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"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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
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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.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
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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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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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.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
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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? :)
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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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!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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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
Copyright © Sam Jameson | Year Posted 2016
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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.
Shroud-wrapped 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,
And 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 poetic, with tales that I've spun,
But regarding TRUE poets, there's really just ...
ONE.
** 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
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-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
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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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!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
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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 **
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014
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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
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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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.
Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2014
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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.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
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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
Copyright © Wilfred Aniagyei | Year Posted 2015
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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
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
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The End of Love
A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools
Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too
Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose
The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame
Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time
Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins
Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah
In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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Poets Poem
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My sweet child
My daughter
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine
No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed
Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
I implore
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth
He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
Your form
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Cherry lips
Or the curve of your hips
BE ON GUARD
Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”
My child
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go
My child,
My darling
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies
My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
THERE IN PERSON
BODY and SOUL
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard
BE ON GUARD
SAVE YOUR LIFE!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2013
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Poets Poem
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I remember living quietly inside these red brick walls,
a soul, wandering alone through those dark, empty halls,
this is the place where I used to rest my weary head,
now you, another poetic heart, are dreaming here instead.
I was just a poet, a soul like you, so do not be afraid,
this is where I once lived, and this is where I stayed,
I want to whisper my secrets to you, late after midnight,
just hear my faded words, and I will remain out of sight.
There was a lonesome time when I wrote poetry, too,
now I am here, to be your muse and inspire you,
100 years ago, I lived on the other side, only now,
I dwell just behind these red brick walls, somehow.
(A sequel to my poem, "These Red Brick Walls")
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
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Poets Poem
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She who sends waves touching beautiful warm and gracious words
Draws bright sunshine smiles in our hearts as they sing in her grace
Flowing from the heart her beauty held in her Quill ready to write
Pure diamond sparkling rainbows as a true friend is a friend in deed
The tidal wave raises fine soaked sand from the bottom of the ocean
And the waves curl out pearl white reflecting a most Picture Perfect
Image that is truly splendid and always sublime to behold and cherish
As Nature’s soft wind caresses your aura and inspires your next poem
She who sends these very waves touching beautiful personifies a Muse
So rare, so special—and brings her influence and talents to bear in
Masterfully supporting the efforts of fellow poets and dreamers as they
“Spill Ink” on blank pages late at night crafting their next poetic masterpiece
The very power and wonder of her good works and positive influence are
Always there magnificently arrayed like pure beams of sunshine touching
And dazzling all in her reach quite profoundly with the magic of her thoughts
And the quiet courage of her convictions as the simply wonderful poet she is
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem (Free Verse Poem),
November 26, 2014
NOTE: Written in Honor of Anne-Lise Andresen for Her Fine Poetry and For
Her Continued Professional Support and Encouragement of Other Fellow Poets.
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014
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Poets Poem
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Call me evil
Call me names
Call me
Kiss me on the lips
Kiss my heart
Kiss me
Wrap me in your arms
Hold me within your breasts
Whisper your longings
Touch me with your voice
Touch me with your caress
Touch me
Fondle the thought of forever
Fondle the thought of longing
Fondle me
Dance for the happiness inside of you
Dance to wash away your tears
Dance into my arms
Walk the path of wisdom
Run towards my heart
Kiss contentment
The sword of lust is shining
A dozen daffodils to undress your heart
Flower me with kisses
Call me
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014
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