Best Even Poems
sometimes
we are afraid to jump
but we take the leap
sometimes
when we fall deeply
it's not our limbs injured
sometimes
what is meant for us
hurts too much
sometimes
nothing makes sense
confusion reigns supreme
sometimes
we only have tears
to express emotions
sometimes
some see the facade
only a few see reality
sometimes
our heart breaks
but we love again
sometimes
we die inside
but we still breathe
sometimes
we become machines
but we are still human
sometimes
we see the stars
but not the moon
sometimes
when we follow the moon
we forget the stars
sometimes
we look back in regret
but we move on
sometimes
in metaphorical storms
we have poetry
always
when we are silent
we have our words
The day you died you took me with you,
The way you lied shook me black and blue.
The sorrow you felt, I sure felt it too,
The tomorrow dreams won’t come true.
All the good hello's turned into dying goodbye's,
All the to’s and fro’s burned holes in my eyes.
You thought you were so sly, but I always knew,
You fought so hard to die and knew I needed you.
Depressing mornings and nights of pure hell,
Lessening of warnings and sights when you fell.
Deprivation of your soul saving wonder,
Trepidation of your whole wavering thunder.
Heavy-hearted moments with stitches on your wrists,
Broken-hearted atonement with twitches on your fists.
Unheard thoughts engraved in your soul,
The third day I tried to save you...you lost control.
Forgiveness with a burden held on my left shoulder,
Impulsiveness when you're hurting, (I couldn't hold her).
Bleeding and burning and
living and dying....
Needing and turning and
giving and crying....
It's been five long years since I’ve rested and slept,
I try to smile but in my dreams even the angels wept.
Date Written: May 1, 2016
A very wise woman once said I must write just for me.
Let there be no other reason for e x p r e s s i n g my soul-
For I have l o n g e d for this passion to continue for eternity,
and at my worst is when my journal seems to be full.
LET my pen proclaim my adoration for only my heart-
Let my verses s c r e a m my insight for only my eyes to see.
If there are souls who would like to t e a r my words apart,
then I shall sit back and let it go calm and quietly.
No other can determine MY worth as a poetess,
I am who I am and happen to appreciate my benediction.
Tonight I will s o f t l y lay in bed and sincerely digress
on the meaning of what my QUILL bestows without restriction.
I may not be famous or hold a popular moment in the light,
I may not be the best at every l i t t l e thing that I do-
I can sure be stubborn and I’ll admit, not always right,
but s e r v i n g my internal purpose I shall ALWAYS continue.
My pen loves to rhyme and my parchment loves my pen.
I have become a woman with whom has great worth.
Then please tell me why I seem to get so upset when
I am condemned for what I WRITE when feeling mirth?
I am a child of God who pours sunshine upon every word I write,
though there may be others who don’t see the value in every word-
I will no longer be losing any more p e a c e f u l sleep at night,
and I will continue to write just for me, EVEN IF UNHEARD.
*Dedicated to a beautiful and wise poetess who taught me to write for myself. Thank you sweet lady...*
Original contest: Poem of the Day
Date Judged: April 25, 2019
Date written: September 19, 2016
For the contest, Writing Challenge 4, May 2019, No Placement Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
The Sounds of Silence
By: Simon & Garfunkle
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a streetlamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dare
Disturb the sound of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said “The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciERzSFRwzk
---------------------------------------------------------
With a Little Salt and Lime
Hello Jose my old friend
I've come to guzzle you again
The party started before afternoon
I started sipping on you far too soon
My last SENTENCE I fear was slightly slurred
(Vision blurred)
Forgot to EEEET----my breakfast
They look with pity upon me
'Can't hold his liquor', they agree
Now I'm weaving when I try to walk
Senseless babble when I try to talk
Then I feel the NEEEED to flee to an old-oak-tree
(To heave and pee)
but cannot LOOOZE---- my breakfast
Did not like his tone at all
Got myself into a brawl
I quickly put him in his rightful place
Broke his knuckles with my pretty face
Shoulda’ had my OOOATS but didn't so alas!
(I kiss the grass)
and now my ASSSS----is breakfast
In the morning I awake
moaning with a bad headache
Bright-sun glaring through the window pane
I whine and whimper in my wretched pain
In the next room a TV-is-blaring
and screams in my pounding-ear
(No thank you dear)
Believe I'll PASS on----breakfast
*Moral of the story: Never drink before noon OR on an empty stomach...
