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Best Rock Poems

Below are the all-time best Rock poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of rock poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Rock poems, articles about Rock poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Rock poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


New Rock Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Rock poems are below this new poems list.

River Rock Falls by Walker, Lenna
Rock House by Ogletree, Dalton
A Rock Between Us by Billheimer, Clarence
Rock and Roll by Script, Post
THE ROCK IN THE EYE by Muita, James
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum by bauer, ilene
Under Last Rock by Horn, James
Under Last Rock by Horn, James
Rock, Roll, Love and the Epic Story of he Fall by Rockk-Fiordelisi, John
One Rock by Behm, Kurt Philip

View all new Rock Poems

The Best Rock Poems

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

John Lennon


On the day  that John Lennon died,  people were just going  about their business  as they did every day.  Mark David Chapman  was reading  Catcher In The Rye  void of his holy self.  He would have had to  Imagine there’s no heaven.  John took the elevator  down from his room  at peace with his belief  that there was  no hell below us.  He stepped out  on that fateful day  over him,  over everyone,  above us only sky. On the day that  John Lennon died,  people where just going  about their business  as they did every day.  Imagine, all the people  living for today.  Chapman talked to Lennon. Just before he killed him. He was singing "imagine  there’s no countries  because it isn’t hard to do." Chapman shot his  hollow point bullets,  without cause,  there was nothing  to kill or die for  and no religion too.  What a senseless killing,  how senseless killing is.  I imagine all the people  living life in peace. John fell to the ground,  a pool of blood beneath him.  A preacher on a soap box  unaware of the horrific act  that had taken place  was spewing words   that never belonged  to his soul but filled  the tin cup he was holding.  He yelled loudly,  ‘you may say that I'm a dreamer  but I'm not the only one’   a woman in the crowd hummed  ‘I hope someday you'll join us.’  A teenage couple under  their breath followed with  ‘and the world will be as one.’  Amen! They say when the police arrived  Chapman was reading his book.  Imagine no possessions,  I wonder if you can. The Detectives did not wait  for an ambulance. They rushed John Lennon  to the hospital. They weren't looking for credit;  they had no need for greed.  The preacher had left  with his tin cup full,  no need for more or hunger. At the hospital the air was  like most emergency departments,  people comforting people  who themselves needed comforting.  A brotherhood of man. In a hospital with its tragedies  life is more than real  you don’t need to imagine  all the people sharing all the world.  It just is. You can hear  their hearts  beating in tune,  singing  ‘You may say that I'm a dreamer  But I'm not the only one  I hope someday you'll join us  And the world will live as one.’ 07~11~2014 Maurice Yvonne Sponsor: Kelly Deschler Contest Name: I Love Rock n Roll


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Devils Deadly Dime

Devils deadly dime

The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I found.
Its all mine, I asked for the devils hand that time.
Echoes in my head, bounded by a screaming sound.
Paying for a forgotten crime,
on what comes around goes around.

A prison with greed that carries an evil musical chime.
Jumping off the merry-go-round!
Encouraged by the devil,
 the pleasure of his deadly nursery rhyme. 
Now the world is measured by my blood level.

The devils delight feasted on my youth before I hit my prime.
Bashing my mind, with thoughts implanted by evil.
Entering the day with no beauty to my sublime.
Begging him to remove this anvil!

He laughed while he cursed me with a favor for a favor.
A fallout so violently in this world not civil.
One can only lust on the taste that only he can savor.
Hanging out  by the swings wounding me with prey,
on two victims to his delicious flavor.
I climb my way to teach a lesson in hate not love.
Two siblings who always scream for each other.
Giggling as I offered each a push and a shove.
Stopping they give each other a big hug.
Defeating and proving love is a stronger disease
The devil wicked eyes looking  at me like a bug.
Clawing at my inner guts with remorse that he will win this war.
Until another day one skips the penny, 
and begs a poor fool like the devil for his dime.
Tossing heads for his tail when times hits rock bottom.
I will stray away from his deadly reaction time.
He will not own my soul so freak'em,
and his greedy deadly beg of a dime.


