Best Real Poems
I stand about five feet eight
I'll admit, I'm a tad overweight
Drive an old pick up truck
Not one to pass the buck
At the moment have a dog for a mate
Dropped out of school at eighteen
Got married in a pair of old jeans
A father of four
When I sleep, I snore
When angered been known to get mean
I grew up huntin' and fishin'
Done more than my share of wishin'
Been in a few fights
Know I'm not always right
For my age, still in decent condition
In my life, I've worked many hard jobs
Its been said, "I'm rough as a cob"
I've smoked and drank
Spent time in the tank
And never, not once, did I sob
I also love being outside
My old skin is weathered and dried
Still play in the dirt
Cuss when I'm hurt
But I do have a softer side
Poetry, I read and I write
These days, prefer music to be lite
Love trees and flowers
Warm spring showers
And swinging on stars at night
I like women who like to hold hands
Take moonlight walks on the sand
Curves excite me
Whispers invite me
A good listener who tries to understand
I wash dishes, do laundry and floors
Clean bathrooms, wash walls and doors
I'm a pretty good cook
Without a cookbook
To be honest, don't mind household chores
Just so you're perfectly clear
I've traveled from there to here
Simple but complex
Know love's more than sex
And on occasion I cry manly tears
Yes sometimes I even wear pink
Wear cologne to make sure I don't stink
Write poems about birds
Use everyday words
And I don't give a damn what you think!
by Daniel Turner
Has the convenience of technology
inoculated us from reality?
Do androids dream of electric sheep?
I pray the code my soul to keep?
Does your universe live within 4G
Or megapixel infinity?
Which memory lies within
The one that was
Or the one that's been
Or how much gig how much ram?
Which reality is true?
Cyber me
Or cyber you?
Cyber bully
Cyber crime
Cyber hate
Cyber time?
Cyber boxer
Or cyber brief?
Who is the real identity thief?
Cyber pleasure
Cyber pain
Hours spent glaring into the screen
Choosing an alternate username.
Status updates and trending tweets
Fill your mind and rob your sleep.
Clever hashtags and Instagram
Will shape your image and gain more friends.
Is the you you've shaped in cyberspace
The same you I'd see face to face?
We hide behind our computer screens
And criticize with brutal ease.
Virtual reality
Is buying souls of men you see
And robbing the ability to dream real dreams.
I want to conquer something real
That I can grab that I can feel.
I want to touch life and hold on tight
I want to unblock true friends
And "like" real sights.
I want conversation face to face
In real world time
In a real world place.
Introduction: Our real problem is, "Will we ever be able to learn who our true,
real self really is?" Being true to and with ourselves is that thing which is the
most important in the makeup of our whole mental mind as well as balance.
The suicide death of Robin Williams and a comment about living behind a
mask made by an Isle of Man beauty have served as the inspiration for writing
this poem.
Our True, Real Self
It may change time to time and is in constant flight,
And of the fact, we should never, ever lose sight
That God is true and for us His huge help is here;
Believe in and always know He is close ad near.
Many times God, myself, I so often will ask:
" Why am I wearing and behind a mental mask?"
Trying to hide true self and me that You made,
Who often loved so simply to sit in the shade.
My life is over and done which was much fun;
I am a memory for my fans who won't forget me
And free at last in heaven, a far better place to be;
Where again someday, you can laugh along with me.
James Thomas Horn
173 Shadowood Court SE
Bolivia, NC 28422
1-910-754-3034
Email address: [email protected]
www.poetrysoup.com Poem of the Day
for August 16, 2014
if i maurice yvonne could cry
i’d spread my tears
eternal over your
( say it, dare to be bold)
naked body
(then she could taste your pain)
but i can’t shed tears anymore
(tell her why)
(you need her to know)
(no i can't she'll leave me)
(get out of my head)
my mind beats differently now
i have seen the doctor
i'm not well...kind of
(you're blowing it)
(can't you see her face)
(quiet i'm trying to think)
it's not like a normal doctor
if i could feel
(you use to. you did)
i would touch you with
the hands of a silk maker
gentle and caring and with purpose.
the doctor.
my physiatrist.
i was diagnosed as bipolar
(there you got it out)
(was that so hard?)
leave me alone will you
no i'm sorry not you
they gave me drugs
i don't feel like i use to
not the mountain not the waterfall
(give it a break just speak plain)
(ok yes i will)
i can't cry any more
i have no sex drive
it's the pills
if i...
oh my God
if i...
i would and more
i’d run beyond to hold you
i would
the pills
they make me docile
you'll laugh when you hear this
because you are always with me
(don't get all mushy with her)
i miss you
(ok bud you did it)
(let's just move on)
i have no answers, but
i know
what you're feeling
you want us to be romantic
way back
(i can't listen to this)
(i am out of here)
before being medicated
i was passionate
so very passionate
not anymore
i'll tell you though
something’s got to give
my god
something’s got to give.