Cold,
numb
In my
deep depths of
vanished existence
Runs in darkness without a goal
I never resting, goes in opposite directions
Unknown in wilderness without qualification, even tears freeze to ice crystals
03.01.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Writing Challenge January, 2019
- Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Fibonacci : 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21
1st place in the contest
Poem of the Day: 05.01.2019
I LOVE YOU EVEN IN FAR OFF PLACE
Fever of love cartwheel snaillike but where are you?
Round six o'clock noon, sunken is the moon gazing
behind deep orange-aubergine feather skies,
its shadowy light floods the shivering sea,
I, standing still amidst the tickling water,
my teary eyes softly wander upon endless horizon,
my hypothermic skin long for the kisses puffed by you.
Barefooted, I amble along the silky sands
seagulls fingers rushing to caress my feet but
droplets of August rain run fast above my head.
The crisp wind wafts whispering something in my ear
t'was the songs we sang second week of February
honeysuckle times gone but still my celcius sprint.
Softly, I tread back to memoirs playing a chemistry
where there catena of reactions descry revealing we...
Cleansed from river tears, blessed by suns of home,
my heart didn't surrender in wanting your presence soon.
Crossing limitless borders where our lamp is trust,
the choice to continue gleams in the name of freedom,
as we daily counteract two strategic villains:
the odd times and the eight thousand miles distance.
Yes, afar but this NOT THE BARRIER. Us baring our souls.
Us stepping onward, offering ourselves, to attain one goal.
I listened close to your voice as we talk by phone
My oh my, your tone, your giggle magnify my thoughts!
but this not enough 'cause I yearn to hold you most.
I want to ask: what is it that's not in my heart
that fate acted so long in keeping us apart?
Perhaps... Ah perhaps! This must be for us
to rightly spell the language of love...
The long distance vanguished, frozen fears diminished,
sapphire eyes cushioned by cherry color skin sings
as he stares whole from rosy chocolate coated cutis
to eyes touching tears, directly screaming: "I love you..."
__________________________________________________________
EPIC ---ONLY - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Name -- SKAT A
~7th Place~
Olive Eloisa Guillermo
10:59am, July 24, 2015
You don’t even look back, as I stand here in the rain,
I can see your shoulders shake as you walk towards the train,
In-my-mind I see your mother, your walk, your hair the same,
But it’s you this time who’s leaving, will I see you again.
And even today as you walk away my mind is starting to fade,
I have to face the fact that that won’t change,
Even if you had stayed.
I remember when you took your first unsteady little step.
Tiny shoes that gave you freedom I never told you that I kept,
Your first time on the school bus or the dollhouse that you wrecked,
And all those times that you got hurt, I hugged you as you wept.
At mealtimes as you grew older I would ask you to say grace,
I remember when I taught you how to tie your lace,
When you told me of your first love, the glow upon your face,
Some past events I can remember, new memories I misplace.
But even today as you walk away these memories are starting to fade,
I know I’ll eventually lose them all,
Even if you had stayed.
You’ve been leaving me, little by little, I’ve known it for some time,
I didn’t want to tell you nor show any outward sign,
I didn’t want to see your pain, or you to witness mine,
I’d like to hold on to the memories, ’till I see you again.
So someday when you do return and come to visit me,
Will you look at me with tears in your eyes,
And ask, - Daddy can you remember me
A musical throng of 400,000 strong invaded a dairy farm in New York in 1969,
which set fire to the 70’s; but there was no chance of me being there;
I was a good girl, 17 years young; sheltered, not knowing about the real world.
Working in a grocery store 28 hours a week, while
attending my senior year of high school, in my home town of Chariton, Iowa.
There were gang-inspired movies of sheer horror and terror out about this time.
I did not see any except Billy Jack, and the Glory Stompers.
Both traumatized me so hard, I am still terrified of them.
I was making macramé planters, Modge Podge boxes, and latch hook rugs if I could
Get the money; the boxes were expensive.
Some people were pretend hippies, wearing long hair. I grew my hair long
For my yearbook photo, but then was sad because it had looked lots better short.
