
this you and I yearn.
Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!
Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.
Finally, my congested suffering heart
today, beats systematically:
gratitude, I can only inhale
smile, I can only show
prayers, I can only blow...
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
Each one is unique
Each one has a style
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015
When I first surrendered all to You
it wasn’t clear to me,
that You became the author;
my life, Your poetry.
The pages of my life were dark.
You made them snowy white.
And then with mastery and skill
You began to write.
Each day a different style and form
something fresh and new
always timely and spot on
and never overdue.
So Lord, what will it be today
that flows from Your ready pen
across this chapter of my life
that will be read by men?
Will it be a monorhyme
of how You came through for me just in time?
Perhaps it’s an ottava rima
in perfect pentameter
that tells how my love for You
has grown deeper and much sweeter.
It just might be a ballad
with a tender and touching refrain
of how I stumbled and faltered
but You picked me back up again.
Could there be a principle
that I really need to learn
which You’ll write upon my life
as a repetitive quatern?
Since the furtherance of Your kingdom
is Your holy and noble tactic
perhaps You’ll craft in me
a revelatory didactic.
Diamante, tanka, limerick, haiku,
Lord, the choice is up to You.
Of all poetic forms that be
You know what to engrave on me.
Free verse or even hexaverse diminished
Dear God, please write on until my story is finished.
I learned several years ago from a minister that preached at our church that the Greek word for workmanship in the verse below is “poiema”, from which our English word “poem” is derived. This was my inspiration for this poem.
Ephesians 2:10(KJV) For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.
For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us].Ephesians 2:10(Amplified Bible)
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
Come write for me, and let your words be known
Don't keep them locked inside, undressed by voice
For long your thoughts to dungeon you have thrown
Oh, set them free, and let my heart rejoice
Don't hoard your bounty of the purest gold
which holds your thoughts, your dreams, your treasure trove
I beg of you to let your heart be bold
and lead me to that peaceful inner cove
I long to rest awhile and hear the sea
the gentle lapping of your metered rhyme
I need to dip my soul in poetry
and feel the rush of waves unbound by time
Come write for me, and let my mind explore
The beauty of those words I so adore
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
One’s poetry not always will unfold
beneath its author’s pen as some suppose.
And poetry one is to yet behold
might slowly bloom before one plucks that rose.
At times the lines come breech, the labor hard.
A trial of thought; a repositioning
of words emerging, offspring of the bard!
And then at last, the poet’s heart will sing.
The poet must write always, lest his mind
grow barren, for not always can he know
his muse will be there. She’s not always kind,
but oh, the joy, when verses want to flow!
1/8/13 For Russell Sivey's Poetry About Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp
Hey, babe, your style really sucks
Call that art, I have seen kids write better
Have some heart, instill it in your writes
Feel the moment, feel those letters
My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue
Oh, i see you have posted another piece
Let me read and determine my thoughts
Excellent shape and so true to form
This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught
Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness
The last write you wrote, has invited my see
It has clearly shown, your writing to be
Scope, shape and the form you have written
I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten
No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010
Staying near to light my way
now that there is no more day
You're needed to so brightly burn
before to black ashes you return
Flames dance high upon your wick
and fall across the well-worn brick
Like those flames once in the hearth
when you go out there is no rebirth
My mind alight with persistent thought
beaming from an inspiration caught
In ink my quill takes another dip
my eyes watch your melting wax drip
Furiously now my script does flow
to finish the lines before out you go
I can do no more, there is no time
my slowing pen can no longer rhyme
The ink still wet, not even dry
as your glow continues to die
Words on the page begin to fade
while creeping darkness starts to shade
Wax and ink overtaken by night
and devours all your candle's light.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
She is He's
a woman a fine man
with a pretty within his big
face and an head, he has a
attitude of simple plan.
purity To woo her
and and to
She has strong shoulders, her as much as
where you can rest your head he can. He gives
between two succulent boulders. from his heart as he
She has wit and charm. With such has from the very
grace she is surely armed. start. It's all in his
Your heart she will take. nature to reach out
But she'll be your best mis- his hand and take her.
take. Her hips sway as you feel But somehow as you
your heart carried away. have seen, there's much
In no time at all you will standing in between. He knows
feel her heat from your he must alter his approach, gets
head to your feet. her a golden broach.
