Best Defeat Poems | Poetry

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New Defeat Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Defeat poems are below this new poems list.

Defeat by Whitmore, Kristina
Of Sleep's Defeat by Oliveira, Henrique
Why Hides the Sun His Face As In Defeat by Gonzales, Jun
Defeat by Motes, Ash
A DEFEAT OF A ROMANTIC POET by MANYALA, SAMSON
why do sleep defeat you by sage, white
A request, A dare and a defeat by Vi, Yushi
Deceit and Defeat by Horn, James
Defeat Darkness by Negron, Nayda Ivette
To defeat feet by Raynes, Lewis
Ultimate defeat by Miljkovic, Davor
Agony of defeat by Miljkovic, Davor
This Defeat by Kyrie, Jude
Defeat Of Death by abdul , wahab
NO ONE CAN DEFEAT by DEVNATH , BL
Strange Defeat by Mata, Hanna Mae
The Winning Defeat by SAHOO, GOBINDA
Another Monster To Defeat by Pinet, Emile
Defeat by Gren, Teppo
Victory in defeat by Gren, Teppo

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The Best Defeat Poems

 
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Twilight Aurora

like an interrupted dream shadows of the one who inspired it linger like morning dew no aroma and no taste yet I'm left breathless as thoughts reminisce i listen to this tired heart as one deep breath results in a thousand sighs and i don't want to be found but yearn to understand why i feel like a million crumpled stars, silently sprinkled like paint drops protecting the moon feeling like glue holding the universe together and who am I to disturb it? her beauty a merited gift her departure unnecessary her lips without speaking could rewrite history and I wonder can she hear these sighs? her call is the one I want to answer for eternity to speak until no words remain give until there is nothing defeat to her submission is life's greatest victory twilight aurora night flower of this heart like a rainbow your presence brightened the horizons but just like the stars you disappeared with daylight
Silent One Simple Musings 15 July 2017 I'm back! Contrary to idle gossip and rumours, my account was not banned nor deleted. I left for personal reasons. They say never go back, but I felt the need to return to support my friends and new poets. I know there is some negativity on this site, but it has so much potential. Anne Frank once said "In spite of everything, I still believe people are really good at heart." and I know some went to the extreme liberties of writing poem about me, but what I do not understand is the obsession with it after I left. Hide behind metaphors, I hope it makes you happy and write as much as you like, because it does not bother me, in fact it makes me laugh and I already forgive you. We are supposed to be adults, if you have a problem, then discuss it. This is not high school. It is a poetry site, a community and one that together everyone can make a great place.


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

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Magic Beans





Our first awareness
      falling through time
      through blood-rain, pure white snow, green vegetation 
      down into deep earth
      warm sunshine
      cool wind
      soaking rain

Energy flowing-up through our pod
      each day we grew bigger
      snug together with brothers and sisters
      bursting our little cozy shell
      then one day
      a father and daughter
      plucked us from the vine
      stripped – we lay bare upon a tray
      disorientated and tender but alive  
      a life force deep inside us
      our skin soft but hardening 
      then sleep . . . waiting for the one

Daddy!!  Come see the beans
They changed colors
I see brown ones with white specks
      Yellow with black dots
      Orange with blue stripes 
But wait  . . .  there are three larger beans that seem to glow and vibrate
      one is blood-red
      another . . .  brilliant white
      the last . . .  forest green
What does this mean daddy?
Is it evil?

No my sweet darling
These are special beans
Descended from an ancient garden long ago . . . 
      no longer of this world
It was a place of love and light
No death but a deep communion between mother earth and us
The three beans are:  Peace, Purity, Prosperity 

These beans will feed a starving world 
      Bring healing to the hurting
      Laughter to the downtrodden   
      Hope to the desolate 
      Love to the unloved   
      Life to the dead
These beans hold deep magic

How do they work Daddy?
      a worthy woman is chosen
      who is humble of heart
      strong in spirit
      wise in love 

Who is this lady?
      the magic beans choose
      they only appear to the one female
      you, my darling . . .  you are the one

Me?  I am only a girl
I have none of these things . . . 
      the beans see deep within a soul
      they never lie
      they have chosen you 
      together you will change the world!

