Best Poetry Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Poetry poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of poetry poems written by PoetrySoup members
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Pen Of Poetry
by Asuncion, Bernard F.
by B., Robertina
The Toilets on the Starship
by The Bored, Bard
Song of Nature
by Banu, sabeeha
Mother - I love you
by Pushpala, Mothiram
SOMEBODY SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING
by cisneros, norberto franco
I SAW THE SUN RISE
by cisneros, norberto franco
Year 2118 AD
by Pett, Roy
My Heart's In The Write Place - Tips For Modern Poetry Contest
by Ashley, Susan
Magicicada Poetry - Summer Music
by Talbot, Mick
View all new Poetry Poems
The Best Poetry Poems
That thing that we call poetry -
when asked where it began,
I’d say it started beautifully
before the dawn of man!
It glistened on the oceans
before man came to be.
It blossomed on the grassy cliffs
that met the first great sea.
It glittered in the moon and stars
and beamed on earth below
in meadows where bright flowers danced
and on the pristine snow.
It sparkled on the lakes and streams,
and when man came along,
he took sweet words that flowed to him
and turned them into song.
This was how it always was
before we knew of time.
The poet who begot us all
made it to be sublime.
Poetry has now evolved,
and as with many things,
there are many kinds. . . but I
still like it when it sings!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
With clear access to writing that was mature and bold.
I thought I could go roaming beside the foaming sea
And watch the seagulls gliding to give a show for free.
I thought I was a poet who walked along the beach
In awe I stood and wondered, my hand stretched out to reach
The silver thread dividing the water from the sky
And traced Selena’s features as slowly she went by.
I thought I was a poet who knew what joy could be
On hearing water roaring cascading down with glee.
I looked for inspiration, experienced utmost thrill
When climbing down the valley or up the verdant hill.
I thought I was a poet in charge of heat and cold
But lost my true emotions when I was duped and told
I had to reach perfection to please my heart and mind
By means of imitation. My soul I left behind.
I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
But now all of a sudden I’m weary, frail and old.
I thought I was a poet. My pen is of no use.
With teary eyes I whisper to my dejected muse.
Contest: First Place Only
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Placed 1st ~ 18th June 2016
Contest: Any Poem #36
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st ~ 13th March 2016
Contest: Million Dollar Poem
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed 1st ~ 13th June 2015
Chosen Poem of the day ~ 8th May 2015
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.
We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.
Seven! I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.
Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race. I entered with Lisa.
You gave me that look. Oh that look! And you left without a word.
At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically. How it made you giggle to make fun of it.
It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance. You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.
Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.
Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.
At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.
Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.
Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.
Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.
I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke.
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.
Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?
Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice.
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.
Not everything is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.
I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!
i think of you.
March 29 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
Feel me like an autumn breeze
Dancing easily through your thoughts
Let me stir that hidden part of your soul
That part that you've forgotten long ago
Experience me, deeply breathe me in
Attempt to capture the essence of who I am
But know that you will never pin me down
For no one is able to capture the wind
Be ignited by the flames of my passion
Frolic in the radiance of my vibrant colors
Let my heated whispers call out to you
Embrace me, and slowly remove the layers
Leisurely explore every subtle nuance
Attempt to discover my deepest secrets
But realize that you can't fully know
For no one is able to grasp a fire's glow
I am waves of pure intensity
I'm sincerity, passion, pain, and pleasure
With glimpses of clever, reticent, and demure
Swim into my crystal clear epiphanies
Bathe in the spring of my sensuality
Drink and be refreshed by my offering
You'll never grow tired of tasting me
For I am timeless . I am Poetry
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2017
-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
It’s almost time and I must run
to watch/read Poetry Soap for fun.
It comes on every day at this time
and I don’t want to miss a single rhyme.
Some are about a long-lost lover
written by a secret poet undercover.
Some are about jealousy and some about trust
with rhyming lines filled with lust.