When you're amid His legs start to
fleshy thighs, quiver as her
you'll emit thighs
sexy sighs make him
but you shiver.
will see Yes she
what they yearns
all do see, him so,
a girl that but he
is so very might
womanly. A woman in never
three letter high stilletto. know.
t t because
o o she has to go.
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Copyright © Rhoda Tripp | Year Posted 2017
When you pick a pen and paper to write
A line or two, or poem you feel just right
In your heart you feel, in your mind you think
The best you will give, your heart and soul’s link.
So you let the feelings flow from your heart
Use all the words to form a work of art
You write down and smile, when it’s one of joy
Cry when it is sad, still words you employ.
So you write and write, till you feel it’s right
Then you stop and read, now it’s taken flight
The words you have written have formed a life
It can heal or kill, start or quash a strife.
Be mindful then, your heart and soul is right
When you pick a pen and paper to write.
31 March 2015
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
Some madness banter of insanity
is pulling at my thoughts
in giant verbs and huge marching nouns
collecting snippets as it walks
stomping on flowers
and mushing liquid the paints of images
with great toed boots
I can hear it coming
a hefty heavy steady stamp
and I am almost afraid that it might rack me
hit me hard
and demand some elucidated expression from me
I would shudder
but excitement won't let me
Instead it sets me to a creaking ball points
and tiny alphabets that strain my eyes
while spelling out its diffident request
Write it says
Write, while some half cold sickness grip my stomach
and I wretch on grammar
and thus the great feathers quill
dips in the ink of my soul
and so ineptly scribbles epilepsy
explanation, image, wordage, spillage of sensory lobotomy
partridge in a god-damn pear tree
Curl about my finger
and reek havoc through those dictionary brain cells
yer! smash them brain cells
mush, mash and squeeze the last drip
find expression in the gooey lumps that are left
WRITE ! god dam it !
Be succinct, be poetic
surpassing idiom and useless language
for Christ sake just WRITE it !
Pilloried on my own sheets of paper
by my own pen
because it never catches enough
as it twist this origami of words
I want to express
To etch with you
A moment of perfection
I need your voices
I need to hear you sing my poets
I need these scratching and scathing claws
and I need your delicate dance
I need something to end this misery
and I need this piquant
this ever enlightened soul search of words
to wrap up this bundle of love
And toss me nonchalant into eternity
Lest some madness of bantered insanity
Takes hold of me
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009
. . .
as a child I had an unwritten history in this world
blind, wailing and unaware, totally helpless
crying is all I knew of life at that time
deep in my throbbing heart a love was born
every day I was kissed and hugged by mother
full of wild mirth and infant joy, I laughed and smiled
gone now is that love for she lays in her tomb
hanging my head I write poems, pages and pages
in my soul I keep the memories from gathering dust
just yesterday, I reminisced a happy day of us
keeping the love from being lost, I write and write
look at me with your sad eyes
mother, I will paint poems full of love and grief
now and then, I gaze at the past with quivering tears
oh, and with my throbbing heart memories flow
past the clicking, ticking clock of life, I remove the dust
quietly, I bow my head at your tomb and let tears fall
returning often to clean the cold, weathered stone
sweet memories, memories, memories is all I have
till my last breath, no dust shall gather
until we meet beyond this domain of earth, I keep
visions of a realm where your beautiful soul sleeps
whatever time has destroyed, I must strive to remove the dust
xanadu, a garden lovely is where I dream that you dwell
your memory will never, ever, ever, ever gather dust, for
zillions of years from now my poetry will speak of deep love
February 26, 2015
For the contest, Gathering Dust, sponsor, John Lawless
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Mary Godwin -- soon to be Shelley --
Writing with Percy, Byron and Polidori
To create the scariest horror story,
Gave life to a monster of immortal glory.
