I don't just write in feel.' I preffer it also to be real.' From
Observation of actions taken' allowing that some fancy is not forsaken'
Express yourselves unabashedly my friends
Because no one can honestly give you a grade
Write your poems with your own hands
Make them natural, beautiful and homemade.
Don’t worry about foes, faux, aliens and others
Just do what you need to do my friends
To find good, fair, impartial or sagacious readers
Be creative or innovative to embark on your own trends.
All poems are important, relevant and famous
All poems are born from a particular or divine inspiration
Be bold, brave, controversial, generous and ingenuous.
Bias exists even in literary art poetry. Ignore the laughs
Continue writing. This world is full of odds, hurdles and gaffes
Be happy! It’s needless to yearn for a standing ovation.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to my friend, Juan Felix Of Orlando and others.
Juan, I wish you a speedy recovery. You're in my thoughts, prayers and poems.
Copyright © December 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
*** HAPPINESS ***
H.....Happiness, is for hopeful, in the face of adversity.
A......Admires beauty, gives them poetical, gossamer wings.
P.......Phenomenal, in expression!
P.......Particularly, giving love to all.
I.......Intuitive, insightful they are,loving reality.
N.......Nurturing,they bring out the best in us all.
E.......Enduring, their pen, writes under the sun and the moon!
S.......Serene their mission, in all they do?
S.......Sensitivity, in any work, they create just for you!
6/27/2021
HURT FEELING IN WRITING
How am I suppose to be better
When you've wrote me a scarlet letter
All those hurt full words you've said
Every letter was capitalize red
YOU'VE HURT MY FEELINGS
8/22/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
so this one
I'm writing
to be undone
all this pain
in the world
shrugged off
to others
may God have
mercy on my soul
for I'm afraid
of where I'll go
Enveloped in waves of
overflowing thought
to drown within its current
light goes dim, cannot see
what is in front
what is behind I?
For in a trap,
cannot focus
cannot breath.
Gasping crying to
what cannot hear.
It has ensnared, in its icy
teeth.
Thought oppressed
ink splattered statements along
piles of morose.
Cold
as he froze
the final essence of me.
Writing is a magical touch you get from deep down inside your heart.
It extends to all the known factors of your being.
Essentially everyone is gifted with one talent or another just need to tap into it.
It's a fabricated lie that scientist suggest that we use a small portion of our brains.
Yet as we drift further and further away from positivity we maybe in lack
Words can either heal or wound but its a constant up hill climb.
Talent that some people take for granted but as we extend a hand to help others create we will all be richer for it.
As if each of us is a branch attached to a tree we move and breath together.
It is my dear hope that my very soul permeates a lasting message toward the creative arts.
Remember if we all do our part we can lead each other to the true fountain of love.
Basking in the vast expanse of unconditional acceptance.
Write from your heart and you will make a world of difference.
Just some thoughts by which to ponder hope this helps.
CXLIV
In writing poetry what do I gain?
My brain is active and it keeps me sane
My heart endures this life filled with much pain
And cleanse my vilest thoughts just like the rain
In poetry most often there is rhyme
For truth and reason sounds alike each time
Reality revels with sense sublime
That rouse unrestless spirits much like wine
Its rhythm throbs just like a heart that beats
For meter has ten syllables repeat
Enfeebled lungs breathe in the air so sweet
And sometimes even moves the head and feet
The day will come, I shall not write a verse
When my life ends, so withal be its curse
If legs were my hands
I would have past vast heaven
I would have crossed lanes
And swum countless seas
And walked the flight of a raven
How I wished they were.
My journey in writing
Are the glory of my hands
That spy through and through
The lane has been my memory
Poke by my very thought.
My journey of lighting
The dark life's lands
To every lie...making true.
I have etched a poetry story.
For a change sought.
Far and wide
Landmarks on the isles of life
For time and tide
Here and afterlife.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.