Best Screaming(A) Poems

A Poem of Sex


A poem of sex
But not in this text
I just used this title to see
~
If you would come
Looking for fun
And open this poem by me
~
You will not find
Words of that kind
No moaning passionate steam
~
Two of the night
Not in this write
All of these verses...

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It can’t be art 

Spun in a windstorm of caustic insisting
Plastered like mud on the walls of Pompeii
Frescos of joy before charcoal was misting
Writing in ash, catastrophic display

Poetic spittle once cast to the broken
Scribbled in diction now smeared in the rain
So many follow yet nothing...

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Seeping through families of oaks,
Surrounded by pines, laurels and all…
Gentle leaves, so alive – yes, they breathe,
Silent like the peace I find here,
Enclosed in their embrace, 
Soft music of dove and robin, praising,
Ever praising with their easy tweet,
Tempering the woods with their melodies,
So old, yes,...

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Zillion supporters screaming, a loud buzz,
 Yearning to return home cheered by victory.
 Xerox machines preparing the next day’s papers; Max
 Wit for the shame or fame of a member of the show.
 Violent vitriol from commentators like engine rev
 Unites with supporters’ glee at...

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As the world shifted and divided from whites, Hispanics, and Asians and of course African Americans due to pointless killings from the men in blue, the police. Blacks stormed through their cities protesting and looting. Burning down buildings and franchises that begin to mean very...

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This is my Homophone contest submission     


Ewe No A Lyre

their once was a man with a bore
who worked down at the local bizarre 
the bore eight corn colonels four lunch
and blew genes whir awl the man war

owe the bore eight serial...

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“Liber Novus”


Life is read
it bleeds continually
we simply need to stop
and breathe forgive

ourselves for tripping
over misspent thought
too caught up and enraptured 
in the chapters we imagine

we always dream
best beginnings
and tidy arduous ends
unicorns in black matter

Life is real 
hell it reels us in 
we are what passes
through,...

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The forgotten memory
Years ago I received a video from a place I had left I put it in a drawer
 where it languished for years, yesterday I played it an eerie a part of
a history I had forgotten, yet it didn`t stir my emotion seeing...

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He awoke to the sounds of his alarm
Tedious sounds he heard bearing arms
Though gunshots blazing through his spine
The sounds of his are now yours and mine

His dead weighted arm hit the clock
The sounds disarmed for now it stopped
Back to war with his own prudence
Back to...

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the reasoning the fishing in the trenches
beyond tire swings and monkey wrenches 
follies crawl behind the hanging logos 
of unseen filth across 124th street 

tassels dangled above an oasis 
of fine dining and soiled linen 
over the board rooms covered 
in a mesh of purple...

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There is a garden where I wish to go,
Up on the ridge of Hunters Glen row.
Where peace and quite work as a team,
with various gramineae simple and green.
Up on the hilltop, where the green grass grow.

Trees of all shapes are remarkably lean,
loosing leeward leaves in...

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Eyes have gone cold
making a statement bold.
'Dont get near me.
not if you want to continue to see.'

Skin turned rough
she appears tough.
while melting inside
No matter. the pain will hide

greiving the loss
agony clings like moss.
with no give or sway
smothering me through the day

The ghosted hand on my...

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Jagged rocks that tip my balance,
Vein like roots that trip my feet,
Branching weeds that scratch my legs,
The chill of the wind that steals my heat,

The steepness of this endless mountain,
The wanting, longing to reach the top,
The feeling that I can’t go on,
I need to let...

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The wind calls my name,
 Silent whispers of freedom to seek.
It takes me to a special place,
 And now i know there's more to life than what i see.
A place where the butterflies flutter,
 And the grass is green.
Where i can hear the trees sway...

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From the infinity of the hidden windows the cuckoo cooing ushering the morning through the darkness

Feroz has just set fire to the oven, and his brief body cloth he stretches to cover his ears and face

There is still a chill in the wind. Baby leaves...

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