by;pd


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

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Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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winter's afterglow

stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains,
delicate pure white flakes danced;
swirling, twirling, rhythmically.

she stood, nose pressed tightly
against the window pane; gazing in awe
at the magic the snowflakes created;
as tears spill from her emerald green eyes.

the cabin is warm, radiating a comforting glow
a fresh pine scent lightly sweetens the air;
she fights the memories, as she begins to shake.

fingers entwined, she tries desperately to hang on
be present in the moment;
"stop, stop, stop" she says, stomping her feet;
she falls to her knees; quivering. 

she holds tightly her arms and begins to rock,
feeling his presence in his favourite black sweater;
she cannot bring herself to take off.

giggling sounds permeate her thoughts
cocooned in his aura, his essence, his scent;
she feels his lips kiss the nape of her neck,
his strong hands caressing her hair.

she rocks and rocks, time ceases to stop,
as she falls deep into a rich
moulton pool; his smouldering brown eyes.

her lips part; barely into a smile at
his joy when he surprised her with the cabin; 
their oasis away from home.

she wipes away a tear, beams from within
as she recalls the snowball fight, he lost, she won.
he scooped her up, carried her with glee,
over the thresh hold of their cabin; 
their oasis; their heart's retreat.

a decadent white rug bought just for her
lay invitingly in front of the fire,
fiery orange embers crackled and glowed.
he gently laid her down; "my beauty" he said.

they drank champagne, drunk in each other,
wrapped up in his care, she felt peace.
as they lay basking in winter's afterglow,
he whispered "this is my time, i must go".

startled, she sat up, staring deep in his soul,
as snowflakes twirled and danced, 
fresh pine lightly sweetened the air;
he breathed one final breath; then he let go.

her screams were not audible, her body convulsed
as she lay on his chest; her heart; her home.
she cursed the night and winter's afterglow
sobbing "not him, not him, please take me too".

she fights to bring herself back
to the here and the now,
as embers slowly dim, she wobbily stands
clutching tenderly his urn, she must set him free.

the stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains
she opens the window, where dreams breathed of life;

with tears cascading
she releases her love; her life;

to become one 
with the magic of;
winter's afterglow.


Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006

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Northern Slaves

In the silent breathing of night,
treading through 
the darkness and the hush
(A heavy band of slave)
like black ants snaking
through the forlorn distance.
Grieving with tears
Of yesterdays burning anguish. 
They hum a languid song
On the fragrant breath of wind.
A haunt that invades my trembling eyes 
With a thousand boundless tears
That quivers through the night.

The dreaded echoes came down the black pathway
Like a thousand men 
Galloping through the sultry breeze
(Were the heartless whips that toiled)
With dumb hands,
Feeding paled pink flesh 
With endless stings of cruel misery.

The stars curled around their naked feet
As they trampled the grass 
Wet with lurid dew and the masked
Beds of fragrant hues
Prancing in the hallowed night.
I could feel the storming of their sorrows,
The rock of their heart
Drooping with defeat.
Despair a master to their fading hope
That sailed across their faces.
Oh those foul notes budding with despair
Branched within their eyes.

The lulling whispers of their shackles
United with their treading feet like hooves
Cloaked with heavy weariness
(It surrounded the dead of night)

I hung up my fears
For I was bright with their pain
Oh I died that day 
Oh I died that day
While drifting to the helpless East
To that damp cold earth filled
With drowsy mournful Asters
Then the smell of dead men came alive
Black dogs clustered to the earth
Their children beside them with gripping hands!














 


Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2013

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Rock Turtles

Rock turtles in blue waters . . .their crawl so slow it’s imperceptible


2/20/2016  Based on one of PD's fave pictures for the Monoku #7 poetry contest


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Happy Solitude, COLLABORATION WITH POET DESTROYER A

(This theme coincidentally matched up with another contest I recently
entered, so I revised my sonnet and then PD graciously extended this
idea of a day of happy solitude. Thanks, Linda, for keeping it in sonnet
form! It's a double sonnet now!)


