Best Dialogue Poems

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

Internal Dialogue by Reger, Nathan
Sacramental Dialogue by Dillenbeck, Gerald
Raunchy Dialogue by Hossain, Md Shahadat
Dialogue Of Love by Burch, Deborah
A Brief Dialogue by Reza, Muzahidul
A Horrible Dialogue by Reza, Muzahidul
Universal Dialogue by Neumann, Kai Michael
Silent Dialogue by Guenther , DebbySue
Dialogue In A Sinful Night by chizoba vincent, john
Dialogue by Ludden, Robert

View all new Dialogue Poems

The Best Dialogue Poems

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The days that brought me here

I thought I would go backwards
Into my uncertain
My awkward
The days of my wondering
What will I be when I grow up?
Will I ever grow up?
Is everyone better than me?
Boy I wish I could be more like that
That guy
Yep him
The athletic confident one
Words come so easy to him
Jokes flow freely from his lips
And they laugh
They love being with him
What's it like to be that self assured?
He has so many friends
None of them would ever talk to me
What would it be like to hang out with the cool kids?
I try telling myself
It doesn't matter
I have a few friends
I want it to be enough
I think it's enough
With them
I imagine and pretend
To be funny
One smile
One chuckle at a time
I gradually become me
A better more confident self
A lover of words
I talk my way towards my future
While listening for clues 
Building myself two by twos
Real friends are the ones I choose 
Their words
Teach me about them and myself
I don't hide on lonely street
There are more people to meet
So I jump up off my seat
Rewrite myself on many a sheet
Until I can follow and hear my internal beat
Do what needs doing
Repeat and repeat 
Until I come to here and now
Breathless with WOW
Understanding HOW
That uncertain and awkward part
Changed everything 
It still is
Will be
An important part of me
Because it helped me see
There are many many 
Significant and individual
ways to be
So now I choose
Care Free!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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Poet -This Poem is About You

-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet- 

Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off 
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause 

The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse 
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse 
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse 
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance, 
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers 
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest, 
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein

You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal, 
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree 
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."

I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter, 
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer 
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer

Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light, 
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes, 
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.

If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause

I do it for fun

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Theory of devolution

I am a pacifist I despise war.
It’s the only thing I actually hate.
I’m never able to brace myself for
Diplomacy that deteriorates:
Recriminating dialogue amuck
That results in irrationality.
Adults become intellectual schmucks
Whose mentality in reality
Is equivalent to a chimpanzee
In spite of our advances in science.
Our mentality still swings from the trees
Where once apish self’s had claimed provenance.
We haven’t evolved from our ancient source
Thus war is likely a matter of course.

Copyright © Albert Ahearn | Year Posted 2009

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War and Peace

                                     violent, deadly
                          confusing, damaging, suffering
                    armament, strategy, dialogue, harmony
                       forgiving, respecting, understanding 
                                    mental, spiritual


                                  11th November 2014
                               Contest: Diamante Poem
                                Sponsor: Regina Riddle
                                         Placed: 3rd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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He's Just a Dog

He’s just a dog, a mongrel pup that fitted in me hand,
short haired, tan and white, with needs of high demand,
he’s whingy and he’s whiny, I s’pose he misses Mum,
but now his Mum and Dad are what me wife and I become.

And the recommending is that we must take him to the vet,
to have all his virus shots with rates that put us into debt,
we had to have him micro-chipped in case of getting lost,
and then de-sexing and to register all added to the cost.

We made a fuss of him and spoilt him rotten to the core,
even after peeing on the carpet on the lounge room floor,
we fed him ‘smackos’, munchies, and tins of high-class meat,
and let him lick our plates for a special little treat.

We knew we shouldn’t feed him sitting at the dinner table,
but when those eyes stared through me, I just wasn’t able
to ignore the little blighter who was pleading for a crust,
and of course I’m feeling guilty, so ignoring is unjust.

