Best Personal Experience Poems
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
I am the daughter of eve ,with the strength to create or destroy the world,but you nasty people
Judge and say me as a simple weak being.
Was born to be beautiful being but you made me suffer my whole life.
During childhood,I loved playing with dolls and with friends,
But you wanted me to do the chores so brother can enjoy.
He enjoyed all the pleasures and had all the fun,while I was in the
Hot sun,doing the work like a nun.
I worked like a donkey,but he had the turkey.
As he was the son, and I was none.
He had to read the books and I had the food to cook.
And there came a new man in life ,for whom I was wife.
He earned money and I was honey.
he had the authority and I was in poverty.
He was the ruler and I was the bearer.
All I wanted was the love ,but he gave me the stove.
The days passed and the seasons changed,but my life hadn’t.
Designation changed from wife to mother,nursing all the time .
Was split into two by husband and kids,but the heart always
Desired something else.
Kids grew and flew to new destinations.
the heart does crave and yearn for love as it is stupid,as it doesn’t
have mind to think,and it is there only to feel.
I want to learn, read ,play and relive those moments which were
Mine but were snatched away as I was a girl.
But it is us, who make this world beautiful,peaceful and happy.
We are mothers, daughters, sisters above all we are human beings.
Treat us like fellow humans but not like slaves,then you will see
The more beauty of the world.
PS:This poem is not based on my personal experience ,but on my observation and deep understanding of their pain.It speaks about women who went through this pain and strength they discovered they had to come out of it.
You stare at me with vacant eyes
It’s like living with a stranger
Tears and tantrums we both despise
Where is the man I once loved?
Locked inside your own little world
Sometimes a piece of music makes you smile
But every day I know I’m losing you
I’m losing you bit by bit
I no longer get greeted with a loving kiss
These days you lash out uncontrollably
I get battered and bruised by your flying fist
But I’ll never give up loving you
NOT written from personal experience of living with someone with dementia
08~07~16
I've seen trebuchets thrust rocks into crowds.
I've heard the weeping of the wounded pray.
I've walked through blood clad fields and screamed aloud.
Not a sound or even a whisper came.
I've felt the bite of water and of flame,
The warmth of friendship, the breaking of bones.
And I've heard the drafters call out my name,
Said goodbye to everything I have known.
Marched on crimson ground as the sunlight shone,
Held our flag in victory and disgrace.
Celebrated as the bodies lay prone;
The memories I wish I could erase.
Still those faces haunt; those faces of fear!
Long gone they are and yet I am still here.
NOTE: This poem has caused some confusion, so I'm just clearing the air. This poem is fictional and not based on any personal experience.
To reach nirvana
Poet paradise
You have to reach the third level
It's a journey to forever
It may take some their whole lifetime,
and others may never get there
It's a quantum leap
fraught with uncertainty
First it takes writing skill,
then an inexhaustible will
and finally, untapped creativity
The first level is easy
Most anyone can do it,
you simply write what you feel and think
It requires no linguistic coordination,
no moral obligation,
just the courage to dive in, unafraid to sink
Some people drown in their own words,
no sense of it all can be heard,
just a rapid ride on their stream of consciousness
If you make it through the first level
with pen still in hand and curiosity still intact,
you can further elevate and explore
But a lot of poets, sadly, become satisfied with where they're at
The second level is much harder
Not everyone can do it,
exploring themes not from your own personal experience
It's a precarious climb
melding a vicarious mind,
leading you sometimes to places that you never sought to find
Some people can't handle it, they cower away
when facing the daunting realm of the unknown
Unanchored from their familiar world view, their confidence be gone
If you make through the second level
with sound mind in place and determination still undeterred,
you can shed the constraints of time and space
But more winnowed poets, regrettably,
haven't the creative stamina to finish the race
The third level is the most difficult to reach
Only breached by a chosen few,
who were born to travel to the farthest dimensions of the mind
They breathe unexplored air,
they speak with authority of being there
Poetic pioneers fearlessly going where others are not so inclined
They are chosen ones who enter a hidden sacred space;
transversing the treacherous depths of the heart, facing come what may
They are timeless souls searching beyond the veiled gray
They've reached the third level
Nirvana
Poet paradise
The nexus of every imagined possibility:
they will be faithful to observe,
faithful to record,
faithful to write all that they see
Acknowledgement from me to you,
Of all the things you say and do,
With every poem you compose too,
Comments I give heartfelt and true!
