Best Life Poems

Below are the all-time best Life poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of life poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Life Poems

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

Life Is For The Living by Turner, Daniel
get new life by sharma, anurag
Life Is Terminal by Rodrigue, Olivia
Life Smiles Strange Smiles by White, Darren
Life is The Travelling Shadow by Anthony, Abed
SUM ZERO LIFE by Robles, E.P.
Death's Life by Duvall, John
-life- by Carris, Frisk
B3-POEM 8 BIG PAPA REAL LIFE by WELLS, JERRY BIGCOOL
I AM LIFE by Poet, Tranquil

View all new Life Poems

The Best Life Poems

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Where The Sycamore Grew

The sun-yellow house seems smaller, somehow
seeing it now,  with much older eyes...

The street seems narrower, the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
they are building new homes, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all but disappeared

But somehow we knew the house would still be there....
Strangely distant, ...yet, still much is the same

There's an unfamiliar red tricycle, and a skateboard that leans
along the smooth flagstone stones that wind to the door
A path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that lies at the bend
at the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...

As sudden as wind, thirty years fades away, lost in the moment of this crisp autumn day
And quickly alive, memories rise, becoming again the springtime of lives..... 

...our first Christmas trees,..and first anniversaries...
 ...a place where I cried long into the night, the child in me grieving when mother had died...
      ..then long, starry nights, lost in the moonlight, 
           counting my blessings, and holding my babies

Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house

It's funny, I know, but I'm glad they have kept the yellow...
And it still wears the trace of sun, and crisp-white shutters...

The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
that sits beyond the bend, where the old sycamore grew...


                                       _________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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Disposable Wisdom

Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?

Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace

More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry

Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage

Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience

Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing

In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby

She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II	
Annie received little compensation

This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty

To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home

With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse

Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

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SWITCH magazine

I am working with an off-site poetry/prose 
publishing project and would like to have you 
involved with submissions and subscription. 
If interested, contact switchpmag@gmail.com 
for details. Simply type "About Info" in your e-mail 
subject field (for initial contact, info within the body 
of the e-mail is not required, though the magazine's 
editors will answer inquiries), and the editorial staff 
will get back to you (usually within less than a day). 

If you do not want to submit any poetry/prose at 
the moment, but would like to subscribe, free of 
charge—especially if you would like to read the 
published work of some of your fellow Soupers 
in future issues of SWITCH magazine; fresh 
pieces that are not posted on poetrysoup.com—
type "Subscription" in the e-mail subject field 
(aside from selecting the work of people who are 
members of poetrysoup.com, SWITCH is not 
affiliated with—and transcends—poetrysoup.com; 
SWITCH will also be selecting authors who have 
no affiliation with poetrysoup.com).
 
Anyone is welcome to join; to join, one does not 
need to receive an invitation.

I vouch for the editorial staff 100%. Information 
is dealt with in a secure and professional manner.  

If so inclined, one can check for updates at 
twitter@SWITCH_P_P


Thank you.
_______







Edinburgh (the poem that this post used to be)


Sweeping through your scotch broom,
weeping over your cobblestones,
lilting around the columns of Calton Hill,
is an Age of Reason so brilliantly brooding,
some nights I am kept awake
listening to Pendragon's breath caress Arthur's Seat,
and whispers drip from sills on St. Giles Street.

Though roots may drink from a sleepless night,
when morning light creeps through the curtains,
my love for you is renewed.




+/-


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013

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Forgotten Heroes of the Somme

Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor, 
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.

In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.

In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.


Copyright © Howard Bull | Year Posted 2009

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WHEN I STOP AND PRAY

When the storm clouds boil around me, 
And the lightning splits the sky--. 
When the howling wind assails me,
And life's sea is rolling high--
When my heart is filled with terror,
And my fears, I can't allay--
Then I find sweet peace and comfort, 
When I simply stop and pray.

When the things of life confound me,
And my faith is ebbing low--
When my trusted friends betray me,
And my heart is aching so--
When the night seems black and endless,
And I long for light of day--
Then I find a silver dawning,
When I simply stop and pray.