Daddy, I am scared . . .
I am shaking 
I am not worthy
      breathe deeply, close your eyes 
      put the beans in your mouth

Daddy, I taste sweetness
Molasses, ginger, caramel . . . now chocolate 
I see visions upon the wind
Blood, wars, rage, yelling . . . unbearable things
      yes, darling the evil is strong here
      let the blood from the red bean flow
      let it mingle with your love
      it will defeat this evil and bring
      healing and forgiveness . . . peace

The white bean is singing with my voice – Daddy!
Sweet is her song
I see merriment, laugher, dancing . . . 
People hugging and holding hands
My tears are falling
Filling rivers with waters of light, love and purity
Joy reverberates from mountains peaks

From my open lips runs rich green sap
Deep does the earth drink
Big drafts of life and love
I see fields flowing with
Cream, honey, and wine
Trees waving to the sun
The earth is rejoicing

I see beans being planted 
In a garden
A man and a little girl
      yes, my Little One, soar now
      fill the world with your love
      fill the wind with your song
      love generously 

Such is the magic of these colored beans







David Meade
1/26/2015

Love Generously


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015




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The Age of Poet Destroyer

A diamond in the Frost ... I am Emily, gazing through the years, 
Like Poe from rancid taste and dark smoke shadows
Florescent waste escaping a decrepit yet dulcet wilderness
Backward capabilities frontal verse, I am her the almighty universe 

Ascending from yesterday's fall, literally and visibly
Swore to be everything you loathe most - a felicity of illusions
You will dream of me, a parasite you can't get rid of
Ripped open by paper and pen, rising to a new destination
A Destroyer begging to be free in search of a tender rhapsody
Blind by mediocre poets who tend a false nebulous star
No longer, will I impart into defeat - give in to trophy trust
The time of age, my allies whom I call my friends 
You are more than words on any God-Given-Day

To those unworthy of me, can march away from my parade 
Crying wolves, backstabbing clones, long gone stones
Each file is forgiven & forgotten, however, still trespassing 
Under a microscope, some remain to be a decade of lost words 
Grazing a forest grown for old news dripping water on my belly

No matter, after starvation, I found my way back to the same horizon
Finding time and space among a new docile nation
A buried treasure finding face among a fresh myriad generation
With anchors up, I'm headed full force, against every secret endorsed

I am the one you should not fear, I relish this wonderful community
I am she mounted above all years worn rising like a newborn sword 
Forged by the earth summon by the pirate's moon political creed
Ascending to a sweet ascension with the best kind of immunity
With paper and pen, I sit to please and prosper my poetry need
To you I leave --- Echoes of snow, numbing you with a poetic soul 

Love The Poet Destroyer


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Tears to Weep

When I lay me down to sleep,
And cry the tears that sinners weep;
To speak the words of a contrite prayer,
And know that someone listens there.

He cares for sheep that have gone astray,
Who willfully wander their own way;
They vex the pride that hides within,
And drink the bitter cup of sin.

The web of lies and dark deception,
Lie in defeat of Light’s conception;
To capture all and destroy life,
With passion’s fire and human strife
                 
We need to plant the gospel vine,
Where evil rules and saints repine.   
While martyrs lead with ransomed prayer,
With hope for life that tarries there.

Blood that was shed on Calvary,
Set slaves of transgression wholly free.
So we rise from the grave to seek reward,
Giving praise to our risen Lord.



Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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Northern Slaves

In the silent breathing of night,
treading through 
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish. 
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes 
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.

The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men 
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh 
With endless stings of cruel misery.

The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass 
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.

The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)

I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day 
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!














 


Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013

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We Push The Pen

We push the pen to make you feel
the gentle tapping of the falling rain,
the stinging burn of the summer sun
the heavy heart of despair and pain.

We push the pen to make you see
the vibrant orange of a monarch wing,
the secretive soul hidden in our eyes,
the golden sunrise in early morning.

We push the pen to make you taste
the sweetness of love's first kiss,
the bitterness of heartbreaking defeat
the richness of pure chocolate bliss.

We push the pen to make you hear
the clear waters babbling in the brook,
the forgotten laughter of our inner child
the cracking spine of a brand new book.