Happy Solitude/Andrea Dietrich In solitude, I watch the clear blue sky.  Leaves flutter on the grand majestic oak  beneath which I am sitting;. Swallows fly  around me, swooping! Now I hear a croak -  a sound that I am sure I’d never hear  if I were on a busy city street.  I stand and walk around. The sound is near.  The feeling that I get is rather sweet  when finally I spot there on the pond  the tiny frog that’s serenading me.  Crops rippling in the breeze I see beyond  my shaded spot. I'm running - feeling free.  Inside a field with flowers everywhere,  I'm whirling as the sunlight gilds my hair!  -----  Like the sun, I sit and explore the view  A sensation, of everything I lust  Feelings I found myself unequal to  Yellow leaves fall to the ground like gold dust  Once, I reached to touch a lonely rock  The sounds return back into the shadows  I felt trapped by the beauty as I walk  Suddenly branches hung like the gallows  In slow motion, with no reason to stray  Facing down, the new founding sound follows  The croak in the water echoes with play  Captivated, by the flies it swallows  A young, peaceful feel, indulging in fun  I shall kiss and see if he's the right one  ~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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The Bard of Gort

Springing free from glistening 
Fronds
The summers heat leaps for 
Height;
Whilst drifting obscurely far
Above 
A distant lark now hangs in 
Flight.

Floats down his sweet trill,
Accompanied by joyous and
Uplifting revelry,
Over the black crows nasal 
Calls;
Whose draped shadow,
contemplating devilry,
Flaps and furtively falls 
Into ripening bean fields 
Planted in neatly sowed rows:
Nourished in darkest till,
Enriched by pedantic verse of
Gaelic odes.

Do now these gentle Slopes 
Pause to yield
Where secretive song,
Bursting forth, is much concealed 
inside the plain of Aidhne;
For here the great rock of the 
Burren,
Whereby so implored upon,
Revealed its grey stones...
To rebuild ancient and deserted 
Thoor Ballylee.

Sweeping briskly past a tors 
Grassy island busy in bloom,
Eagerly cramming under four
Crouched arches,
Skim the borrowed waters of 
Thee immortal Cloone;
Dappling currents
Dawdling around squat stanchions -
Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge 
Over the old concourse:
Momentarily loitering -
Wantonly begging to coyly swoon...

Now, joyfully sporting in gushing 
Discourse,
Gleefully courting elusive and
Glimmering enchantments:
Mirrored reflections enticed to
Enter -
To be forever trapped within a 
Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and
Tune.

Higher and higher the spiraling
Stairs of de Burgo
When through airy woodland 
Glades
The towering shadow sought;
And higher and higher the spirit 
Of an ageing poet...
His crowding thoughts
Roaming freely amidst these
Fabled legends of Gort.

Harken then to the feathered 
Herald -
Tis Gods design that calls on 
Ye!
For few men know of what he 
Sings...
He sings of the forgotten paths 
Forever lost within Innisfree.


Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2016

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It Was Her Poetry Seduced Me

Listen to poem:

When Thor struck his hammer
upon the flat ground on Earth
it was the pieces withstood the blow we named rock,
constructs we came to know as the mountains.

Even before that time
I crossed my fingers
wished I'd one day experience
...you.

I knew you before heavenly purity  grew wings
before angels blessed hearts 
invoking what we now know as love for our brethren .

I held you in the sphere of my understanding
as the lover I'd never meet but always carry
in the most cherished of my thoughts.

When Zeus handed me his quill and inkwell I knew
I would only use his gift for my inspired notes to you.

Though I was not blessed a poets words 
like Robert Browning 
he who took Elizabeth Barrett into his heart from the first time he read her 
so I did with you.

Only laid blood on parchment
to declare the love you inspired in me.

Like a schoolboy's first kiss
was the day my eyes embraced the body of your work.

Before the first pine broke the ground, the first lark sang,
the first orchards rare enchanted the rainforests. 

Before the first chameleon blended 
into the multicoloured break of dawn.

Before infinite rows of wheat invitingly waved from the fields to greet Hera.

Before liquid rose to separate into
creeks, swamps, rivers, lakes with fish of all kinds
wasn't it me who rode the first seahorse just to make you smile.

Anything, all...
possible 
with the swirl of a letter 
the turn of a word.