Competition is part of their game
with bards and musicians hiding their name.
They covet a prize and praise galore
laid at their feet and virtual door.
But when Poet A falls in love with Poet B
you can bet there’ll be flaming words from Poet C.
Or when Poet D gets Poem of the Day
Poet E will have something to say.
Sometimes it’s fun to read the rhymes of hate
whenever I can’t sleep and stay up late.
Battles of wits,
Poets who have fits,
Some who sing,
Some who sting.
Magical flights to lands of old
written with passion and pens of gold.
But it’s the humble ones I adore
whose words are pure, their egos left at the door.
Each episode an unending story
with poets and their pets seeking glory.
It’s addicting like dope.
I don’t want to miss today’s episode of Poetry Soap.
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
“All Rights Reserved”
Copyright © Carole Duet | Year Posted 2017
Like delicate white swans were they,
the white swans of a grand ballet -
ballerinas waiting in a row
underneath the candlelight’s soft glow.
But what are ballerinas with no parts
to make them dance? The poet gives them hearts!
Inking pirouettes and sautés onto white,
she gave them words to spin them into night.
Arabesques that her pen on each one pressed
made a woeful tale beautifully expressed.
The dance was finishing by early dawn
with one last white swan to be written on.
The poetess, now drained, could do no more.
Her eyelids closed; the swans fell to the floor.
Fluttering, they fell, all in disarray.
Pure white no more, ink-stained they would stay.
Tears the poet cried are now living in each swan.
Might they be displayed even when she passes on?
The poetess who let her feelings spill
created swans now black, yet lovely still.
Written May 25, 2017 for a Contest of by Broken Wings.
This also seemed to be my best one according to Soup members,
and I felt very inspired by the theme Constance gave us.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
in the gloaming.
The lure of lavender
the heavens are open.
a divine cascade~
bodies of light
on becoming enlightened.
Oh my love
it is quiet tonight,
under the stars.
A glimpse of heaven,
a place of enchantment,
behind closed eyes,
my soul belongs to you.
You are so beautiful
in the shadows.
The wonders of love,
under the stars.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017
There is a poem in my heart,
that beats in different dialects.
Da ist ein Gedicht in meinem Herzen,
which flows freely through my veins.
Il y à un poème dans mon cœur,
that tickles the tip of my tongue.
Existe um poema no meu coração,
which dances with a million sighs.
Wo xinzhong, youyi shou shi,
that is suppressed by emotionless expression.
Mery dil mein bi aik nazam hai,
silent, as it cannot be heard through speech.
Jest wiersz w moim sercu,
unwritten, as it cannot be read through words.
Am o poezie in inima mea,
that hides behind a dynasty of lyrics.
Det er et dikt i mitt hjerte,
which only serenades internal chambers.
Yparxei ena poihma sthn kardia mou,
that conducts symphonies with my mind.
V moemy serzi jyve poezia,
which may never be understood.
Mei wor echo kèn non ngasangasei,
that whispers words for my beloved.
There is a poem in my heart,
because my heart is a poem.
The Silent One
25 April 2018
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2018
Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.
One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.
She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?
No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.
Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.
Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.
She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.
She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.
Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...
That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.
Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.
Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.
This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.
Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.
She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.
He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.
Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people,
who saw her cries for help.
And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.
She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.
Copyright © Madison Marie | Year Posted 2013
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
Voice: Jason Williams
Whirling air around me, particles of sundust
in tornadoes and hurricanes following me in awe
Each night I wake and feel my legs
The ones that once carried me and jumped so high
The ones that took me away from a world I didn't want to be in
Creating a dream,
The music colouring a world with brushes and pencils
With moves and muscle, practice and pirouette
A world I thought no one could take away
When my eyes are closed I dance
My mind paints my body whole and healed
A unicorn, a world of faeries, a galloping horse
A world of dreams, veiled and away from hurt
I live again
I don't dance anymore
But I write. My words, my lines, they carry me now
My legs are useless, my arms and emotions
I dance again, in words
1st Place in contest: Practiced Passion
Sponsor: Frank Herrera
November 9, 2016
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016
I found the fountain of youth
When I stumbled across the forbidden garden
Right smack in the middle,
Was what I thought to be a wishing well
I tossed in a quarter!