We push the pen to make you savor
the pungent petals of the red rose,
the crisp aroma of a tart green apple
the autumn air that excites the nose.

We each push the pen in different ways
with our own tone of voice and mystique,
an art form that no other can duplicate,
no right or wrong, just wonderfully unique.





Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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The Battle

The menace of war in the chaos of life
The peril of ocean when tempests are rife;
The danger of jungle where feral beasts hide
The terror that lies in a mountain slide.
All these things are simple child's play
Or frivolous sport on a summer's day;
These sad battles that rouse and vex
The heart and soul of love and sex.

Struggle and hardship,  beasts of prey
Are there to menace all human clay:
The bird uncaged can take to his wing
But the hazard of love is another thing;
Under the torment of passion's control
Love crushes the body and steals the soul.
A minute of rapture, an age of despair,
These are the gifts of love's warfare.

Always and forever since time began
When man dared woman and woman lured man;
In that sweet peril that prowls and lies
Is a bloodless conflict when eyes meet eyes.
That careless menace, forever sweet
Whose forlorn end, is joy's defeat;
Now and forever till time has passed
On passion's altar, hearts shall come last


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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- Shiny Stars -





I put my thumb up while the thoughts of darkness came and went
In each person's life there may be sorrow and defeat
You see a little angel lonely, left and confused

The joy is so delicious and grief is lonely
We just have to taste what's coming,
something is sweet and something is bitter

No matter what happens,
I have seen beauty that holds back the darkness
You may say I'm a dreamer and violets are blue
















28.07.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017

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Food Inglorious Food

Be it known as convenience food, junk food or munchies; whether spicy, melt-in-your-mouth soft, or crunchy, food, inglorious food, seduces with ease and ensnares with the emptiest of calories. Disguised as a comfort food comes macaroni with creamy Alfredo and kin, Fettucini, To not be outdone, spaghetti entices with large fattening meatballs and sauce rich in spices. “Deep fried” knows our weakness for fat, which gives pleasure and saturates fast foods, it seems, in great measure: KFC (finger-licking), batter-fried fishes and chicken fried steaks -high cholesterol dishes. Even fruits will attack with enjoyment unhealthy as tarts, pies or pastries. That apple is stealthy! Veggies can also be treacherous things in guise of corn fritters and gold onion rings. Too much of a good thing is pizza (so cunning, so meaty, so cheesy), which no one is shunning. The taco, burrito, and big burger too in great numbers descend on us. What can we do? Those delectable luscious desserts that we eat have only to sit there; we cannot retreat! Candies and chocolate, our decadent sin, sweetly defeat us. We simply give in. Ice cream, a smooth foe, knows when we are blue. On a cone or a spoon, it drips, waiting for you. As a milkshake, a frosty, a sundae or float, or between split bananas, it sure floats MY boat! Buttered popcorn is one salty foe, and we love it! The hot dog implores in our mouths that we shove it. Baked bread, so alluring, entraps with its scent, which wafts through the air as if heaven sent! The standards of junk food -America’s pride - crisp bacon and nachos, chips and foods fried, invade our malls’ food courts and lurk high and low. Their smells overwhelm us wherever we go! We might try but we can’t make our junk food desist. for only the health nuts can dare to resist. In the war with inglorious food I adore, I say, Bring it on! Here’s my plate; I want more. For the The Synathroesmic Cat Contest Poetry contest of Suzanne Delaney *So now you can all know why I try to get to the gym a lot. hahaha


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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Caring For My Mother - A Letter To A Loving Friend


I sit here alone...wondering...how much longer this...and in hearing 
the question a silent icy fear blankets my body...the answer would 
come wearing both masks...tragedy...comedy...this is my life. with
freedom comes death...it hangs over me like a Mexican piñata filled 
with chocolate covered blades...so each day firmly slipped into 
neutral I exist...barely a choice to live...so I ask myself...how
did I get here...the answer comes thundering from up above...
a dead poet speaks...son that is the path you chose at your fork 
in the road... you don't argue the truth...you just throw cold water on 
your face...no...you step into a frigid shower...cleanse your thoughts
...stand in defeat happy to feel something even if it is just the pain of 
your nerve endings screaming...soaking wet and naked is the only life 
you presently afford yourself...there is no one to hear your tears...
what little sound they make rolling down your cheeks...they are not 
self pitying but rather wanting...of a loss so deep...what in your own 
self appreciation defined you...you want back your art...it...that so 
often led you back to the promised land...still you are not that hot 
headed fool you once were...you will not stand on the mountain only 
to shatter the tablets with their ten commandments...a cooler head 
prevails...so you think...like a soap opera...these are the days of my
life...I am strong and vibrant...yes I am and I will walk as slowly as I 
must towards my light and yes I will come out the other side a better 
man for this. 