There are things beyond the heavens
I can't begin to understand,
But I know that God is living,
And I know He holds my hand.
Yes, I know He watches o'er me
All the night and all the day--
And He's always there to hear me
When I simply stop and pray.


Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2006

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Hard Times

When hard times come they sit a spell, Like kin folk come to stay A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids That always get ‘n your way. It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought, There ain't much in-between. You work like hell to make ’em good, But still they’re sorta lean. The ranch went under late last year, The drought got mighty tough. The boss held-out a long, long time, But finally said, "enough!" So here I am dispatchin’ cops An’ watchin’ felons sleep, In Junction, at the county jail, A job I’ll prob’ly keep. The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge, Where older people stay, A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors To earn some ‘extra’ pay. Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used, It goes to payin’ rent, An’ after all the bills are paid, We wonder where it went. We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps, An' then our weddin' rings; Then when we couldn't pay the loan, They sold the 'dad-blamed' things. We felt real bad a day or two But then we let it go, Cause it got Christmas for the kids When money got real slow. When hard times come they sit a spell, Don't matter who you are; They'll cost ya things you've set aside, An' clean your cookie jar. You'll loose some sleep an' worry some, Won't pay to moan an' groan; But hang on to your happiness, They'll finally leave ya 'lone.


Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2005

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Love Poem 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
clichés, and repetition; I fall in love 
with items that people throw to the wind,
kick around, and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn;
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

The old man who sits in a rain-gorged gutter,
his fist raised to the sky in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly, beloved wife—

I fall in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem 
as ugly, dirty, morose, and immoral.
The more I fall in love,
the more I love each moment,
including the pain, torture, and misery 
that may unfold along the way.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I already have .

If I write down treasonously teetering words,
the reader could assume such words 
to be rooted in rage, or a cynical outlook,  
when the words are actually birthed from love—
I love every word that exists.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a sincere conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be grotesque,
when in fact, she is exquisitely gorgeous.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of seaweed 
rotting on the shore, and the way her hair smells 
as it bakes in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
mesmerized by the essence that the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles,the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat, who, after she watched the moving truck 
drive away, slunk around the alley in search of scraps—
over the years, she has proven to be a respectful 
and loyal companion (so easy to fall in love with, again and again,
while maintaining the love I already have).
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms
when it shines through the cracked, antique windowpane
that I simply don't want to replace.


And as for the people who think that it's impossible 
for someone such as myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day,

well, I love them too.



2016 Pulse Remix, July 18th, 2016
(original version was written on April 6th, 2012)


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Death of the Poet Destroyer

~The Untold Fatal Attraction Poem~

Mid-morning she sees the sun ahead
Her death flowed in a messaged bottle
Gazing into her brown eyes upon all open sores,
Her conscience dark and gray a never-ending war!
A giant cyclone of a thousand thoughts swirled around this little girl.
Inflicting away the pain, through the comfort of others pen
The way she twisted and twisted life’s perception was out of her control
Inside she knew the glass slipper was never hers to show off
 
She is baring nothing but a tainted pen, walking throughout eternity’s sand
A prosecutor of misdeeds, accomplishing what, without knowing the way
Departing from her fractured self, she begins to slip into a righteous form,
Twirling her twilight's pen like a baton, spinning it to one final stand
 
She awakens in a dream, where her sadness does not allow the light to reform
Her body is weak and pale against the birth of her undying sun
Staring down into the deepness of every-bodies abyss
Inside all souls is where she felt lighter, than the retarded sun gives
A crimson sky follows her just to reveal her diminished soul,
A life of shunning out the city glow will always dwell deep inside her
Sleeping under society as one, insulting the taste of innocent blood
Forgetting the vengeance, in a dimension where the pen is mightier than the sword
 