Our work is our pride and joy,
Express in happiness or sadness,
From every youthful girl and boy,
Regardless of our creative madness.
Sometimes our poems taken out of
context,
It differ from person to person,
All in different visions and versions.
Most are from personal experience,
Others are just inspirational
influence!
That's what makes each and every
poem special,
In PoetSoup our universe.
From me to all of poets i say thank
you!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
FRANK H.
Contest
COMPLIMENTS
Dark clouded thoughts are dashing round in my head
Should I end it all – would I be better off dead
The tablets helped for a little while
On good days I could even raise a smile
Depression looms over me like an angry black cloud
Some days all I do is scream and cry out loud
If I ended it all would anyone cry
Do they really care if I live or die
I’ve tried to end my life once before
I was found me helpless on the kitchen floor
They kept me in hospital my life was on the brink
They gave me some treatment and got me a shrink
But no matter what they do or say
My depression it is here to stay
Oh how I crave for normality
To have a job, even raise a family
But pill popping and black thoughts are all I know
Things from my past haunt me from so many years ago
There is no colour in my life its all just black and white
Shall I give in to depression and give up this earthly fight
Jan Allison
13th March 2014
Written for an on-line competition – NOT from personal experience.
~ please see my notes above about this poem~
In life disagreements have always been around,
so why the frown?
We all like what we like and that’s the bottom line.
I won’t see life as you do because I am me and
you are you.
However, what kind of filter do you use before
you look?
The filter that you use is a determining factor in
what you see.
I’m not perfect by a long shot, but I try to let
optimism be my guide.
In a world of negativity it’s so easy to let op-
timism fall by the wayside.
The old saying is true “ treat others like you want
to be treated.“
If someone said they like(or have a nonchalant
demeanor )being mistreated or disrespected,
I don’t believe you.
Because at the core, we all are human beings
and we have feelings.
If you don’t care now, you used to care, being
hurt over and over can cause pain; pain overload
turns into numbness.
The moment you allow yourself to feel again you
will understand.
Numbness can “walk around with a I don’t care”
attitude.
Once your numbness leaves, you will start to feel
again.
I know from personal experience, I wore my
numbness(as a shield of defense) for years
and nothing affected me.
Later on ,once I dealt with my pain and put
aside my shield of defense I started to heal.
The world in itself is cruel, and fueled by so
much hate.
But change starts with you and I, let’s agree
to disagree and walk in to love’s wing.
Alexis Y.
10/27/2020
Art creates balance in my life
it's not regards my genius creativity
The search for the right line or a brilliant sentence
an expression that challenges myself
I wish to decorate the world in delightful colors
dare to stretch personal experience up to something universal
A self-taught painter who creates abstract works
where the soul emerges during the process
As eternal testament that has neither beginning nor closing
My life ... my choice
Who tells this narrative story?
the painter, the poet ... a little human
By personal experience, I didn't even know. Based on a memory and I
fooled myself. Why should I follow a fake dream ? Was put in artificial
coma for two weeks. I have changed a lot since the accident. Now I
know what really matters. Things change so fast, life can suddenly turn.
It's a fact I'm paralyzed from the hips down. A settlement without hatred
and tears. The blood is still pulsing in my veins ... the heart is like
a vibrating rose petal in the wind
new goals to strive for
the life was turned upside down -
angels danced with pride
28.08.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
A world was created where every individual believed that being represented
was essential as religions require symbols
to be interpreted by the ordained,
meaning of things provided for us like fertilizer on furrowed fields,
law & tax codes, medical knowledge, emotional expressions governed by consensus,
a democracy of dellusions,
dissent is dangerous and humility heroic,
where surrender preserves and patriotism perverts,
clowns kings and criminals having wings,
Medeval Christianity mastered markmanship of community authority seizing
the sugar of inventive intuition,
terrorizing the truth of personal experience,
thrones were tailored temptations, temples entrapments of greater mystery,
cathedrals collossal contraptions for centralizing consciousness, books burned,
jewels for fools & the fooled manackled to the alter of passivity,
masses being timid tools concentrating their energies on empire expansion,
exiled from ego,
crusades to crush criticism, a monopoly of memory
and torture the text of theocracy,
Cathars killed for lessons become occult,
unlawful cognizance of God within,
authority addicts abandoning their oaths to protect people,
subjects countrymen become,
being pledges & collateral for debts incurred for imperial improvidence,
babies of the masses transformed into bankers' bounty via certificates,
maturing securities on malignant markets of merchantile magic,
digital slave trade,
self governance gainsaid as being a primitive pathology,
a symptom of paranoia or maybe xenophobia,
personally voting on taxation, education and wars apostacy,
J.A.B.