Looking down with a puzzled face
I peeked to see where it fell
I leaned over and that's when I saw my vanity
It was always there waiting for me
The reflection in the water was my face
In wonder, I asked what this vision could be?
With one drop on my taste buds
I knew I found the one true key
The most beautiful thing that can set one free
I reached in to touch the poetry inside me
repost- My first poem on the soup
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011
Well hopefully you've read the last "Poetry for Poets", now here's the one I wanted to write, enjoy...
POETRY FOR POETS
(I own this- edition)
more organic than fertilizer
rooted in the shit of life
Some grow wild
seeking their light
through a gnarled thicket
or sprayed with chemical defoliants
they strangle themselves,
managing to blossom.
Poems thoughtfully precisely planted
to achieve optimum yield
poems require to be forged
beaten into shape
like a horse shoe
with a few holes
ensuring they will be nailed
to their purpose
dead words and metaphors
selectively snipped away
There are times when it’s best to live with your poetry
Cover yourself with its words until they stretch and become sloppery
For its comfort increases as the stanzas begin to fray
Patched elbows illuminating what you intend to say
And eventually you’ll have a poem to slip into by the fire
To savour with hot chocolate as it ignites your desire
more organic than fertilizer
flourish when tendered
Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2015
I am more than your definitions
more than affixed labels
placed on my anatomy
more than your misconceptions
or even valid perceptions
I am more
I am more than what's written of me
More than what the eye can see
more than what the heart can feel
more than what you think is real
I am more
I am even more
that the boundaries I set for myself
more than the limitations I conceive
more than what even I believe
to be me
I am more
emanating from my core
are little particles of truth
dressed in the light of poetry
a mystery revealed
a little of the universe
~~outer and inner~~
your reality reshaped
from a different world view
and cultural dimension
all part of who I am
now part of you
but then again
I am more than these...
I am a valid element of history
soul written in rhyme
truth confined to a time
lines someone will read
and be changed
for an instant
thus, I am
and I will be
part of the continuum
I am more
than what you see
I am what's meant to be...
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017
(For My Younger Self)
You have forgotten your muse.
You neglected her, in the hustle and bustle
of city life, in trying to carve a niche,
driving yourself too hard -
thinking it could make you rich.
Don’t you see her? She grieves.
How she longs to reunite with you
but you are far too busy, with everything new.
Too unmindful, too steeped in the practical
your change was so radical;
Too pragmatic, everything has become automatic.
You have lost touch with your muse,
no matter how she pleads you have become obtuse.
When will you reach into the softer,
more introspective part of yourself?
Please do not say, never.
Remember how you would write through the night
and people around you would wonder why…
Those moments were priceless,
the times you communed with words so ageless
as you poured onto paper all your emotions -
In the night, you would write of happiness and pain,
of a young love, and of your simple dreams.
Go back to those simple dreams.
Do not allow yourself to be lost
in the conundrum that is Life.
Step back, take stock, be still.
Find time for meditation, there is no condemnation
for those who acknowledge the need for salvation.
And as you find that inner peace,
write once more.
Write, and write some more.
Set free all those words that have long been kept
within your heart…the happy words, the sad words,
words both simple and intricate
that a reader will enjoy as he masticates
the meaning, the lesson, the joy and young wisdom.
Let your words dance…let your words s o a r !
31 October 2015
Poem of the Day 01 November 2015
Awarded 1st Place - What Would You Say Contest
Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015
The steadily falling cold August rains
Continue to pour upon Cheshires lanes;
Over flattening fields of soddened wheat,
Soaking the grass, splashing the feet.