How did she let it come to this?
In one feeling she fell in love with the spirit of the living rhyme 
Watching from a cave, with a diabolical look
Refusing to grasp the self - nature and kill off the destroyer's will
A price beyond this enigmatic world, craving to be just like them
Condemning her meaning to a blasphemy of white butterflies
Destroying her poetic meaning that was destined to dance a tangle of endless rage
In love with the essence of her deceased will
She clings on to the dimness and brilliance at the same time
All corpses lost beyond the girl in question,
Sympathetic in a bizarre language, she mutters out sweetness
Her heart mended, recognizing all the adoration and poetic addiction
Exchanging the real terror, fixated by the life force of her poetic destruction
Giving birth to a new revelation
Now she will never deceive her love for the making of true art,
Not wanting to belong in this wretched world with her destroying criteria,
Her soul sails looking for a new era where love will no longer generate
As she loathes the love and decides not to destroy this generation with hate

At last, longing this one day with the angel of death
With a closing teardrop, one last thought
My death will not be the end; only the ascension~

by;pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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H-E-A-R-T of L-O-V-E

               Oh how I love you.
             Cherishing each moment,
            for you have opened             
           my heart with your
           everlasting and precious 
            love. Yet so tender;                  .uoy evol I woh hO
            You place God                   ,tnemom hcae gnihsirehC
             first in your life. And                 denepo evah uoy rof
              I love you more for that.              ruoy htiw traeh ym
                Hold on to the other           suoicerp dna gnitsalreve
                  half of my heart,                   ;rednet os teY .evol
                    for one day we                           doG ecalp uoY
                      Shall put them                 dnA .efil ruoy ni tsrif
                        Together                .taht rof erom uoy evol I   
                          As one                     rehto eht ot no dloH   
                            With                          ,traeh ym fo flah
                               God.                        ew yad eno rof
                                                            meht tup llahS
                                                                  rehtegoT
                                                                   eno sA
                                                                    htiW
                                                                 .doG 

Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT

05-20-2012


Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012

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Closer

    The sky resembles the robin's eggshells
                                                      scattered across the ground,

a blue so seemingly infinite                     yet fragile,
cracks running between understanding and madness
 
       complementing each other

as divine truths in their own right
to conquer my mind,
to unhinge the doors,
making it unnecessary to pick rusted locks

      letting thoughts fly free,
                                       releasing love out into the horizon.

If frozen within caged snapshots of mildewed expectations,
      it will surely die,
                 but even so,
  I was willing to strangle it by holding on too tightly.

    
    Until I saw the sky and eggshells today


      Peppered clouds reflected on the water,
                                            paralleling speckles on the eggshells,
                                    remind me of the freckles on your face.

  We need to be wide-open-free,
                                                we need to fly,
         without focusing too hard on shells of yesterdays.

We need to unclench our fists,
unclench our tongues,
explore the vast blue peppered sky 
                                                 
                                                      on wings of letting go....

 so that we can once again feel with purity,       
 so that we can hold each other ever closer.







05.24.12


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.

His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer. 
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link. 
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained. 
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.

The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

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The Squirrel

Listen to poem:
~My Nutty Squirrel Poem~

Up in a tree, on a branch
Now you see me, now you don't!

Sneaky and fast, I'm adorable
Now, why would you hunt or shot me for fun?
Do you like, how fast I run?
I'm not just another chipmunk 
Stuffing my face with nuts,
I'm classy and beautiful, 
The  best  part  of   nature.....

Red pointed ears, I hear you drawing near.
Chuckle, chuckle, caffeine free
I saw you looking at my fine coat.
Fluffy and curious, touch me and I'm Calling PETA!
See YA---  Life Is Beautiful!!!
I'm stuffing these nuts back into my mouth 
and Jumping onto another tree :) The End
........
Love The Squirrel from another World.  
Love LINDA


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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Within Reason- Maurice Yvonne and Seren Roberts




                        Within reason
lies a house full of ordinary
a chest of bland memories. 
 
                              You end up with
a pocketful of might have beens.
 
Within reason is five square feet of grass 
and the proverbial white picket fence,
nothing else.
 
                 The word 'important'
never makes it onto the page.

Nothing"within reason" was ever found
             that didn't already have its place. 
 
