Best Pen Poems
A bright array of rainbow hues
adorns the parchment now and then,
and gives a glimpse of writer’s views,
an image brushed by poet’s pen.
The yellow hues of morning sun,
the break of dawn described in verse,
or crimson sky as day is done
when, in the sea, sun will immerse.
A poem of gentle flower’s bloom
who’s petals drip with morning dew;
‘tis nature’s soft pastel perfume,
or metaphor of passion’s hue.
A verse of mountains white with snow
or verdant forest lush with pine;
the grass cloaked valley down below
where streamlets flow through scented vine.
Emotions penned within each verse;
sometimes a melancholy blue,
or red with passion to coerce
their dreams, as lovers’ lives renew.
A verse of lost love penned in rhyme,
or poem lamenting loved one’s death;
a lilt of lovers held by time
as passion takes away their breath.
A writer’s dream as brushed with quill
upon the parchment comes to life
as vibrant rainbow colors spill
his heart, with its emotions rife.
This poet’s heart, a calm serene,
he sees the world in many ways,
and with his pen he paints the scene,
preserved in time, a moments gaze.
September 2, 2020
We push the pen to make you feel
the gentle tapping of the falling rain,
the stinging burn of the summer sun
the heavy heart of despair and pain.
We push the pen to make you see
the vibrant orange of a monarch wing,
the secretive soul hidden in our eyes,
the golden sunrise in early morning.
We push the pen to make you taste
the sweetness of love's first kiss,
the bitterness of heartbreaking defeat
the richness of pure chocolate bliss.
We push the pen to make you hear
the clear waters babbling in the brook,
the forgotten laughter of our inner child
the cracking spine of a brand new book.
We push the pen to make you savor
the pungent petals of the red rose,
the crisp aroma of a tart green apple
the autumn air that excites the nose.
We each push the pen in different ways
with our own tone of voice and mystique,
an art form that no other can duplicate,
no right or wrong, just wonderfully unique.
I am poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I wonder what mortal mirrors reflect...
For me, all races deserve respect.
I often hear the splashing of rain,
and flood rushing down the drain.
I see the petals of the morning bloom
and dawn peeping into my dusky room.
I strive to forget the tales of ages long gone
when dreams died as deeds undone.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I pretend to be a terrific tree
sapping the tears that betide me.
I feel old scars opening each time
my heart tends to commit new crime.
I touch the heart of the gentle moon
and worry if the Sun will shine at noon.
I cry for the youth and aged in need
and for gluttons in the grave of greed.
I hear the whispers of wealth and wisdom
flowing freely from the field of freedom...
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I understand the chains of our choices;
frailties of our fate; our darn differences.
I say let us not preen on what is not ours,
we will leave them in the six-feat towers.
I crave a world without woes and worries;
the mortal mall of matchless memories
where everyone trades a lasting legacy...
and love is shared on the platter of mercy.
I long to see gray skies turn blue
and my sweetest dreams come true.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I waited, dressed to kill
in red,
and in love
both, of which
I could have been coaxed out of
You have turned a pale shade of white,
my Valentine
Al Green sang to me,
as my pen danced as your substitute
we danced all night long,
stationary, our dance floor.
As we whirled to the emotions
of words' sounds; hand in hand,
we went round and round
and round
No one else in the room
most of all, not you
as my ink turned
from red to blue
Voices from a poets pen
Soft ones, loud ones...now and then
Speak your tongue, let it be told
Let us hear your heart unfold
Pen on paper how you feel
Then show us all...poet's zeal
Told in tone...to tell apart
Unfold your voice, in your heart
"Where do we poets go?”
I wish I could know
and trace a path of glory
which I admire in awe.
*****
The words I do follow
into them resides my soul flow
A journey of two lovers
of no full stops and commas.
No introduction made
the bond is intense
a connection of no pretense
oblivious of the first thread
of the weaved word.
No main body
could develop a true love story
or bring it to a closure
a sustained presence
that assures a genuine composure.
Dare I ask the poet
“Why did you in love
fall?
as the words when spilled
elevate your all!”
Or shall I wonder
if for each other’s company
you crave?
a willing surrender
a wonder about which
you rave.
In the realm of words
the poet, longs to and dares
fashions of words
shapes and shades
breaking all the rules
for the love of a poem
beyond the norms.
