Best Words Poems | Poetry

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Words by Saxon, Robin
LOVE ACTION AND WORDS by Lee Sr., James Edward
Inspired Words of Psalms One by Robinson, Michael
My Words -Hemingway To Gertrude Stein by Behm, Kurt Philip
Only My Words by Behm, Kurt Philip
When Words Fail by Poteet, Reason A.

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The Best Words Poems

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Unspoken Words

I often scribble in the sand 
The words I find so hard to say
And hope the wind will come along 
And blow them all your way.

Contest: Simply Beautiful
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placing: 2nd   (April 2015)

Contest: Five Lines or Less
Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan
Placing: 2nd   (April  2014)

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2014

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Love Poem 29

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while maintaining the love I have already found.

I fall in love with scars, wrinkles,
clichés, and repetition; I fall in love 
with items that people throw to the wind,
kick around, and step upon.

I fall in love with my enemies,
one of life's hardest lessons to learn;
I find haters to be marvelous motivators.

The old man who sits in a rain-gorged gutter,
his fist raised to the sky in fury
as he talks to an invisible audience
about how Apollo stole his dearly, beloved wife—

I fall in love with him too.

I fall in love with things that some people deem 
as ugly, dirty, morose, and immoral.
The more I fall in love,
the more I love each moment,
including the pain, torture, and misery 
that may unfold along the way.

Every day, I fall in love with something new,
while reinforcing the love I have already found.

If I write down treasonously teetering words,
the reader could assume such words 
to be rooted in rage, or a cynical outlook,  
when the words are actually birthed from love—
I love every word in existence.

I fall in love with the woman 
who is too shy to have a sincere conversation with anyone,
because she believes herself to be grotesque,
when in fact, she is exquisitely gorgeous.

I fall in love with broken daffodils, bent daisies,
a shattered seashell, the sweet stench of seaweed 
rotting on the shore, and the way her hair smells 
baking in the sun.
I fall in love with black and white photographs,
mesmerized by the essence that the dead have left behind.
I fall in love with marbles, the feathers of mourning doves,
and with the stray cat, who, after she watched the moving truck 
drive away, slunk around the alley in search of scraps—
over the years, she has proven to be a respectful 
and loyal companion (so easy to fall in love with, again and again,
while maintaining the love I already have).
I fall in love with saints, villains, rusted watering cans,
the way sunlight bends into prisms
when it shines through the cracked, antique windowpane
that I simply don't want to replace.

And as for the people who believe that it's impossible 
for someone such as myself
to fall in love with something new, every, single day,

well, I love them too.

2016 Pulse Remix, July 18th, 2016
(original version was written on April 6th, 2012)

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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The Best Poem Ever

~The best poem ever~

Without saying a word I’m going to go where no one has gone before.
A twilight zone, only God and I know of. 

Without saying a word I’m going to recite the best poems ever.
Poems with no vision too stare. 
Quietly with a hum, only you can hear. 

Silent through my mind I will walk whistling, without a care.
Feeling and thinking as my heart beat goes on. 
Searching for your heart beat next to mine. 
Dreaming of words that blind, 
Dreaming of words which connect us together!

Without saying a word I’m going to look and speak for the first time.
Howl and feel as our chemicals sublime. 
I’m going to get hungry before I die in your arms.

Through circles and rods, I carry this year alone. 
Imagining all the days it was only you and I. 
“Not only I!”

Without saying a word I’m going to listen for your voice to call my name.
A whisper that setting itself on repeat. 

Anticipating, those look before you look away.
Wanting and waiting, I will still be whistling.
Overwhelmed by, fate at the door. 

Without saying a word I’m going to, leave a whisper in the bedroom
Without making movement, with my mouth!
Control all the space, around me. 
Touching the energy you left behind.
Hear the snowy winter chime.
Experience all the shelter in your hold.

Without saying a word I’m going to, lay down beside you.
Laying in a way, that feels better than freedom.

Millions of miles away, I’ll still be whistling. 
And waiting and waiting, for that perfect lay. 
Arguing and embracing the air we both breathe.
A breath for every reason!

Without saying a word I’m going to, mime the world tonight.
Over and over, till I mime the perfect poem, like the olden days.
Without a word to say! 

