Long My own style Poems
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8/25/17
From here to over yonder
Come hell or high water
Before, during and after the dog days of summer
Standing out like no other
Showing my true colors
No one I need to convince
I drink like a fish
Not a myth
Eversince
It's
Been hit
And miss
Holy s***
Good intent
Was always meant
So please excuse my french
Too many
Showing envy
Involved in a feeding frenzy
Going for broke
Won't
Be looked at as a joke
With my own style
Going to go the extra mile
In order to make it more worthwhile
A lot of people high on the hog
It's rather odd
Just like the concept of god
MY SPIRIT SOARS
"The wind rides in solitude, In her diaphanous delight Her skirts brush eternity, To gather the stars of night"
Music fills my soul and wakes up my senses
and I find my whole body moving to the beat,
rhythm, tempo, cadence of the music in precise,
distinguished moves, defined, delivered with feelings.
How dancing stirs me and lifts me up is beyond me.
Every move I emote is an expression of art, feeling
serenity, freedom, happiness and being in a trance
while I sway, shake gracefully, showing my authenticity.
Dressing up makes me feel free, expressing my love
of fashion and expressing my own style, individuality.
It is art to me, playing, coordinating colors, adding
accents of scarves, hair pieces, belts showing my chic way.
Travel enlightens me, brings joy, delight to my being.
It gives me knowledge, being aware of the facts and
familiar with the places I visit while enjoying my stay.
It gives me freedom of exploring and sweet memories.
How my passions carry, transport me into
another world, where I find solitude, serenity,
freedom, delight, joy or up above with the stars
and that is when my spirit soars with the wind.
5/3/21 Choose Your Form Poetry
Joseph May
Chose: Option #4
Checked: PS Grammar Checker
i am only as good as the material i write
i only reflect on the wrongs and the rights
the ills of society the world as a whole
my chance to make a change
and achieve my goals
since poetry is a passion i love it to death
it's not for the fame nor is it 4 wealth
it's 4 my personal satisfaction 4 the world 2 enjoy
2 get things off my chest 2 play with like a toy
as i get better with time every line so intense
with every line that i write leaves you deeper in suspense
each day is something new off the top of my head
simply brilliant is the content of the poems u have read
this is freestyle poetry at least that's what i call it
my own style with a twist stayin true 2 my calling
the way i play with words i must say is so tight
so 2 all a good day and the happiest of nights
Pen then, I beg thee,of meatloaf.
Perchance.....or butterflies wings?
Meaning or depth, has little honoring!!
Be a fool and pen of things of today?
The poet-butterflies, all fly swiftly way.
To write of-gremlins at the supermarket?
Life has no meaning, don’t you get it?
It’s supposed to be all a big laugh for misfits!
No, I don’t get it and I never will.
Just want a bowl of granola and humility
To taste it’s grand sweetness under the Oak tree.
In my big sun hat, taking a summer slumber
. 6/19/2021
(This is my own style of poetry)
Poetry by Pangie
Form:
The Thankful Attorney
9/2/2023
“Grateful I went to university,” he whispered.
So joyful was he for his sparkling new office..
He smiled, just recalling nights as a waiter!
He’d walk home, in snow deep winters.
A man of dreams, far from a complainer.
Gratefulness sang songs in his blood.
God gave him the strong gift of ambition.
To serve his fellow man, he was indeed.fated.
That night, in his office ,he stunned the stars.
Bursting with pure joy,he had do sing.
“Amazing Grace, how good thou art!”
His life, as an Attorney. off to a munificent start!
Romios
Poem 2
“In My Own Style”
As fresh and as fragrant, colored hyacinths,
That intoxicates one with heavenly scent.
So may my true,original form of artful poetry,
Bloom and blossom, escaping cells of the past.
To spring into action at each sunrised day!
Not wondering where my poetic desire be.
For truly, as a new child grows free….
And this style takes on its own shape.
I, no longer resist, creating my own fate!
********
Greek Legend has it that Hyacinthus, a young
man from Greece, was beloved by Apollo.