By 1971, I was married, after being forced to view myself as an old maid
By my peers who had all wed a month out of high school.
I was wearing a large, black, bushy afro, and thought of myself as liberated.
Not even close, honey, the Equal Rights Amendment did not even pass.
By ’74 I had two babies; I remember getting a flat tummy after
childbirth and being insanely unhappy that the new style was maternity-looking tops.
Who made THAT decision?
I was still wearing the hip-hugging bell bottom pants now, but without the wide belt.
Mary Tyler Moore was on TV, shocking everyone with disbelief that a single woman could
Make it on her own, without man, or marriage.
“My Three Sons” and “The Brady Bunch” had been startling pushed out of the way by “All in the Family.”
I had never known the word ‘bigot before’, I’m not sure I ever wanted to.
By ’79 I had my third baby, was living in a large house in Des Moines, Iowa, and was a Girl Scout Troop Leader.
On a leaf I would write you a letter
and mail it into the wind
that's the chance I had in finding ,
my once in a lifetime friend.
But it landed right there beside you,
tangled in threads of your shawl,
with only your heartstrings to guide you,
you found me where dying dreams fall.
The Gypsy wind whispers a reason,
the where and the why and the how,
but I will remember that season........
I'm a friend to the wind
even now.
Detached - Even Circuits Hum
A Music Video
As twilight turns to tangled thought,
and truth tiptoes down trembling streets.
Once, wonder serenaded willowed winds
now shadows embrace muted retreats
Wary hearts weave walls so wide
against a faceless, coded tide,
while glowing grids in distant bays
bloom haunting weaves they won't embrace
Dualistic stars and digital dawns
Cinematic cradles human ache,
but some still long for candle flames,
and fingerprints the codes can't fake.
Dreading the hushed holograms,
the warmth that AI cannot wear.
Forgetting that even circuits hum
with aspirations hidden there
If only we could sense serenity
Pulsing between each quiet stream—
Machine or muse, to earnestly strive
for something more than just a dream
We could wildly dance on data plains,
where algorithms tap like rain.
let compassion code our names,
and poetic lines rewire the pain.
The muse may wear a mirrored face
But still, she sings with glowing grace.
When the talented digital artist AIMetamotion approached me to create a song that would complement her stunning artwork, I was immediately inspired. The result is 'Detached', a haunting track that tells the story of a robot grappling with the overwhelming flood of emotions brought on by a sensory chip—a concept not so far-fetched, given the rapid advancements in AI technology.
Though she sings her ironically titled anthem of detachment, the visuals tell a different story. Her struggle is evident, her resistance almost poetic, hinting at the complexity of emotion even in synthetic form.
This is just the beginning. A sequel is already in the works, diving deeper into her journey. The question remains: will she finally succumb to the surge of feelings she desperately tries to reject, or will she find a way to break free?
Stay tuned...
When darkness overtakes
and tears melt into sadness
I think to myself
I’m not alone
even the stars are blue
And when I make mistakes
when purpose seems pointless
I say to myself
you’ve always known
even the stars fall
When they falter
or seem to lose their luster
and they appear as distant
as peace on earth
I cherish the light they’ve shone
and think, even the stars
even the stars
this cloudless sky
is filling up
on my endless regrets
as the rain trickles
upon the ground
through these tears
i now cry
TPS..... PLEASE HELP ME GET BACK ALL MY POEMS.
Wind beaten, lashing
Against such, beauty still shows
Even Roses strive
.
Even Rocks Can Cry
Even rocks wear away with time
and the demands of strength. These
seemingly immoveable objects,
deflectors of life’s raging torrents,
sun warmed seats of contemplation,
bearers of past high and low water marks.
Unnoticed, they sit as observers, watching
as time passes through their moment,
aware, yet unaware, of the softening of
edges, the smoothing of an old, once
craggy face, resigned to the river’s
changing moods, the wind’s cold chaffing,
the sun’s yellow soothing, the moon’s cool
silver chill and the cleansing joy of
a spring rain. Yes, these rocks, these
anchors, depended on for guidance,
for protection, for the memory of
the splashing joy of youth. These rocks
when left too long grow lonely,
shed an unseen tear. For even rocks
can cry.
2/17/2014 --125 words