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The Best Poets Poems

Details | Poets Poem |

PLAGIARIZING

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd

Details | Poets Poem |

Midnight Poet

Whisper's of October  

Whispers in this soup bowl
20 minutes after its muse explodes,
Daylight remains nothing more than a dream 
Warding off the howling sound in mid-September's stream
Casting a line about a ginger light,
  found in the depths of everything
Engaging from the sitting twilight, numb, tranquilized 
Exposing and expressing the emotions found within
An attic lost in the Ancient sky  ---awaits 

A poetic hand is formed ---reaching out
A hissing whisper out of the darkness, 
Listen-in,  the echoes of October are calling
A halo, that reconciles a mysterious monarch moon
A mono grip in which summons a mysterious voice
  of sweet serenity
Poets posting poems along the midnight page
Each poet can compose a poem and mimic free fallen verses,
One might  call it a creative craving curse,
Webmaster's whose words speak for themselves
Voiceless-
They feel, and spills the will of idolized ink,
Blind-handed, splitting day from night

Warm whispers, needing no food to consume
Migraines of ink, feeding the soul
Burning Pages, overused pens
They've forgotten the pretty flowers
Living like lions, who never comes out of their dens
Murmuring and devouring, the enigmas of the unknown 
Eyes behind a sieve, close tighter than before, 
They hide nothing-
A world created from every sky-scrape the wall
Wanting to belong, a trick -or- treat*er in disguise 
No friends, everything is pretend
These poets can’t be described, can't be believed
They are the best in what they do
For all you know this poet might be me, 
This poet might be you

9/3/14

Details | Poets Poem |

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

Details | Poets Poem |

Silent Page

Silent Heart

Sad, as it maybe, I had to break my OWN heart, 
Too many nights, I sat there all torn apart
A dream girl, 
Sitting under its own corrupted auspices sky 
You the poet, in disguise
Telling white lies about, your love for me
Saying I'm a born from the sky....
A match, a queen, your muse, your everything
I'm no good, I admit this once more, 
Your advice, I forever adorn 

It's time to follow the crying crows and praise what is left
Afraid to listen my rhymes weren't cutting it, 
I release it all!
Your smiles, words, and worn out shoulders
I walked away
Silently--
I acted on
Without a word, in a fetal stage I awake
Tonight you carry a tune for others
A story of a man who stole my soul of sins
A poet, I long forevermore
Always, you will own the only sound that still beats inside
To live alone, in silence, asleep in my own world
I had to let go, 
-Of him, whose name I whisper in darkness
The only thing that remains is the echoes of pouring rain

Too many reasons, writer's block, took full moon
You are a poet, from another lifetime, 
Down in Mandalay, I can no longer ask you to stay
Reading everything about my life, silent and old
Alliterating poems, greeting every dark shadow, normally yours
Many nights I waited, long for the moment of my OWN return
Instead, I found myself alone
Trying to dust off yesterday's verse, yesterday's dirt
Cobweb remains on my page
My pen now sits like a twig
No motion, since the day I decided I am not worthy of the wait
You the poet, who walks my way
I pressured less of me every day
Like Aspen, a forever winter cold! 
Isolated to the world
In your eyes, you wonder why, 
I trace the white smoke standing in your place?

To savor your words, once more 
It's too soon to breathe again. 

I hope you understand, 
How can I continue to love when I don't even love myself?

By:PD

Details | Poets Poem |

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

Details | Poets Poem |

Tribute to Poetry Soupers

There's Danny with his love light burning,
Then Victor with his soulful yearning. 
Jan makes us laugh with wit and delight,
Armand serenades us all through the night.
Andrea writes well in every form, 
And CayCay follows above the norm.
Nette's brilliance is beyond the stars 
And John is the magistrate on Mars!
Paloma, Alexis, Jo, Sun, Eve and Judy
All express poems with so much beauty.
Constance expresses through winning tears,
Linda and Skat write beyond their years.
Sandra, Barbara and Carol always impress.
Jean, Joyce and Laurie bring us happiness.
I must not forget Robert, Lin or Viv 
Great prolific gems are what they give.
Probir, Teppo, Silent, Laura and Afolabi
Write gifts that always inspire me.
Daver and Peter levitate lines,
Their brilliant poetry always shines.
And Demetrios, Carrie and Chris
Create poems that enchant me with bliss.
Ilene and Lainey inspire me too
Eileen lights fires, even when blue.
Harry, Freddie and Jack of words never lack
And Ravi and Kash are right on track.
Arthur and Vie will share their minds eye
While Anne-Lise's words float high in the sky.
Tim, Joe and Phillip set the bar high.
They with Emile, where romance does lie.
Nicola and SuZ dames in their own class
Revered with Paul and Scott amidst the mass.
Kim with her contests, how they inspire,
Those who enter with joys they desire.
Shadow and Janis unique they are, 
Casarah too, glimmers like a star.
Vlad (Mike) the romantic, towers above,
Sharing with ladies his gifts of love!