When u abandon
                   Reason
you also abandon
        Impossibilities. 
                the brother of reason
The one needs the other
                   two heads of the same dragon.
One breathing fire and brimstone
                  the other living without hope.
They never live separately
                         they are siamese twins.
The ying and yang of yesteryears.

They had a reason with a hint of possibility

They had something,
                  something maybe,
 at best something insignificant.

             But imagine what waits 
when you eliminate 'impossible.'

In the darkest dark
                                  within the scream of 'don’t',
       inside the insanity of abandoning reason 
                                                  it is there you'll find  
          that decaying flesh infested with worms
   it is there  where the round wheel was found. 
 
You use a black shovel 
             through the bone 
into the skull 
            through the brain 
along the heart 
                       into the gut. 
 
There  lies that fine line between insanity and genius
                                 but THERE is where you have to go. 
 
          To get there you abandon reason. 

 Abandon the dogma shoved down your 
                                 throats all these years.
 
Glide on the wild side.
                Show your body hair.
Expose your fangs.
                  Lights, camera, DANCE!
 


Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2014

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The Clouds

"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"

=voice=
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?

"Gods voice"
My child, it is I who will walk with you! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth. Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You ran to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles and tribulations. We could not speak, it was my light that kept you from going weak.

=voice=
God, are you a dream of beauty? The holy book.
My preacher spoke of the afterlife, calling it paradise. 
I remember now, I felt this company once before, this light.
Many times, I forsake the light and still you never left my door.
I felt it on the day I was born, 
the day I became baptized in your holy name. 
I felt this light before, can you explain it once more? 
Lord pleases clarify the day I fell down to my knees, accepted Jesus as my savior? 
On that day, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my  failures’.  
Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice" 
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, 
Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. 
My child, you were not searching for the right answers.

=voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself,  
I always answered even when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your soul's disguises.

=voice= 
Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? 
My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence-- 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

=voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?

<3


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion all over the mask you wear
Nothing compares to black stains and broken nails

This part of you 
"A CAN'T BE REMOVED" tattoo
The tough skin you'll ever live in
Fountain pens of split identities
Who Are You?
Sinking  words like no other
Poisoned ink piercing every rhyme
Inferior poet, making the heart pure
Anger plus anger "GIVE ME MORE!"

You have a desire to paint all day,
Breathing and beating in every way
Toxic lines, from which ink flows
Inhaling images from the world
Deep and cold sorrowed emotions 
True love is always easy to poetize
Dear Poet:  "Ink Never Lies."

Pretty pink acrostic ink when she's nearby
Sugar and salt, Epic taste of reality
Ballads sang under the full moon
Sunny Sonnets, on any rainy day
Ode's of rivers from your past
A dark smile jotting down memory lane
Monologue tears brought under pressure
Loading cartridges of fresh Senryu and Haiku"
Dramatic red runs through your veins when all is done
Unfolding old and new propaganda's
POET: You are my favorite verse in every stanza
((Only this, and nothing more))
Writing is like giving birth

~*~


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Playing Human

Introducing: Nate & Linda

The smile on my lips
is forced and coerced
I pretend to pay attention
give the best possible advice
everyone praises me
I'm so kind, polite and nice
It's all just automation
I rarely actually listen
certainly don't care
all I'm doing
is playing human
blending in
fitting in
I'm so perfectly hidden
you'll never even
see a curtain, 
   from where I stand
   Majoring in social events
   Put on a pedestal
   for computing with you
   I'm so perfectly hidden 
   smiling from time to time
   Labeling those 
   with all sincerity
   open soldiery  
   Passing along an appeal
   continuing to fit in
   blend in
   pretend
   force program 
   Is it just me or
   am I the perfect human?

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Eternal Life And The Total Self

Listen to poem:

Life is but a fleeing whisper
     echoing through time,
never dying, always being
     magnificent and sublime.

The body's a receptacle,
     a superficial shell,
but in it dwells the gift of soul;
     eternity knows it well.

The soul contains the truths of life,
     to all that's ever been;
to all things now, and yet to come,
     but guards them deep within.

The mind has hidden doors to soul;
     we long to find the key...
unleash the vision waiting there
     that lives eternally.