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
Trickling over my mind
Came scampering the question
This dilemma of a heart
Come running into my embrace
Stricken with fright
It asked me
Father, why do we write
And so I dipped my feather in the darkness of my mind
And brought forth my answer
I wrote of fear and the love that comes at a dreadful cost
Of meaning and of the fight for knowledge
I wrote for voices unheard
I cried for emotions long forgotten
And the answer came to me as the tears wrote their own tale
Painted in pain was the image of a long forgotten glory
Of emotions left unstirred
Come to see what these words have conspired
Come to see how these words have called them from their sleep
To ensue in them an undaunted hunger
Well my dear son
Here comes my answer to you
I write not for you
Nor for me
I write for what is within you
What has bubbled forth within me
I write to stir the masses
Willful subjects of our being
They huddle in wait
The towering limestones of their cave grow eon by eon
As they rot away, moment by moment
I write for them
We write for the grim
The unnoticed prestige
We write for what you have neglected to see
To bring it forth before your eyes
To fix your head with an iron collar
To make you a slave of our direction
We write to be your masters, when you need one most
We write to fix your gaze on what you have never lost
We write to drag forth from the depths of your inky heart
We are the harbingers of emotion
Be it hate or lust
The unseen veil of ignorance, or to shatter the blinding globe of pride
We are the harbingers of sight
With our binding collars, our guiding feathers, dripping the black sweat of our labored toil
You will come to see
What has not been seen before
Fathers of a relationship sown by words, sealed by the dawning of the sun, the dawning of
Your feathers, to your wings or to your ink
And feathers will flutter
Bearing you into the frigid embrace of the skies
And when the winds will them no more
We will descend upon the ground
And speak to the earth as we are reclaimed in its rough embrace
We will write to the trees, when we cannot write to the birds, the sun, and the sky
And through the trees we will see the stars
And to them we will write about the shade
© Samir Georges
Edited for Deb's Free Verse Contest on why we write.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2010
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?”
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 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?"
"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…
"This, baby, This is real Poetry.."
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
With my pen poised- I begin to write you a poem,
Oh, words and thoughts are whirling in my head;
And from deep, deep WITHIN the floodgate is open,
The blood drips and the bleeding words spread;
With my pen poised- I begin to write you a poem.
All my saddest, emotions and sorrows- I give to you,
Oh, please will your carry my burden for awhile;
I am in THAT cemetery walking under a sky so blue,
Then, I am a girl standing alone in a church aisle;
All my saddest, emotions and sorrows- I give to you.
My beloved- are just names engraved in cold stone,
Oh, mom I wish you were here to hug this girl;
Will you be my FRIEND and hold my hand as I moan,
And from this sorrow beauty will whirl and twirl;
My beloved- are just names engraved in cold stone.
And I write over and over again- my dreadful pain,
Oh, the sorrow and grief is etched in words I write;
I put my poem in a CONTEST and wait to be slain,
But sometimes, with great joy, I see a bright light;
And I write over and over again- my dreadful pain.
When I am held high in the light- I know pride,
Oh, and when my words are lost, I weep alone;
The bleeding stops and into SOLITUDE again I glide,
And I let my grief rest and the pain has flown;
When I am held high in the light- I know pride.
May 27, 2016
Longest words from my top 5 best poems:
Within, that, friend, contest, solitude
My Best Top Five Poems:
"and that comes from within"
All That I Am
"death of a friend"
Bite Me Contest
"silence sweet solitude"
For the contest, Five Word Challenge
sponsor, Timothy Hicks
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016
Why do you write?
To give birth to beauty
To decorate a drab wall
To splash color on a canvass
To entertain and enthrall
Why do you write?
To become immortal
To capture fame
To heal a wound
To become sane
Why do you write?
To produce magic
To invade a heart
To be someone’s passion
To create a work of art
Why do you write?
To take a word picture
To weave a poetic tapestry
To build imagination’s castle
To write your own history
Why do you write?
You write because
You’ve been abused
You write because
You’ve been shortchanged
You’ve been neglected
You’ve been enraged
You write because
You have a need
You crave passion
You want a creed
You write because
You are in pain
You carry baggage
You have tasted rain
You write because
Like every poet
That has come and gone
Of will ever be
You write because
You are searching for
The rhythm and rhyme
Of your life.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
I regret not writing you down,
You swam through my mind
Linking words and thoughts
With gossamer chains
That glistened with meaning,
But the kitchen can was calling my name
Using the voice of my wife.
There were skinned knees to be kissed,
Equations to be sorted out,
House rules to be followed.
Has the opportunity passed?
Have you flown, like a caged bird
Through a conveniently open window?
Are you even now winging toward
Another poet, a different writer?
I have the scraps, the fragments,
The word-pieces I had intended
To build you from.