Maurice Yvonne
September 11 2014
Mist fills the morning with freshened air
Yellow fields smile past the distant shore
Lullabies play a gentle tune
Offer hope of what's coming true
Velvet kisses in the month of June
Every touch my heart doth swoon
In winds of care I blow free
Sending signals of my love for thee
Reaching out for you and holding tight
Each and every unguarded night
Allow my arms to be a comfort place
Left open for you with a warm embrace
How high the bar that makes a poet Real!
(He walks in mists, and shadows of himself)
To be a poet, is to burn with steel
Set short time in the forge, the lesser self!
He brands his heart with fiery words, set down
And burns his mind with thinking, ‘til it glows,
He hopes, of sonnets, his will be the Crown,
And hopes that all the brilliance of light, shows!
But, oftener, he writes a humble piece,
A few words cramped into a simple form,
But somehow, in his feelings, a release!
Yes, humble-bumble often is the norm.
And that high bar, he reaches seldom, and
Leaves barefoot footprints in the fruity sand.
2/20/2019
It’s odd how we all have a persona,
An image we’d like others to see.
My emotional clothing, my charm and charisma,
It’s nice but it’s not really me.
The real me, my hinterland, the me of me, the “who” that I am,
Isn’t defined by any professions.
I’m not defined by my job, nor my house, nor my clothes.
I’m not defined by any possessions.
Possessions show that I’m cool, calm, I’m collected.
Always seeking a classy sort of style,
But on the inside the thoughts in my head go crazy,
Like an untamed deranged juvenile.
Always overthinking random stuff of conversations I’ve had.
Had years ago with my peers.
Thinking the best, then contemplating the worst,
Battering myself with debilitating fears.
I hide these fears behind fake actions, fake clothes,
Fake talk and a fake phrase.
Convinced that a fake me is better than me,
For now and the rest of always.
Entered into "Who ARE you?" contest by Catie Lindsey 4/30/2016 , ranked First place
The strength of a man is not determined
By his muscles or his brawn
It is determined by his strength
To admit when he is wrong
The wisdom of a man
Is not determined by myriad facts
It is determined by the way
That wisdom is seen in his acts
The integrity of a man
Is not determined by his claim
It is determined by the reputation
That follows around his name
The love of a man
Is not determined by mere time
It is determined by each moment
That he makes you feel sublime
The sexual prowess of a man
Is not related to his size
It’s how he satisfies your needs
And what you see there in his eyes
The chivalry of a man
Is not determined by his manhood
It is determined by how he nurtures
You to revel in womanhood
The passion of a man
Is not his need to self-gratify
It is determined by how often
He makes the effort to satisfy
The wealth of a man
Is not seen in monetary things
But by those things that are free
That to your life he brings
The age of a man
Is not seen in the age life deals
But by the strength of his heart
And how young he makes you feel
The sweetness of a man
Is not determined by what he says
But it's determined by the fact
That you want him more each day
The humour of a man
Is not determined by a hurtful tease
It’s determined by how your laugh
When his words your heart please
A man is an awesome creation
That I’m determined to venerate
As Eve’s daughter much in love
This male wonder I celebrate.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Wicked news flash - torrential storm - Purple
streaks of confusion striking. Violent grey
clouds spinning its evil. Hatred scattered
in shreds of hail. Waves pounding
against our aching skulls. Who
can live dangerously and ride
their storm. To roll with the
thunder and never see blue
sky. These puddles of
tears splashing out of
fear. All that made a
clear day is spiralling
out of control. How?
can we keep calm.
Wake from this
never ending
storm. Brace
yourself this
may be a
false
wea
th
er
re
po
r
t
Squirrel agent showed him thousands of trees
this particular client being very picky
how about this one she'd plead
no he'd say not enough leaves
She'd say this one is nice but he'd disagree
saying too many squirrels means no privacy
after weeks of driving around they got into a rut
basically the squirrel agent about to give up
As a last resort she showed him a human beings attic
thinking this will teach him not to give me anymore static
but her client loved it and moved in with his nuts
living there till the humans evicted him with their mutts
He finally said I'll have to stop being so picky
moving into a cell tower right by the city
saying this is great I now have a new home
picking up great signals on his cell phone.
And as for the real estate agent she turned in all her business cards
going back to her old job as a squirrel crossing guard.
