We were together during the time of my youth
I was fascinated by us because we loved in truth
There wasn't anything we wouldn't share with each other
I think we both knew that we wanted to take things further
What I didn't realize at that moment is that no one loves like you do
No one would tolerate me regardless of what we go through
No one would understand and cater to my emotional needs
No one would compromise instead of giving me the third degree
No one would put meaning into music and dedicate it to us
No one would spend time with me without being so much in a rush
Time has proven to me that I let a good one get away
I'm going to live with this regret each and every day
True I was young and immature and trying to find out who I was
It seem as though this is something that everyone does
You were a constant reminder every time a relationship failed
In pain I would always wonder how far your ship as sailed
I wish on the day I married you i knew what I knew right now
No one loves the way you do because they don't know how.
Hello, if you want a bird as a friend
I could be a good one.
Oh, I would sing to you sweet songs all the day long
and we could hide and seek for fun.
I see you like seed bread- well guess what! I do too
but I'll skip the peanut butter.
After breakfast lets go to the garden
so I can go flutter.
I will tweet joyful songs when you are sad
'cause I want you happy.
I have watched you weeping from my maple tree branch
oh, please, please don't be unhappy.
And at night we will go to bed like pals,
you under your fleece sheets,
And thanks for the hat- it makes a nice nest
till I wake you with my TWEETS !
A good writer
can write outside of themselves—
crawl out of their own skin
and wear another man’s shoes
until the soles burn through.
They sit at a bar
with a drunk they hate,
and still write his story straight.
They listen to a woman
they’ll never touch
and feel her loneliness anyway.
A bad writer
only polishes their own mirror,
keeps kissing their reflection,
keeps mistaking confession for courage.
But a good one
gets punched in the mouth by life
and writes from the floor,
from the gutter,
from the hospital hallway
where the lights never sleep.
They write the whore’s prayers,
the janitor’s philosophy,
the gambler’s last promise,
the child hiding under the table
when the shouting starts.
They don’t ask
if it’s pretty.
They ask if it’s true.
And if it hurts—
good.
That means it’s alive.
A NEW YEAR IS BEGINNING,
A GOOD ONE FOR US ALL,
PEACEFUL, JOY AND FULL OF KINDNESS,
IF YOU NEED SOMEONE JUST CALL!
HAPPY TIMES AND LAUGHTER, SPREAD,
SUPPORT EACH OTHER,
GOOD TIMES AHEAD.
WHETHER QUIET SPELLS OR IN A CROWD,
IF IT'S CALM OR AT A PARTY,
FUN IS ALLOWED.
WISHING YOU ALL HAPPINESS AND CHEER,
LOTS OF GOOD LUCK AND A BRILLIANT NEW YEAR!
Divorced and happy, divorced from the fraud, the one who promised to be there for all time.
Divorced from the stress, the person who caused so much stress, the one who was not only harmful, to my body and mind and all of my life, the one who left scars that will never leave, but have made me have knowledge of the nightmares that others can cause.
Divorced from the person who was unkind, the one who lacks truth, who uses people, and continues a life of lies.
Divorced from the monster, the one who made me cry and have confusion, you no longer can cause me to feel down.
Divorce is good, it can set you free, free to live a life of happiness, free you from a person that is not good, one that you thought was the one, but turned out to be a negative one.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Judging poetry contests is as easy as comparing a hog to a car
Or a tub of lard to a gasoline engine and a movie star
Trying to be objective is not in the equation at all
comparing unlike things to each other is a likely fall
some are witty, others do not follow a single contest rule
I laugh at some, others are so well written they make me drool
Rght away I sort them into piles of two – one good, one not so much.
Cannot divulge my secret, but it would infuriate my Aunt Dutch
She likes everything to fit into a tidy little clean box up high
Judging poems against each other makes me roll an eye
How do you say this one is good, and that one is not
When none share a purpose, is that all you’ve got?
I used to moan and wail and torment myself with the result.
Now when I second guess my finalists, I yell “Halt!”
Just put the top three in a shake up order and try again.
The gold always rises to the top no matter what shape I’m in.
Latter life is special. Blessings come when visiting a parent. They are not a burden - those who raised you up, if indeed you had a good one.
My Dad is almost 88 and I am thankful he is still here. He loves his kids to visit, a good meal and is always thankful. I am thankful for him and also my husband who is generous to help me load and unload the car and join in with conversation. It has been 4 ½ years of almost weekly visits.
— by Poet
chatting:::cooking:::cleaning
praying:::eating:::clearing
washing:::gathering:::hugging
three
:::
different
:::
highways
:::
home:::sweet:::home
together:::alone:::separate
time:::goes so:::fast
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Just once in my life,
I saw the real moon
And that moon was you.
(In silent thought, I wonder)
Did bad luck suddenly
Turn into a good one?
My soul drifts afar,
bathed in moonlight
Madly, I fall for the moon,
And madly, I fall for you.
Just once in my life,
I saw the real moon
And that moon was you.
I sat next the guy who sat to that"ole Gal"
that night that they talked it over.
Over and Over again
they talked about it.
I heard words of love
and endearing concerns.
They talked about everything
from frustations to ferns
they spoke of the need to understand
and a bneed to know more
one things for sure
they talked it out.
See what is worth mentioning
in all this constant tentioning
were it needed explaination
it turned up straightened
they talked it over
they talked it over
so that all could understand
hold on Mister
the lady has a point
stand up for
yourself
get out in front
don't hide behind your woman
her needs have been addressed
you got the first part
now lt's finsh this rest
the contract is negocated
so to all concerned
we have one signuture
it's the other parties turn
there it
we should all stand and appluad
thank you all for your
pateince
now lets thank the LOrd!
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Water dripping from the faucet
I wish to tap in to it and flow
Like red river from indigo soul
Writing something that grows
Like a seed esteemed and springing
In each reader who is a believer
And even those who are deceivers
A word so good one salivates
A poem so inspiring it breaks chains
Chains of doubt
Chains of caste
Chains of illness
Chains of blocks of all kinds
Let the waters wash away strongholds
And create in me in you a new thing
Good Morning!
Good Morning! I said.
Now I have a good one.
Answered a lady, a shop assistant.
Sunday morning, I understand you. I said.
Yes, it is. But now I feel better. She answered
– Morning sunlight shone in the shop, and black eyes, sparkling
After shopping, I left the store
The May light greeted me with love
Spring, nature, fresh air, singing birds, sparkling black eyes…
Black eyes
Watching far
Good Morning
Sunday Love
Good Morning
New Spring Love
Suicidal
Ohh little one
The world knew not for you let no one,
Not to find out, but kept your woes.
Your thoughts became your biggest foes.
You belittled yourself if not fitted.
Where is your voice hidden?
That all at once you just quitted,
The life so good one would be smitten.
You woke the alarms of death,
And broke the hearts of your dear ones.
Who would have gone depths,
For life without you I loathe.
If hearts were sold in the market,
People would stand in queue
Fighting for buying the good one
Without realising that
the best in the world is inside them.
-Thaqiya/lazybirdnest
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