I know there's many I have left out
Please know you're not slighted, without a doubt.

© Connie Marcum Wong

November 28, 2016 Poem of the Day

Note: I went way over the limit for Andrea's Contest
so I couldn't enter.

Details | Poets Poem |

Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread

Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread
       ( First of Three Poem Trilogy )

I

I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.

Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise,
beholding to those with comminatory ways.
Finding some will cut you off at the knees
as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay.
Floccinaucinihilipilification,
judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune. 
Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation
with very little scrippage in the month of June.

Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do,
for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs.
Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two,
with the poet's soul this body truly belongs.
Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain
as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse.
Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain
for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose.

I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit,
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.

Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018
Rhyme

Note: 
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.

Details | Poets Poem |

One Silent Word


He speaks with measured dignity,
one silent word at a time
His palmetto pen tells us: 
Tune out the cosmic background noise,
and focus your mind
on the sound of the silent voice
You most certainly will hear this ...
... did you hear it?
Oh, perhaps you got distracted by the sounds of emptiness
His message in a void
comes with clear poetic instructions: 
Avoid all unnecessary malaise ... cap the chaotic noise
Have a willingness to learn 
one silent word at a time
This will teach us how to unclutter our mind 
Using poetic telepathy,
his priceless pen brings that silent word
to the surface of our consciousness 
Not every sound we hear in this world do we need
The Silent One says: 
take it one silent word at a time
True understanding comes
when we allow expansion of the heart
Enlarging our capacity to transmit love,
allows us to hear 
the best unspoken words we never heard of
One silent word ...
when spoken at the right moment of time
can be so life-changing sublime
Poetic telepathy ... gives us the ability 
	to understand every unspoken word 
written between the lines
One silent word 
connecting 
to another unspoken word ... 
Pure poetic telepathy in our mind 
Enlarging our capacity to receive love,
allows us to speak 
the best unspoken words we never spoke of
Where his silent pen stroke stops — 
at the sacred melding of two minds ...
let these silent words
be spoken in unison, always at the same time


This is a tribute to my talented poet friend, Silent One

Details | Poets Poem |

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. *

Details | Poets Poem |

Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
  
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME
5-25-14

Details | Poets Poem |

We Push The Pen

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.

Details | Poets Poem |

The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven - A Tribute to Chan Hurst 1979-2014

A few poems written by Chan Hurst, (Just That Archaic Poet)

I hope that we can find some comfort in them at this sad time.


"A Rational Explanation"

What must I do to see this through-
Unlock the world I never knew?
For all I've seen hath been untrue,
As all I've felt hath plagued me, too!
I am no more, past Deaths before
I've reached the end of Living War-
(to see through eyes both blind and closed)
A life to touch, but never know...


"Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep"

Every day, to God I pray
For answers to Life's enigmas
Patience lays in wait to stay-
To cleanse our Social Stigmas
We pass the time in our idle Dreams:
Like fallen stars in singing streams


"A Happy Ending"

Remorse and regret, I mustn't forget
Remind me that Life is a process of Learning
Indeed for I sorrow'd; 'twas always upset
As the Truth was met with painful discerning

But now my eyes are open-wide,
Grew to love what I once despised
I am no longer sick inside-
I just feel happy to be alive


"A Master's Approval"

No happier could I ever be,
(Or feel a joy's enormity!)
Than to know a Soul as Poe-
Would say he likes my poetry!


"The Poets I Hope to Meet in Heaven"

I pray that in my Eternity,
I'll meet Shelley, Poe and Emily
That we'll all sit down at a table round,
And at length discuss our Poetry!

And Longfellow, lest we forget
Lord Byron, Shakespeare, and beloved Keats!
If I prove their favorite Poet,
I could accomplish no greater feat!

For all my many silly musings,
This one I covet above the rest
For my Soul's toil- finally proving
That the Masters love me best!





"Heaven For A Poet"  by Kelly Deschler

My own piece of heaven, a quiet little nook,
With only the finest parchment in a leather book,
A feather quill pen and an ocean of ink,
My thoughts would never stop to think,
Every single line I write would rhyme,
My poetry would be beautiful and sublime,
I'd be entertained daily, by Dr. Seuss,
And, put to bed nightly, by Mother Goose,
Lessons from Byron, Shelley, Coleridge and Poe,
Teaching me every single thing that they know.

My own piece of heaven, will have to wait,
Until one day, when I must meet my fate,
So, for now I will have to be content,
With my own words that may be heaven sent,
Inspiration from my idols is all I need,
Writing poetry in a notebook from Mead,
With this cheap, plastic Bic pen,
And a dream to be, just like them.



