Long My style Poems
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I’m thankful that I picked up my pen to write,
it’s got me through some tough times in my life;
when life issues were giving me terrible strife -
now I write poetry, often late into the night!
I was persuaded to join Poetry Soup
in truth, I put it off for quite a while;
uncertain that folks would like my style -
now I’m delighted that I joined this group!
I’m grateful to the good friends I’ve made
they’ve helped me so much as a novice poet,
offering me wise advice, and don’t I know it -
such kindness I hope one day can be repaid!
Thankful Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
18/17/18
Long Distance Love Letter
Until the time is right my love, these words I send to you
I send them post haste, hoping to land with the morning dew
Take my kisses in and place them on your lips for me
Then you can return them warm, please hear my plea.
Kisses sent across the miles, catching the evening breeze
Weaving through the thermals, waiting for you to seize.
Still warm from your caress, I’ll hold them to my lips
Not to miss each other as the fated passing ships.
Anticipation, excitement, building all the while
Expectations not too high, that wouldn’t be my style
Fingers touching, lips brush, hearts race as one
The waiting nearly over, since my heart you won
Waves crashing, smoothing, to ripples on the shore
Leaving behind a feeling, a longing then for more.
I close my eyes and say goodnight until one day we meet
Across the miles so far away you’ll still feel my own heart beat.
© 2/12/2012~GG~
I don’t like the rules,
So I just won’t follow them,
They make writing all dry and stiff,
Tasteless Weither it be bitter or sweet,
“Flaws”,
“Mistakes”,
“Sloppy and disorganized”,
That’s how humans are just like,
Just like my poetry and writing style,
Humming my toon as I walk and dance,
You start to notice when you read my work,
Its the Varry toon of someone living and experience,
Once you read this I hope you see,
I pray you hear shat I hear,
The stars of dreamers shining bright,
The cries of the appressed by oppressor',
My style,
My technique,
My varry existence,
MY SHINING SOUL,
It can be mocked and talked down to,
It can be broken down by oppressors,
But even so I’ll write till my last word,
I’ll write till the name Dragonstar means something,
Until my style less style becomes a statement.
Until my toon is Hurd and Agknolaged.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
,
Always later than I'd like, richness in their cells when ripe
Backberry with Apple pie delight, once to taste is not my style
I've also found them there, at times and whiles, and tasted also before
I'm home.' and now I've opened up the tome, the one on puddings; basin filled.'
Mullberry and plum, raspberry and kiwi, gooseberry and Logan
Make pages of colour, that one could dote on' But I'll admit and without
Duress, blackberries in August are the very best, their deep rich taste
Is always smooth, enhancing many mealtimes; theyre comfort imbued.'
The pot is on; the apples peeled, blackberries tender swiftly yeild
Aroma rich, perfumes the air; there are paintings of them on my spiral stair
All in all, I must profess they are a real forte; in culinary prowess.'
Dancing is my soul, meraki- vitality,
emotions are released from my inner being;
to music I sway and twirl with intensity,
my dance self leaps and jumps with a life force aching.
Emotions are released from my inner being,
I love to dance, devoted to and delighted in;
my dance self leaps and jumps with a life force aching,
with joy, I groove, hop, leap and with wildness- I spin.
I love to dance, devoted to and delighted in,
it is my compulsion, passion and obsession;
with joy, I groove, hop, leap and with wildness- I spin,
with a rage that fills me 'til the final curtain.
It is my compulsion, passion and obsession,
at practice, I create my artistry, my style;
with a rage that fills me 'til the final curtain,
my reward- the audience's clap and smile.
At practice, I create my artistry, my style,
to music I sway and twirl with intensity;
my reward - the audience's clap and smile,
dancing is my soul, meraki- vitality
_____________________
December 2, 2017
Poetry/Rhyme/My Meraki
Copyright Protected, ID 17-9680-05-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Meraki
sponsor, Silent One
Second Place
The words written in the past are gone
Nobody will ever read those words
Some would have struck a nerve
Some might have thrown u 4 a curve
My words were knowingly spelled wrong
But they all came from the mind of a poet
There r 2 previous chapters 2 this story
It's been so long since they were read
My lost teenaged soul has been dead
I have not thought of myself as a poet in over a decade
Between my mind, my hands, & the wordz was a blockade
Not anymore! This makes Part 3!
The mind of a poet is lost
Ambitious (4 a month)
Ridiculous (a couple times a month)
Ambiguous (my mind is free, you know what I mean)
Meticulous (when it suits me)
Adventurous (A fancy way of saying lost)
My writing is unique
My style is perfectly imperfect
My grammar is not correct
My words r real
If my words don't rhyme, kick rocks 4 real!
My soul lives on lost pieces of paper
Those words can never be recovered
This chapter is tamer than the other(s)
No sex, no drugs, no alcohol, no murder
Knowing that makes me wanna say, mother f#%ker!
Give me another piece of electronic paper!
This is the mind of a poet, reborn!