He mightn’t talk, but body language gets his tale across,
by demanding his intentions with a bark “I am the boss!”
That can mean our double bed, becomes one of his beds,
it’s a God given right to scratch a pillow into shreds.

He’s just a dog, but as he grew from pup to fully grown,
there are more human aspects that our little dog has shown.
He’s believing in his own mind, we are not his Dad and Mum,
because now he is the King, and slaves we’re now become.

Dogs shouldn’t have to take a bath; a chain should be denied,
and a dog definitely should never have to sleep outside,
to prove his point before its dawn our actions are defied,
he’s barking at the back door demanding to be let inside.

He’s just a dog with habits that does reimburse our training,
he licks his bum and then me face, and thinks it’s entertaining,
then rubs his bum along the carpet, so we have to come to terms,
that we have to medicate him… ‘oh my God it’s bloody worms!’

The more we tried to train him, then the more he’s training us,
for he always gets his own way when he’s kicking up a fuss,
his wicker chair and blanket are for him and him alone,
and every week on shopping day he gets a king size bone.

And doesn’t he love visitors; it’s all ‘welcome to my joint,’
wagging tail and somersaults, but to get more to the point,
if he can’t grab the sole attention when he sits up and begs,
then it becomes acceptable to go humping people’s legs.

It took him very little time to claim the television set,
he’s the closest to the heater, and he does get quite upset
if we don’t take him in the car… and now when being fed,
he’s expecting us to feed him, his brekkie in our bed.

The house is rearranged these days to suit his every need,
each day by his insistence he is walked upon the lead,
we bow to all his wishes, to his commands and dialogue,
but for anyone who drops in… they only see a bloody dog.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2014

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What Makes A Warrior

I cannot presume
To tell anyone
What a warrior is.

Nor do I claim
To embody any
Of his qualities.

All I offer here
Is a collection
Of impressions
Or meditations.

A warrior is
A state of being;
Are mere props.

The only weapon
He might possess
Is implacable resolve
In the face of
Extreme adversity.

A warrior's language
Or internal dialogue
Has no allowance
For the phrase,
"I can't."

All the same,
He discriminates
Between causes 
That are just and
Those that are not.

He determines the
Character, as well as
The time and place
Of his battles, 
Investing himself utterly.

And he remains
Ever prepared
For those who would
Bring their battles 
To him.

Yet a warrior meets life
On its own terms
With no delusions
Of bending it
To his own will.

Self-pity is a 
Useless indulgence,
Yet he has compassion
For the weak; he never
Places himself above
Others, for how can he?

All this being said,
And human nature
Being what it is,
His greatest enemy
May yet be none other
Than himself.

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015

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Dialogue of Place

Dialogue of  {Place}

Should I whisper words
that hang on memory’s peaks,
cumulous across my forehead?

A world of words - connected
like tides to the moon.

Words that mingle and rise,
as mist from a valley 
or, dwell in half forgotten dreams;
endless as ocean waves,
or vistas of flowering fields.

Beautiful words
that tell me of my place.

Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2015

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   relying on chance 
trying to find a needle 
   inside a haystack

a well-balanced choice
  a winner or a loser
   you can bet on it

     when tossing a coin
the most probable outcome
  would be heads or tails

     lack of dialogue
increases the probable
   failure of marriage

        waking up early
does not always guarantee
    you’ll see the sun rise

  weighing pros and cons
when faced with a decision
  between right or wrong

Author: Paul Callus ~ 24th July, 2014
Contest: Haiku on Probabilities
Sponsor: Marvin Celestial
Placing: 2nd

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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White Shoulder Dreams

Oh the images we freeze in time

the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall

the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring

for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender

on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice

soap roped in shower stalls.

Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown

upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets

showing frozen plumped out peeks of

blistering love, gape toothed girls

and sour apple dreams.

We freeze in time on scrapes and shards

on compasses far from the woodlands scene

the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers

as they touched my dimpled chin,

blue eyes behind wire rims.