This poem was one of mine that Chan had faved, so I thought it would be appropriate to share this now and dedicate it to him.

I will always miss you, BP, my brother in poetry, but I sense that you are smiling down on us now.

I know that Chan idolized Edgar Allan Poe. I remember him telling me that someday,
he wanted to share a table in heaven with that "good ol' E.A. Poe".

So, Chan, if that is what you're doing now, I envy you, my friend! 

And, you said that you would personally invite me to that little gathering, remember? :)

Details | Poets Poem |

A Poet's Heaven

Among the classic poets of fine rhyme -
are balladeers who weave with lines a tale,
the satirists and bards of the sublime,
and troubadours who sing a light rondel.
I close my eyes, imagining I'd dwell
among them all - a poetess in bliss.
Could heaven be as wonderful as this?
With modern poets too I would commune;
With friends I'd known on earth I'd reminisce . . . 
and poetry would flow - celestial boon!

A Dizain with rhyme scheme: a. b. a. b. b. c. c. d. c. d

Details | Poets Poem |

For the Love of Poetry


For love of poetry, spellbound am I
by force, that takes me to the land of words.
Beyond control, this power has its way
that leads me to uncover heart and soul.

This overwhelming power captures me;
like an addiction, I consume fine words
for them to shape the thoughts within my mind;
create great imagery that can be read.

And only fellow poets know this pain
of finding special words to paint a theme.
This search for us becomes a magic hunt
of hide and seek to capture them like prey.

Consuming is this poet’s gift of pen;
the task can be a tiresome marathon
of hours or days, and yet, if lucky can
flow out in minutes on the first clean page.

This love of writing poetry runs deep;
an inner urge that cannot be dispelled;
as captor, captive both, the poet’s goal…
to find some balance in completed works.


Sandra M. Haight

~10 Place~
Premiere Contest: Mania
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Judged: 11/07/2017

~1st Place~
Contest: What Inspires You To Write Poetry
Sponsor: Julie Rodeheaver
Judged: 09/05/2017

~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Blank Verse
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
Judged: 05/20/2017

~1st Place~
Contest: For the Love of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 04/10/2016

~2nd Place~
Contest: New Or Old 3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Judged: 08/01/2016

Blank Verse: Poetry, distinguished by having a regular meter, but no rhyme. The meter most commonly used with blank verse is iambic pentameter.

Details | Poets Poem |

Like Cleansing Rain

Such contemplating that the poets do.
They sing of God, our spirits to renew.

With Mother Nature often they’re in tune
And offer up their verse to sun and moon.

They praise the sunset over a blue lake
While pondering man’s purpose, and they ache. . . 

They ache for all that earth can never be,
For dreams they’ve lost, and for humanity.

And when they ache, their words are filled with pain
Which pour out from their soul like cleansing rain!

Details | Poets Poem |

You'll Find Me Before the Ink Is Dry

My inky echoes conflate, 
atop mountains of ivory versos; 
Blank pages into whispers,
like the sway of moonlight tides;

Papers dappled by my ineffable, 
frays of jet-black cursive swirls;
My best ideas are forever found, 
somewhere amidst silent worlds;

'Tis best to search for me right before, 
the feathery quill touches to the page;
Arisen from the blotter, my hand held in totter, 
but before I drizzle down the tar;

Where my psyche thinks loud,
with the rhythm and the rage;
A battle-ballet of coarse cashmere haze,
only then does my heart think to open up its cage;

Still I promise to always behave like a poet, 
one who is the epitome of an idyllic odist; 
Solemn ink be my savior, perhaps a mind lost in time,
resonant verse between blinks, my soul in the lines--


March 15, 2016

Details | Poets Poem |

On Poetry Soup

 A first day on Soup is filled with much awe
The wonderful poems will make you smile
Easy is it to fall for all
Some enabled my mind, lingering a while
Just the few Soupers I mention here
Will blow you away with works of this year! 

Janet Cervenka almost made us lust
When she penned a piece on Heavenly's bust

Marvelous is the diversity of Jan Allison
Such a dressed gem, and she's only blooming

Nandita then tells us that she's no Jan
Indeed her craft is paralleled by none

Man! the lyrics never cease to flow for Dave
So highly endowed with a skill many crave

You see, my first day on Soup I was greeted by SKAT
Who so humbly laid down the welcome mat

And if there exist a bond no man can put asunder
I have to say it's between SKAT and Linda

O! How can I forget 'Half of A Heart'
A Sara Kendrick special, such design and art!

Who better to mend our Broken Wings
Than the namesake with a quill in full swing

Yes Soupers always brighten my days
Place me in velds full of beautiful haze
And there I spot a Mystic Rose
Defined so uniquely like a Kim Nunez prose

From a consummation a lover was denied
To the hautiness of a lonely man's pride
Whatever we plan to glimpse or scoop
We tend to leave with more from Soup

Details | Poets Poem |

Poet -This Poem is About You

-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet- 

Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off 
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause 

The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse 
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse 
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse 
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance, 
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers 
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest, 
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein

You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal, 
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree 
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."