*****
With every work of art
a true part of the soul we impart
we seize the day
of pleasure and pain
and in life
earn the name of human.
*****
“Where do we poets go?”
I really don’t know!
I just have my pen to fuel
walk an entrancing path of poetry
and aspire to carve a shining jewel..
November 28th, 2020
"Where Do We Poets Go?" Silent One Poetry Contest
A week passed, yet no words drifted in my mind
I feared I'd become numb and poetically blind
so, I gave up, went to bed and turned off the light
but in the very next moment I screamed in fright!
"Procrastinator!" My Muse yelled, in a huff.
"You are made of much stronger stuff!"
I slid beneath the covers; she threw back the quilt.
"Oh no," she fumed, "you'll not fill me with guilt!"
I pleaded and cajoled, but she bought none of it.
She pulled out my desk chair and said, "NOW SIT!"
I obeyed and sat but nothing worthy came to mind.
I felt her staring at my back, 'twas of the evil kind.'
Desperately, I tried to conjure rhymes that would do.
She sighed then she asked, "What's wrong with you?"
I turned my head to look at her so we could confer,
but she shimmered away in a wavy transparent blur.
I called to her, and reached out trying to pull her near
My arms grasped only air, for she had disappeared.
"Come back, please. I'm sorry I've not been writing,
but thoughts you've offered lately are all about fighting."
She reappeared smiling, and before she took flight,
whispered in my ear, "Just pick up your pen and write."
As the waves forever kiss the shore
One shot leaves you wanting more
My heart and soul, strong and true
With all the love they hold for you
Sometimes my life leaves me bored
Like a swordsman with no sword
These are the times that I write
Memories can be hard to fight
I write out my heart and soul
Controlling my mind is my goal
Each new word released by my pen
Is another spiritual battle I win
The war rages on day by day
Through the poem prayers I pray
It's a war that I will forever win
Long as there is ink up in my pen
In prison I had quite a collection
Each one held it's own reflection
I saved them after they ran dry
Baptized with the tears I cry
I just couldn't seem to let them go
Little memories of my heart and soul
Sometimes I like to take them out
Little memories of what I'm about
What I'm about angel on my shoulder
Making this world a little less colder
The Simple Pen
I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen
Entered in Tyshawn Knight's - "Advice for New Writers: Words of Wisdom in Verse" Poetry Contest on 6/02/15
I feel privileged.
I have been chosen by the Government
as part of a group testing something called
Edible Clinical Marijuana.
Honestly I half expected it to look like a Burrito
because the name sounds sort of Mexican.
It actually looks more like a brownie.
I’m am about to take a bite so hold on.
Yum,
tasty!
So here is the point
I am suppose to consume
one half of a brownie
then fill out this sheet
giving them my feedback.
Hold on
I am going to have a few more bites.
Okay,
no wait,
milk would go great
with these babies.
I’ll be back.
(after a long while)
OK, sew sorry I was gonna while
I was staring inside my fridge\
for a while'
tying to remember
I think I wanted a glass of ink%
aktiually I’m dinking from the bodle@
I am eating my forth brownie
as I was instructured to do;
Did they say four or? ate
cause these. are tasty
And/
aaaahhhhhhh,,
tasty^
tayysstee^
hahahahahahahahaha""
a program on my compuwhatyoucallit
keeps underlyning my words
with read squiggles=
hahahahahahahahaha
but it diidn’t underline squiggle#
hahahahahahahahaha
wel dats stoopid
squiggle isa perfect lee
good underlying word*
stoopid Bill Gated^
hahahahahahaha?haha
sorry I ment Will Gated~
so watt was I saying ]
oh yeah+
fill the sheet)
hahahahahahahahaha
I don wanna sheet,
tha is gaross[
heeres a pen
quesshun= Sex
easy!
ansir; yes- please)
hahahahahahahahaha
?why m i bein so polite
hahahahahahahahaha
queshun!
oh wow Blues Brothers on my TV
what was I spose? to do
oh yeah watch tv
why am i so angry hahahahahah++
hahahahahahahahaha
i mean hungary
haahahahahah
h u n g r y
dere hungry>
hey look
brownies?
those look good
hahahahahahahahaha
i con't tipe with mai mouth
full dats rood/rood
i'll get bak too dis later..
sew as they say
hahahahahahahahaha
two bee contitnude
Bloody rude drunken pen has enjoyed a nib of ink or two, reminiscing on a few
Bad and ugly times, we both admit at times things were, a bit of a mess,
All kinds of intertwined, confused but along the way making some progress
On the grand masterpiece of all masterpieces – writing bliss
At first polite, we take in turns, to interject with collaborative words,
Until the air hits us hard, take a breath, where’s your etiquette, manners and respect,
My turn pen, I command, continue on to write, scribbling like an erratic bird’s nest.