I will try to arrange them so,
In hopes they cast the same shadow.
Like my grandmother’s smile
You linger just behind my eye,
Waiting for me,
Wanting to be released
In just the ‘write’ form.
Copyright © Christopher Reilley | Year Posted 2014
Write me a smile with your magic word
And write it nice and wide
Write me a whisper, that's never been heard
To show what you're feeling inside
Write me a tear, as it runs down your cheek
Each time that you need to cry
Write me strength, when you're feeling weak
Or love that will make me sigh
Write me the anger, when it doesn't go your way
Or contentment, each time that it does
Write me tomorrow, instead of today
Or maybe the way that it was
Write me your heartache, with all of your pain
When your heart's been broken in two
Then write me the pieces of you that remain
For I need to feel them too
Write me the morning and evening skies
Or maybe even noon or night
Whatever emotion your lonely heart cries
Like only a poet can write
Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2011
2014 Robert Frost Poetry Contest
I am proud to announce once again
I have had the honor and privilege, have had/ had
to be allow to line the trashcan of the allow/allowed
Poetry Judges office at Robert Frost Farms.
An Honor I look forward too next year !
This Year' trashcan liner Year'/year's
The Poet Frost
That poet lived not far from here
But I could not see, nor hear him talk
I read about His chopping wood
And Mending Fences make of rock make/made
I heard that he had pasted away
When many eyes gave birth to tears
I was only six, that fateful day
Now, five more score in years
But through the passing of the seasons
His rhymes and verses have remained
A guiding light, that I find pleasing
And as for this, I count it gain
I did not meet the man called Frost
But know him well, for words he penned
I try sometimes try to think his thoughts
And walk his fields from end to end
I feel his presents, while on his farm Presents/presence
Where nature speaks his sonnets so
With loving hands he planted words
Then stood and watched the poems grow
If I could only farm, like this
to draw from natures inspiration
Then writing poems great like his
Would be my cherished occupation It's no wonder I end up in the can
lesson: Never proof read alone
by JT Curtis
Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014
Poems flowing from my heart
Words filling sheets of paper
Feelings pouring through stanzas
Until rhymes make sense
Who says what should be written
Who says what should be felt
Only who writes knows the first
Only who reads capture the last
My words can resonate in some hearts
It can pass unfelt through the rest
It'll grow roots in someone's lives
It'll be ignored by the mass
And that's okay, you see
Because it's impossible to please everyone
I hope who matters will read
And my words will have a life of their own...
November 11, 2016
Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2016
M y eyes see what your heart is feeling
Y our feelings you write out as poetry
P ain, love, joy, wonder, inspiration
O nly you can help me see, hear,and feel you
E ven though only words you have written they
T ouch my heart and mind deeply from within
R equiring me to write a poem so full of feeling as
Y ou become my poetry I write from my heart
S mile, laugh, cry, whisper, or shout
O pen your heart, mind, and soul
U tter your words on paper or screen
P oetry is where I see and feel your soul
Tons of comma fun!
contest of Russell Sivey
Written by: Carol Brown
3rd Place Winner
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012
A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
The talentless, envious, plagiarist’s dream
Was to find someone’s ‘Works’ on a shelf or a beam
In a Pub, in a folder, alone and ignored
As the author lay slumped and as drunk as a lord
Stealthily taking those coveted sheets
He rushes off home via dimly lit streets
When his doors were all locked and the curtains drawn tight
He copied his windfall well into the night
First thing next day, not long after he’d phoned
He went to his agent with the stuff that he’d cloned
Dreaming of royalties and acclaim by his peers
But for him it was destined to end up in tears
There’s some gentlemen waiting for him in the hall
(His agent had asked two policemen to call)
“These poems aren’t yours, they’ve already been done
By that drunk in the pub, who is also my Son!”
So, if you aspire to a literary style
You should write your own poems or books but meanwhile
Twixt penning a story, blank verse or a rhyme
Keep your hands off my stuff or be Shamed for your Crime!
Copyright © Rob Bettridge | Year Posted 2015
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.
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
Shine on me, Sunshine
Pretty woman where do your secrets lie
Empty arms and stolen dreams
Your stares of cold pale blue
Lavender brazen fire moods
You walk into a room bold and without shame
With a smile on your face
Swing of your hips
A twist of the wrist
Phenomenal women you are
What secrets lie in the cobweb cavern tomb?