I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter, 
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer 
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer

Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light, 
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes, 
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.

If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause

by;PD
I do it for fun

Details | Poets Poem |

A Tribute to a Star

On you the angels did bestow
a glow your friends would come to know
as star-shine!

For even stars cannot outshine
your countenance. It's as divine
as starlight.

Oh, how you hush those stars, my dear,
from brightly shining when you're near;
they're star-struck.

I too am stricken by your sight.
I'd love to be with you all night
to star-gaze.

Shine on, sweet man, but do not burn
too long or strongly; stars might turn
to stardust!


This was dedicated to one of my favorite poets at Soup.  I am not sure if the contest rules about showing names applies to MY name AND the star's name or to both. So I am taking his name off the poem!

Details | Poets Poem |

Door to Nowhere

Door to Nowhere


Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges

Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams

The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s

The lonely have open doors
To nowhere

I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment

As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope

I with no rope, fade away

Details | Poets Poem |

I Write A Poem

I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.

I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.

I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.

I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.

I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.

I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.

I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with  a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D



** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **

Details | Poets Poem |

A Poet with a Priceless Pen

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.

Details | Poets Poem |

Super Soupers

It was a rainy day so I flipped through a stack of comics
My Amazing Poet series
Finally I picked the fabulous Five
I liked the picture on the front
Yanny the Zen Master with long black hair
Becca the Creative and Beautiful with her mythical pen
One of my favorites sultry Eileen known as the Emotionator
Anne the Philosopher was right there beside Eileen with her magical smile
Then to round out this team was Vicky Victorious calling from the wilderness 
In this edition they were battling the Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack
who had kidnapped Newbie Timothy Hicks
As I read their words I was in awe of my Heros
They made me cry
They brought me to new worlds
Filled with adventures
Sexy had new meaning
Tears became diamonds
Winds swirled inside my head
All the emotions of the rainbow
I longed to write with such clarity and strength
I tried to flex my poetic Muscles
Worked out every day
Then on the back of the comic
A scrawny poet sat on a beach
Beside the girl of his dreams
He is writing for her when along comes a muscular poet
The big poet kicks metaphorical sand in his face
The the scrawny poets girl is whisked away
Underneath it says
Are you tired of having Metaphorical sand kicked in your face?
Are other Poets getting the girl?
All that can change
Join the Andrea Dietrich School of Creative Poetry
She will have you writing like The Fabulous Five
You will never be afraid to flex those poetic muscles again
So I cut out the back page and sent my five dollars
The address is PO Box 88888 Inspiration California 
Now all I can do is wait
What will the future Hold?


Note there are many Poets here who would appear in my vast Amazing poet series.
Poet Destroyer and Joker Jack are not Evil nemeses they were chosen for the roll
because of their names( also I love their work.) I hope you enjoyed my little tale.
Some of the younger poets may not be familiar with the Charles Atlas ads that used
to be on the back of comics, the rest of you I am sure will get the joke.

Details | Poets Poem |

Shadow Poets

As night grows short, yet moon and stars are still aglow,
some sleep with dreams which to the world they’ll never show,
and others sleep with dreams that cover up great woe.
But there are some whose minds are dancing to-and-fro,
who find that slumber is a thing they must forego.
They rise from bed; then creeping down the hall they go
where they can put their thoughts to verse because they know
that fleeting are those thoughts which fall like flakes of snow
across their minds.  To capture them they must, and so,
the shadow poets pour their hearts out! Even though
they long for sleep, they let their dreams on paper flow!


Written Jan. 16, 2017 for John Hamilton's  12 by 12 Monorhyme Contest

Details | Poets Poem |

I Am A Poet

The entire world to me is a stage
Every era and every age
Upon which my paper and pen can engage.
I am a poet.

Emotions I’ve captured in spheres I’ve explored
With parchment my shield and quill my sword
For all, who with me will come on board.
I am a poet.

In words I write of what I feel
Of a principle, moral or ideal
And sometimes it becomes an appeal.
I am a poet.

I ride on the wings of imagination
To take me to my next destination
And hope to gain your participation.
I am a poet.

Toward words I have an enduring leaning
I love to ponder their nuance and meaning
And strive to share the wonders I’m gleaning.
I am a poet.

The things of which to inscribe are rife
So many circumstances of this life
Victories, defeats, joys and strife.
I am a poet.

I know this incessant writer’s itch
Will probably never make me rich
But I don’t care, I’ve found my niche.
I am a poet.

6/2/18

submitted for Best Rhyming Poem April-July 15, 2018 Contest sponsored by John Hamilton
2nd place