08~01~2015
Armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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Do Men Cry

Are men supposed to show their strength
denying doubts and fears?
Should they pretend to play it cool
concealing all their tears?

When things build up would weakness urge
temptation to give in;
should one betray signs of defeat
because of hurt within?

There is a line where macho ends,
it’s there for all to see.
The mask is ripped and make-up melts;
emotions are set free.

For men are at their strongest point
when they are free to cry.
Why must a man lose confidence
when tears spill from the eye?

For men in touch with feelings are
a treasure trove to find.
Each woman’s dream and deep desire’s
to find one of the kind!

A man who’s strong enough to show
he has a caring side...
well, such a man is sure to be
a woman’s joy and pride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Collaboration between Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016

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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 1

Ghosts of the Sun Dance

1. The Path

A quest dating back through our history
Surpassing the flesh, a spiritual path
Human endurance, road to mystery
Dark trail winding through the gardens of wrath

It echoes through me, this deep ambition
Half century of miles, lifetime compressed 
Much more than a race, a sacred mission
With light of hardship I hope to be blessed

To outsiders, an act of madness pure
What motivations could compel this feat?
Past limits of human strength to endure
Pushing the body well beyond defeat

Mind and sinews outlasting the firestorm
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform

2. Sun Dance

Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Once, Plains Indians embraced the Sun Dance
Sacred solstice ritual to perform
Life’s rebirth to the sound of drums and chants

Young braves fasting in their preparation
A stout pole connects the lodge to the sun
Days of reveling unite the nation
Dancers’ exhaustion, they seek to outrun

Animal spirits drawn in by the rhythm 
Forked tree with bison’s skull, hooks in their chest
Buffalo, bringer of potent vision 
Delirious dancers complete their quest

The Spirit Quest resounds through history
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery

3.To Endure and Transcend 

Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Japan's “Marathon Monks” of Mount Hiei
The key to their spirit quest victory
To walk a Marathon one hundred straight days

Famed spiritual leader Sri Chinmoy
Believed hearts and spirits could be mended
Through self-transcendence, and he did enjoy
Countless long quests before his time ended

Chinmoy’s best, a fifty day epic quest
A journey thirty-one hundred miles long
Few are those who have ever passed this test
His famous Self-Transcendence Marathon

Darkest night, the gateway to a new morn,
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn

4. The Spirit Is Willing

Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn
Deepest pain kindling the soul’s ignition 
Follow the path supplicants’ feet have worn
Transformation’s crux, soul transition

Our defenses and walls cannot let in
Sacred blessings of the gods and spirits
Impenetrable, much to your chagrin
They cannot touch your heart if you fear it

Mortification, a tribulation
Humble display of the supplicant’s worth
A spiritual emancipation,
Pain always accompanies any birth

These transitions in few modern nations
Our world, rare rites of initiation

5. The Fall

Our world, rare rites of initiation
Deconstructed, traditions have been burned
Soulless life breeds infantilization
Perpetuating the puer eterne

To make our lives easier is progress, 
Yet soft life an inadequate mantle
We can also suffer when life lacks stress
True transformation is never gentle

Safety, the goal of civilization
Eliminate risk, its increasing role
Safety’s bitter fruit is stagnation
Comfort cannot forge a resilient soul

Building true human vitality starts
With substance to satisfy questing hearts

6. Aimlessness

With substance to satisfy questing hearts
We dream to build greatness from the humble
Miseducation, meaninglessness start
Intrepid young souls questing for trouble

Drawn to drugs and gangs, tobacco and booze
No deep satisfaction do they contain
Oft mistaken for paying adult dues
But lead instead to spiritual chains