Stands the Combine in the shed;
The unripened apples hanging rosy red.
Stands the caped heron all alone -
His glinting eye as cold as stone.
And in amongst the many puddles
We step around like our troubles:
So lurch ahead with our retreat
Like drunken fools in the street.
And through this months darkly frowns
The cleansing downpours wash the towns;
Scrubs the spire from ingrained time -
Absolves the guilt from the crime!
Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2014
Wanting to leave a small footprint when I die
I often ask myself that age old question "why?"
When the mask I wore is stripped away at last
Will I be just a pebble dropped in seas so vast
Might I scribble in the dust some sign that I was here
A word or phrase that might bring a smile or tear
Now that the days are marching toward December
When there is not but words, will anyone remember
A simple poet's cry; the chapter closed and done
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015
It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.
That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store
That was your appraised value.
But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.
Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood
“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards
I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter
We scream in misguided nerd joy
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session
Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!
But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!
It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap
My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.
To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”
I chose to be a human this night.
Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall
A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table
Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums
In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form
It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose
At the TOP of my LUNGS,
“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could.
You never responded to my open-hearted palm.
You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man.
But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say!
You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows.
Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday.
So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband,
Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line
Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face
Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall,
With children pointing & laughing hysterically,
“Security” enters the room
As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder,
“Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me.
The Best Man that you will never hold again.”
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
Why I am here in Poetrysoup?
I like a seed carelessly thrown
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow
despite big rough blocks..
words... phrases... sentences...
They are screaming to be released
or climbing to burst in climax seize
or if not drifting upon crinkled seas
but how can I?
When will I?
minute by minute
salty prints roll down my cheeks
caused by bitter-lava of emotions.
Heart is in state of stroke:
my mouth now mute
my lips lethargic to speak
yet my fingers found the head of a captain:
'til a shoreline glistens
in the name of hope
I puddle anew the currents,
nothing but my desire to share;
to live, to be happy, to be healed,
to pour safely fears, frustrations;
trials, dreams that I always pray.
Stabbed from behind,
bang and troubled by shark sharp words,
the powerhouse I built
slowly, slowly fell to short.
Curiosity ignited my interest,
I attempt to pass a five stanza rhyme verse
eyes shut, ears closed to comments.
sleeping poems from my head popped,
teasing and tickling,
unafraid, I bite every challenge
swimming, soaking, diving deep.
Seven months until I taste glory
excitement crawl and peak
nervous yet I...
I clamor to learn,
I clamor to move on,
I clamor to sing,
I clamor to run,
I clamor to fly,
I clamor to soar
from the bluest ocean to darkest clouds,
from lair of lilacs to fruitless air,
from reality to ecstatic speech of fantasy
with pinching memories of past rejections, lost love
I hide behind the mask of metaphors
I tease torrid with personification,
I sassy seduce using alliteration
I heighten arousal with my pose, my muse
I recite in my own right the rhymes of my soul
Ring! Ring! Ring
allow my poetry be the bells
clanging blues echoing hues containing feelings.
Permit the tinkles permeate,
impregnate your thoughts.
Freedom of expression,
this you and I yearn.
Here in Poetrysoup liberty, I did earn!
Supporters, friends, challengers, lover I gained
yet these I never ask. I never expect.
They landed softly to my open palms,
I accepted. I treasure them.
Finally, my congested suffering heart
today, beats systematically:
gratitude, I can only inhale
smile, I can only show
prayers, I can only blow...
respect, peace and order we all want.
Your verses and so is mine will be of powder rust, dust
but am humbled to be connected.
Pages I will leave here are my immortalized sentiments,
I do believe not all may agree because...