I’m wrapping my own arms around me, like a mime.
Explaining the breath you took without me.
Talking to myself without saying a word!
Writing the perfect poem without a word to say! 

Without saying a word I’m going to, yell this inside.
Whistle and mumble till I’m out of breath. 
Dying with my dreams to be by your side! 

Without saying a word I’m going to, close my eyes and see your face.
A bond not even death can break. 

Without saying a word I’m going to, sit here, till your wind hits.
A tap that’s inspires the best poem ever. 

Until then, I’m going to whistle without a word to say.
And enjoy your silhouette everyday.    


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Running through my mind,
Running through my veins,
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night
Cool air beneath and above the sea
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing
Up ahead in a virtue distance
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-     
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again
Twilight, rain stranger than strange
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"

Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow
If I accept, and then decline
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways 
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?	
When I no longer value the values of the young
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart
They're the voices give and take from our health

Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria
   UNITY! Like a common curse
Always, wanting more than love can touch

We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips
Prisoners and doers; 
All night…. Too late for a treatment
Lungs, decaying, evil rats
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation

Running through my lungs,
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________

By: PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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her silent seams

her words,

 now naked.


letting them       e
                     e       v
                      v     o

and run into
                 silent seams

Copyright © kabuteng P.iNk k. | Year Posted 2012

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Liquid Heaven

A feast for my womanly inner beast!       
I tease, I please, you have me on my knees
I wring my hands, you oint my head
With your fingers locked in my hair of red
You -I call Master! 
Begging for forgiveness, in a position of love
My words are bashing with one stuttering sound
Moaning & Moaning, 
As you make my head spin like a merry-go-round
Craving for you to unleash a liquid heaven sound

My body speaks and mumbles a language meant for you
A touch of intimacy, that lathers up like liquid glue
Sticky but, yet so compelling
My tongue slips silent beloved words of joy into the air
You play the master of this dark solid room
This dungeon's all I consume
You engage me, to provoke you with everything I got
Yelling, please master don't ever stop!
At this moment, I yearn for excitement
To feel the arousing sensation of your presence
That melts me and chill me with a flow that does not kill
I'm your thinker
Your muse and poet
You are my composer creating liquid tunes
Come here and expresses the hardness of your boldness

I confess to you my love
You are all I'm dreaming of
You drive your hands all over 
Reaching every steamy spot
Encourage me to stimulate your mental needs
You are the master withholding a liquid element
In me, you release fluids that hit like a silent tide
A desire that comes with a full force of the fire inside
I crave for the taste of your lips
Your hands on my hips
Your fingers with a tight sensual grip
I dedicate my heart and my lust
To get lost within every push of your trust
Like a treasure deep underneath the sand
I'm addicted to the feelings of your command
Your hazel eyes are the sunrise
You bring out the obsession,
And my sweet tooth temptation
Like the moon above a misty night
Seducing me in every way in a poetic write
Your liquid heaven is the beginning-
-Of my delicious delight!

          by: PD

**A sweet Dedication To My Babe**

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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Passing through framed windows like ours, I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends that burned your innocence at 21... and though you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted. We both searched deeply into our souls as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted to let you know, it was alright; but that mound of shoulders turned away. Down the years as officer and gentleman, Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair, leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills until you arrive under crawling dock of stars. But in free moments, how you cherished me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds, to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon. You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams... until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel. I see you through all framed windows like ours, that even if my iced breaths needed you more as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry for love’s company... “ I have adored you in moments of distance and nearness, if not always, then for all eternity.” Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh? Dad, everything is all right. Ir0nic Zink's Your Personal Favorite Poem Contest Resubmitted 5/19/2017

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013

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Those Words

I speak my thoughts with gentleness The things I need to say with care Thoughts held in my hands, gone through my fingers, balanced on my fingertips... ... sent to my lips. I speak my words with thoughtfulness from my faltering tongue The air swaying rippling with meaningful sound I speak my words out loud, they land where I want them to bloom Sometimes as small white daisies Other times as beautiful blue thistles or roses. I watch them grow, my eyes follow their independent will and stubbornness With pride I stretch my hands to pick them and arrange... They grew on me. *** September 21, 2017 Copyright © Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

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Rapid Eye Movements
cruise down the Autobahn,
driving dreams of soldiers 
slaying the Beast in the East:
seeds hidden in the cuff links
that return home for the victory parade.

