Best Challenge Poems

I wish to be with the broken people
the get in your face challenge me people
The sometimes hidden
sitting in a dark corner kinda people
The don't you...

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Sunlight rains upon my face
Cascading memories cloaked in mystery
Kissing my eyelids
Ancient teardrops glide down my cheeks
Warmth illuminating my hungry soul

A sense of calm
A pulsating ellipse...

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Your time worn hand rests on my shoulder
A gentle firm touch
Ancient fingers stretching awake
And for that moment in time, I receive you
My body marinates in...

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hello                      hello
butterfly  ...

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"I wandered lonely as a cloud."  William Wordsworth


I wandered lonely as a boat   
a shallow dingy left behind,  
alone in marsh...

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“and the birds twitter like whispering violins”
Quote by – Constance La France

Whiffs of fragrant breeze propagate tranquility
Kissing delicate roses, blushing amber beauty,
Rustling leaves of willows,...

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We will walk then, you and I

When daylight shuts her weary eye;

Down the streets where beggars sleep

And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.

On streets that...

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My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my...

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I
love
walking
at midnight
as moonlight shadows
dance on the inky blue ocean
and watch as they sparkle and shimmer like tiny stars,
pirouetting gracefully like prima ballerinas with the ocean...

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Can  love then,  be based
on an index of elements
from which one joyfully tumbles,
or drifts into equations, as we wander
toward a rush of serendipity...

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She is young and free, and most of her love lies in front of her
As the dawning twilight holds one breathless air under misted whispers...

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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......

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I am a hoarder of antiquities,
offering longevity to ephemera.
Obsessed with an insatiable 
urge for accumulation
I fill every available nook 
stacking layer upon layer
of emotional possessions…...

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The heron is the color
of a November morning.
Fog wets the river rocks.
Fossils faintly echo
a grey past.
I shall take one stone 
home,
to look
through its waterworn hole
and...

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"Up at dawn, the dewy freshness of the hour, the morning rapture of the birds, the daily miracle of sunrise, set her heart in tune,...

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