Best First Poem Poems
Tentative Dancer
Do I choose to join, this Poetic Dance
To reveal my soul, to take this chance
I am left to wonder, who will care
If my life is charmed, or full of despair
I release my emotions, to the page
The good the sad, the parts with rage
The pen gets started, revealing each part
A stitched together, healed broken heart
Like many a writer, I am a bleeder
Revealing my secrets, to you the reader
My only hope, is that you have time
To see yourself, in the words I rhyme
Because without you, there is no dance
You are the reason, I take this chance
A dance with a stranger, one two three
Perhaps at the end, you will know me
Confident Dancer
I'm glad I chose to join you in Poetic dance
Thank you for giving my clumsy a chance
No longer will I wonder if you truly care
You share your beauty and masterful flare
Together we do our Rumba on a spotless page
For the textured surface is inspiration's stage
As we move in unison I feel your wonderous heart
Thanks for being at one with me within our art
We move together lost in rhyme and meter
Not wanting to leave anything from our reader
If they explore long enough perhaps within time
We will all be joined in this dance so sublime
Yes it can be scary taking a chance
Yet what would life be without the dance
No longer stranger, ink drips one two three
By knowing you, I have come to know me!
Original Poem Just Desserts
I was at my favourite restaurant and had a lovely meal
If I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat
The dessert menu was on its way, Oh I couldn’t wait for that
The waitress bought the menus and I rubbed my hands with glee
Oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do
She finally turned to me and said ‘oh Madam what can I get you’
Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply
I didn’t realise what I’d said till I saw the tears form in her eye
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh
At my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe
The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave
I choked on every mouthful and my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day
If you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!
2nd February 2014
This was my first poem posted here and was is my first poem to be published in a book by United Press
Response Poem to Just Desserts
When I read my ‘Just Desserts’ poem, oh I made such a gaffe
I am petrified it will happen again and everyone will laugh
At home I have been practicing the correct words I have to say
To order sticky toffee pudding again will really make my day
We still go to this local restaurant for a tasty treat
I love the food they serve, it’s a lovely place to eat
But when its time to choose my dessert then I begin to shake
After my terrible Spoonerism I can’t make the same mistake
I smile sweetly at the waitress who comes to take my choice
Then clear my throat gently so I have a steady voice
I want to order sticky toffee pudding, the dessert of my dream
But I chicken out at the last minute and order an ice cream!
Contest - A response to My First Poem
Sponsored by Silent One
09~27~15
New Year, Past Years
Dawn, looking as blush as twilight,
Where the silhouette of trees still lingers
And envelopes me—
Transporting me to my world of yesterday.
I can still hear my children’s laughter;
Watch them play and dance
To their sweet singing tunes.
How quiet the morning is now
That they are grown and gone.
As I look out toward the grey sea
And Diamond Head
I can see their faces in the rising sun.
© Connie Marcum Wong
January 2, 2010
Response Poem:
As More Years Pass
There is more beauty in my life now
Than I could have ever imagined.
When our last child left home
And our voices seemed to echo
Through our silent empty rooms
I felt the sadness of a mother's
Longing to be loved and needed.
As my son blessed me with his son
And my daughter with her daughter,
Our home was once again filled
With children's happy laughter and
With my contented laughter too.
I help my daughter raise her daughter
Who reminds me every blessed day
As more and more years have passed
That I have saved the best for last!
© Connie Marcum Wong
September 29, 2015
Contest: A response to your first poem
Sponsor: Silent One
See-Saws - (First Poem posted on PoetrySoup, 08/04/2014)
What playground does not hold the magic lure
of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
in ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
and surging thrill of bouncing up again?
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
it's followed by a swing to new heights when
he'll know once more the joy of that plateau?
In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
for truly, were it stable, it would bore
the simplest mind; for only from the ground
does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
For only in imbalances we feel
the balance that keeps life on even keel.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In Response To My First Poem
Yin and Yang
Just as a see-saw's motion, up and down,
echos the yin and yang of heaven, earth;
these complement each other, turn around—
like dark of night becomes the new day's birth.
All seasons here on earth their balance keep,
along with oceans' rise and fall of tides.
The yin and yang, the ebbs and flows must sweep
throughout the universe—become our guides.
The ups and downs along with highs and lows
in our own lives—imbalances we feel—
are yin and yang which we cannot oppose—
that balance which keeps life on even keel.
But sometimes balances can be unfair
when dark of yin can linger, bring despair.
We pray see-saws can rest awhile—prepare
to longer bask in yang of life midair.
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Contest: A Response to Your First Poem
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 09/30/2015
AT THE FINAL GOODBYE
The congregation
mingled within the silent
stone slabs of their
ancestors, a final goodbye
to yet another
destined to leave this place.
Yet to one, in this his
profound sorrow an
enchanting moment.