The victory parade of the new millennium
is a mirage: desert sand creeps 
through the streets of Basra;
spray painted slogans of “Aryan Nation”
are left behind on pock-marked walls.

High level terror alerts
scroll across the Fear o' Dome,
breeding paranoid glances 
from commercial-class passengers
while they fly above fenced camps
where centralized secret service agents
watch the unloading of another train.

"Son, do you forget the sacrifices?
Have you lost all your respect?
Okay, it’s possible that the Feds
were influenced by the Purebreds—
a minor repercussion 
of maintaining our national security.

It isn’t even about racial purity—
you are all mixed now, anyway.
Whether female, black, jew, or gay,
we must unite together as a nation;
raise its flag with pride,
and fight against a common enemy!
This enemy is trying to disintegrate
the cornerstone of our free society!

Son, can you not see! Not see-notsee-notsea-notsi-
notzi-natzi-nazi-natzi-notzi-notsi-notsea-notsee-not see!"

—cold sweat.

I awaken to remnants of nightmarish images
sifting through my mind:
flocks of carnivorous sheep
with invisible shepherds.

The dream had felt so real.

I rush out of bed,
just to make sure.
From my bedroom window,
I see the neighbour’s Iron Eagle weathervane
goose-stepping towards the west.
A lawnmower growls in the background.

Everything appears normal here
on 4th Reichstag Blvd.

2016 Neu Berlin Remix, July 13th, 2016
(original version was written on March 29th, 2010)

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2016

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If You Weren't Such a Nut Meg

She had so many chances
     Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
     Just not much coffee in her cup

Couldn’t make a good decision
     Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
     Should she head south, no maybe north

Still, she was fun at a party
     I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, Icing because I’m happy
     As the words began to croon

Maybe that’s what’s most important
     Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
     Doesn’t do things by the book

Once again, I’m gonna help her
     Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
     If you weren’t such a nut Meg

Contest: Food Fight
Sponsor: Viv Wigley

Copyright © Mike Gentile | Year Posted 2017

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Tissue Box

like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come 

dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings

don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat

I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure

                but, this was my child who loved and lost
                impossible........I can't express it

protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine, 
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control

like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us,  and then they all go home...

do we cry........?  Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we hold back all the tears for now

                for, this was my child who loved and lost
                impossible........I can't express it


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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For the Love of Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

Sandra M. Haight

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

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

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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when the words dissolve upon our tongues

Dressed-up words misguide our naked thoughts far more than naked thoughts influence the use of dressed-up words. Words can be a narcissistic cover-up or masks expressing secondary emotions, even if the wordsmith is begging to be needed. If one desires to communicate with a purer intent, to cut through language's sinew of misinterpretation, and into truth's marrow, such communication can happen within wordless silence where blooms touch waves salt sweat true north, pantings in the cold; the swelling heat of iron ignition. When my tongue dissolves the words, laps up innuendos and syntax errors of reality from in-between the honeyed surface of language, over-stimulation spins me deliriously. If this needs a pause, a breath to breathe, to feel the distance, our wavelengths will never cease to communicate. September 12th, 2015

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2015

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this was me

it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...

i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..

many months and thousands of hours, 
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..

i understood, i felt his pain, 
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.

living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..

as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..

i felt he was worth giving 
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..

america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.

the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying, 
i was alone in a strange country, 
knowing no one, in a house, not a home, 
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..

with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..

i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep 
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..

planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut, 
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.

jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe, 
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks, 
terror still haunts me; i am determined 
to not let another change me.

i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.