10-25-17
A pre-lit Christmas tree sparkles the entrance
Monet, Van Gough, and Wassily Kandinsky prints
adorn the walls of her sitting room
a dozen painted roses sit in a faux crystal vase
and the smell of apple pie lingers in the air
coming from her Scentsy candle warmer
resting upon her replica baby grand piano
The seconds tick loudly from the tree house looking cuckoo clock
as I wait
patiently I wait
down the stairs she comes
waltzing ever so gracefully
ever so elegant
in her bright flowing yellow dress
accented by beautiful costume jewelry
my heart skips a beat
as we kiss hello
and I know
yes I know
This love is real
The Real McCoy
Androids Humanoid- Robotic Robots
Feel them- touch them- real life fembots
Soulless secretions a monster metallic
A copy completion approaching organic
Interacting in all moods they are set to please
Sub servant or vampish programmed to tease
Favoured by lust as love turns into dust
A bodacious bust that someday will rust
Providing human like- company for men
Discard them-Leave them- again and again
Love in a box the new carnal cosmetic clocks
She shakes and she rocks and even dirty talks
Hearts made of steel- don’t get broken
Yours for the picking- Destiny has spoken
She strikes a pose as you take off her clothes
No need for a rose as you undress and expose
Alas for us ladies the future is bleak
Emotions are replaced- no more to speak
A disheartened Delilah a gratifying Lady Godiva
Unleashing a metal messiah a pandemic pariah.
Aug.24.2017
Collab with a dear friend from down under...(((Maria Williams)))
Thank you, Maria, for your exchange of words and poetic dance...it was great fun to collab with you...let's do it again soon...
In 1971 my wife, a nursing aid at the time,
working in small city hospital, experienced
a most remarkable event.
She went on to College, graduated and
became an RN. She through the years
went through the ranks and retired as a
Nursing Supervisor of a very large
Hospital.
Judith my wife shared a wonderful story
with me, that I had to share for all to
hear.
When she started her career in 1971. She
shared an event that left her speechless.
While caring for eighteen patients on the
three to eleven shift, she was making her
rounds. On a twelve bed ward, one of her
patients, she was caring for yelled, "OH MY
GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!" My wife turned
and witnessed her patient from a laying
position, spring up saying those words.
Judith ran to her, to see what was going on
with her. Her patient then fell back on the
bed. When Judith got there at that moment.
Her patient had past away. My friends
Heaven Is Real...
Michael Tor
I’d kissed at least one boy by age fourteen.
Disappointment was the taste it left.
Although it was short, it was far from sweet.
In contrast, my second kiss was lengthy.
Its honey lingered in my mouth all night.
Oh, Alabama summer of my 14th year!
The month was either August or July.
Visiting my best friend Sheila’s state, I met
her 19-year-old cousin Glenn
(a preacher’s son was he!)
Wearing a skort (I still remember it-
(a half skirt, half shorts outfit with patterns red and blue).
I got into the back seat of a car with Sheila’s cousin.
She sat in the front with the driver, her boyfriend Jack.
Glenn liked to tease and make me laugh.
I was a cherry red/raspberry blue popsicle
melting in the sweltering humidity,
but melting too with the thrill
of sitting next to handsome, winsome Glenn.
Jack drove us all around and up and down
so many rolling hills.
My stomach too was rolling with excitement
(Glenn’s arm had found its way around my shoulders).
Before sunset arrived we stopped to park.
I don’t remember where. I didn’t care.
Feelings I had never felt before
were now exploding! I only can recall
those soft, smooth, sweet, long kisses
into the night
and a song on the car radio, its lyrics crooning
“Marry me Bill . . . I love you so, I always will. . .”
YES YES YES my young heart swooned!
So innocent was I in my tight blue top
with the well-matched blue/red skort,
reveling in my youth's greatest joy
in that back seat as my friend Sheila
was in her own world making out with Jack.
Glenn must have been at least on his
hundredth or perhaps five-hundreth time around the block,
and there was I with him -
naive and dreamy-eyed
on that perfectly romantic summer evening.
July 21, 2021
For A Lovely Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
These nightmares feel real, like I’ve been here before,
I must be stuck in a phantasm of visionary abhor.
It was when my eyes closed that I knew this was an illusion,
now I’m tortured by this ordeal of agony and confusion.
Lost in a different dimension full of fear and regret,
Déjà vu of tormented realities I wish to forget.
Excuse me but I think there’s been some kind of intrusion,
will I awake once again drowning in smoldering sweat?
This happens too often and can’t be healthy anymore,
these nightmares feel real, like I’ve been here before.
These nightmares feel real, not fabricated from my imagination,
is this a telling of what is to come or a made-up creation?
Dread all day leading up to each night with insecurity,
the worry and fright of another eight hours of obscurity.
Apprehension takes over, I’m a lost woman terrified,
I start to become paranoid, I’m a coward petrified.
I cannot control these night terrors, this nocturnal anxiety,
I run as fast as I can, but there’s never a place to hide.
This regular occurrence has caused such daily agitation,
These nightmares feel real, not fabricated from my imagination.
I shall awake tomorrow morning as I do every day,
and at first everything on earth will seem to be okay,
but as the day draws closer to dusk my heart starts beating,
then the flashbacks of the nightmares keep repeating.
I am no longer safe inside this prison I call my mind,
I have become timorous and intimidated combined.
It’s so difficult to constantly be competing
with all the sane and protected people that I find.
How do I live with these nightmares my mind replays?
I shall awake tomorrow morning as I do every day.
It's all a messy blur I can't explain how I feel...
all I can say is that these nightmares feel real.
Nightmares - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
January 25th, 2018