The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall

White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts

Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee 

and father's black onyx ring

ah, I still have him.

The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring

guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes

hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards

relentless, heartless is the passing

passing into the frayed, worn fringes

of our dollop of mirrored time.

For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender

with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days

bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie

do not forget the taste of the love

the cotton candy kisses 

their first chocolate cone.

On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice

soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes

without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,

play all the old tunes from radio days

and invite your loved ones

to come home.

This is my form it is called Etcetera. 

Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the 
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your 
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the 
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of 
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal 
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no 
syllable count.

I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of 

Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014

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- Stone By Stone -

Do not let this superficial world
discourage you
Whoever cares
often causes a dialogue with themselves
How much of the content in mind
is defined by the question ;
"Imagine if ... what then ..."

Echo in the head ... over and over again
Night without sleep steals your energy
Dead orchids and dark forces
The battle between good
and evil is just begun
"Imagine if ... what then ..."

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

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017

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Finding The Plot

Finding the plot

Of lost innocence
engrained in untold memories

The silenced absence 
in past present unspoken
stories well hidden
and therefore evoking
my past and my future
not mine and mine

Quite a mind-field
mines bombs blazing
artillery burning houses

My antecedent shelter of
generational tapestry
knotted not knotted
attached and attacked 
in hindsight myopic
insight reflection distortion

Existential vertigo
imagination fictitious
'memesis' narrational
irrational in
un-disclosing reality

Approximation of personal
truth and forgetting
un-kown remembrance
what was and was not
what might have been
unsettling my journey
reconcilling projections
more real than the void
of silence screaming

Two photographs
unearthed post mortem
heritage disbelieving
acknowledgment in 
second order ties that
bind generations
for later or worse
in not so new

The baby-faced soldier
volunteered for fascist
idealised purity
insignia “Lebensraum”
in mind soul grenades

Mastering marches and race
for books to be burnt and bodies
alike the stench of 'smeltering'
flesh concentrated ashes
on the graveyard of living
hell horror abomination 

Mislead but never
the less culpable
in complicity of non
resistance and passion

Small steps from juvenile
prodigy as child radio
speaker in brown shorts
and obedience
deluded megalomania

Meeting Mussolini
“Heil Hitler my Duce”
surviving Russian winters
of lice infested power
pulverised bodies
ideological mind

This is my history
my baby-faced father
wielding the guns

My mother instead
diving from high platforms
somersaulting into the pools
of water not yet turned
to blood of skins
into lampshades
bayonetted children
dispatched from
dignity freedom
in aberrated inhumanity

She was a champion
of the Reich
winning her laurels
in aesthetic beauty
regime terror crashed crystals
of synagogues gay friendships
political cells
Roma wagons mental
asylums with refuge
refused in annihilation
exterminated in denial
and no mutiny displayed

Later saving roofs from
the fires of retaliation
suffering no doubt
in misplaced childhood
not yet knowing defeat
for a better world to be
dreamt of naively

Beautiful plaits wanting eyes
graceful in innocence of 
a story unfolding
inside and around
etching into
the moment of
ancestral procreation

My history again
and insights lost never found
behind the veil and defence
of post-traumatic perpetration
cynical acceptance of what
has been regardless of 
what was not to be disclosed
responsibility shunned
oozing into the next
generation of children

Never found plots
in aphonic dialogue
shouting so loudly
into the festering wounds
of un-explicable sadness
marching boots
of complicity

I have not walked 
in history’s shoes
just in the silence

My own offspring...


Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016

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Give Peace A Chance

The rich are getting richer
The poor are losing hope
Mother Earth is dying
Over populated
War Torn
Anybody notice?

Is the Garden of Eden gone for good?

It starts with You
And it starts with Me
Get Involved
Accept Differences
Dialogue, not Bullets

We still have a chance

But do we have the time?

