Best Own Style Poems
I'm rather hard to figure out
Not many really get what I'm about
I'd rather sit quietly than shout
I keep it real I'm not prone to pout
You might think me passive
Still I will act
when others are subdued by doubt
Somewhat serious
Yet prone to smile
Not ecstatic I have my own style
If you need comfort I'll stay with you a while
Don't expect much talking
I'm a listener on the emoticom dial
As a poet
I know the power of the word
In the end I like to hear and be heard
Like you I too have been burned
Within adversity there were things I learned
I am a dancer
Stepping out on pages
Quiet paper oragami cages
Traveling on thoughts
Floating through all my stages
Fast forward rewinding
Pausing at my distance
Like the Borg victims there is no resistance
I breathe my thoughts with a certain persistence
If you look at me
I might reflect you
Searching for answers
Seeing beyond dark corridors
To places bright blue
Perhaps you as well
Like me
are an enigma too!
Written April 8th.
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, we swag and sway...
We love like you love, and we're gay.
In morning light, you slumber still:
Familiar form against my chest,
It is your favourite place to rest.
I tickle you with senseless skill.
You make espresso, I fix bread
We yawn in unison, and smile
You dress in orange, your own style,
I love you (I already said)
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, brown-haired or gray
We love like you love, and we're gay.
You push my chair, we walk the dogs
The weather nice, trees green and lush
You kiss my lips, I chastely blush
Only observed by croaking frogs
We're not so different,
Can't you see?
So don't be ignorant
Just let us be.
We run, we jump, we cry, we laugh,
We sit, we stand, we're weak, we're tough,
We're fat or slim, we work, we play
We love like you love, and we're gay.
***
March 18, 2017
Sponsor Laura Loo
3do place in Contest: Any Poem Written In March
To honor Jan in her own style...
I have a sweet friend whom I shall call Jan
She writes limericks like no one else can
finding humor in poop
sharing it with the soup
but it's stinky, Jan, please turn on a fan!!
~~~~~~~~~~~
October 8th, 2016
My name is Mr. Happy.
Spelled H-A-P-P-Y.
Also known as Pappy.
Spelled P-A-P-P-Y.
I am the Mr. Happy Pappy guy.
And, I hate to see kids cry...
I hate to see kids cry.
So... Smile, Smile for a while
In a happy smiley face style.
Can your smiles be in a pile?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Wear it proudly for a trial.
Can you wear it for a half mile?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Put a laugh in the smile pile.
Can it last for a whole mile?
Smile. Smile for a while.
Make it your own style.
Can a laugh and a smile
Walk down the aisle?
Smile, Smile for a while.
Put a giggle in the pile.
Can they go single file
For half past a mile?
Smile. Smile for a while.
Smiles, laughter, giggles in a pile.
Together they go more than a mile.
Remember me... Mr. Happy Pappy
When I'm not around.
The place where you imagine
Is the place where I am found.
How many have ever heard the song "Somewhere in Time?"
It's a song with only music and with no words or rhyme.
"Fantasie Impromtu" is another one written by Chopin?
Also a song of rare beauty without words thrown in.
These two songs along with "Moonlight Sonata" were played by my son.
He's an acomplished pianist who can play most any run.
He played these songs at my funeral last week.
Don't be shocked all you people keep on sitting in your seat.
You Poetry Soup poets who are sitting there reading this write.
Yes you! Don't turn around and look behind you or look to the right!
Do you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now?
Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
No don't look! You won't see me.
My spirit is floating above your right shoulder freely.
I'm watching you read your poems. Did you get some good comments today?
Yes I saw where you wrote that beautiful verse, and that nice display!
You deserve that nice comment. How about your soupmail? Are there very many?
Did someone tell you a secret? Remember! I won't tell and I know a plenty!
I've been watching you on Poetry Soup for hours writing your poems that rhyme.
You're writing about love and mysteries, about cat tails, building spaceships and rhyme
time!
You're writing of happy new year, time warps, romantic longings and betrayals and how do
you do it,
One of you says your poems are like children to you, one writes of beautiful women
with wit
And one of you even wrote of hanging berries! And all of these wonderful poems I've read.
