Best Freeform Poems


Waking Up in a Concrete Building

Sat in rows dressed for summer, we convene to talk about winter and death. There are four screens in the room.
                           one in front
 left								right   
                           and behind 
that/reflect my face and body. I feel like an angry dog, wishing, anxious, snarling, wanting to claw at the animal. In the tomb of my ancestors, carefully collecting pieces of cream porous bone to dash out my brains, asleep and awake and dreaming—a staircase, with its finality!— The spirits that track scum within my veins (The professor says that Loneliness creates Weight) are restless and full of impure intention. Relieve me of dogs, winters, ghosts. Let me catch myself upon the concrete wall and maybe I could grasp what it is I’m supposed to be thinking about. Anchor me against the day, forlorn with torn, torn nails. It were
                as if my plastic chair was wood
                          and the ground before me scattered with
                                locks of a girl’s hair, every few seconds
                                     I am executed. My brains fried
                                             beneath the metal dome, cold
                                                   and shining like the hand of God.
                                                            Twitching, extending outward, I

release

foam from my mouth
wishing to feed someone’s children
baby, baby birds. My executioner
asks again if I had something to say,
and always, I will say

continue.

Premium Member Free Form

red hot background

        black white flinging

                dancers cha-cha-chá






***
2/7/2020
Ekphrasis tribute to Jackson Pollock’s “Free Form”  in the triadic line form

February 7, 2020
REFLECTiONS an ekphrasis triadic line
Brian Strand, sponsor

October 24, 2020
EoW (7) Art
Brian Strand, sponsor
© Mark Toney  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Freeform Fright of Flight

Freedom from death
bounds freedom to fully live,
As freedom from thin-skin body competitions
reconnects freedom to deep mind cooperate,

As freedom from Win-Lose YangGame Strategy
opens ecosystemic freedom to optimally double-YinWin-Win
EcoLogistics,
born-again regeneration,
Beloved Climax Dreams incarnating
freestyle swimming flight
from dawn through night
greets eternal dawn's adventure
blinding bright 
ecstatic spiral light,

within...
without...
reiterate-within/out
mind/body just right
recentering delight.


It Is Early One Morning

It is early one morning,
and you are making love to me.
Sunshine is streaming through the curtains
and I am disinterested in your ministrations. 

I wonder 
if we could ever be soft people. 
Lazily enjoying the sunshine, 
stretched out on our picnic blanket. 
There is a plate of sandwiches between us, 
half of them have been eaten. 
We are comfortably full, 
and you don’t take it the wrong way. 
There is a pitcher of sweet tea, 
you tell me you found it tangled up 
in the roots of your family tree. 
You lean in to kiss me, 
and it is gentle
and you don’t use your tongue. 

You feel like August, you know. 
One glorious ending to a beautiful summer. 
But the summer was hot and humid
I was nothing if not miserable, 
but I’ll always miss the summer we spent together, 
sunburnt to hell 
with your hand upon my throat. 

You are mad at me, 
I cannot perform in the way you wish,
you cry and blame yourself 
It’s because you are not pretty enough, 
Not feminine enough. 
you say this is important 
the ultimate way to express our love
I close my eyes 
and dare to wonder 
When did love become so violent?
© Elson Lee  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member HOBO POET BLUES

The sky turned dark
The poet built a fire
& warmed his hands
Worms crawled thru
His skin& angels
Cried & moments
Slipped pass like
Lavendar melting
The Santa Fe Chief
& coyote serenaded
The wanderer

Remembering

Your hot breath
Cascading like
Moonlight on
His back

could have, should have, but i didn’t

could have said no, should have said no, but i was 7, and 8, and 9. i feel guilt for something i had no control of, i was only 7, and 8, and 9. i had 3 years to say something yet i didn’t. i wish i did. i fear intimacy, i fear touch, i fear her. could have said no, should have said no, i wish i said no. but i was 7, and 8, and 9 only a child who was embarrassed they let this happen to them. i am now 16, realizing it was not and never was my fault.


Der Hai

The shark covers my anger and tells me to think about this idea;
“Please, take me somewhere and stay with me”
I look into its bright yet dull eyes and they ask us to play.
“Do you believe in rainy days?”

I think I finally saw it.

Their poison fin.

The boat was big,there were others like me getting returned to the water.
As they took my “poison”, I realized.
I didn’t want to drown.
Oh, please don’t make me drown.

I’m sorry.

The constant current is too much.
I can’t move but I can’t keep still.

I saw the way out.

Sapphire water turned to rubies as everything I’ve learned about surviving dissolved from me.
Were they also sinking? Were they alive?
I didn’t know. I didn’t care to know.
The floor was soft and the light dimmed from my vision.

I couldn’t breathe.

All thoughts seemed to escape me as the Ruby Sapphires spilled ever darker.
The waves crashed silently as I gave into the darkness.
I felt the waves on my face as I opened my eyes once again.

I was with the others.

Der Hai.
© Toby Akers  Create an image from this poem.