June 7th, 2013

Copyright © Rick Zablocki | Year Posted 2013

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I stood on the cliff and asked the wafting clouds exultantly,
"You greet me every morn, you watch me through 
My windows and peer through the chinks,
You have been a mystical part of me through 
My childhood when I skipped and jumped with friends
And through my confusion and confidence in adulthood.
What does the future behold for a dreamy me?"

The sky seemed bluer in the cloudscape and I heard echoes
" In the labyrinth of choices your future is sown in........your future is sown in
Your cherished dream was an unbelievable reality................believable reality
A kaleidoscopic ride after the nature you've churned out for self..........for self
An investment in optimism has enveloped you in calmaria
Enjoy the fruit which is multiplying with interests......................with interests".

May14, 2015
For Skat A
Any Poem You Are Proud of # 3

(May 10, 2016
For Nayda Ivette Negron)

*Calmaria (Spanish)- after a storm comes calm
Poem is in a dialogue form; the second verse is an end line word poem.

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2016

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Touching the Stars

The blue mood of silence, is there on the screen Not a whisper, no dialogue, just a hum that is found A celluloid reel, spinning backwards in time while flickering shadows, has hushed all the stars that watch through a curtain, while marking the years The soft ocean breezes are catching your hair. It frolics, embracing the blue dress you wear You are running barefoot along the incoming tide The beach is as smooth as the silk of your skin You are flying a kite in the swift summer sky You raise up your arm, and are waving at me A smile on your mouth, and a star in your eyes I can almost hear whispers, that come from afar shattering silence, without any sound The joy of it falls through the long winter years.... In voiceless, vague memory, to rest on my ears I follow I'm watching you play Your lips ever moving....what is it you say? I find myself reaching... still, wanting to catch to set a small trap...and reach into the past I can't hear the chords,....nor the score to your song Or music I long for.....that is kept by the stars But, here in the heart of this moment, I grasp Like the kite reaching higher....while piercing the sky Weaving a magic...where joy never dies I watch how you hold to that kite in the sky... and cross over the questions to ask... You've thrown a last kiss.....that I reach out to catch And for a moment together, .... we are touching the stars....

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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The Ignoramus: Who Is Not Far From Being A Fool

When everyone goes east, he heads west to him, every dialogue is a contest comes into an interaction as the biggest then leaves agonisingly as the lowest. When he speaks, you know he is half-honest even though he truly knows, but not near the best. He always end up lost in the forest this simple fact, he cannot digest. The moment he shamefully fails the test he begins to manifest then becomes far from being modest and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests. Causing a general unrest as he unnecessarily protest. All over his countenance, ignorance crests not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest. Quick to make jest but correction; he equates to incest and disagreements, he always detest. We all have the quest to know and share the latest so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest which can be a cultivation to future harvest. But knowing it all is impossible and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous. Admiting not to know it all is the fairest but this is yet not comprehensible to him, to whom; to know is like a conquest. The wise keep quiet lest, they cause him to become the tempest and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest. Oh poor child! change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest where no one wants to visit your nest not because you are unblest but cos of the truth of your infest which now, is obviously clearest. It is good to learn my child and sharing is an attribute of Love. But run away from half baked lines or be humble enough to listen while they become fully whole. You were given two ears and one mouth hence talk less and listen more because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013

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Gone are the Winds But Long Live the Words

Heavy in the wind,
was sound of a phrase-
Rhett Butler's curse word   ~
blew open the door
to eminent change
The dialogue 
withstood critics
who could not keep
that door bolted                                  ~

A strong wind               ~          ~
swept away      ~
old values

Filth caved
in the

            ~                 ~

For Judy Kono's Contest: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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In Good Conscience