He craved! With a soul
sensitive and true to
touch a living memory,
his lips again to caress
her symbolic smile.
His need to glance upon
her northern eyes of blue,
stroke her flowing
“Celtic Flame”
That, while strolling in lanes
of love rebelled against
the moorland breeze.
He desired to paint this
memory of that moment
the very first day they met,
bestow in this a silent tribute
to the emotions within
their secrets, those, no one
else could ever share!
first posted 2nd may 2010
IN RESPONSE TO MY FIRST POEM
Our secrets to keep forever
The two of us only will share,
This my darling is my promise
To you so far away down there.
Oh yes I can hear and see you
From this my place far up above,
I listen to your sweet whisper
See us in your portrait of our love.
Alas ‘tis only my bare bones
That lay idle beneath your feet,
Leaving everything about me
In your memory this my treat.
Our precious although short moments
Forever lives on in my soul,
Until one day yet far away
The final end your earthly role.
Then once again true love will meet
Your need to touch my Celtic Flame,
Mine to gaze upon eyes of green
Our lips passionate wild untame!
28th Sept 2015
© Harry J Horsman 2015
All these years ago it began
then I picked up my black pen
wondering if I could write poetry
so doubtful was I back then
But then my grey cells responded
bringing thoughts mindfully alive
from that point, confidence grew
brings a vision point to truly strive
Having been set to write poetry
it's appropriate what made my debut
for my subject matter set to write
a long-pointed thing is my clue
By now you'll have worked it out
that first poem was titled 'The Pen'
which would be my best ever friend
writing in my notebook forever open
To think now many I've penned
using up gallons of flowing ink
it all began with a pen of mine
which was indeed my missing link!
(This is written looking back on the first poem written all these years ago, so many pens have been used since then!)
Lonely shuttered days
as Covid slammed at our souls
To fill the long day
I tried writing of my sons
how they fill my heart with love
"untitled"
my first poem - words unremembered - was for a boy I'll never forget
Oct. 3, 2020 for JCB Burl's How My First Poem Was Born Poetry Contest
Let’s not forget our calmer gods,
Our babies flooding over our bodies while
Lying on the small and colorful living room rug.
Bug-eyed joy darting into my soul from strange corners of the body.
It’s the lying and rolling and crashing and skin-skin madness they care about,
Because whether or not they’re cognizant of it,
It is what you need, illogically and without reason.
Get dirty and senseless, roll around with the Spirit Quest Gang,
Your children, your future, your breathe of fresh topsy-turvy
Life-affirming activity.
Forget your brain and let them point the way,
To your own collective salvation and unmitigated fun.
When I first learned how to read and write,
I wrote the very first poem, that as an infant, I'd often recite.
The following is the original of this childhood insight;
Ga, Ga,
Goo, Goo,
Pee, Pee,
Poo, Poo,
Ma, Ma,
Da, Da,
Na, Na,
Pa, Pa,
Wa, Wa,
Ba, Ba,
Whaa! Whaa!
Ha, Ha.
Even back then I was a poet destined to rhyme,
but simply didn't know it at the time.
I’m afraid of dying young
Of leaving things yet undone
I’m afraid I’ll leave this place
Yet not leave a single trace
I’m afraid I haven’t said
All that lives inside my head
I’m afraid I’ll disappear
And no one will hold me dear.
I’m afraid I’ve yet to touch
The hearts of those I love so much
I’m afraid I’ll never see
Who it is I’m meant to be
I’m afraid, for can’t you see?
Not much time is left for me.
I’m afraid, oh, I’m afraid
Soon I’ll lie silent in my grave…
With my stories yet untold
With my dreams yet to unfold
With my songs yet unsung
With my words yet on my tongue
With my passion tucked away
With no more prayers left to pray
I’m afraid……
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't be afraid of dying young
of leaving things as yet undone
for don't you know that fear will kill
and you'll be left without the thrill
of living life, that's full and free
and making dreams your destiny
Don't be afraid of things unsaid
but rather fear not having bled
it's true once said, the words can sting
but then perhaps, much joy they'll bring
Then find the strength to give them voice
your life will bloom, by will, by choice.
Don't be afraid to reach and touch
the one you love....so very much
for though rejection be the price
just take that chance and roll the dice
A touch might turn to an embrace
and kisses then may grace your face.
Don't be afraid to dream your dreams
For heaven then much closer seems
And death is but a little sleep
while you yet live, why do you weep?
Don't be afraid of dying, dear
then you won't live because of fear
So spread your wings and take to flight
Soar high above, towards the light
Listen close, to one like me
You can be all you're meant to be
So do not fear the silent grave
Live life today, be strong and brave
There's nothing worse than living...dead
Because there's fear inside your head
So live each day up to the brim
follow each wish, each dream, each whim
and you will chase the fear away
Oh, little one, hear what I say.....
Don't ever be afraid......