Each one is unique
Each one has a style
8:21 pm, December 26, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015
My shadow flirts with the sun
As I caress the darkness
We are one and separate
As my shadow smiles
Anxiety suffocates me
The shadow will soon fade
I shall die
One happy, one not
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
Love's tend'rest touch, your gentle words reveal
Caress my soul. sweet poet, with your verse
Write dulcet lullabies which make me feel
Secure, like infants held at breast to nurse
Turn tears of sadness into peaceful streams
Make whispered breezes whisk my strife away
Put passion in my fantasized daydreams
Paint troubles in to flowery bouquets
And even though I know they're not for me
I steal your soothing love just like a thief
This load I carry lightens suddenly
Because my broken heart has found relief
Your words are like a song, please sing to me
Sweet poet, how I love your poetry
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
My pen strives to flow,
saturate virgin fibers
crisp, cool and clean,
desires to spread
through virtuous threads
with thoughts, reflections,
colors from within -
yet at any given time
I’m tempted to resign;
my thoughts are faded,
my ink runs dry.
When your mind is weary
and words silently suppressed
like an empty fountain
your muse drains with scarcity -
take my palette,
let your artistry flow,
Illuminating barren scripture.
With you, my colors shine
more richly, my ink flows
to satisfy my need
to touch, and be touched
we observe in clear definition
as unblemished pages
are no longer innocent.
Copyright © Becca Teagan | Year Posted 2017
A poet, you say? Oh no, not am I,
There's only ONE poet, He writes on the sky ...
Of sunsets and stars, of space without end,
A dazzling bright ink, an ethereal pen ...
Rainbows and sun dogs, anvils and rains,
Mists from the moors, breeze-tickled plains.
Haze-shrouded hills, cloud-crusted peaks,
Sunrise horizons with blush on their cheeks.
Green flash, auroras, comets, and moon,
Fair constellations that rollick and swoon.
Bright, stabbing bolts that pierce the dark skies,
Spiraling storms with the sun in their eyes.
All that He writes is authentic and true,
Far beyond what MY words can construe.
But every-so-often, He blesses this fool,
Imparts me the mercy to make me His tool.
I'd love to take credit, but I must keep in sight,
That I'm just a pen with which He may write.
So, I may seem a bard, with the verses I've spun,
But regarding TRUE poets, there's really ... just ...
* Submitted on January 30, 2018, for the "Premiere Contest Number 16" Poetry Contest, SKAT A, Sponsor. *
* FIRST PLACE in the "Your Best Poem In The Last Year" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Sponsor. *
* Recently featured in "The Creative Collective Anthology Series 2", published by Geraldine Taylor, available for purchase. *
* THIRD PLACE in the "What Inspires You To Write Poetry" Poetry Contest, Julie Rodeheaver, Sponsor. *
* FIRST PLACE in the "Any Poem That Got NA'd June - July 2017 Poetry Contest", Janice Canerdy, Sponsor. *
* FOURTH PLACE in the "Creative Collective Anthology Series" Poetry Contest, Geraldine Taylor, Sponsor. *
* SECOND PLACE in the "Best Rhyming Poem 3 Poetry Contest", John Hamilton, Sponsor. *
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017
Slaves to the pen, (or our keyboard, more apt)
The molding of words, in a word, holds us rapt
Fine fancies or fears take us places unknown
Our muse and our craft, better focused alone
The voice of our id, the bounce of our rhyme
Thus, charming or edgy, depending the time
In romantic puddles and whimsical trees
We splash our ideas, cast love to the breeze
Danger or hope, or a scorched trist-or-two
Occur mind-to-matter with the lines we imbue
The light and the dark, they both hold allure
Our child's heart within, just a tad bit impure
For though we adore all things blithe and bright
We also know beauty blooms deep in the night
Somber or joyous, through passage or pain
Creatively ordered through rhyme and refrain
It's not that we're consonant, or that we agree
It's how we can sculpt all the life that we see
So though we may be as different as spices
We spend all for poetry, whatever the price is
For it's a rare language that few can command
And we speak it together, a pen in our hand
You may be a person that I've never met
But the gift of your writing, I'll never ...
~ 1st Place ~ in the "What Do We Have In Common" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018