I found an immense love tracking the shores of your fine poetry 
always a chill that ran up my back.

No one. 

No one! 

Only you.

Your fine talent,

gifted,

honed

perfected...flaws and all...

moulds

sculpts,

breathes life into ordinary words,

creates poetry 

owns me.


September 26 2016 MY





Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

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Sleeping With The Enemy

SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY

See what you want to see
Don't Look at me!
You are staring you are watching;
Eat what you can't be

Come sleep by my side
The whole world is our playground
Don't make a sound
Stop clowning around

In the mist of the night,
You keep me from crying

I wipe off the taste of your lips
You kiss me starting at my inner hips
You broke me in a way..
I hate to say your love is better every day 
I deny you, the one thing I can't say

You are my pillow
Where I rest my legs,
Can you feel me~
This moment feels right
I just want to die here, 
Die here ~ 
Die here by your side

I sleep with my eyes wide open,
I sleep with the enemy by my side
Come here and hold me
After you watched my worlds collide
Come here and love me
I'm yours till the end of time
You can rock me!
Under the moon and its rhyme
I put it all to a side, how I hate you inside
I can't let go
I just want you to know
I'm a fool in love with you
Even if it doesn't show!

~SKAT~
12- 7- 10


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2011

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The Old House

Seven generations walked through your door,
Which stood so strong and always welcomed in.
You said goodbye when boys headed to war,
Two soldiers lost to battles they can’t win.

Your kitchen always busy as a bee,
With canning, baking apple crumble cake.
Stone hearth, a place for warmth and drink some tea,
The table decked with riches to partake.

The living room a place to sit and chat,
With pictures hanging for one hundred years.
A chair still there where ancestors once sat,
This room for laughter and at times for tears.

Your nursery where many babies grew,
With bassinet where ev’ry child did lie.
The paint would change at times from pink to blue,
A place where time would always quickly fly.

The floors within have felt each child’s first walk,
Their worn out wood drowned many times with stain.
You watched the aging people gently rock,
You’ve heard and felt the tapping of a cane.

I stand and listen in your sacred halls
And feel that you’re a part of everyone.
Each breath we took embedded in your walls,
Of fathers, mothers, daughters and of sons.

Old house of stone your warmth embraces me,
Your children now all scattered far and wide.
You still stand proud for all the world to see,
The thoughts of you, sweet memories inside.

The house my children grew up in.

Iambic Pentameter  
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.02.2014
Giorgio’s Contest: Iambic Verse III
2nd
Best of 2014  1st place


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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Heritage

The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.

Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.

This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.

The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.

A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.

Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.

The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.

At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.

I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.

The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.


Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009

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A Letter Home To Rome'

My dearest Claudia, 

     For eighteen months, I've been at this Jerusalem outpost.
     "Tis you and young Julius that I miss the most.
     This wasn't the adventure I set out to seek-
     At least, not until this past week'
     
     A local rabbi rode a donkey into town,
     While people were throwing palm branches down.
     Many proclaimed Him to be their "King."
     The Jewish leaders vehemently denied such a thing'

     They arrested Him and a riot ensued;
     My squad was called in to get the masses subdued.
     Back and forth, they sent Him- through several mock trials.
     The prisoner maintained His silence all the while.

     "He's a traitor to Rome," the priest and leaders cried.
     And the crowd wanted Him crucified'
     A "Royal robe" they made Him wear
     Then His own cross He was forced to bear.

     With a thorny crown jammed down upon His head,
     It was off to Golgotha He was led.
     Lifted up between two thieves,
     The day turned black and I wanted to leave'

     Then I heard my Centurion say something very odd:
     "Truly this is the Son of God'"
     Buried in a borrowed grave- as if in a womb-
     I and my men guarded that tomb.

     Then some time during the middle of the night,
     The rock was rolled back 'midst a blinding light'
     

     In the morning some woman came to that "prison,"
     But two beings inside said "He has Risen'"
     This week's events have so drastically changed my life.
     That I was compelled to tell you of them, my beloved wife.
     