Heavily tread, are those small fractious steps On the stairs to my own peace of mind The sound of transgressions that I'd rather forget is the pounding of a most clamorous kind The dialogue I'm having, within my own self drums on the door of the closed minded truth I try to rewrite scripts, shoving back on the shelf But the turbulence shakes them loose No matter, how buried, how deep I will hide them My conscience can shovel them out That child inside me, denies what was done then But can't deafen the voices that shout I profess to regret many sins I've committed The most difficult task is one of admitting
__________________________________ Revised 4/6/13__ __________________________________ (Original Poem....Diminished Hexaverse) MY CONSCIENCE heavy on the stairs the sound of my thoughts- my own voice resounds and pounds on my door of solitary the dialogue within myself never perjured is translucent I profess to launder past regrets if stains can be cleansed _____________ 2/14/11 ___________________________________________________________ Both poems submitted for Roy Jerden's Contest: "Makeover"

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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Prologue to Lessons of Change

  for King Wen, circa 1151-1143 B.C.E. – with seven mind-bending kowtows

There where you had no occasion for play
There in your confined Ming I space
Where change wrought no change
In your fate
But for those plagued by your linear grouping games

Where before the fall from your embroidered gardens
The lavender embossed bowl to dip your fingers in
The enamelled daïs that spurned the kowtows
the cloistered summer watering palace
the decorative duck pond
the turtle and dove court
where dainty demure mincing concubines
under dispassionate eunuch eyes
stroked and tickled the mandolin strings of their Lord’s heart
Where time sailed through Flying Dutchman seas
At the serene centre of Qian’s mundane realm

Even what drops from the sky may hit the ocean bed
And so stamped under in your tyrant’s dungeons
With your retinue and court
Where each faked their fate in psychotic delusions
Simulating as it were
The neurotico-schizophrenic passage in another dimension
There where you bought a little time
Time enough to fashion a play
A game of change
A game that never really changes
Even if your son the Duke of Chou
And the Master expositor Kung
Paved your broken and unbroken lines in words
from which no man may return

Where the longest dialogue you began
Becomes seems a polyalogue among some
  or all
Who have gone beyond the hexagram wall
And those who await the inexorable call
Where speech is ambiguous
To say the least
In eight by eight cyclic situations
Though someone YOU maybe ME seems to be saying
Take heed ! all this’s a mess
The Truth
Might not it be hidden in the lines
and in the lines alone
and not in the words

Take them down one by one
And build them up again
Note the beginning and the end
And the correspondances of change
Put the judgments of my son
And the wordy attributions to Kung
Especially those from the young Wang Bi
On either side of the hexagram
What is claimed for the Superior Man
Is within the reach of every clan
Measure the lines in or out of tune
The trigrams from whence
The inner ones note hence
Think on them but once
Or only now and then
for the nonce
This’s all I have to say
Though others may make much of the Way
Think not on what I have said
More than it takes to put paid

O ! Great Royal Sage !
Are there not behind these lines
Three or four bearded lords, nay sages
Who drive terror into those who gaze
Day and night into their wizened faces !

© T. Wignesan, May 20, 1987 (rev. 2011, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012

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True Love Waits

The past,  a covered memory of fog
Nothing but shadows that still come and go
A silent movie without dialogue
A dark play with tears, is now a freak show
You caused skies to blackened and bring their storm
As eyes loosed salt water like ocean tides
Knew trembling hands that sought to be warm
And cried in anguish as a love had died
I was something, I'm now nothing after
In between is the fleeing tomorrow
On farthest hill lovers play in laughter
Never seeing the time they borrow

  To be in love again,  filled with wonder
  Not the bitter man love split asunder

We met again,  along the rushing shore
And felt the motion of the smoothest wave
To kiss hungry soft lips for love and more
And forgive the anger that was our slave
As there between the lighted sky to find
Love lost now found, grand as the widest view
A splendid world warm as the waves are kind
To wet soft quiet eyes with love that's true
We'll hold the tender hand to bond as one
While watching footprints fade in pebbled sand
And see the long red sky from setting sun
Falling into night 'till the stars command

  To feel each wave upon the warmest skin
  And touch the moment until dawn can begin

contest True Love Waits-2 English Sonnets

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2016

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Break up by the river

We said our goodbyes steps away from the Mississippi River
a relationship reminding me something like the water, deep, not very clean but beautiful nether the less 

The sun was setting and the guitarist nearby seronaded the vodka tequila whisky concoction in his flask. 

