In Particular Poems - Poems about In Particular

I always feel a twinge of anger, a truck load of guilt, and a dash of sorrow whenever I think of her But mostly nothing at all My guess is all those year of cuts to the bone ingrown toenails and broken bones weren't quite stitched up, fixed up and set - right She used to hit a racquetball against those grungy, white walls until she felt like...

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From the word 'born', she was made to be a queen. From the weight numbers 7.7 lbs., she was born to be queen. She was daddy's girl and mother's pearl, a gift to the world. Not all queens are strong, but this future queen was born strong. Although some thought her to be mean, she wanted to be fair...

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The sun awakes him Without worry or shame Wish I could say I smell the roses That my life is just the same But he carries on Enriched by nothing at no cost I never had him in the first place So how can I claim to have lost His endless games make me alert He's nothing in particular to achieve I crash out amidst...

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I have an empty page upon which my scribbling efforts will scar. I sometimes think if it would like to remain unscathed as it is; yet, what is a blank page worth just sitting there... lest it be crumpled to start a fire just as scribbling often will....

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Nowhere in Particular David J Walker Is it enough that we once shared the same sky that we walked the same streets and greeted the same citizens aimlessly passing by is it enough that I have cataloged and stored each yesterday in a frame of mind easy to find although every page is dogeared and smeared with the stains of years gone by is it enough to have...

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In my room, there are many objects, most of them collecting dust. I have an array of books, some I've read, and some I fear I never will. There is a window I gaze out quite often. The hills outside my window are now full of houses, where once roamed horses. I miss those days. I wonder why man has such great...

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No one in particular (in the wake of our dreams) We don’t look like they do, graphic replicas of a life in tatters, drifting on lonesome clouds Dove’s wing spread capturing the wind, waving goodbye to an existence that dreams in black and white, fashioning commercials like chip and salsa dispensers Camouflaged by sadness, greens and browns woven in corduroy overalls Contemplating the loss before the beginning creates...

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I'm writing now with no regard to where the words will go. It's not much different than before, I usually don't know. But not to have a thought in mind feels kind of disconcerting. With nothing in particular, the boundries, I'm skirting. So on I go to say hello or maybe how ya doin'. Just let it flow and let...

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I wonder whose fortune ...

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I'm writing this poem about, Nothing in particular. It might be so, I don't quite know If this matter can be quite the tickler. As you read, What I write, Are you sitting are you standing, Or are you leaning to the right? Today I don't feel, Any kind of sadness. EEK! I'm talking to myself, That's the first sign of madness. I now that I'm...

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