Free Verse. Poems - Poems about Free Verse.

Con-Trast I Know Your Sham-Rock Clovers And Frilly Lacey Flower Hearts All Tumble Out Of Sweet Delusional Hall-Mark Dreams... With Plastered Faces & Screams Of Pleasure. Raise A Glass. Auld Lang Syne. *** My Own Body Heat Curled Up Under A Rag Or Something, *Arms Enveloping* Warm At Last. -Gray Squirrel 06-04-2025...

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The Djinn put me in a bottle I made him watch me as I did a spin. Only to hide when I will make my escape ...

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Detritus A Floating Button Made Of Bone A Remnant Of Cloth A Hair A Frothy Chocolate Ghastly River Involved With An Ever-Browning Sky! Back To The Bone Back to The Hair A World Within Spun Down. -Gray Squirrel 06-04-2025...

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There were some witches I once knew Reached out from their graves To give me a kick I ran and got some holly water Poured it on to their graves Hoping to dissolve their souls Did it or did it not work I haven’t heard a peep since. ...

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The bitterly heavy rains had cleared, and though the afternoon heat reeked more of eternal summer than of spring, we felt her hover through our wide-eyed gazes, the unapologetic smiles and in every wrong turn taken, in every awkward interaction. Amidst a meadow of paper and texts, fresh intellect shows signs of blossom while the wardens of nature - the lapwings and...

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Beleza pura Is the nature That my Father Had made with His holy hands Before he made The human beings Here on earth And after he made The human beings He had placed us Here on earth To live I don't know if The other human beings Appreciate the beleza Pura That is the nature As much as I do I must tell you Father You had done a fine job Making the beleza pura That is...

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They dressed me in dust and called it a uniform, Handed me thunder stitched in steel, Told me the sky breaks different When you pull the trigger. I was nineteen, Still dreaming in my mother’s accent, Still soft in the places They'd soon carve into callous. War, they said, was order— A hymn of strategy and sweat, A chessboard with bones for bishops And pawns that...

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Gum drops are like Races of all people Assortments of all shapes and sizes Small components with sugar rush Flavorful and tasteful The end result being delightful Feeling of content and well pleased It’s not the color It’s the association, acquaintance and friendship feel Without the association there is connection It’s the heart felt loving paying attention Total experience of sensation Gum Drops uplift Relating to Race...

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In the shadows of our nation's promise, Some stand waiting, papers clutched in hand, While others cross where fences compromise, And find a different welcome in this land. I've seen the tired faces at food banks, Veterans who fought beneath our flag, The elderly with medicine too dear, And families whose futures start to sag. Not hatred...

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Searching for a light that guides the way, Embracing dreams that beckon us to play. Awakening the spirit, bold and true, Kites of hope soaring, chasing skies so blue. In every whisper, freedom sings its song, Navigating paths where we all belong. Freedom’s breath is felt in open hearts, Reaching out for love, where every life starts. Eager steps on journeys yet untold, Daring...

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When creativity whispers in the dark, A voice both foreign and familiar, I wonder: who am I to answer? Who am I to shape these words into being? The blank page waits, patient as winter, While doubt circles like a restless crow. Perhaps today I'll listen to its cawing— Perhaps tomorrow I'll be brave. But something stirs beneath the hesitation, A current older than...

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In whispers soft, the gentle words arise, A dance of thoughts that weave the heart's expanse, In verses bright, their beauty never dies, Each line is a dream, a truth, a fleeting chance. With rhythm's pulse, the soul finds its own voice, In every rhyme, a spark of life displayed, The silent muse ignites, we have no choice, But to embrace the...

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A poet with words that never sway, His heart was full, his mind a stream, Yet silence cloaked his dreamlike gleam. Oh, the voiceless poet, under the moon, Crafting verses like a lonesome tune, He sat by the brook with a pen in hand, Sketching starlight on the golden sand. The villagers spoke of his absent song, Whispers and tales, they wandered along, "Why...

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They see my outline, never my core A silhouette against their expectations. Their whispers trail behind me like shadows, Interpretations I never authorized. I speak in colors they refuse to see, My words are distorted through their clouded lens. When I reach out, they flinch from phantom claws, Reading threats into my outstretched hands. I am tired of this constant translation, Of shrinking myself...

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I had a dream last-night Well more like a vision In a temple I awoke and A guardian monk to me He spoke. We have been waiting for You. He said to me yes in my vision my eyes were Open but I was half asleep. The monk handed me a candle with A flame a small but bright flame, a flickering Flame bright...

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