Best Page Poems
Silent Heart
Sad, as it maybe, I had to break my OWN heart,
Too many nights, I sat there all torn apart
A dream girl,
Sitting under its own corrupted auspices sky
You the poet, in disguise
Telling white lies about, your love for me
Saying I'm a born from the sky....
A match, a queen, your muse, your everything
I'm no good, I admit this once more,
Your advice, I forever adorn
It's time to follow the crying crows and praise what is left
Afraid to listen my rhymes weren't cutting it,
I release it all!
Your smiles, words, and worn out shoulders
I walked away
Silently--
I acted on
Without a word, in a fetal stage I awake
Tonight you carry a tune for others
A story of a man who stole my soul of sins
A poet, I long forevermore
Always, you will own the only sound that still beats inside
To live alone, in silence, asleep in my own world
I had to let go,
-Of him, whose name I whisper in darkness
The only thing that remains is the echoes of pouring rain
Too many reasons, writer's block, took full moon
You are a poet, from another lifetime,
Down in Mandalay, I can no longer ask you to stay
Reading everything about my life, silent and old
Alliterating poems, greeting every dark shadow, normally yours
Many nights I waited, long for the moment of my OWN return
Instead, I found myself alone
Trying to dust off yesterday's verse, yesterday's dirt
Cobweb remains on my page
My pen now sits like a twig
No motion, since the day I decided I am not worthy of the wait
You the poet, who walks my way
I pressured less of me every day
Like Aspen, a forever winter cold!
Isolated to the world
In your eyes, you wonder why,
I trace the white smoke standing in your place?
To savor your words, once more
It's too soon to breathe again.
I hope you understand,
How can I continue to love when I don't even love myself?
By:PD
Why A Poem Is More Than Ink On A Page
Why a poem is more than ink on a page
its heart, soul and sweet treasure at any age
can be expressing sorrows and deep rage
or gems of wisdom from a brilliant sage,
a singer that lyrics so sweetly move
or artist that dares to share cool groove
a magical huntress, for true romance
a bold gambler, willing to take a chance.
Why poems are more than just paper ink stained
they are truth, often from those painting, deep pained
they are treasures, from those with braver hearts
or valiant cast dreams from across star charts,
a warrior, singing of courageous deeds
or farmer, planting hope and true word seeds
a sailor, sailing through turbulent storms
a paper kids sitting in college dorms.
Why poems are gifts that the reader rewards
they are aces in life's hands of living cards
with wins that can benefit one and all
or valiant words sent to answer a call,
a lost soul, asking for some great relief
or sinner unburdening darkest grief
a lover, horribly lost in a maze
a phoenix rising from hot, fiery haze.
Why a poem is more than ink on a page
its heart, soul and sweet treasure at any age
can be expressing sorrows and deep rage
or gems of wisdom from a brilliant sage,
a singer that lyrics so sweetly move
or artist that dares to share cool groove
a magical huntress, for true romance
a bold gambler, willing to take a chance.
Robert J. Lindley, November 9th, 2000
edited, July 13th, 2006,
March 7th, 2020
Note: We write because we must, we write because we should,
we write because to not write is a heartache, we write to unburden
our souls, we write to give to others, we write to record we existed,
we write to say we are imperfect, we are loved, we are forgiven, we are hopeful, we are dreamers, we are artists, we are painters, we are craftsmen,
we are fighters, we are lost, we are found and we care about more than just ourselves, etc..
There is a wind , which sketched,
Without my knowledge, the message;
Autumn had lying words,
On my page.
It was by way of red leaves,
The bird of passage,
Twirling in space,
I followed it of my glance
And its woven loops,
On the canvas of the sky.
I just transcribed,
What the wings,
Supported on the wind,
Said to me.
-
(translated from french )
--
C'est un vent qui traçait,
A mon insu, le message ;
L'automne avait couché les mots,
Sur ma page.
C'étaient en guise de feuilles rousses,
L'oiseau de passage,
Virevoltant dans l'espace,
Je l'ai suivi de mon regard,
Et de ses boucles tissées,
Sur la toile du ciel .
J'ai seulement retranscrit,
Ce que les ailes,
Appuyées sur le vent,
M'avaient dit.
Walking a tightrope across my inner self…
Dare to look down pass the pages from my shelf…
It tells the story of the mind that sits outside my soul…
Discolored and torn but the meaning still screams from what is whole…
Tiny scars stained by raindrops that never really dried…
Washed down my hand and caressed the tears I could never hide…
The journey left me crawling for my peace…
Onto a table beside a pen I sit and release…
the calendar page
still showing the last month....
a clock ticks
© 2011 kashinath karmakar
=====================
Placement:1st ;(Nov. 2011)
Contest:Whatever any theme(max. 12 lines)
Sponsor:Brian Strand
By:kashinath karmakar
We all have a blank page
We have a story that we are writing and
Starting over is a gift so do not fear a new beginning!
There is always a cure in life
So remember that you can thrive in the season of despair!
Clearly, we know that life is not fair
But will you dare to stand in the mist and
Persist with the glory of your story!