Melody

thought we wanted big but seen it better...
a beautiful picture painted by the prince of weather dropping fear the day I drop a
tear is often hated more and more by the ones who say its forced

you a fake thought, dropping emotion the cost of lotion gripping ends of pistols better where it left was in the door

Asian '-ation'

Men are like "asians" (-ation) not the ones from the far east, but the ones who fall weak.
The ones who seek validation through manipulation for their gratification somehow thinking they should get a congratulation for their uncertain manifestation.
The ones who play games like life is a play station, but fail to realize they create their own demise of this devastation.
Yet they colonize a civilization of hallucination for women to fall victim for their celebration.
Living in their own world of separation instead of integration as if we don't need one another for concentration.
Sad world we live in with these men.
Now don't get me wrong, not showing discrimination, women too can also be "asians" (-ation).
But this ain't about us, right now I'm on the men "asians" (-ation) with no hesitation.
We all should do some reevaluation in order to get some elevation, but before we do that, we have to come to realization not to bring aggravation to our generation.

Salvation

I was waiting for someone
Anyone really 
To save me
Save me from what I didn’t know
But monsters lurked in the dark
Waiting for me to crumble
And when I did
They ate me whole
But in the reflection of my blood
I saw a face
My own
And at that moment I realized
I was my own savior
All along
All I had to do
Was turn the light on

Fresh Catch-In Memoriam

Dust shrouds the peeling varnish on the old church pew as Noah
(first of his namesake, last of his namesake) thumbs an overripe
orange in his patchwork coat pocket. The preacher, made an obelisk
 by distance and light looms against the marble cross, stark
fragmented, like bullet holes through white fencing.

He speaks.

“Every Living Thing Has A Soul And Should Be Treated As Such.”

Noah knows not of this. He knows of the orange in his patchwork coat pocket
 and the preacher, made an obelisk by distance and li—  
His mother pulls him outside of himself, her firm hand guiding his awkward steps. 
Noah was to go fishing with his father this afternoon.

The riverbank slants downward, the red clay retreating from Noah’s newly
polished Church shoes. Silence is expanded upon by his Father, who kills 
the worm, contorted, tied, twisted, and fitfully impaled to be sacrificed (For Lunch).

Noah knows not of this. He knows of his mother, her firm hand guiding, 
the riverbank slanting downwa—

“Paw is it true these worms got souls?” / Yes, Son”
“Why’re we killin’ ‘em? / We’ve got to eat”
“Can’t we eat without killin’? / You want to eat a live fish?”
“Can we eat somethin’ else? / If we were richer”
“Won’t we go to hell for killin’? / Some killing has to happen”
“If we were rich, would we have to kill? / Probably not, Son”
“Do only the rich go to heaven?”

Noah’s father did not say this, but this is what he understood.
The rich build their heaven on earth out of precious metals 
And fleeting pride, but heaven can only be found
in death 

and in death, the worms you killed,
the fish you ate, the woman you love, 
the brother you fought, and the sun you worship 
will run
 to greet
you like
your child 
the morning
of your birthday.

A molasses summer

You Follow me home because I’m scared of strangers
I know what’s looming behind me
I know you carry a knife in your pocket
But it’s ok
only mysteries scare me

You Drown me in a bath
Than lay me out in the sun to dry
In the drip dried summer that sank
Like a glass ball in a jar of molasses

You Swim in a sea of my blood 
Cause It’s the same as loving me
Don’t think
Just take it

I wade by the shore 
and don’t go where I can’t touch
You knock my heart on granite
Its an egg you will to crack

Slow Seep

There is a leak I can’t seem to fix,
I called the technician,
but nobody came.

Feelings I’ve kept hidden for years 
are pouring out,
bursting with intensity,
destroying the dam 
I’ve spent a lifetime building.

My thoughts spiralling 
in an endless vortex of misery 
I cannot contain.
My heart weakened by sorrow, 
burning with desire.

To speak my truth 
is a battle between soul and ego,
my pride restricting my tongue, 
sealing my lips in willed silence.

A veiled heart cannot be harmed,
vulnerable or exposed.

Yet this feeling of torture persists,
My truth seeping out slowly—
all in vain.

You’ve left me to waste away,
drowning in this puddle
of my own making.

Am i not worth recovery?
Wont you pull me out 
and save me from myself?

Was our love not sweet enough?
Was my touch not warm enough?

Who do I have to be, 
to be worthy 
of the dream you sold me?

Athletics, Academics, and Arts

Open your eyes
Take a breath
Get out of bed
Get yourself dressed
Go to school 
Talk to friends
Ignore the nagging feeling
Practice sports
Eat food
Don’t throw it up
Choke it down
Talk to friends
3rd period never ends
Think about life
Stop thinking about life
Walk to class
Study and stress
Volunteer 
Extra work
Don’t fall behind
Honor grad
Grab your throat
Take a breath
Eat your lunch
Don’t throw it up
Talk to friends
Stress fever
Push it down 
You don’t feel it
AP classes more and more
Don’t cry tears galore
Mama’s class
Sleep through it
You can speak
Swallow the glass
Loud noise
Small band
Your times in high demand
Get ready
Sports once more
Fail again
Again 
Again
Go home
Eat food
Don’t let yourself puke
Do homework 
Study more
Clean up
Do your chores
Take your pill
Toss and turn
Wake up
Open your eyes
© Jay Jay  Create an image from this poem.

Radiant Love

When I think of you, I think of you as my color yellow.

 Bright, beautiful, happy and drawing in like the sun.  Your energy is captivating. Your love is warm and full, giving me a hug so tight and embracing not letting go.

 I don’t want to let go and at times I seek shade.

 The color of you will eventually fade but your light shines bright within my chest as it beats. 

You are my living testimony of my favorite color. My favorite heat wave from the chemistry of our love on this earth exists. 

Hydrogen and oxygen will never die down our fire. You are my sun, the light that I desire.

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