And so mind seeks to open wide,
     grasp firm the light of soul.
and at that moment when it does,
     we know we will be whole.

So when we penetrate the shield
     that stands between these two,
we will perceive with inner sight
     our soul, complete and new.

If in this life, we cannot grasp
     this bond of soul and mind,
we'll be reborn to live again
     till total self we find.

We've been before, so many times;
     we've known many a past.
We'll be again, an echo in time...
     till mind and soul are fast.

And when that final day does come,
     at last to lift our soul,
for Him to gather in His arms...
      a perfect self, now whole.


Sandra M. Haight

~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Contest No: 258 any form, any topic max of 36 lines 
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 01/05/2017

~2nd Place~
Contest: Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsay
Judged: 06/29/2016

Theme:  After death, will you have to enter again in another Earth life, and Why?

Although not my religious belief, there are some religions, like Hinduism, that believe in reincarnation which refines the soul by it living many lifetimes, and after it is perfected, goes back to God.  My poem is based on that belief.  So many people, including myself, have inner feelings or momentary flashbacks like they have lived before in another life...so who knows... 


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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ONLY EVER WITH YOU

O N L Y E V E R W I T H Y O U Only ever with you, I love to have and hold into the circle of your arms, I'll unfold; into your blue eyes' greeting shine, my gold; only ever with you, I yearn to grow old... Only ever with you I can write rhymes as such for you bring my muse from dust to dash, to hush Only ever with you my being wants to attach as first step already taken to our primrose path Only ever with you, tips dance linger to cherry lips Slow summer hands will roam vast to wonderland Whence pearl white peel smooches chocolate skin only ever with you, heartbeats climbs a boiling point Stars and moon may leave the dark skies yet, one look at the gleam of your blue eyes day and night, I see the rising sunrise. Only ever with you, I will dive to lows or heights for only ever with you, I'll plunge to infinity. Prayers plea asking blessings from Divinity to tie two hearts and two souls in sole unity. Mindless to whatever is there in humanity Only ever with you... _______________________________________________ POEM OF THE DAY -- February 27, 2015 ©O. E. Guillermo 5:32 pm, February 26, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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Reflection of an old man

As I gaze upon a frail old man opposite me He looks at me and a smile appears on his face I decide to stop and talk to him for a while To reflect upon those years gone by Old man, where has your life gone? Time has flown by, doesn't life moves so fast Can you remember when you were younger? Handsome man with long dark hair, the ladies loved, but its all gone now, not even any grey patches A gleam in your eye just like James Dean, but your face is old and wrinkly now Your hands were so strong, but now shake and shiver Like a stallion, your strength was of legends, but through the years you became so weak and fragile Do you remember all the loves? All those hearts your broke? The one that broke your heart? I know she skips through your mind from time to time Such a beautiful woman, full of class, you thought one day you would marry, have lots of children and die happy. Funny how life works out, how it never goes to plan What you have today is never what you thought it would be Do you remember all those who hurt you? Through time you learnt to forgive, life is too short for grudges I know you miss your real beloved, your precious mother, who sacrificed her life for you Who held you so close the day you were born, sadly, you lost her so young Life was hard with so much poverty, and I know you wonder what happened to your childhood, but you got through and learnt how to spread love You didn't let the demons defeat you, because your were drawn to the angels Think about all the happiness you brought, how many tears you wiped away and how you listened But what about those dreams you had? Do you have many regrets? Or is life too short for that? Do you feel you have left behind a legacy? I see loneliness in your eyes, everyone you loved, has left in the end. Are you happy with what you will leave behind? Do you like what you see in the mirror? As, I turn away from the mirror, and tears roll down my face I think to myself, what happened to the fun and the adventure Whatever happened to all those passengers? What happened to me? But, then I remind myself, life is what it is and everything happens for a reason Some you win, some you lose Life is too short for regret It's good to reflect, but also good to be content... The Silent One 24 September 2015


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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SNOW GLOBE