History shows us the commonality of life
So take the knife of joy and cut away the fear!
The element of change is to keep your destiny alive
Life will rearrange itself
Because you must be kept on track!
Your life will inevitably change
Bringing on the reality that every man and woman
Will attend the academy of transformation!
The anatomy of a season will spring forth new life in your heart and
Darkness will appear as light and night as day
So start over and do not fear a new beginning!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
5 posts • Page 1 of 1
Poe's Diary Page 7 (The Hand of Dread)
Postby Whiskurz » February 11th, 2013, 1:25 am
Awakened by the hand of dread
An apprentice to the night
She pulls me from my chamber bed
And forces me to write
My mind still captive to my sleep
I do not understand
Clutching my quill, my fingers weep
It does not know my hand
A whisper slowly fills my soul
My quill now feels at ease
For I'm no longer in control
I write from my disease
Infected words now fill my quill
To spread a rancid lie
My paper silent and feeling ill
As pieces of it die
Dread no longer holds me tight
As her icy fingers release
She disappears into the night
And hands me back my peace
Each Day We've a New Page to Write
(Soup does not allow ' in title line above)
Endless is childhood’s sweet story.
Its climax seems far from our sight.
As we keep adding in glory,
each day we’ve a new page to write.
Some days we fail; some we do not.
Regardless of fortune or plight,
sun rises! For what we have sought,
each day we’ve a new page to write.
How wonderful like falling snow
that lays down its white through the night,
each morning is fresh with new glow.
Each day we’ve a new page to write.
Though stories may seem to get old,
life never is worthless or trite.
Transform what you can into gold!
Each day we’ve a new page to write.
12/15/16 for the Quote Response Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
-THIS IS NOT A POEM-
Hey, Poets stop by, give me a shout out.
Tell Me Where You Are From;)
I promise I won't show up on your doorstep.
If you are having a bad day, let me have it
If you have awesome news, don't be greedy
---SHARE! SHARE!
By all means --- SHARE THE NEWS!!!
................. LOVE THE POET DESTROYER
A blank page is ready
For the pen to begin
Spreading the words
One letter at a time
Then one paragraph
Followed by another
Until the poem has
ended
WHEN LETTERS DANCE ON THE PAGE
“Disappear,” I said.
They denied.
Didn’t the Casanova at the theatre
Return my ravishing smile last night?
The burgundy magic on greys!
Ironed with botoxed shots
The dry asparagus turns glossy;
Ready for the salad?
Midriffs declining, disappearing -
Decelerating; the passion of aping
A teenager for a climacteric but works.
The dried raisins, falling leaves
And the faded chrysanthemums-
Augmented, tucked in, liposuctioned.
The one who was being stared at,
Loses it all ; the pretence withers,
The efforts in vain.
I loved them the most
But they now scare me-
The letters diffusing, hyperopic.
Behind the lens, the zombies
Make me close my eyes- the mirror
Was never so unfriendly.
Progressive, focal, horn-rimmed,
Rimless – nothing works. They just
Simply refuse to go.
At the restaurant, travelator, bus
My glory shrouds as I struggle to
Settle the glass diptych on my nose.
“Disappear,” I say to them.
They deny.
The chirp of cloudy morning peal its wondrous beauty
As it was a perfect moment to sip the taste of an old times
Pampered and drawn by those vintage voices
Shrunk in this sweet anomaly, the frames of a time roamer
Word by word, time after time
An anecdote is herding, I'm dancing in a rime
Reread all my writes, feel the flakes of each verses
My masterpieces in time, the journal of life's flavours
Now I'm landing on a sketch of laughters
Where I feel the rainbow of bliss
A small creature is trying to stay
In a warm belly it grows in its way
Waiting is the first list to do
Hoping for the best is the lovely second line
I have another story to make
And this time I offer you the lollipop in page
My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces
Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day
In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see.
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave
Back up north, where my futures to be
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost
And that was my aim, no matter the cost
see page 2 of 2, ty..
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/me.php
Her lips
are soft,
fragile
petals
of a wild
pink
rose,
Whose kiss
is so
delicate,
it compels me
to compose.
I have no idea what compelled me
To wonder what my future held
The craze about finding my tomorrows
To view delivers meld
So I decided to decipher my wants
To a Highland Seer I went
The desire to dispel my haunts
Kawasaki 500 sent
v
Sit down and close your eyes
Put your palms on the table
Whilst I shuffle your future be
And allow the cards to enable
.
Silence befell my ears
Thrilled, he spoke about my past
All through my childhood years
To be honest, I'm left aghast
v
He smiled at me as he wrote
Requesting I read it later
He wished me on my journey
This Seer, my future translator
Good evening, from the Highlands News
As we report on a roadside crash
A Kawasaki 500, has left the road
An Ambulance in Emergency dash
To the Hospital the News Crew followed
Having caught up in this saddened case
They were told of what was told inside
In tear fear fold explained
In pain, he whispers into the Paramedics ear
Please read this letter to me
On the opening of the envelope
There were no words to read
.