                                                                                           Your Husband Octavius




                                                                                     Arthur Ball (h.S.L.P.)
                                                                                     April 16, 2006


Copyright © Robert Ball | Year Posted 2009

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Sun And Moon

. I am the moon hanging solitary in the sky watching sails fluttering by breathlessly against the wind. I'm just a rock ,dark,unknown without a light that is my own. Yet He ,He sees hues I cannot see and the true colours in me. He, He is familiar to my face This face that shines less brightly without his full embrace. He is the sun, He is the one Never so close , always too far yet still staying behind me . He casts his softest glow reflecting orange and soul, He penetrates his warmth A fire ball of wants , Then fades ,fades away in the horizon. He is the sun, He is the one in a universe of nothingness . He fills our gaps,hopes and regrets Never so close ,always too far yet still staying behind me. I am the moon ,He is the sun He is the one...He is the one


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015

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A Crown of Thorns

1
Insanity has its own wellspring and demise.
There is no better place to hide than between coils
of convoluted grey-white matter which can't recoil.
Mind has no leering lips to scorn or show surprise 
as ungoverned, the ancient demon-dancers rise.
The traitorous bits, which cut with Brutus’ red fang,
have no regard for the womb from which they sprang.
They seek dominion; they care not for your cries.
Crazed, their freedom paid for on the rack, how they sang
of anything, of windigos’, and warriors winged 
of fresh flesh beneath a gibbous moon's harangue, 
where those in sanity beneath their blankets cringed.
Night terrors sweat the sheets of the weak, as fear sprang,
a ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged.
2
A ripened, musky-scent arose from those unhinged
cloaked in mirrored, morose, magic; the mind a foil,
the heart, the soul, the sunny days, caste down, embroiled; 
destined to languish convulsed in the depth of coil.
Brightness, so dimmed, is lost within a rancid soil,
left to meet horned demons all but unarmed, alone, 
no company except the mirrored self-entombed,
no bliss state, no ripening sweetness to uncoil
a compost heap of bitter memories, atone ...
atone, little mother, well-used wife, wander now,
seeking ever seeking, yet finding no one home,
insanity wakened, waits, patiently endows ... 
empty days and nights, the infrequent sound of om,
cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused.
3
Cuddling the traitorous bits, shooing brighter dreams roused,
the teeth of dogged night rise-up, they breed turmoil.
Deep within the sleeping mind of men, sorrows roil.
Abandonment, disloyalty, hatred espoused,
all shriek to the traitor, the night arouses. 
Niggardly night, loath to lose ground within the dome
of blanched white, gray matter, within this skull of bone,
delights in the sorrowful detail night houses.
Insanity licks raw the salted wound entombed, owned.
"What could we be?" the ego cries to he or she.
"What would we be?" the windigo screams but, “alone.”
On, on, they chatter in the carapace, they breed, 
spreading dark matter, for they've no chaperone,
no friend to stay the brutal cousins, so mislead. 

4
No friend to stay the brutal cousins so mislead,
so in darkness, fear and hatred spread on fertile soil.
Yet, self-hatred shields its sharpened claws, as day uncoils
filling the breach with bright creations, dark concedes, 
and dims the room while manic laughter recedes.
A sunrise bows through prism-glass and colors swell
a lighter laughter comes, newborn to dwell.
Hands that once drew only blood, now tune bent reeds                        
of green, blades of springtime grass within the dell;
where larks sing and long lost lovers dare to reunite, 
no mention made of darkness or the depth of hell,
for sanity has cast a lighter stage this night.                       
Daybreak suspends the demon-dance upon the fell,
now, fairies prance in pastures high, and verse delights.
5 
Now, fairies prance in meadows high, and verse delights
her fancy takes a softer turn at his behest,
with buttercups, in a Fairy Ring, they coalesce,
and shine the golden glow beneath a chin of white.
With the talent of a troubadour, love does strum
upon desire's strings the raging beast is culled
as coy love songs and  sweet lullabies emerge from
the hidden depths of mind where sanity is mulled.
With the talent of a troubadour love does strum
upon strings of desire the fearful beasts are culled 
as coy love songs and sweet lullabies emerge from
the stygian depth where her frail sanity is mulled.
How long will harmony dance to love's blissful hum
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
6 
Will dark's whine wake, disturb, insanity so lulled? 
A scent of jasmine fills the air with swarming gnats.
Her covered ears belay the sound of feral cats
yet, huddled in his sheltering arms, her pain is dulled.
Dulled, but not waylaid, raging, she becomes unglued
She starts to rock, to whimper, and then, cry out- loud
begging for the dev'lish tide to leave, as he vowed,
renting strands of flaxen hair from her small skull.
Torn, he watches as she fades within a shroud,
a witless waif, bedeviled by the harvest moon.
He had to leave; he could not stay beneath this cloud
ever waiting for this, her omnipresent doom.
His love had its limits and yet, he was not proud,
Oh, he could not stay and watch her be consumed.

