Best Life Poems | Poetry
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New Life Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Life poems are below this new poems list.
My Life In Nine Lines
by Haight, Sandra
The life of a poet
by Ajmal, Faraz
A Summarized Life, In Nine Lines
by Ibeh, Edward
PAUSES OF LIFE meditation
by Dust , Pixie
Life of Regrets
by Son, Dedu
by Lucas, Woodrow
WHEN LIFE WAS OH SO SWEET
by Gilmour, Ann
by Moorman, Curtis
Why My Life is Complete
by Loo, Laura
The Life I Make
by Sinha-Roy, Subimal
View all new Life Poems
The Best Life Poems
The sun-yellow house seems smaller somehow,
regarding it now, with our time-worn eyes...
The street seems narrower, and the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
there are new tract houses, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all been removed
But somehow we knew the house would remain....
As if seen from a distance, ...yet, so much is the same
There's a rusty-red tricycle, and a skate left behind
from someone's small child, that tomorrow will find.
They wait near the pavers that wind to the door
It's a path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that sits at the bend
near the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...
As suddenly as wind will spring from the dust
thirty years fell away, and flew into in the past
And quickly alive, all the memories rise,
like a whirlwind of leaves, in a springtime of lives.....
...Our first Christmas trees,. and our first holidays...
Anniversaries we spent with just pizza and wine
The place where I cried long into the night,
as the child in me grieved for a mother who died...
Long, starry nights, I was bathed by the moon
rocking my babes to a lullaby tune
Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house
Our very first house, with the snow-white shutters
Strange, it may be, but I'm glad it's still yellow...
Still wearing the face of the warm summer sun
The sun- yellow house, with a flagstone path
Where old slate stones bring the sun to the door
It's a path we laid on a warm summer day
in a place that we knew as our very first home
Just a small yellow house, with snow-white shutters...
that sits 'round the bend, where the sycamore grew...
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
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
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
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
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
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 have already found.
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 in existence.
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
baking 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 believe 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
~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~
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
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
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.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012
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
Copyright © Pace INK-U-SCRIPT | Year Posted 2012
A view of the ragged woodland from
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Imposing upon with demands and
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
Each draped aside of the cold
Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2017
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
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.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
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,
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
you also abandon
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,
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
We all arrive alone naked and vulnerable,
crying our eyes out, not knowing -
this is the first day of the rest of our life.
I guess the saddest thing in life is we have to grow up.
As children we live in a bubble,
gazing at lost stars - wondering which one is ours.
Not realising the impact of our childhood,
until we are adults and it is too late.
We jump in puddles, laughing at splashing sounds,
some even learn to place their coats over them.
Some swim within shark infested waters,
but only a few learn how to build bridges over them.
I have embraced the power of silence,
but some have succumb to it.
I guess it is all about the quality of it,
especially for those who struggle to listen.
There has been many a rose that has bloomed,
but every single one crumbled into dust.
Even the one whose thorns pierced lacerations
through hearts of stone - yet the heart healed.
Many birds arrived echoing sweet symphonies,
yet there have been those that flew away in silence.
Especially the silent nightingale who sat in solitude,
whose lyrics my heart still yearns to feel.
I've seen many a ship arrive at my shore,
but each one unloaded and sailed away.
It was me who removed their anchor
and smiled as they sailed into the distance.
As tumours poison our existence - I ponder;
will the human race survive earth's demise?
When death arrives we all leave alone empty handed,
not knowing that was the last day of our life.
I recall Freddie Mercury's famous lyrics...
Who wants to live forever.... Anyway.
19 June 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
whether I took
my pills today or not.
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
The love of my life
left me after
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
"Will she tie my
when I get old? "
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
"HOLDING HIS HAND"
God, can I hold your hand and follow you?
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.
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?"
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.
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray enough?
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.
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- adolescence
How is it that I am in your promise land?
Getting right with me has brought you here!
One more question, Heavenly Father
Can I see them,
My Daughter, Mothers, Sisters, family, and friends?
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
-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
Now walking through the autumn of my life
Where maple leaves have turned from green to gold
I watch them fall in breezes turning cold
In a whirl-wind of harmony and strife
And I ponder, on the fact that I might
In the light, as another day unfolds
Have like these dying autumn leaves, grown old
Slow, spiralling toward the pending night
Moss grows along the path where I now step
That rocky road now softened by the years
Seeing for the first time, so crystal clear
That I will leave this life with one regret
This vision, that these old eyes now behold
Those blazing flames, when autumn leaves let go.
Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016
Silently he sat in darkness, flinching at the sight of light.
Which created a glow reflecting on his balding head.
His cold glare did not help my nerves,
so I simply stood there observing his silence.
His philosopher beard's tendrils seem to crawl forever,
some hidden behind his buckled knuckle hands.
Wizened victims of one too many a fist fight.
When you looked closer, they exposed branded tattoos,
a timeless reminder from his perturbed past.
He was a man whose ship had never sailed,
maybe too afraid to sink within uncharted waters.
Yet this pilgrim had walked many a path for several decades.
Burning many bridges along the way, until his feet became weary.
To many, he was an 'old dog' that should have been put down
a long time ago - yet he had never requested to live this long.
He didn't seem like a religious man, but he eagerly anticipated death.
An emphatic glance into his lackadaisical drowsy eyes,
revealed hidden sorrows built up through the generations.
Every wrinkle on his sullen face seemed to be an emblem of pain.
He looked tired, worn down by life and defeated by humanity.
A fighter who had fought and fallen many times,
but always returned to the ring. Begging to be punished.
His body had now become slender and emaciated,
it seemed a strong gust could blow it away.
It was evident he enjoyed to pretend, but I knew his game.
Especially when his idle facial impressions struggled with
the sound of bones creaking in sluggish movement.
He started to whistle a tune, it was familiar,
but I couldn't put a name to it.
As he rubbed his eyes, his cheeks crumpled.
A wry smile, crippled by decaying teeth appeared,
as his lethargic lips spoke with a burdened tone.
“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once. Someone once said that boy! But, let me tell you, no matter how many times you toss that coin, it will never land on the same side."
A sardonic expression appeared on his face.
But, I could see he had a story to tell,
but his tongue seemed to refuse to dance
with the desires of his heart.
Silence was still my guide though,
but unsure if it was due to tact or fear.
I wanted to know about the wounds engraved on his heart,
and the agony ingrained in his soul.
Following a deep sigh, he began to speak, but now in a subtle tone.
I can't tell you about smiles,
but I sure can tell you about tears, boy.
They called me a coward, because I didn't go to war,
but I've been a prisoner of war all my life.
And I've had more blood on my hands,
than any 'son of a gun,' solider, boy.
Its always been me against the world,
to save myself I lived a life of manipulation,
but I never meant to hurt a soul,
unless they deserved it and too many did.
After a slight pause, his tone sounded more intense.
"I was born on a night when the heavens cried.
I've asked GOD, why did the angels hide when I arrived.
Instead he sent the grim reaper to take my mother.
I didn't even have a chance to feel her skin.
I've never been able to call anyone mother."
He was now staring at me, I could see the rage in his eyes,
so intimidating, I turned my head towards the floor.
His tone now fierce, I could feel his wrath.
"Life is full of second hand emotions, broken dreams,
forgotten promises and bleeding hearts!! Regretful memories,
of haunting ghosts, whose spirit voices torment my mind!!
And you want to hear something nostalgic, boy?
Try being beaten every day, for just existing!!
Try being seen as the cause of death!!
And then they wonder why..."
He wipes away intrinsic tears,
trembling, he lights up a cigarette.
"we done here boy"
and then the silence returned...
Walking away in somewhat of a daze,
instinctively I remembered the song;
Old man look at me now....
Love lost, such a cost,
Give me things
that don't get lost.
Like a coin that won't get tossed
Rolling home to you.
1 November 2017
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017
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
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
with all sincerity
Passing along an appeal
continuing to fit in
Is it just me or
am I the perfect human?
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
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
Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.
I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.
I needed it.
Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.
And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.
Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!
But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.
Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.
“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.
As she held me,
with puppy love warmth.
Even the rainbows fell to its knees.
She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.
But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.
It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!
As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.
My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.
“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.
Boys will fear her.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
After two moments of silence,
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.
“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.
10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”
I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.
And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”
But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.
For it was my inner child,
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011
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
Premiere Contest: Contest No: 258
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Contest: Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsay
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
Welcome to my ----- life
A beautiful broken aura
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
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
A beautiful broken aura
Depart from my ----- life
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015