Best Writing Poems

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as...

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Here, I scribble a letter 
to the rhapsodical rose, 
dipping my quill in 
stardust that slips 
like a violet waterfall 
from the tips of 
white...

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Partial Paper
 -A poet in heat-

Ink carries its own tale,
When moonshine intoxicates your pen
Bottles of ink fill your mind
Composing symphonies on every line
Drops of passion...

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A Poet's Gift

A poet writes to share a secret depth 
Of feelings within their soulful breast.
They write to grasp onto immortality,
To be remembered beyond their...

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In November I write of winter
  for I am weary of the old year and tired bones
I visualize all hardships blanketed with fresh snowfall
geese...

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"Rhyming poems have nothing of substance to say
They're childish! Ridiculous! Silly! Passe!

What's that - 'The Raven,' fine prose, you assure?
Pshaw, a talking bird is not...

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~ for my fellow poets ~


as slaves to the pen
or our keyboard, more apt
this molding of words
in a word, holds us rapt

fine fancies or fears
take...

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Well hopefully you've read the last "Poetry for Poets", now here's the one I wanted to write, enjoy...

POETRY FOR POETS 
(I own this- edition)

Poems
more organic...

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Painting with Words

If I were an artist instead of a poet
I’d paint what I knew as others would know it.

I’d be a Renoir and never...

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Is it a crime
To pry apart rhyme
Stitch lines, unhitched
From native consequence

To warily marry
Unmetered time
By forced remorse
Unrehearsed
In patchwork verse

In my malaise
My daydreams ablaze
I long for eloquence...

...

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Sensing and yearning allure of daydreams
My musings amble in meadows of themes,
Sometimes wowing ebullience of dawning,
Sometimes luxuriating in moonlit evening
Gazing lambent skies of stellar twinkling,
Inviting...

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I long to write a poem just right
Between the somber and the light
To tease the edges of a heart
To hook the reader from the start
Seduce...

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The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink...

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Yes, my dear, you know,
You are my source of joy, rejuvenation, hope
I need your emotion spread onto my life,
I need your heart to sing among...

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Why I am here in Poetrysoup?

I like a seed carelessly thrown 
upon dirty solid black, brown rocks,
I strive, thrived to grow 
despite big rough blocks..

words......

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