~this was me~ 

Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2007

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What I Have Done

A heart filled with nothing
A mind that thinks not much
A soul that runs on empty
A body that craves no touch

Is just an empty walking shell
With an attitude that cares less
Is just a person with no will left
And a life she's made a mess

Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017

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Midas Touch

~Do Not Trust a Word, He Says~

He speaks of sunken treasures the way no other man 
The map of his essence is drawn in the stars 
His smile of gold ride out the waves 
The moon is pulled by the prestige of his masculine art 
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case 

His love lavishes making every moment memorable
This gentleman cultivates you from every direction 
Your blood rises to his flirtatious ego 
His eyes, manipulate you, invade every dream, 
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind 
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost in his touch 
He endures, he breathes in ways you can't resist 

Uttered words easily wrap around your heart 
In a game of trust, his lips persuade another kiss 
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ---- stepping all over yourself 
You are naught more than a fool in love, 
Trusting and believing every golden word spoken from his lip


( A Poet Destroyer Collection)

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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Momentary lapses of shyness 
within pretentiousness the size of a non-la-hat 
offering shade from your sweltering Sun, 
confused the boy still residing beneath an exterior 
of brashness. A wooing of rose or lotus petals?
Did she not enjoy such frivolity? Wot of a bard
letting words slide through the air like silk,
for I didn't possess such romantic poetry.

No, I embarked upon a journey of false-heroism,
took a bullet, figured it to shape me into a man.
I showed off the wound, blood soaking through the bandages -
you seemed far from impressed by this display of stupidity.
Yet you played coy,
bending over, letting sunlight play through a thin summer dress,
highlighting inner thighs, lines arching up into a dome of dizzy-delirium
so sensual it almost appeared sinful.

At night you'd undress before a naked window,
letting shadows flirt across moonlit dew.
It was all I could do to keep eyes averted,
instead, living on dreams of unwrapping gifts
under the influence of feverish waves,
even though I never forgot to take quinine.

And after all the games, 
I had only to stay still long enough for you to complete another sketch,
take its lines, breathe together a new poem,
unleashing torrents of words into my ear.
A funny sort of unconventional, tactile courtship.
You wanted me to listen, to test my patience,
and once your head was emptied out,
heat arose from the bloom, enveloping me in soft petals,
vanquishing my fever, with a different feverish embrace.
Your eyes almost felled me with their complexities
of virginal innocence and a whorish lust. The thrusts,
lips and fingers, the blended push-pull of rhythm and wild abandon
caused me to lose myself long enough,
to find your soul drifting alongside my own,
amongst the stars that had always been shining.
Amongst the light already written before our birth.

June 2nd, 2012

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Actions Speak Louder Than Words

A kind word, of course,
Can soothe the flustered soul or bring a smile
To a frowning face. That’s a given, but
In one’s troubled times, words still are
Only words.
Naked they become, for we see right through them when
Sincerity is misspoken and devoid of thoughtful deed.

Simple gestures are more meaningful than pretty words.
Persuasive poets perhaps pen verses to their beloved
Elegant and extravagant like pearls. Empty all the same
Are artful words given in pretense or with thought of recompense.
Kindness for me is found in action!

Lovers - real and honest lovers - are
Obliging, and they are more than kind!
Unabashedly they step in to defend those whom they hold dear.
During good times and bad, they will be there,
Enduring every hardship by their lover’s side,
Relinquishing their own needs for the needs of their adored.

Thank God if such a man or woman
Has ever graced your life.
Actions of their ardor
Never should be taken for granted.

Words can be loud with promises,
Overflowing also with
Romance!  But only a fool would
Deny that one's exhibition of love is
So much the sweeter!

Written March 29, 2016 for the Cliche contest of Silent One

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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Tell Me A Tale

Tell me a tale of humanity Paint me the love of your life Show me a path to humility How a man should honour his wife. Help children believe in magicness Describe the warmth of a smile Feelings invoked by happiness A tree that’s been watching a while. Explain the pain of solitude Gift me the smell of a flower Tease me with dreams of magnitude Sights that are seen from a tower. Convey the sound that a river makes Define your fear of the dark Textures and tastes of a freshly cut steak A walk with your child in the park. Interpret the touch that a lover leaves Recount the flaws of your youth Depict a man with his heart on his sleeve Confront and search out the truth. Weave me a yarn with your poetry Spin me with poetic release Take me away with ingenuity Fill my mind and my soul with your peace.

Copyright © Mark Woods | Year Posted 2015

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Simple Words for Simple People

If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart

maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse

maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words

maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!

But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.

Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.

Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday

breathing softly  in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.

Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.

Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse

but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world

Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society 

would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole

and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.