Welcome to my ----- life
A beautiful broken aura
             Unsettled flakes
             The sound of yesterday
             Shattered winter glass
Transcend to the unconscious mind
Frozen, dead, yet alive
Hell, escapes my future of eternal suffering 
Tiny buttons of snow -fall to my feet
Firewood burns endlessly,
The hairs of her soft skin rise like wheat
Shadows by hand flip the hourglass
The possibility of change takes  --- need
She stands on the outside of my dreams
Looking in;
Quietly she summons the cold legion 
Confused, trying to cleanse her soul 
She wipes off old fingerprints 

White glitter, forgotten notes
Spiritual spells enhanced in a quiet villa
Shadows of hands toss the glow
Daydreaming inside another dream
Falling flakes in hopes of peace
A warm bedded cabin sits at ease
Observing, breathing, mind settling
Swirling into an earthy feel
Another long downward drift
 
Shadows of hands set the tide
She awakens, sharing the stars
She mocks the sun, her eyes sparkle
Covered in snow - aging peacefully
She fibers to soothe her soul
She reeks, neither heaven nor hell
Temporary punishment, rattling thoughts
Captured in a transparent globe
Passing through a purgatory world
No walls, no in between
Falling far from the echoes of life
Sacrificed by death before salvation 
Transcending to the unconscious mind
             Shattered winter glass
             The sound of yesterday
             Unsettled flakes
A beautiful broken aura
Depart from my ----- life             

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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So Soft is the Sonnet of Willows

This is a very long poem and I will understand if you choose not to spend the time reading it. 
It is something I wrote a long time ago and I thought I’d just put it out here in case anyone cared to read it. 
Thank you, Chris


So Soft is the Sonnet of Willows Such is the heart of a dreamer Sought after deep in the mist Seeking the quest of a thirsting desire Falling to moments like this Peering the distant endeavor Calling the places I’ve known Sending out visions so endless in wonder Standing this ledge all alone Come to my heart always steady Shape it as how it should be Teach me the ways of your unending song Lyrics of comfort to me Lift me with phrases now spoken Take from my words on the page Collections of feelings I wear on my sleeve Shine me the light of your ways I am of clay so unmolded Bend me and shape me to form Open my heart with the keys of your love While dying I wish to be born Caverns so wide as I forage The depth of their history deep Shadows that follow the pathways I walk Stairways my soul it does keep Yours is my desperate reason Clinging to every fold Challenges lie in wake of the storm Northerly winds flowing cold I shan’t recoil destinations My mind it is set on the prize Temptingly so it does fan every flame Come I shall soon realize Time for the moment a danger Season’s of past now I fear As I declare my unending longing Wishing you ever so near Trapped as I traverse the mountain Chains of my pain garner tight Reaching for avenues lost in the fog Blinded by darkness of night Soon I will relive the mornings Joined by a perfect content Welcoming sunrise as everywhere glows Finding the hours we’ve spent Trusting that no one is watching Holding your hand on the street Wrapping my arms ‘round your waist for a while Kissing your lips soft and sweet Words that will require actions Motions in spite of the sky Threatening these clouds overhead as I walk Waving the past a good bye Now as my life is beginning Fortunate flags sure to wave Sending a secret embedded in stone Caution for this I do crave Asking this long winded journey Steps in the grass for to find Destiny praises my unfettered wishes Spent as the heart does unwind Yours is the hand that I reach for Save me in spite of my tears Love me for many more wars shall invade Filling the future with years Run with me out to the fields Keep me in sight at all turns Paint me with colors so vibrant and true Teach me for I want to learn I will not be so untrusting Pressures no longer to hide Truth is my shield as it shines ever gold Honesty I shall confide Come to my heart it is waiting Here in this darkened abyss Shining so bright for your eyes now to see Reaching for you that I miss I promise you shall not be sorry Taking this chance is the key Found in the corners of thoughts so inspired True as my covenant be I whisper my truth through the mountains Breathless I run to the shore Hopeful I patiently wait your reaction Searching for you evermore Soft is the sonnet of willows Wavering winds form the streams Blowing so that you may welcome my peace Singing the songs of your dreams Mine is a tiresome journey Treasures all cast to the bay Every dollar I’ve owned as a man Spent in a fortunate way For this is my precious possession A heart that does beat from above Carefully showing the face of the plan Showering you with my love Rain on the valley of passion Rose petal scent brings the breeze Take from this night the joys of affection Lingered in fresh memories This I do pledge, my heart crossing No longer wishing to die Rivers of hope that do wash on your feet Sent forth attempting to try Cherishing love I am finding Wanting forever to be Everything that you do see in your soul All that’s expected of me I am but only one person Doing just what I will do Being myself in the face of the storm Sending my love up to you There is no mask I am wearing The smile you see is for real I can not be something that I am not All of my life I reveal Hoping that you understand this Praying my words written of Things that my heart wants to tell you my dear Penned now with only my love Such is the heart of a dreamer Seeking not silver and gold My only goalis that you love me true Just as my dreams have foretold So soft is the sonnet of willows Wind through their branches blows free Whispering dreams evermore shall come true When you are standing with me


Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017

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Cry of the City


We will walk then, you and I

When daylight shuts her weary eye;

Down the streets where beggars sleep

And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.

On streets that wind through thick and thin

Past monuments of broken sin

The painted whores who smile a lot

A rejected child that time forgot.

 

The evening hymn that sorrows sing

The call to prayer that church bells ring;

The sounds and smells that rape a city

The calls for help that won't find pity.

Do we have time to heal the curse

That captures all the universe

Or would it really be worthwhile

To quell the question with a smile?

 

But we have walked these streets before

And hoped our ears could dim the roar

Of silence gripping cold nightmares

That come unbidden up the stairs.

We share the night with lesser fools

Who stake their plight without sound rules

For each new challenge finds old pain

That lives to give then comes again.



Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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Tonight I Could Paint A Moonlight

Tonight is not like other nights Tonight I could paint a moonlight with the smudged ink of my tears No its not the inexperienced arms of death which are longing to embrace my breath that fill this soul with pain and fear Nor is it the breeze of thousand needles 'neath the soft glow of my skin , What scares me most is... Not being here in a twenty years or so to tread love's kiss upon my daughter's cheek Feel my fingers running through her hair Listen to the sweet sound of her laughter Make a wish under the unnoticed starry stars and watch her dance beneath a repetitive boring sky. What scares me most is... Not being here in a twenty years or so To let the crimson of my lips bleed its rose close to your pillow and its fragrance 'pon your bed Its not being here to hold your blemished hands and say to you all words still left unsaid What scares me most is... That in a twenty years or so You will be here , still hating candles,all alone, Its missing the chance, to share those words that don't make sense yet mean that I have loved you all along. In a twenty years or so ...In a twenty years or so Will the ones I hold so dear still find a way to know ?


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015

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Recording/Re-playing/Recording/Re-playing

The farm
     and the porch light hums 
the sound of another 
orange dawn.

Burnt up – crisp
      aching new reaches 
of the imagination turn 
from corn
      to wheat
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
never kissed.

Sweeping ‘cross in whispers 
two thousand years
      and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
dripping sideways,
like a red cat's eye marble 
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
     and forth - 
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm 
     being heard 
by another set of ears,
in some other when –

     some other marble.

When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth

can grip.

Night sounds come in floods
of mauve,
      and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
unsung,
      where no ears hear.

The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true 
      to form,
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment, 
      lived.

The girl turns to face 
the enormity
of all she has yet to hear upon 
      the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps 
on the skin
that God gave her; 
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
 
      breathing in the dawn 
as it breaks.

The farm notes this coming.

The sky knows;

The wind knows.

The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
      exhaling
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,

breathing through this land; 
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
      and through into another’s
open mouth.




© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09


Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

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Do Not Grieve Your Muse

              (For My Younger Self)



You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.

She grieves.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.  
You have lost touch with your muse, 
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer, 
more introspective part of yourself?  
Please do not say, never.

Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless, 
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.

Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost 
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace, 
write once more.
Write, and write some more.  
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.

Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !






31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place  -  What Would You Say Contest




Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015