Youthful misadventures, trouble and blues
Sterile environment will generate
Tribal belonging they mark with tattoos
Clumsy efforts to self-initiate

Conquered world without initiations
Life’s road of genuine tribulations

7. Warrior’s Quest

Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Awaits our youth, whether they are prepared
Or not, we note with building frustrations
Future leaders, we see grow up impaired

The warrior within’s heartfelt yearning
A righteous cause in which to do battle
Meanwhile, the subway turnstiles are turning
Young champions doing time as cattle

Quests can be found for the searching young soul
Alas, the focus of education
Not on the development of the whole
But fashioning subjects of this nation

The challenge of living with one’s whole heart
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

5/19/16
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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eight winds.

-eight winds come to break u-
..lead your mind astray...
-praise and blame deflate u-
..(but) light carries them away..

-fame and defamation-
..each follows one behind..
-famous for the moment-
..what's left of your mind..?

-gain and loss defeat u-
..both are just the same..
-sanity come to meet u-
..u never knew her name..

-where u going on the morrow?-
..where were u today..?
-recognize joy and sorrow-
..both have something to say..

-four winds come to greet u-
..lead u on your way..
-four more can defeat u-
..blow your soul away..


Copyright © Trevor Houchen | Year Posted 2005

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Inebriant melodies

Daylight is greeted with the horrific stench of food chunks 
swimming in stomach acid, dribbling onto bed sheets.
Accompanied with the embarrassment of
brown syrup puddle stains.

Head is pounding 
like a hammer - hammering nails into the skull. 
Cumbersome movements drag drowsy flesh to the mirror,
as bloodshot eyes with yellow hue, glare in reflection.
Exhausted hands rub dense stubble,
as heavy eye lids struggle to stay open.

A cocktail of coffee and a cold shower
comfort this somber slumber.
Mouthwash and mints help disguise
the fragrance of yesterday's session with Bourbon.

Continuous sips of water, attempt to quench sultry thirst,
but the blandness cannot douse untamed flames.
Especially as days consist of sitting
surrounded by monotonous blank walls,
and staring at cracks on a vase -
silently watching wilted flowers crumble.

Struggling to defeat temptation from fermented demons,
summoned by cravings for that burning sensation,
the tongue cries for mercy.
Infiltrates the mind luring it to
lust for sour liquid passion 
that infuses the bloodstreams.

Hands trembling, parched lips quivering -
only golden nectar can ease the pain. 
No need for a glass, as bottle is devoured,
with momentary pauses of 'aaahhhhh.'

So begins the daily quest,
to suffocate every sorrow.
To feel numb upon request,
with no care for tomorrow.

Favouring fantasy over reality,
each drop kills the pain.
The bitter sweet taste is a lethal injection,
but the numbness helps to feel perfection.

In a place where nobody notices -
alcoholic symphonies lead to intoxicated sympathy.
To deal with being alone, to forget the world,
to forget the name.

Envious eyes can be a crime, 
leading to jealous tendencies.
Hiding secrets can lead to becoming a victim 
to a self inflicted demise.

An empty bottle leads to remorse.
Bitter sweet tears roll with shameful giggles.
Now the cracked vase looks perfect with flowers blooming.
Inebriant melodies mock the mind.
Attempting to dance, legs stumble and crash to the ground.

Laying there on the floor - laughing.
Then crying hysterically.
The heart has no desire to be sober,
only to remain intoxicated until death.

The Silent One
20 October 2017




Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

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An adequate vocal gesture

I do have purpose
that stays near
a constant reminder 
of my inner child

As my conscienceness
shines through to create 
a new perspective
I break out of my cocoon

Only to discover that 
I find places where
the sanctity of my being
does not flow as it should

My intuition is what 
guides me though
there is no longer the 
desire for the constant 
upheaval of tragedy to strike
upon me

On my journey I have 
discovered that there 
are many hidden truths

So as my spirit ascends 
I am inspired by my bravery...

If I am frightened 
by the visibility that 
standing proud does to me
then I shall stand even taller

No longer will I fear 
the degradation that
once was my shadow
there is no home here 
for the shame any longer

And I will no longer be 
swayed by the fragments of defeat
When I become sorely tempted by
sheer exhaustion

And I think I can't
make it on my own
I will remember that 
I am walking this
road of life for me...


Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007

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Letting go

Sitting upon the shore time seems to move so slow. Watching waves I adore as reflecting stars glow Tonight this night is mine just me and the mute moon. Tepid breeze feels so fine, as birds sing their sweet tune. Mind begins to ponder, why life sometimes goes wrong. Thoughts begin to wander, fed up of being strong. Sad eyes gaze into space, tongue utters a deep sigh. Rain drops caress my face, masking tears, I can't cry. Life's questions defeat me answers I'll never find. Waves rush in from the sea, tide surge plays with my mind. Their call sounds so violent, soul yearns to drown in them. Heart tells mind: be silent! Sweet songs it starts to strum. Thoughts tame, turning tranquil, sunshine brightens dark skies. Rainbow smile brings goodwill, as phoenix spirits rise. Silent One 21 January 2018
Experimenting with 6 syllables per line.


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018

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Unbidden Memories Past

I feel the wayward wind,
Whispering softly to me.
It comes unbidden but then
So many events came unbidden.
The wind  promises me an after life,
It threatens death forthwith.
I dare to walk forward,
Meet my ultimate dreadful destiny
Be it sorrow or love
Success or mere defeat.
The path is etched too murky,
The horizon masked in gloomy mist
Hidden from me with such painful cruelty,
With sinister shadows and shameful secrets,
Neurotic dreads and bitter tears.  
 
The wind taunts me with unbidden memories,
Misdemeanours of my heinous past,
Indiscretions and controversial injuries
Inflicted indiscriminately
On my fellow countrymen.
The wind just maledicts me
Gives me no solace nor space.
 
It reminds me of that lovely day
When we wandered o'er the hills,
Where wild fragrant thyme incensed
The graceful countryside.
The wind had breezed through
Your silken hair and
Sparkled your luscious eyes.
Now you are gone forever, my dear,
While I lament your loss,
Try to forget the dirty past 
And hope for God's forgiveness
Though I know I deserve none. 

11 September 2017

Placed 3

POTD 12 September 2017

Form U - U Pick The Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

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Brokenhearted sunsets

It's never anything big, just a nagging defeat Of wanting to be exclusive in your ambit, For in your eyes, I see an opportune disguise Living as a friend of genuine vibes gone awry. It was the zealous-moon you adored with glee When romantic vibes you scripted about me, Fussing about moon-spot of slight imperfection Looking at my face, hinting coy comparison. When I lauded our pond's white lotus flowers You admired silence of the ripples in water Singing praises of existence so ephemeral, Never denying you compared it to our love. Being impulsive, you stole a rose from garden Handing it to me like borrowed ardent charm. As I held it in gratitude for its delicate beauty It pierced my heart with its anguished thorns. You take me places, pleasantly well-meaning But when I get there, I'm left feeling alone For you traverse a lone-orbit on your own Leaving me to tangle by your rotational force. When you ask me, if love still burns our flame, I simply want to say, love has changed its name For time has falsified what we once meant, No more can I bear brokenhearted sunsets. January 29, 2018 First place: One in five contest by Joseph May


Copyright © Vijay Pandit | Year Posted 2018

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A SLave's Cry

Stranded in this place
I cannot recognize
Abandoned and lonely
No one hears my cries
AS i walk through this wasteland
Of wilderness and desolation
I am consumed with anguish
I walk this road with hesitation
On every turn that i come upon
The is more pain than at the last turn
Agony and torment spews from my pores
With every step i take more pain i earn
Until i am enveloped with grief
Buried alive on my feet
Dirt in my eyes,nose,mouth,and lungs
I throw up my flag of defeat
Each painful blow leaves behind a deep gash
That is constantly reopened never able to heal
Infection has now set into my heart
Slashes and scars on my body reveals the detail
Of the despair embedded deep in my soul
That tells a tale of a soul so lost
A soul wandering through this wilderness
A tale of what being born black cost


Copyright © April Mitchell | Year Posted 2013

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Deep Dark Poem

     ~Deep Dark Poem~

Tonight I want to go deeper in my soul
I want to be born again tonight I want
to go back in my mothers womb and feel
my happiness of my first cry yet feel her 
real pain while she was delivering me
I want to feel both all her pain and the 
little of happiness I had since I was born.
I want to feel each breath I breathed since 
that first night I want to see my fathers
eyes if he had a tear of happiness while 
holding me for the first time .
                 