Maybe a little child who understands only little words

would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned

rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries

and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh 

Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream

and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet

or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers

And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and  maybe I feel blessed.


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012

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When Do We Start To Live - Collaboration with Space Cadet

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When Do We Start To Live   Collaboration poem: Space Cadet and Darren White Voice: Wesley C.
How do I know we’ve lived?           If you’re certain then tell me when?           When? When have I lived?      Do I live now?           Is it the tap-tap of my hand against the window;           the drum played by my fingers on the chair?      Is it the slowed back-beat, or the snare drum speed,           under your hand at rest,           on my chest,           in this 2 AM discotheque. How do we know we’ve lived?      Is it a faint notion, or         movement in my legs:         A lotus reed on my calves         I'd never felt until it tickled me? How do I know I’m still alive?      Is it when the ice-blue swaddles          me in abyss, of          inky darkness?      Or when I’m a borne flutter of this butterfly          crinkled away in my chest          cavity?      Or as sun rays play          with light and words that tumble,          crumble, and fall to pieces,          in their own stubborn way,          here,          on this paper?      Is it found in a friend’s voice          that pulls me from dark,          penetrates a radiance inward,          up from me, out,          to my face,          ablaze with why I'm here to exist?

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2016

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Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

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I Am But a Dreamer

I am but a dreamer
and in my dreams I play
where I live so happily
writing them my way
inside my illusions
where I know I belong
whistling a joyful tune
as I go along

Like a little spirit
I venture on the breeze
skipping in the gentle wind
doing what I please
with the rising sun I dance
wrapped inside his charms
across the golden morning sky
twirling in his arms

I can climb a mountain
or live among the trees
sail in a silver sailboat
on the seven seas
I can draw a moonlit night
ride on a bright moonbeam
and swim among the diamonds
in a velvet stream

I am but a dreamer
there's nothing in my way
living in the place I love
loving everyday
maybe it's a fairytale
but that's all right by me
I'm the master of my dreams
where I wander free

No one there can tell me
what is wrong or right
following what's in my heart
I live in the light
happy in my dream world
that's where I choose to stay
in the world where I belong
writing dreams my way

Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009

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The Words That flow Through My Pen

Sometimes, life has no reason unlike the seasons
It aimlessly drifts with the wind
We find ourselves in places of unfamiliar faces
Bathing in the shadows of sin
Our souls become lost up in the holocaust
That once was a beautiful life
Like a ship drifting upon the tide we bang and then we ride
The white horse straight into death
Into a giant black hole we dive in with our soul
Until we have nothing left
We then fall prey to our host who spreads butter on our toast
Our habits take over our lives
Everything we hold dear falls with one last tear
Into the darkness of night
Tired and defeated all our hope is depleted
Because we have nothing left to lose
Sometimes the storm passes as slow as molasses
Left frozen somewhere in the snow
Then our red eyes run dry with no tears left to cry
As we admit, I’d rather be dead
If you have a desire to live right, please take heed of my plight
And know that it’s never to late
Soon as you give it away find your knees and pray
You will find the comfort of home
And all of the disgrace will fall off of your face
Like the leaves that fall off the tree
And just like the bare tree soon you will see
Life is reborn in the spring
Like a warm days cool breeze, God fills us with his ease
And through him we find some peace
One day at time the trials all unwind
As the jigsaw falls into place
As everything gets better we become one with the weather
And the seasons suddenly become our friend
Our lives suddenly fly past, because we want to make them last
Like an ice-cream on a really hot day 
We are overcome with the obligation to tell of our salvation
Remembering all of those left behind
Some will find their way, others all we can say
Is Lord, we truly did our best
Dear Lord we write for your glory, telling our stories
That we would rather keep hid on the shelf
Our desire is to aspire so we can rise ever higher
With the words that flow though our pen
Giving of ourselves becomes our greatest wealth
As our souls become one with the Son
No high could be higher than faith and desire
Knowing we have been born again
One day we will stand before the gates that shall open to our fate
As heaven welcomes us in
We will look down on this earth, spirits of a new birth
Watching over the seeds that we spread
Knowing their lives were made better, because we were able to weather
The storm that raged through night 
Until the day I become shadows and dust I'll forever trust
The words that flow through my pen

Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2010