I love the smell of the lake at dawn,
It's so peaceful here, just to sit and listen
No sounds but the waves slapping,
against the shore.
Birds fly by undisturbed catching
the mornings breeze.
I've watched many sunrise here,
With mother nature as mine only campaign.
That’s just fine with me, it adds to the
Personal experience it's a calming time
Just to be shared by her and I.
She the grand lady painting the horizon.
I the writer with words devotion,
Pen and paper ready at hand.
I'll sit on a blanket, leaning against
An old sun bleached log.
Satisfying true hunger desire with
Enlightenment’s simplicity.
She being my eternal muse,
The earthen mother of inspiration.
Behold a masterpiece created by
This divine maiden.
Thus restless I walk along the shore,
Trying to ponder freedoms liberation
And how to express it.
The blank page mocks me with emptiness's.
Uncertainty.
It's a humbling experience to watch an
Artist at work.
How do I capture what lies before me,
A mortal with only simple tools to
Relate such beauty
Inks imaginations links humanities spirit,
In this venue my name is solos,
And I'm truly at home here,
Lost amongst emotions glory.
A poet on destiny's shore, to wonder
Ever more in thoughts uplifting spiritual
Connection.
Excepting myself for whom I really am,
A castaway laying thin upon the wind.
Eating my lunch alone.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
He to she hormones,
I have personal experience of...
your thinking processes alter,
your skin softens and thins,
muscle definition: is lost and reduces,
you experience mood swings
and burst into tears for no apparent reason.
Anti-androgens: block your testosterone production;
Progestins: reinforce that block and promotes duct growth;
Oestrogens: eventually feminize the body,
encourages some breast growth,
and body-fat re-distrabution.
Elizabeth alexander 11/2/2016.
Trans-woman, in transition.
My psyche's playground
Is a horrific landscape:
There is no escape
From the snagging cleft
Of its jagged inlay,
As steep as a million years of seeping blood
Coagulated through coldheartedness
Confusion and subterfuge
- It's like coming home when your lover's asleep,
Or breaking a promise by taking a peek;
Personal experience tells me,
That right about now,
It is nearly
time for me
To take my extended leave...
...Can we keep this between you and me,
Exclusively?
I never really liked you very much anyway;
But why should we let something like that
Stand in our way?
And try and hold us back?
Or stop us from running away?
Maybe even together (someday)
But not necessarily on the same planet...
...Is this a joke?
A poem?
Or an insult?
I don't think I get it?
I really cannot be expected
To know the correct answers
To these specific types
Of metaphysical questions;
Yet...
...That's what makes me an artist...well, isn't it?
What are you?! - A friggin' idiot?!
Don't answer that:
I was just starting to like you,
Even though, it is true what they say:
I do think you are incredibly stupid
Considering your unexpected age...
...But we can still be fair-weather friends
Whenever it isn't raining again...Is it just me?
Or is it always raining these days?
I can evoke a joke or a poem
From almost any known substance
Comparable to injustice!
So why then, won't anyone pay me for my poetry?!
Is it because I'm still drinking too heavily?
Somebody, anybody
- Seriously, please; just kill me
# They call this "topical" humor, but I still don't get it...
...And I feel like I'm running out of time to "get-with-it"
- Any suggestions would be appreciated....
A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and
taken from her own personal experience.
I was defined china and porcelain,
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy,
Pleading and begging not to be broken.
I loved him with total forgiveness,
Did not, could not, would not understand
The dark chaos mood of lability,
The spontaneous violence of his hand.
Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion,
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.
How could he dream to hurt me so,
The brutish malediction of his touch?
How could he stand to hurt me so,
When he knew I loved him so much?
And now the years have drained away
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.
I still see him some times,
Rarely, truly out of the blue,
On the old territory of familiar streets
When unconsciously passing through.
And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.
And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.