I want to walk talk laugh cry climb defeat 
succeed breath suffocate scream eat drink 
revive my senses I want to hold her breast 
and be a baby again I don't want to grow 
Old yet I want to remain a new born in her 
arms to feel safe I want to hold my fathers 
glasses and see the color of his eyes will I 
have them will I have his nose will I have 
my mothers softness will I cry for help will 
I see and hear and listen and run and walk 
and hold her hand to feel safe I am lost 
tonight I need her grip.
                     
I need my brother who carried me where is 
he today why did he leave me so early and 
die so young I want to eat with them I want 
to share with them in what state of mind 
I am in tonight I want to go home tonight 
to my mother and fathers home I want to
see their light at their home as I am living
through my darkest hours tonight.
But I cannot as all what I want 
I cannot have.

I want their faithful love I want to sleep 
on their bed and feel the warmth of their 
love in our home where I was born and 
after years I was torn away from them 
to live in another mans home. 
                   
They forgot to tell me how much they 
have suffered when I left their home and 
went away they forgot to tell me so many 
things that iI am experiencing them now
today yesterday and tomorrow my life 
passed away so quickly busy bringing up 
my kids busy giving them an education 
busy cooking for them busy working to 
provide for them everything busy washing 
busy crying busy going out busy busy where 
are they now where was I when my father 
left to climb up his ladder where was I 
when my mothers turn arrived to climb up her
ladder and stay next to him they went up to 
meet their son who left them years ago he 
was only 29 years old they had to live suffering 
suffering missing missing him their first born 
for years and years.
                     
Father of my 2 boys thee only ecstasy 
I had during that marriage nothing was 
real except my kids nothing existed except 
them nothing meant anything in my world 
except them nothing ever passed before 
them they are my light when i am blind 
they are my laughter in my inside they 
are with me with every breath I breath 
we are inseparable even when they are 
far I see them when its dark I see them 
when I am deaf I hear them through my 
strength I survive to keep them alive. 
I walk alone yet their shadow never 
leaves my sight they call my name from 
far I call them back I write to reach out 
for them to read through my lines how 
much I need to be cared for even one day 
maybe half a day maybe a few hours even 
one second is more then enough to pump 
my heart to go on.
                  
So sorry my fellow poets tonight when 
you read through my lines you will forgive 
me as I am sentimentally in pain affectionately 
in pain tonight my pen was agonizing missing 
my children missing to see them how do I survive 
daily without them I don't know I know I have 
been doing that for the past 35 years seeing 
them on and off due to the war in our country
& unexplainable circumstances. 
Tonight forgive me. I have no more tears.
                                                                                   
                                                                                            Therese Bacha
  Deep Dark Poem for contest of PD  (Win.No 4 )                            22/2/2013


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013

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Echoes in the Stone

ECHOES IN THE STONE

No one can turn back the hands of time
Reliving the war,  TEXAS her independence
The tombs so deep, where real hero's fought and fell
A place so precious, sacred in every hold
A timeless journey, with no stop to heal
To find your eyes upon this treasure's glaze
Hearing stories not found in fairy-tale books
Finding GRACE in this AMAZING place
The legendary ALAMO, over freedom, a ghost town
Walking by the thousands, beyond this land
Outnumbered 
Echoes in the stones
A painful event, UN erased

Defenders of the ALAMO gathered to unite
With their life's they put up an honorable fight
Heroes who embraced a defeat in March 1836
A battle deeply wounded overnight
Bravery in their hearts
No time to be scared.
Where the wind now blows,
Echoes in our souls.

With one touch, embrace the south wall
Hearing whispers, sad echoes-I call
Chills traveled down my spine
Standing among all heroes who are still buried, 
In their home at the ALAMO
Echo's in the stone
Proud of the ALAMO.