7

Oh no, he could not stay and watch her be consumed,
to have his pleasant memories of ardor's bloom
be marred by images of her so poorly groomed. 
No, never would he stay to see her be consumed.
One morn he left, his sum was not what she'd presumed. 
And, she sat in the rocker by the door unfazed,
her bowed lips o'er cast and her eyes o'er glazed, 
alive, but not, her nascent sanity entombed.
Death had come, death of the mind, his metal now assayed
he ran from old memories, as each thought enticed.
Their first tryst 'neath jasmine vines vanished in a haze.
Was love's reward, a sweet repast, mania's disguise?
Would true love have held the course where sanity betrayed,
insanity has its own wellspring, and demise.

First Published Five Poetry Magazine 2014




Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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TO DARREN - SOME STARS SHINE BRIGHTER

Listen to poem:
SOME STARS SHINE BRIGHTER Some stars shine brighter Some waves crash stronger Some winds blow warmer Some days are lovelier Some friendships are eternal... During our lives we meet a lot of people But some will conquer a special place in our hearts They'll be the ones for whom We'll fight a little harder We'll cry a little stronger We'll cheer a little louder We'll worry a lot over They are the ones That will always be there for you Laughing with your happiness Holding you during your tears Some are in the same city Others on a continent away The distance doesn't matter For we carry them always In our minds and in our hearts So they're never really far away from our thoughts So my dear and sweet friend Thank you for allowing me in your life For always be there for me Thanks for being my rock You've a heart of gold The most beautiful soul Your light shine thru your poems Your care and attention thru your words I'll be always here for you too Cheering for you every step of your way... Take care of yourself and come back to us fast... And... never forget... To just be yourself Because you're simply perfect Just the way you are... ...and very much loved, my dear friend... Love you, Darren March 28th, 2017


Copyright © Claudia Polydoro | Year Posted 2017

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Yet My Mind Holds Invincible Summer Hues

Yet My Mind Holds Invincible Summer Hues

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Flee thee far back into thy dark Lord's abode
Plead thy master, at Byrnhilda's rock for aid
Summer's warmth, my fiery embers sent explode
My Viking blood, proves I am iron made

With such power I banish thee with one breath
Tho' thy great wealth of evil is fierce and strong
Birthright, I draw residues from Odin's death
Epic strength and power from Valkyries's song

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Carry thy dark master this warning I send
With shields of truth, and armored Nordic powers
And with soul's all, and all my strength I defend
Against stones thrown from Dark Lord's brimstone towers

When Valhalla's halls open for my passing
And Odin sits with mighty Thor at his side
Few will have entered in this pledge surpassing
Held firm, courage, loyalty and Viking pride

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Robert J. Lindley, 8-19-2016

Syllables Per Line: 	
11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11
0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11
Total # Syllables: 	308
Total # Words: 	221

Note: I was bored this afternoon, decided to finish last 12 verses to this poem.
Begun as a tribute to my Viking heritage..
Hope you may enjoy it my friends..