I grasped my mans hand as if I was falling from a cliff. Because I was...
He said the things that would break the heart of any other girl who was dangerously in love. 

But the air that night was so sweet that his words tasted like it. 
The sugar coated break up dialogue disguised our departure as just another warm, luscious night by the Mississippi River.

Copyright © Amanda Mawu | Year Posted 2016

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Color Surety

Canvas, calm, grinning. . .blank
Had words screamed, scarecrows trapped on the poles of their creators,
Had words formed psalms that barricaded the strongholds of the heart,
Divine despair would desperately take hold again,
Embellishing the muse
To smile, the impassive smile. . .confuse

Enraptured by your tail,
Coiling, boiling in the hot and hungry sun
The eyes, clouded, caught in a moment of inexorable suffering 

Death glistening in the confirmation of tears and groans,
Shading the dialogue that never surfaces
Justice in pale focus. . .constant, still held in out-of-the-blue faith

Do not allow your perspectives to dull
Waiting so long, I deafened the cries
The very cries I so blindly expressed. . .
Words etching existences imagined

I want you to take the hand of uncertainty
For as I have, I forever feel the tremors that have given me shape
Those very hands create what you dream,
And not what you fear

Take that hand,
Squeeze it tightly
I promise you, once you touch. . .I will never let you go

For I love you, 
Oh, unexplained hold. . .
Help me escape the newborn deaths of today
Teach me how to step over the carcasses of calamity
Where the innocent die to inspire the remaining
Learn how to lead me into the lights of your eyes

Give me your beautiful hand,
I will take you to places you will never understand
And it will be okay

Because where I go,
The scarecrows roam with the roaring ravens
Making music with the pulse of their wings
With the sharp click of their beaks

Where I go,
Psalms of serenity's back way make love with impending day,
Spinning despair into the golden hairs of suspended May 

Where I go,
innocent flowers freely giggle arrays of life
And his tail whips mightily,
His black velvet purrs arousing breaths of caramel verisimilitude

Where we stay,
In the forever grip of the trust you and I made,
Justice is pure water,
Cool and refreshing. . .ever smiling

My love, please
Hold onto this world with me
Give me your needs that I need. . .
And I promise perspective will prosper
The canvas, one blank, filled with detailed destiny of Color Surety

October 19th, 2014

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

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Trump Shields The US From Becoming A Carcass Filled With Ants

Trump Shields The US From Becoming A Carcass Full With Ants 

Trumps draws a line in the sand
He's shaken all the trees in the land
Call him whatever, okay an ass
Yet keep in mind his motto USA first
From the civil war to now
No other's brought out the plow
Like how Trump has outlined in his model
In stomping his foot down full throttle
In Trump's twelve days in office
He's raining on the bureaucratic chorus 
Telling big business to fear
Of outsourcing jobs from here
He's taken on the pharmaceutical giants
To lower their prices, and be more compliant
He set a visa moratorium on 7 Muslim countries 
Prompting protester's chastises, so bluntly
He's opened dialogue for domestic oil exploration
Setting the country's future more self reliant of oil importation
He's befriended the Brits, and hired a cabinet of friends
Some of which are the richest, so one hopes it pays dividends
To this he silences his, what, ... critics? 
By calling them, okay, ... idiots !
Trump's IQ some say it's one of the tops
One hope pressure doesn't make it pop
Trump also seen as grandstanding his wall
For the Mexican President to take the fall
Yet he may be right on all of this
For it's a lot of walkovers from the border
That's soaking up the jobs, social and welfare
Taking up space for the ones already here
Trump may be xenophobic and not a tulip or rose
But he can't be accused of tiptoeing in
He needed to stem the colony of ants
Instead of letting them bred and expanse

connie pachecho



Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017

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As Long As I Am Alive, I Can Speak of Death

time melts down in the death
obsession decays with death

death awakens me in the state of absolute tranquility,
tranquility not even bothered by the buzzing in my ears