For Silent One's Response to First Poem Contest
September 28, 2015
Come Be My Friend
Softly
Gently
Let us be warm and friendly.
Curious
But cautious
Happiness is much too precious.
Marveling
Wondering
What days ahead will bring.
Softly
Gently
Let us be warm and friendly.
13 November 2014
I Will Be Your Friend
Softly we have tread
the road to Friendship Lane;
Gently we have stepped
to cause not undue pain.
Curious as a child
you saw the difference in lives,
cautious till the end
lest you bleed from careless knives.
Marveling of days
and now you’ve found a few,
kindred gentle spirits
respecting justice, like you.
Now you found in life
though cautious you have been,
there will always be
a time you’re pained within.
Then you wonder how,
so softly you may have tread
yet on hindsight find
that someone’s heart you’ve shred.
I will be your friend
but be not quick to bind
yourself and say it wouldn’t end;
Be open-hearted, wise and kind.
There are friends for each, that’s true,
keep close to your heart the ones
who bring out the best in you;
One true friend outshines even the sun.
30 September 2015
A Response to Your first Poem Contest
Sponsor: The Silent One
MY LOST ROMEO
You're my only love
And I call you my love
You are my Romeo
And my inamorato
I feel so captivated
To be loved by you
All I ever wanted
Was to be with you
And finally will you marry me
You asked me
Yes I will marry you
And live my lifetime with you
I gave you wholly
I loved you unconditionally
I gave you totally
I loved you solely
Everything happened so fast
Present turned into past
It was not meant to last
It just needed to past
You became cold it was rust not gold
Beautiful memoirs turned spoiled as mold
Not even our friendship was saved
You just turned your back and faded
Tears left falling
Never heard my heart's aching
Leaving without talking
Your heart's not beating
Into the bliss fading
Into the dark not worth remembering
Goodbye to you my Romeo
And my inamorato
August 23, 2015
"IN RESPONSE TO MY FIRST POEM"
Till we meet again
I said to ease the pain
To someone who turned his back
Who shall never come back
Pain can last
But time should pass
This feeling must end
But up to what extent
Till we meet again
When will I see you again
My Heart aches deeply
My Heart breaks softly
Gone are the days
Of the coffee for two
Will surely miss those days
At the cinema too
The smiles on your face
The sweet words from your lips
Like the sun that rises
As crisp as your kisses
Till we meet again
see you again
I will wait for that day
As long as the sun has its ray
@Copyright Meline C. Ngo September 28, 2015
The beginning of poetry . . .
God created:
light and darkness,
the heavenly bodies paraded down set paths in perfect rhythmic orbit,
pristine waters, propelled by gracious winds, lapped against white sand beaches,
all forms of living creatures filled the waters and the earth,
plants of every description grew in abundance for beauty and food . . .
but there was no one to enjoy all the perfection.
God said, let us make man in our own image . . .
He leaned down to the dust and scooped up a handful,
shaped and molded it into a man,
then He breathed into that form the breath of life
and man became a living soul.
God knew that man should not be alone . . .
He caused a deep sleep to come upon the man
and from his side he took a rib bone;
with that bone God made a woman, Eve,
to be the companion for his man creation.
The first poem was creation, written by God upon a dark void,
He passed his gift of poetry on to mankind.
What are we doing with it?
You and I live in His poem;
we are His poem,
but we have rewritten much of it with our hatred, violence and sin.
His beautiful poem suffers abuse at the hands of those
who were to be the caretakers of it.
We even killed the author when He visited the beautiful poem He created . . .
Copyright, September 11, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Portions based loosely upon Genesis 1 and 2.
My first poem posted at Soup (it truly is one of my first poems
since I enjoyed doing parodies of Christmas lyrics long before
I began writing other kinds of poetry)
I Heard Mother
(to tune of "I Saw Mother Kissing Santa Clause")
I heard Mother scolding Santa's elf
As I prowled the house on Christmas Eve.
He'd hid in St. Nick's sleigh
And then sneaked out to play
After having waited for his boss to fly away.
Mother caught him gobbling all our snacks
After he tore open every gift.
Oh, when she glared down at his face,
He went scrambling from our place
Screaming, "Santa, stop the sleigh-
I need a lift!"
Written Sept. 28, 2015 - New Poem: The Elf’s response:
A Helper Am I
(to tune of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”)
A helper am I.
I’m so underfed.
I just want to cry;
I only get bread.
Santa doesn’t pay me a dime!
I see all the gifts
laid out on the floor.
All year I slave
so rich kids get more?!
Santa doesn’t pay me a dime!
Folks leave out milk for Santa.
He hardly seems to care!
And so I eat at every stop
the snacks that I find there!
A helper am I.
I’m so underfed.
I just want to cry;
I only get bread.
Santa doesn’t pay me a dime!
For the Contest of the Silent One