He was teaching him how to throw the discus.
Accidentally, it hit him in the head and killed him.
Instantly!!
Out of his head, the ground soaked with his own
blood, grew the flower,named in his honor of his
Name…. Hyacinthos.
The petals were marked with “Alas”, for sorrow.!
Panagiota Romios.
Romios Poem I
“In My Own Style”
I'm rather hard to figure out
Not many really get what I'm about
I'd rather sit quietly than shout
I keep it real I'm not prone to pout
You might think me passive
Still I will act
when others are subdued by doubt
Somewhat serious
Yet prone to smile
Not ecstatic I have my own style
If you need comfort I'll stay with you a while
Don't expect much talking
I'm a listener on the emoticom dial
As a poet
I know the power of the word
In the end I like to hear and be heard
Like you I too have been burned
Within adversity there were things I learned
I am a dancer
Stepping out on pages
Quiet paper oragami cages
Traveling on thoughts
Floating through all my stages
Fast forward rewinding
Pausing at my distance
Like the Borg victims there is no resistance
I breathe my thoughts with a certain persistence
If you look at me
I might reflect you
Searching for answers
Seeing beyond dark corridors
To places bright blue
Perhaps you as well
Like me
are an enigma too!
Written April 8th.
9/3/2023
Remembering, that morning, you were gone.
Your etched coffee mug, on the plaid kitchen table cloth.
And your loving presence vanished, like the morning fog.
How deeply sad, that utterly heartbreaking and fateful morn.
Who would have thought a new love of my lfe was headed my way?
Not m…..who was drowning in forlorn loneliness!
How does life work out…I pondered, bu it .simply does!
Is it perhaps…some invisible angelic presence?
I feel those exact, same emotions today.
But I know now, the seasons of the here, has its ways!
And today’s unbearable heaviness ,will be gone,
Replaced by etches, glorious sprit songs!
Through this silvered mist, dream helpers, work on the spirit of my dreams.
So, I let it all go~ drifting in new dreams,in fine,poetic, serene repose
Neither form, nor impressive verbiage, creates my poetrt
Happiest am I, exposing the genuine me, still in search of my own style!
Those genuine sounds, the soft echoes of my velvet, throbbing soul.
When I compose the genuine melody, it’s a miraculous wave!
And makes my days truly delicious, something to share.
To smile, dance in, and nary a heartach to behold.
An Evening with Poet friends
9/13/2023
Really, sharing fully is nothing new to me.
Just want all to dive in without a bit of hesitation.
Splashing like shiny, rainbowed fish and express
The rays-of our shiny, unique individuality.
I only wish, a few of us were in a room together.
You’d read us your divine, poetic creations.
Teas, lemon, coffees, and hors dourves….
No strangers, just caring, close poet friends.
You are invited to bring, fresh, baked sensations.
I will provide plaid throws, as the Autumn winds blow.
So bring your delicacies and unique poetry..
A poetry evening, where all shall be honored!
Declared winners and stunning sensations.
While the warmth of joyful, appreciation burns!
Panagiota Romios
Romios Poem#2
“In My Own Style”
I believe that at first
I had a thirst for word
As a child I’d create my own style
And make up words to popular songs
Especially when I wanted to sing along
But did not have the vocabulary at age two
By age six I was full of poetic bliss
But only pounding keys on my toy piano
Shouting made up songs as I’d go
Then on a whim of destiny
I became a victim of rape
But I had no word for it
I truly didn’t know what to say
I didn’t understand at age six
That it was a teen and I was just a kid
I saw blood and thought the cool aide
I drank had simply leaked from me
The pain and shame was like a bad dream
But I did not despair for music was there
Then at age seven ironically
A family member, my father began molesting me
This time after years I did speak
To my sixth grade teacher who intervened
But before I could find a way to tell
I used poetry and journalism to excel
My writing was not really the best
But it saved me non the less
So for me music and poetry
Are at the core of my salvation my peace
Years of fears tears and therapy
I am healed and better for it all
Thanks to God and a teacher
Who inspired me to talk.