I was thinking that death lives only in the heart of 
one who wanted to keep cherished memories 
but, alas; will diminish one day
like ripples carried by the water 

however, on some occasions, death throws its shadow  
becoming an uncontrollable passion, it bursts into flame 
and flows in the wilderness as a stream of molten rock;
then comes together to become a mound of ashes 
and scatters in the air blown by a gust to yield naught 
which may be the linkage to never perishing another life

so what do you have to do with meeting death, it’s nothing 
but the shadow of the moon that hanged on a limb of a tree; 
what about dialogue with death, 
it’s only a whisper you made to a star  

actually, death is the resignation of self with closing eyes 
in the dark that is darker than the darkest hour yonder horizon;
death is time ceased in an abysmal chasm where water
neither moves nor stands still but has petrified 
and become gentle waves in the sea 
over the edge of a mound of fossils 

still and all, 
when the dead one’s thoughts are floating on the quiet water 
it becomes a raging billow higher than a mountain and swallows the sea
an irresistible yearning for the departed occurs in the heart of the living one,

if death is the four seasons that alive walk stepping on the time of oblivion 
as the subsequence to a hatred, no one can torment death; no one can shake open death’s eyes

I wonder who said those clever things on death?

“how wonderful is death, …pale as yonder waning moon
with lips of lurid blue, ….”1
“sleep is lovely, death is better still, ….”2

as long as one is alive one can talk about death 
death most beautiful; death would be beautiful forever 

1. Shelley: Queen Mab  2. Quote from Heine


Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015

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    There is a spirit that watches over you
    In the daylight hours, and nightime too.

    You may not think that they are there
     But there is a way to make you aware.

     I learned the name of my angel a long time ago
     Because I was interested and I wanted to know.

     His name is "Maximus" and is with me here
     To learn of his presence once made me fear.

     Because what you do is watched all the day
     The angel keeps tabs, God finds out that way.

     I guess you think I'm being naive
     Trust your faith, if you believe.

     If you want to know your angel's name
     There is a way to find out which is no game.

     Say a prayer for three days in a row
     And after each time ask him to reveal his name to you.

     If you believe in him he will tell you true
     If not, he may be silent to you.

     I know of others who have tried this I can say
     Some, have learned the names of their angels this way.

     When you pray for their name do not think it absurd
     Some, I know, will hear that singular word.

     It won't come as a shout from heaven on high
     But rather as a whisper, when your angel is nigh.

     These spiritual beings are here for us all
     Sometimes they wait just to here us call.

     And when you do wouldn't if be grand
     If you knew the spirit's name...who behind you stands!

     Try it and see if you think I'm fooling around
     Be honest with yourself with both feet on the ground.

     As someday that spiritual angel you will greet
     Wouldn't it be nice to be on a "first name" basis when you meet?

     And if you try but do not hear their name
     Keep on trying because your conviction was lame.

     I know many will think I'm crazy with this
     But knowing my angel's name has brought comfort and bliss.

     So try it yourself and see if in kind
     If your angel will speak to you...they really don't mind.

     Because then a dialogue with them you can share,
     Even if they never speak again,  you'll know...they're there.

Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010

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High Hopes

Before we implode or reach cluster one
What do you want from me, as you humans dry run
We are Poles apart in what you and I do
Marooned you will be, if you don't turn to be true

I am only but a sphere, but your wearing the inside out
Our futures lost for words as we enter life's drought
There is time for dialogue to take it back
Will it be a great day for freedom, or will we enter our black

Around the table of powers we have to keep talking
We had high hopes when we stooped, we may cease to stop walking
It beggars belief that we are heading into strife
Maybe one day we'll acknowledge, that were coming back to life

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010