I have hovered over many of you and you never even knew I was dead,
Such wonderful talented writers we have on Poetry Soup.
Everyone writes his own style that belongs to this group.
So take heed when you sit down to write a new rhyme.
And know that someone's watching you write all this time.
And when you feel that erie feeling in your tummy right now.
Well! It's because of me! I'm hovering over you somehow!
I’m honoured to be ‘Queen of Poop’ -
My title on Poetry Soup
Themes like constipation
May cause indignation
I’ll never not write on brown gloop!
All poets have got their own style
My humour makes some people smile
Folk may think I’m strange
But I’ll never change
My subjects though may be deemed vile!
Been chastised for poems on wind
You’d truly think that I had sinned
I’ll still write about farting
No, I won’t be departing
I’m lucky I’m pretty thick skinned!
10/21/2033
The serene sunset at my back.
The realization, I reached the top,
And, in completion, that was that.
The acceptance of my life as it is.
No bloody need to prove I was best.
Such divine completion, sans explanation.
The sun had gone, first star winked at me.
Soft, warm, winds rustled my wild hair
Of this poetic heroine, high on a hill!
Panagiota Romios
Poem 3
“In My Own Style”
I riffle through memories of days gone
Like a junkyard of photo boxes
When viewing the past again sees the dawn
Of course, my favorite time it surely must be
Living in my GMC van conversion
Just my big Chesapeake dog, Cody and me
Gave up the rent and then gave up the job
Pursued a life of the struggled artist
Wanted to do what makes my heart throb
See new mountains and see new skies
Every night a new front door
See the world through different eyes
Expand my wings with my artists hands
New teachers mold a seeking mind
Make new friends across the wander lands
Those happy days with my very best friend
From Alaska to the New Mexico dirt
Excited as we looked around each wide bend
My dog and I lived the miles for 3 years and awhile
Hiked winding trails and swam the lakes
Many memories we happily made with our style
written: 10-5-2019
Society has exactly no bounds.
Now many of you males and females judge yourself by the pound.
Scared to be your own person because society expects you to look a way, act a way, and be a way.
"Every look you take in the mirror distorts your vision and it gets less clearer"
Look in the mirror look again, take a long Look... This is you, now all you have to do is figure out who that person is on the inside.
You are your own person, you have your own style, you have your own walk, you have your own talk.
My plea to you is to never let society tell you what's beautiful and what's not, what you should wear.
Trust me it takes time but just know its all worth it just like you.
I've never played tag before, I say
But being tagged has made my day
If I wrote my thoughts, my arm would droop
Trying to tag all the great poets on Poetry Soup
Now I hold Tamiviolet and Carol Brown dear
Karen O'Leary and Marycile Beer
Tammy and Jill both make me smile
And JeanMarie has her very own style
Reading Bill Robinson is time well spent
And Charles Fuller is so eloquent
Don't forget Deb Simpson and William Ward
Linda Smith strikes another chord
There's Kim Mulroney and William Jones
Even more great writing. It's Daria Stone's
If I wrote about all the great one's on this sight
I would still be writing on New Year's night.
You are tagged.
An Evening with Poet friends
9/13/2023
Really, sharing fully is nothing new to me.
Just want all to dive in without a bit of hesitation.
Splashing like shiny, rainbowed fish and express
The rays-of our shiny, unique individuality.
I only wish, a few of us were in a room together.
You’d read us your divine, poetic creations.
Teas, lemon, coffees, and hors dourves….
No strangers, just caring, close poet friends.
You are invited to bring, fresh, baked sensations.
I will provide plaid throws, as the Autumn winds blow.
So bring your delicacies and unique poetry..
A poetry evening, where all shall be honored!
Declared winners and stunning sensations.
While the warmth of joyful, appreciation burns!
