Best Writers Poems

Once I'm gone 
I'll only be remembered a small while
I'm a tiny tick on a large dial
The words I breathe will stretch about a mile
Even...

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I want conversations 
with writers and poets
The wise the wacky 
the dark and the stoic 
I need to drink your words
I fear my disease is...

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THIS IS A FICTIONAL WRITE THAT EXPLORES THE QUESTION OF WHAT LOVE IS. IT DOES SO IN A DRAMATIC WAY, AFTER ALL THAT IS MY...

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       CLOSING TIME AT THE PUB


The joy, the camaraderie, the smoke.
The great ale, my great friends in Chicago.
Old Town,...

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I feel a sense of déjà vu as I listen
to the cacophony of voices:
dilettantes discussing poetry 
under baroque chandeliers. Masquerading 
as avant-garde writers or bona...

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...inspired by and in dedication to ~  Victor Buhagiar, Robert Lindley (my mentors) and the rest of the PoetrySoup Family...thank you for your kindness...

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Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails

Waking to cold blown tent, ground frozen icy hard
woods are my love, as is poetry to a bard.
Today...

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Note:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percy_Bysshe_Shelley
Percy Bysshe Shelley,  Born 4 August 1792
Horsham, Sussex, England[1]
Died , 8 July 1822 (aged 29)
Gulf of La Spezia, Kingdom of Sardinia (now Italy)
Occupation	Poet, dramatist,...

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I listen to the sighing
of the wind, as I sit
in the cool shade 
of a sprawling carob tree,
wondering if Basho,
in heavenly abode, 
next to Elysian...

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~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!


   And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring,...

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Four “Golden Girls” seated at a table
Grey streaks our hair, but minds remain stable
     Convention is underway
    ...

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There’s a poet who thinks we are not

such great writers, yet she’s not that hot!

What that smarty pants spoke

was like saying to coke,

“You’re illegal” when...

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"Nuts are in the soup!" 
That's what I've heard: not so absurd
Some add a pinch of spice now and then,
from wit and the sharpened nib...

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If ever there’s a campfire, rekindled as the sun goes down,
where ghosts of articulated writers, return and gather ‘round;
raise their glasses to a toast to...

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No stars tonight, yet eyes transcend towards bright moonlight.
Oh Moon, without words, we converse in lone quiet moonlight.

Angst of two hearts apart, shows in somber...

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