Echoes in the stone 
Where a hero still stands tall
Heroes even beyond their last breath, 
Death being their only bail
Heroically fighting with their own will and liberty
In hopes, that justice would prevail
The ALAMO rebuilt, standing strong
Full of life, in the center of San Antone'

The voices, the scream, 
Piercing the stone
Fighting till their death
"Remember the Alamo!"
The echoes in the stone, a hero's home
Locked inside each stone of eyes
Heroes who died,
Cried their last words
"VIVA THE ALAMO!"

   SKAT


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

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Treat Yourself

I invite you to go wild
laugh until your sides near burst.
And play like you were a child,
letting raindrops quench your thirst. 

Start a fire with scraps of wood
or sculpt castles made of sand.
And pick berries that taste good
or build forts to scout the land.

Splash in the creek in bare feet
chasing fish that swim away.
And track monsters to defeat
sweating heat of summer’s day.

Giggle at the dog's kisses
or run like you’ll never stop.
And poke a snake that hisses
or climb a tree to the top.

Gaze at clouds billowing by
in the middle of the day.
And treat yourself to peach pie,
like every day's your birthday.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015

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Living Love Fire

Take a look my Love
do you see how the diamonds of our dreams
are burning so brightly and violently
silhouetting the lips of our wishes against the walls of ancient Latin gold
in the sacred villa of Love's Kingdom where there is no escape
where rescue is unwanted,
where we survive and grow stronger in the gymnasium of passion's glory
did you notice that above the rose vine gateway
the phrase Sancta Simplicitas is carved deeply into the black and white marble,
do you feel the crimson love stress within your throat,
do you taste your soul's intestinal fortitude
surfacing on your spiked tongue
as we wrestle eachother ruthlessly,  like champions that die in defeat,
moral armbars, clean elbow strikes to the jaw of flippancy,
pressure point pinches to the arteries of our inhibitions,
intellectual left and right hooks landing on the cheeks of our wisdom,
poetic hip throws to the mat of hard lust
defiant choke holds of love, flawless in tight execution
penetrating the blood brain barrier with the ecstasy of warrior fervor, 
and as we lay sweatied and spent on the ground of this rough enlightenment
we look at eachother admiringly and realize like young romance
that we live for a single, shared purpose
to teach love what love means,

If they ever say diamonds to diamonds, dust to dust
they'll be speaking in bereavement of our beauty and bravery, of our best,
and I won't allow that,
as I know damn well
that you will not tolerate such misgivings either my Love,
instead,
we shall build a war machine of divine desire
that will destroy the proven walls of conventional psychology
erect a fortress of love that can withstand total despair, 
and they will know the strength of our diamond love
as it guides the lost and lonely
through chaotic oceans of heart hysteria as with us,
no one will ever say our love died,
because we fought for it to live my Love -

Sancta Simplicitas is an ancient Latin phrase meaning...Holy Simplicity...

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2016

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A Depiction Of One Artist And His Starry Night



Vincent Van Gogh~Starry Night __________________________ a precarious world of indecision a dark pallet of light this brilliant depiction , it does scream , it cries out blues and yellows swirl in a maze of defeat a crescent moon suspended in a blissful evening , hangs lone in agony I rest within this small town of hope my eyes are saddened , my mind relentless in delight You are mine , my asylum , my starry night a dimension of light under this wrenching canopy of demise oh Vincent... __________________________


Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2010

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Unraveling Self-Esteem

When you were born...
a gift you received.
Invisible knitting needles...
can you believe?

The yarn started out white,
then you added the the colors...
depending what happened
as you reacted to others.

You are the creator of your own scarfs design,
It's based on life's lessons...
let's keep that in mind.

The longer the scarf...
the warmer you feel,
as the cold winds of defeat...
are right on your heels.

The negative remarks that get you to question,
your value in life...
may I offer a suggestion?
Start knitting yourself in the opposite direction,
just ask God for help and his loving protection.

Good thoughts of self will make your scarf grow.
At the end of your life...
the results they will show.

With each negative belief...
your scarf will start to unravel.
One can not go back...
for there is no time travel.

You are the knitter...
so It's all up to you...
believe in yourself...
and to yourself always be true.

                P.R.Deremer


Copyright © Pam Deremer | Year Posted 2015