Pen resists and spits its ink, a dirty blob from its nib…how rude
All smudged and slurred is a dribbling rambling of everything crude
Across the page leaking its ink, clearly from excessive drink
Dancing on thin ice, my drunken pen decides to try and entice
Inviting me to envelope, his muscular body with smooth fingers
Such fraternisation you drunken sleaze, how do you expect to please
The love of your life, giving you permission to write and express your ink with ease
Drunken pen is at a loss as reflects on his drunken state, its very late
Blubbering relaxed words across the page, deep within and obscure
Then I realise that my drunken pen is sometimes a little insecure
He has a way of making me melt when I think of his 50 shades of blue
Each drink of ink that fills his nib, that prints our words, that stains my skin
Is in every way the partnership of creative bliss and my perfect hue
2nd October 2012
Written for Drunken Pen - Part 2 Contest
The Poet's Pen
Eternity awaits the poet's pen,
His essence sealed in golden words;
A message from the hearts of men.....
Life's pictures now, and then,
Days kept forever on his slate.
Eternity awaits the poet's pen....
Capturing the song of winter wrens,
And the wind on velvet branches.
A message from the hearts of men.....
The flowers in the shaded glen;
The fawn nestled in her bower.
Eternity awaits the poet's pen....
The stars abundance is his ken.
The moon's love of evening tide,
A message from the hearts of men...
Death will come yet once again,
To furl his banner of mortality.
But Eternity awaits the poet's pen,
A message from the hearts of men....
Friends eternally tethered with kevlar string,
Poets and pen make all types of poems sing.
Your Best Rhyming Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by L MILTON HANKINS
Date written: 09/25/2021
With this napkin as my canvas
A word picture I paint
While he drowns out his sorrows
Until he finally faints
The best works he weaves
Are when unconsciously drunk
While sober and thinking
He writes only junk
While he flirts with the barmaid
Thinking about the sword in his pants
The sword in his right hand
On this napkin words plant
When he wakes with this poem
Stuck to the side of his head
He’ll read it and conclude
He’s the genius instead
Instead of getting credit
For these words that I write
It would be more correct to say written
By Jack Daniels last night
So why are the words
Not slurred or mistyped
Because while the lush was all trashed
His pen was alright
So barmaid pour another
For this bum who holds me
And let’s pray he uses his other hand
When he has to go pee
Sitting alone with my thoughts and this drink at night
So many thoughts but I'm scared to pick up the pen and use this Ink to write
So much of my pain is bottled up, I know it's not good to keep it in
I've had so much to say but I've been scared of the pen
Even without talking about the pandemic the past year for me has been painful
They call it the devils juice, but this alcohol has been my angel
My Mum got ill and I've been her full time carer since
From growing up in foster care, to being here for her just shows my strength
But truth be told i've been in a bad place trying to deal with stress
Laughing for the benefit of my friends, but secretly trying to heal while depressed
So much bottled up inside that I need a clear out
So many issues I keep to myself because I know they're things people don't want to hear about
lately my mind has been elsewhere
Taking care of others but neglecting self care
7 years free from Self-harm, but not caring for myself was as dangerous as when I used to use the blade
Maybe I shouldn't be so honest, but I can't put on an act I'm not on a movie stage
So many questions I have, but I may never have the answers
Last november I got sexually assaulted on a night out, then 2 weeks later I lost a friend to cancer
I usually hide behind humour, but there's nothing funny about this
Since then, self made hidden armour and a fake smile have been my outfit
Most people are trying to make it out of the storm, but I know how to survive in it
I hardly ever cry, but maybe it would be healthier if I start crying out more
Giving up isn't an option, there isn't a fight I will be lying down for
Because if I'm still in the fight against my demons then I might win it
I've had so many days of pain and nights of worry
But I get back up when they least expect it like I'm Tyson Fury
I always find a way to survive so my demons and obstacle should be the ones scared
But recently I've been scared of the pen because of everything I've been through in the past year