Your heart honeycomb of pain endured
No one can touch that beautifully cry
Your poems make me some what kind of discern and sigh
No one could mend and fill your worn out shoes
But you still
With a smile on your face
Swing of your hips
A twist of the wrist
Phenomenal women you are
By: Eve Roper 12/15/2015
A tribute to our wonderful girl Broken Wing
Free Verse is an irregular form of poetry in which the content free of traditional rules of versification, (freedom from fixed meter or rhyme).
In moving from line to line, the poet's main consideration is where to insert line breaks. Some ways of doing this include breaking the line where there is a natural pause or at a point of suspense for the reader.
I love the freedom Free Verse gives me. I wrote a poem on 11/1/2015 why I like Free Verse if anyone is interested in reading. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/free_verse_722977
For the contest, Poetry Writing #1, sponsor, Broken Wings
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2015
With my words I love to play
rhyming everything I say
inside my head words squawk and rage
'til they're released upon the page.
It fills my heart with pure delight
to watch them growing as I write.
Oh how I love to make words rhyme
arranging them in metered time
until I have a perfect line
it sends chills up and down my spine
and I am blessed with endless joy
to use this gift that I employ.
Some of the things I write about
I know must leave some minds in doubt.
"Not good enough" some must claim
but that's ok I feel no shame.
I'll still write the way I do
and to my heart I will be true.
My knowledge of great works is small
in fact I don't know much at all
and I would never dare profess
to be a gifted poetess
'cause when it comes to poetry
I write just what comes naturally.
Born to rhyme, that is my game
and that is all you'll hear me claim.
To me this game is so much fun
it is my picnic in the sun.
It may sound lame or even sappy
but that's all right it makes me happy!
Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009
Wrecked on an island - alone - I eat
pineapples and coconut meat.
Though salvaged were paper and
ink, this is still my plight:
Who’s ever going
to read the poems
Inspired by Linda Marie's Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
Why am I here on the Soup I'm asked
Well then, let me tell you why I'm here
Firstly to enhance my grammar task
To learn about poetries writing gear
On arrival at this site, forms I'd hardly known
But learning I sure did from many here
Welcoming me to this poetry home
Let me tell you what I've learnt
That few words can say many things
So descriptive that images paint
Allowing lyrical poetry to sing
What do I want being a member
By doing what was taught to me
To pass what I've learnt on
Without tutors I wouldn't be thee
Forget the trials and tribulations
We're writing buddies first and most
Not even family but poetry relations
Simply guests of the Poetry Soup host
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
Why do I write poetry?
I am sure some people here wonder just why I do!
For my poems were once described as ‘simple’
And to others they are a pile of old pooh
I have learned so much since I started writing
Now I am flying as free as a bird
Despite the ups and downs in my recent life
My poetic ‘voice’ will still be heard
I started writing just two years ago
Now I realise it was a form of stress relief
Since joining soup I’m like a kid in a candy store
A ‘pick n mix’ of poetry - I want to learn more and more
I’ve discovered so many new styles, which one do I chose
Limericks, haiku, rhyme, sonnets
Fabulous fun footles
Nonets, cinquain, couplets, to name just a few
I can’t believe there are so many forms me to dip into
Many poems have been written to express my emotions
Some works are happy and some are extremely sad
I have a vivid imagination so fiction writes flow from my pen
I might throw a twist in the ending every now and then
Lots are factual poems of things that have really happened to me
An example of this is my run in with that pudding made of sticky toffee!
I endeavour to try and entertain and amuse
But some writes are penned with anger and frustration …
When I’m about to blow a fuse!
I relish the challenges set by the sponsors
I’m more confident and spreading my wings
I love the site of which I am a member
To students at school the site’s praises I loudly sing
But I don’t like the current undercurrent of bad feeling
Now its no names on the poems you’ll see
I’ve never liked names on the contests
But others will strongly disagree
Let sponsors judge the way they feel
We ALL get high or low placements, but let's not make a big deal
The most important thing is that my poems get read
(But of course I like winning, I’m such a bighead) (joke)
Some say my poems are simple
Others may think they are a load of poop
But let me SHOUT this loud and clear
I won’t be leaving poetry soup!
Contest: Why do you write poetry
Sponsor: Jerry Curtis
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015