Panagiota Romios
Romios Poem#2
“In My Own Style”
I believe that at first
I had a thirst for word
As a child I’d create my own style
And make up words to popular songs
Especially when I wanted to sing along
But did not have the vocabulary at age two
By age six I was full of poetic bliss
But only pounding keys on my toy piano
Shouting made up songs as I’d go
Then on a whim of destiny
I became a victim of rape
But I had no word for it
I truly didn’t know what to say
I didn’t understand at age six
That it was a teen and I was just a kid
I saw blood and thought the cool aide
I drank had simply leaked from me
The pain and shame was like a bad dream
But I did not despair for music was there
Then at age seven ironically
A family member, my father began molesting me
This time after years I did speak
To my sixth grade teacher who intervened
But before I could find a way to tell
I used poetry and journalism to excel
My writing was not really the best
But it saved me non the less
So for me music and poetry
Are at the core of my salvation my peace
Years of fears tears and therapy
I am healed and better for it all
Thanks to God and a teacher
Who inspired me to talk.
It seems like only yesterday
I heard your first cry
But today you spread your wings
And discover how to fly.
It seems like only yesterday
I held your tiny hand
But today you hold your diploma
And make an independent stand.
It seems like only yesterday
I dressed you in ruffles and lace
But today you have your own style
And search for your own place.
It seems like only yesterday
I sang you a lullaby song
But today you play your own music
And dance all night long.
It seems like only yesterday
I thought time was on my side
But today the clock is ticking
And your dreams no longer hide.
It seems like only yesterday
You were my little girl
But today your a grown woman
And beautiful as a pearl.
Living my life on the Dole*,
Because my Mum told me so,
Interview at ‘McDonalds’, but that Tyrant told me "No!",
See, we're a family with pride,
Don't sell fries at super-size,
But where's the pride,
If I can't provide,
For my own style of life,
Spent my money from the *Brew,
On Irn-Bru**, I swear that’s true,
Dreary, damp & cold, This black hole, I call home,
Only 'joy' I get in life’s the 'stick' I use for X-BOX,
And I aint got a tumble dryer so I step with wet socks,
Work-shy, but money-hungry,
Flats cramp-sized & pretty ugly,
Arrogant guy,
Until I woke up and realised that no-one loves me.
Brain melts to slush, in this non-testing occasion,
‘Gain Work’ is a must, for a teenage Caucasian,
Nothing separating me,
From drug-addled Dads of three,
No payday,
Just giro day,
No jobs… great,
Keep trying mate,
No end in sight as unemployment rises,
Government gives you cash like they were handing out prizes,
Where’s my reason to go out & work? My motivation,
Its pleasing no-one now, this escalated situation,
Experience is something that you earn, not that you’re born with,
Inexperienced forever, if I don’t get employed quick,
I don't enjoy sitting on my broken couch for hours,
I'm your Friend with Benefits, can only wash with cold showers.
(*Common British phrases for Jobcentre or Jobseekers Allowance Benefit)
(**Famous Scottish soft drink mass produced around Britain)
we tend to forget the time when we ourselves were very young
our own parents did not understand some of the things we had done
we had our own style of music, our own dances and points of view
we fail to see that It's a curse every generation seems to go through
In the 1950's, there was teeny boppers, convertibles cars plus rock-n-roll
the parents from the big band era thought their children were out of control
In the 1960's, there was war protesting, hippies and anti-establishment
the parents from the bebop era thought their children had lost all their sense
In the 1970's, there was the Motown sound, flower power and acid rock
the parents from the rock-n-roll era thought their kids were chips off the old block
In the 1980's there was after-work parties, glitter balls and disco fever
the parents from the hippie generation
would not be mistaken for Ward and June Cleaver
In the 1990's, they had rap music, punk rock and designer street clothes
the parents from the acid rock era were clueless in their parental roles
In the new millennium the year 2000 known as Y2K
It's gotten to the point where most parents seemed to have lost their way
Is the situation getting better or Is It getting worse?
Is It that change is a constant which causes a generational curse?
Is it the sins of the father from the very beginning
that have been revisited on each generation of children?
do you remember the words that every parent has said
to their children since the beginning of mankind?
"may you one day have children who act just like you
who will make you think your losing your mind"