My life is torn
Who is this guy? Who is he? Typing on a laptop
Just typing, and he doesn’t know the reality of love
Hmm. Just reflect, reflect on its life, the deadline
Never will be a headline, messenger of the deathline
Can’t find or organize life. His life, his bad life
But he wants. Hmm, just hope for love. It is dark
My life is dark. But I live in a cold and sharp light
Killer. But sweet. Magnetize my life. The next life
Yeah. Will be a demon. A killer monochrome life
Amazing English-blue rainy cloudy sky. My style
My life is torn. Error. I needed her as a mentor
English, this woman. Amazing. A top linguist
I never touched her. Never. Her view of an emotion
Eternal impression. Hmm. Forgotten unforgettable
Platonic this love. She made me for a poet. Teacher
Thank you, my love. Thank you, my new life. Yours
Oh, dear. All my words, lines are yours. Yours. Yours
Oh, dear, thank you for my life. But it is painful. Without
Without your protection. But live. My life is gone on yours
Hmm. Hah. Hmm. Empty your memory. Please, take love
Forgive me. Oh, dear, all my words and sentences are yours
Loved, loved. Loved you. Your drunky Vilmos. – Love gone
I waited for you. I needed you. I wish you. A love of you
I. A love. Of. You. Love of you. A love for you. Hmm. Hmm
I don’t go. Don’t. Don’t. But, but. Stay, stay. My love, my love
Stop. Stop. My love. Yours. It is gone. Gone, gone, and gone
I need a new one. A new. And a real. An honest. The honest. Love
I can’t forget. You remember. Just drop, drop. This guy. Trample this life
It is mine. It was yours. Gift. Of life
Goodbye. Goodbye. And, goodbye
Your love is a sickness
Your personality is perfect
My life
My life
Were
Were
Was
Was
Deleted
Deleted
Hmm
Hmm
Life
Life
Mine
Mine
Of you
A knife
But
But
Living
Living
The new
Desire
Oh, dear
Oh, bye
My fellow poet
Mr, Ian Guy
You may not know it
But you give me a why
Why do I write
Why do I post
I struggle for sight
You give me a toast
One of the few
Dissecting my rhymes
Honest reviews
Feeling my lines
I've become intrigued
To hear your two cents
I Display my reads
With dings and dents
It seems to me
Your fond of my style
Simple as it may be
You make it worth while
I felt impelled
To make you aware
Each poem I weld
I'm eager to share
I appreciate your words
They resonate
Whether useless curd
Or something great
Feedback is nice
My drive is applause
You review my slice
And give me a cause
One more thing
I'd like you to know
You repaired my wing
As I was ready to go
I read your work too
Your talent shone
I'm inspired by you
Your words, you own
Written: November 13, 2025, for contest sponsored by Joseph May.
" Inspired by the song: 'Like a Wounded Bird Trying to Fly' sung by Kurt Vile.
*****************
Like a wounded bird trying to fly,
I flapped through a mellifluous sky—
not quite broken, not quite bold,
just chasing warmth over winds grown cold.
I strummed my soul on an equine red,
while ghosts of my father rode rails in my head.
My mother, shrewd, stitched up our knees—
with eleemosynary grace and teas.
Now I sit where the green ferns grow,
my kids disport in the woods below.
There’s an imbroglio in my chest—
a luculent ache I can’t arrest.
So if you find me, don’t ask why
I’m like a wounded bird trying to fly.
It is only my style of saying goodbye—
to the weight, the waste, the wondering why.
Telepathic With Pitbulls, they're telling me they're tired/
Of all the trash metal, they wanna be inspired/
So go and retire while you have a chance/
Your career might be alright if you freelance/
Telepathic, I can hear you and I'm feeling the same/
I am disappointed, in what they have become/
My verses are warming, like a moth to flame/
If nobody got you then I got you, I'm changing the game/
Betting on me is not really not a gamble/
Since I came in the game, their life has been in shambles/
When it's all said and done, I'll be in the Hall of Fame/
I shoot for the stars but the stars are not my aim/
I know what people want, they tell me all the time/
My music is out there, flawless rhythms/
I would say I do this for a hobby/
But that would be a lie and a lie is a crime/
That's why those metal heads are locked in my bars/
I continue to rock YouTube from earth to Mars/
It seems that my style to you is derogatory/
I'm just telepathic with pitbulls and this is my story/
My verses are voodoo, savage, and vulgar/
I eat the competition like nothing to it/
I got my fans in the booth when I rock/
The stuff I come up with put me in shock/
Did I just say that, did I just create that/
I listen to your metal like did I just play that/
The voices in my head is saying take over the game/
You're the best these other guys are running out of ideas/
I'm irrefutable, my style is suitable/
My conscience is so out of this world, I got a third eye/
The way that I observe the game/
Is like a bird's eye view/
I see every angle... Truth, I see every angle/
Like the Bermuda Triangle, I'm right in the pentacle/
You'll understand later if you sit and let it pull/
But I'm a different breed, I'm Telepathic with pitbulls/
I'm that one grain that stands out/