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017

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Beauty Kisses The Beast

Sun golden shining warm upon the back speaks
wind cutting cold chills freezing thoughts held
captivating love standing a vigil faraway dream

Touching warm fingers of light in a deep blue painted sky
bewitching clouds gunbarrel grey shooting magic wishes
silver shading arrow points out into the softest peach charms spells

Everything spellbinding shines amazing beautiful enchanting 
snow covered mountains cold winds howling and whistling tunes
bells in the distance calls you're the rock one clings to on Trawbrega's shores

Drawing behind the eyes wind bellowing whispers a blessing tides turn waves
inside joy burns one candle warmly flickering happiness butterflies dance
blue blazes to see the soul of a deeply treasured jewel forever sings



unrhymed tercet 



Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

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This Buds For You

-This buds for you!-
-It takes one to know one!-
-I know you are, but what am I?-

A second hand, on my stopwatch, going nowhere!
You are a joker, a smoker, a midnight stroker  
<-------How, about that, Steve Miller song

I'm not here to talk about the way you comment a poem
That's not how I roll, now listen, and listen well, 

I don't care, about them words you speak
A whining sheep, every time you don't score
Crying behind close doors, 
Boo-Who, I did not place high in so-and-so's contest
Gosh&dammit, not everyone's on a quest
Blogging, about the day, your poem got demoted to nonsense
Trying to comment relentlessly, 
You can't top, a mountain that has no setup

I'd rather leave a copy paste comment, 
"than being fake as fake can be"
At least, my copy paste was a song, 
in which welcome the new poets on
Treating, everyone with love and security
Your invites, are cold and force, to you it's not about community
No motion, to your notion, simple, and disgusting

I don't know why you think, we are competing, 
Long ago, I left you bleeding, no reason to be defeating
Your paranoia, has you thinking, it's all about the points,
It's getting old and boring,
You cry babies are nothing more than jokes and hypocrites
Hey you, this ain't dominoes, we done pass every Jo-Jo
When, I have time I sit here for fun, my trigger finger on the gun

Reading, commenting, until my day is done
You think, because someone, left a copy paste 
That your poem was not read,
Perhaps, it was not understood, or enjoyed
Or, a welcome to the neighborhood
A nice smile, from me to you
Nice poem, You Rock!
So What! ---- WOW!

This Bud's for you
I think it's time for you to GET A LIFE!
Be glad someone took their time, in checking you out twice
Not, everyone on this site, is full of bull-shit
The smallest words, are more likely to be legit 
I don't need and expensive comment, 
I don't want to impress, when it comes to the best comment
Please do not make love to my poem!

A nice pat on my back will do, 
Now that my friend, puts a smile on my face
To know you care, to know you were there:)

Peace Out,

~SKAT~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

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Battling Addiction

               You  told
               me  once  
               about the
               R e l i e f:
               the  f o g,
               that haze
               of apathy
               that  veils
               the  mind,
               b l urri n g
               the  edges
              of your pain. 
             Can  you  feel
          anything  at all? I  
        watch you drink your 
      life  away, far too many 
     moments  lost,  forgotten
    in that  h a z e. I watch as
   you   f e e d   your  disease, 
   suck yourself dry before you
   suck  me  dry,  draining  me 
   like  one of  your bottles, till
   I'm empty inside. But I can't
   wait around for you to  snap,
   to throw me against the wall.
   I won't  shatter  like a bottle. 
   I won't  burst  in a mosaic of 
   glass  and  light.  You cannot 
   b r e a k   someone   who  is
   already b r o k e n. You can't 
   fix someone with  s l u r r ed 
   apologies  or  promises  that 
   smell  like  stale   alcohol.  I
   can't  be  there  to  drown at 
   the  bottom  of  your   bottle. 
   I’m done  with  rock  bottom.


  For Anne's "Battling Addiction" contest
  Placed: 1st


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013

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Haiku 30 Rock Love




                                  running to the rock

                                              a strong tower against foes


                                                                    her love a refuge






To strong women and their love


David Meade
11/20/2014
Live Generously


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2014

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Like a Rock

I carry my mother 
like a rock in my pocket 

that I just can’t seem to throw away 

It serves me 
no purpose, 
it just weighs me down 

~~~
 
When I first found it, 
when I first picked it up 
and started carrying it with me, 

I thought it so beautiful – 
I could look at it for hours 

But, like my mother, 
it never looked back at me, 
never grew warm under my loving gaze 

For the longest, I was blind to that, 
Blind to anything but the beauty, 
blind to the cold, hard, 
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone

~~~

I carry my mother,
a thought without weight

And she’s heavier

and she’s colder

than all the stones
there are

~~~
 
By the time I recognized her 
immutable, emotional unavailability, 
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –

But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart

Could not stop
wishing
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,

Might just become
its own opposite –

Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm

But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water

When my mother
stops being
a stone


Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2005

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Uplifting

I flew over Bryce Canyon my wings fully spread in a gentle glide as I marveled at the view below. It wasn't the first time but it always felt like it. I flapped my wings to ascend even further and consume even more of the landscape. The weather chiseled rock that always reminded me of sandcastles children sculpted at the seashore. I loved the fragrance of the pine trees that neatly grew amongst the rocks and the white and golden blend of colors that jutted here and there against an ever changing sky. I suppose if they could see me - humans would gasp at the sight of an Angel and me well I still gasp at all that God created for the pleasure of mankind.
22~12~2014 With Love Maurice Yvonne


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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Chopped III - Humor

i narrate me own story in a fake english accent. the bloody typewriter is 
broken, it can't capitalize. i'm out of coins for the heater. i can see me own 
breath. it must be really bad . it's summer here in london. i'm a tough guy who 
carries a gun. don't mean i don't want to look good. i freshen up my lipstick,
light up a cigarette and offer one to my secretary. she is hot really hot.
like i said it's summer. she don't wear lipstick it wouldn't help. in the 
encyclopedia under the word butch is her picture. 

i put out my cig in an ashtray overflowin. i'd tell her to empty it but she scares me. 
she only wears one gold earring. who does that? i'm workin on a case, already 
drank half the beers. by the way i'm a dick a private dick. the name is rock,
rock hard. there's a knock at the door. this could be bad she has two fourty fives, 
she's also got a gun. 

she's holding an airline ticket. no reason. she says she just likes it. 
whatever! maybe it has to do with some kind of contest. 
she says we're going for a ride. we are driving when she gets a flat.

i pump she pumps then we get out  of the car and fix the flat. never liked 
cars, horses are more convenient. less breakdowns. she takes us to a 
party everyone is jumpin for joy, so joy gets up and leaves. bet you wish 
this was going somewhere. it's not. like i said i'm a dick.


11~28~2014
Contest: Chopped III
Sponsor: craig cornish


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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The 50's

There was a time when I was young
To share an era that begun
From music to the fashion trend
TV shows and history
Fads and other mysteries
I saw them all as time moved on

From classic pop to rock and roll
Bill Haley and the Elvis craze
And four years in my Air Force phase
But Jitterbug still hung around
The big bands had that unique sound
Time moved on to start the clock

European cinema
Fellini, Bergman made the mien
And Japan added to the pie
To film The Seven Samurai
Brando, Newman and James Dean
newly captured on the screen

Television's Golden Age
All the programs set the stage
For Gunsmoke and the Twilight Zone
I love Lucy, I married Joan
TV tubes were changed a lot
Wrestling shows were really hot

Mantle, Mays and Robinson
Took baseball to another rung
The coonskin cap and hula hoop
Duck tail hair and snapper soup
I wore one with a thick pomade
And ate the soup that Momma made

My fashion sense left much to judge
As if I had good taste for fudge
Pegged pants with a six inch rise
Ladys skirts were different then
Lengths that came down to their shins
Three inch higher was a sin
Still dirty minds existed then

In Belgium back in 58
I saw an exhibit on that date
The Sputnik with a cute stray dog
was launched so high up in the air
Before the U.S. could get there 
Then the race to conquer space

McCarthy hearings, lives destroyed
The Cold War was our only plight
The Commies kept their nukes in check
And Castro entered on the scene
There were no hot wars left to fight
Days still continued as well as night

I share a new millennium
But today the future's not so bright
No more long hand, the laptop's here
Facebook and Twitter have conquered our sphere
The death knell has tolled for how life was then
Rekindle your past and live again 




Ralph Sergi February 19, 2015 
Decades by Kelly Deschler


Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015