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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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The Best Poetry Poems

Details | Poetry Poem | Create an image from this poem.

How Poetry Began

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!

For the  Poetry For The Sake Of Poetry - Poetry Contest Poetry Contest
of John Lawless.
Date posted: 9/13/14


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014


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The Poet Who Never Was

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


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I am Poetry

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


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I Think Of You - An Alternative Universe - 6


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!

and I...

i think of you.



March 29 2015
Armand






Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015


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Poetry Soap

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 Copyright: 9/26/2017 “All Rights Reserved”


Copyright © Carole Duet | Year Posted 2017


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Of Ink

   Partial Paper
 -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


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Under the Stars

Breathtaking
    poetic passions,
         lavender skies
             in the gloaming.

The lure of lavender
     reflections,
          the heavens are open.
                Suddenly,
                       crystal rain.

What
    a divine cascade~
         romantic waters,
             dazzling
                  bodies of light
                       starbright!

Tranquility
     on becoming enlightened.
          Autumn's breeze~
               windsongs~
                     Luna's light...

Oh my love
      it is quiet tonight,
            hold me
                  under the stars.

A glimpse of heaven,
      a place of enchantment,
           anima mystique~
                always you.

Oh poet,
     behind closed eyes,
           my soul belongs to you.

You are so beautiful
     amour,
          many lifetimes
                in the shadows.

The wonders of love,
      divine inspiration
           under the stars.

Seasonal dance
     tonight.


12-13-17 


Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2017


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Swan Ballerina Pages

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


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There is a poem in my heart

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


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The World Needs Poetry

You ask, “Why DOES the world need poetry?”
           And I say...

Its writing is my sanity,
    my armour versus apathy,
        my dealing-with-it strategy,
            my joy, my strange proclivity,
                my vital creativity.

Its reading dulls cacophony
    and mindless mediocrity
        then floods me with philosophy 
            and tenderness and jollity
                 that elevate life’s quality.

Each poem is a legacy
    itself, but then collectively
        they weave a vibrant tapestry
            of glorious humanity...

For though we face mortality,
    our madness, our hilarity,
        our weakness, our capacity
            for sadness or sagacity
                can all be captured perfectly
                     by verses, for eternity.

And that’s why, whether knowingly
        or not, the world needs poetry. 
 


18 September 2018
For “Why Would Your Self-Expression Matter To Others?” Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier



Copyright © Nina Parmenter | Year Posted 2018


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Poetry Soup Pals

Heidi was one of the first to "March" in with greetings
Then, on "Wind," Gershon came along, his praises a song
But now since he's gone, I wish him well in his meetings
Then Pat, the Limerick King
always gives me a smile
And there's Line, the Canadian Queen
Her short verses linger quite a while
Maureen's quick wit, captivating
Jan's dragonfly imagination, illuminating
Nina's encouragement of my "Silly Words"
Her verses shine and soar like a bird's
Eve is generous with hugs and accolades
Susan G's talent earns top grades
Kim R is like great coffee - strong and sweet
Mark T's works stand tall and complete
Caren with a C, you inspire me
Let's do lunch the next time I'm in K.C!
For all friends, old and new, I just want to say thank you
For re-igniting my passion for poetry, anew-



Copyright © Michelle Faulkner | Year Posted 2018


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Her Masterpiece Is Her Story

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


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I DANCE

Voice: Jason Williams *** I danced! Whirling air around me, particles of sundust in tornadoes and hurricanes following me in awe I danced. 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, I danced. 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 I danced. 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 live I don't dance anymore But I write. My words, my lines, they carry me now My legs are useless, my arms and emotions Carry me So.... I dance again, in words I dance. *** 1st Place in contest: Practiced Passion Sponsor: Frank Herrera November 9, 2016


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016


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COMMON Commonality


WE ...

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 ...

Forget.




~ 1st Place ~  in the "What Do We Have In Common" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Sponsor.

~ Poem of the Day ~  featured on Poetry Soup.com on May 11, 2018 - many thanks to those in charge for the honor.



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018


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FORGOTTEN TREASURE- The Rebirth

FORGOTTEN TREASURE

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

      ~5/31/11~

repost- My first poem on the soup


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011


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POETRY FOR POETS: i own this- edition

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)

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
rooted in the **** of life
manure

Some grow wild
seeking their light
through a gnarled thicket
of images
and symbolism.
Ill watered
or sprayed with chemical defoliants
they strangle themselves,
few
managing to blossom.

Manicured
Poems thoughtfully precisely planted
to achieve optimum yield
banquet

			though occasionally
		poems require		to be forged
	beaten into shape
like a horse shoe
with a few holes
	accurately placed
		ensuring they		will be nailed
			to their purpose

Pruned
dead words and metaphors 
selectively snipped away
stunning display

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

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
flourish when tendered
with love


Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2015


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I am More

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

Yes, 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~~
      set free
your reality reshaped
from a different world view
and cultural dimension
religious hues
shining through
all part of who I am
now part of you
but then again
it's true
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
perhaps eternity

thus, I am
I was
and I will be
part of the continuum
of life
of eternity
I am more
infinitely more
than what you see

I am what's meant to be...

Eileen Manassian


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2017


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Other Side of the Wall

Silence? or is that a cry I hear Screams? or is that memories hiding? Wall yes I listen to a wall days weeks forever A white wall stares back at me curiosity mounts I feel the wall whiteness blinds me My heart stops a rhythm still dances ah a smile crashes into me two yes two hearts one wall


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018


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No Poet, Am I


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 ...

ONE.




* Submitted on January 30, 2018, for the "Premiere Contest Number 16" Poetry Contest, SKAT A, Sponsor. *

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Your Best Poem In The Last Year" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Sponsor.

~ 3rd Place ~  in the "What Inspires You To Write Poetry" Poetry Contest, Julie Rodeheaver, Sponsor.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Any Poem That Got NA'd June - July 2017 Poetry Contest", Janice Canerdy, Sponsor.

~ 4th Place ~  in the "Creative Collective Anthology Series" Poetry Contest, Geraldine Taylor, Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Best Rhyming Poem 3 Poetry Contest", John Hamilton, Sponsor.

* Recently featured in "The Creative Collective Anthology Series 2", published by Geraldine Taylor, available for purchase. *



Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017


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Do Not Grieve Your Muse

              (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.

She grieves.
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


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August rains

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


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A Poet's Cry



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


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Shadow of Death

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


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LIBERTY OF EXPRESSION is HERE

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?
If within
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:

  wandering, wandering
  'til a shoreline glistens
  in the name of hope

Pressed. Pushed, 
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.
Not long, 
sleeping poems from my head popped,
they escaped

  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...

I know, 
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 - Fraser | Year Posted 2015


Details | Poetry Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Caress My Soul Sweet Poet

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