Long On writing and words Poems
Long On writing and words Poems. Below are the most popular long On writing and words by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long On writing and words poems by poem length and keyword.
Trite query from pen so weary
My muse has blown a fuse
The light that once shined has declined
My fleeting hope hangs from a rope
A vagabond whose muse did abscond
With illuminating spark leaving him in the dark
Out on a lark; my scuttled engine in park
Night and day I recon the lexicon
But the literary discourse is no recourse
To a stray itinerate who has lost his way
The sty in my eye has begun to cry
The pus is no fuss; my page is dry
A rhyme for a dime would be sublime
Perhaps, a bartered verse in my purse
Will break the curse, or still worse
Might stain with shame my languishing pain
Incarcerating my fraudulent pen in the critic's den
Oh, if words would rain then my brain drain
Would filter inspiration to my perspiration
The fertile strain if only but a grain
Would fertile sprouts shoot extinguishing my doubts
Words don't cause hurt. Words have no true power.
Words can cause you to feel defeated but only if you allow it.
Call me every possible foul name that might come to your mind.
Insult the loss of a dear, departed loved one of mine'
Use your words to reflect and express all that you consider unkind.
It may work with others, but I pay it no mind.
Besides,
When ever anyone is rude to me, nasty with me, treating me unpleasantly,
or when addressing me feel the compultion to scream and shout,
I never take it personally and I mean that most sincerely.
I always give all of them the benefit of doubt.
No one consciously would treat me so miserably intentionally
so I give them all the benefit of doubt
that there's probably something going on
in their life that's gone wrong.
Something that I'll never ever know about.
Perhaps they're suffering the loss of a loved one or friend.
Perhaps a serious relationship has come to an end.
Maybe they're just having the worst day that they have ever known.
Maybe I just happened to be there when their fuse got blown,
or maybe they are just plain miserable and always will be.
You know what they say, Misery Loves Company.
Maybe they unconsciously want to make everyone as miserable as they.
I can allow that to happen or I can say No Way.
*
There's always a reason why others do the things that they do
and there's no point in wasting energy trying to figure it all out.
and so for me I choose the path of least resistance,
I Give Everyone The Benefit Of Doubt.
...unless they truly cross the line. Then I Punch Their Lights Out.
If you want to be a writer,
you might as well forget money,
forget richness,
forget happiness,
the ink pierces your skin-
in,
out,
in,
out,
such a pattern of mourning-
it strips all pride in hopes you'll quit-
give up-
like they all do.
You might as well sign the contract of death-
to die before any work-if that even
is published,
or merely acknowledged.
The steps of becoming one with the pen,
and page-
begin with hurt
there's no way you can achieve a smile
when a thousand doubts are slapping your face.
Mocking you
so you're locked up in your own world-
without a key.
The pity emphasizes the fact you're unknown
and from that you always will be
hopes and dreams are stomped on
while you continue to change the world
with a single line-
7 syllables;
I want to be a writer.
Well of course you do-
but can you run through the eternal disaster?
Hoping you get through
without a single scar
single scratch,
blood only kept within.
That's the defining moment-
blood seeping through-
searing feeling of the climax
and then it all ends.
I'm looking for some inspiration
Can you direct me to the Inspiration Store?
Heard they've got some real good bargains
Great ideas never used before!
I don't often need to avail myself
Of this vital and humanitarian service
Been quite prolific in the last few years
But now I'm feeling a wee bit nervous!
It's five minutes before the midnight bell
I've come up dry all the day long
Utter panic has grabbed hold of my brain
Thinking suicide would be wrong!
There's other things besides poetry I'm told
On this great big old happy balloon
But none so addictive as rhyming and rhythm
It turns sane people into silly buffoons!
The Inspiration Store has saved many people
From utter and overwhelming despair
So I guess I'll do a search on Google Maps
Before I totally lose all my hair!
(Humorous silly holiday poem)
T'was the night of Thanksgiving,and I couldn't just fall asleep
I tried everything I knew,even trying to count some dumb sheep,
But nothing happened and I was getting more angry and mad at myself,
The leftovers were still on my mind and my stomach went just bleat!
I jumped over my bed and I raced to the door with all my power and might,
And right in the kitchen I landed,where some food was still on sight,
My heart beat it so fast like a train gone bad,when I saw all the turkey leftover galore,
White and dark meat were waiting there just for me, to my profounded delight!
There was cranberry sauce,apple pie and the most wonderfully sweet, pumpkin pie!
My heart aglowed and my mouth watered all over in front of all this sight,
For there I saw some chocolate pudding just sitting upon a tray,
So I gobbled and gobbled, till I thought I couldn't see another new day!
I felt myself swelling up all the sudden, right to the size of the house!
Then I heard this terrible noise,and I've just burst and rip off my blouse!
As I went off straight to the ceiling like a Speeding Gonzalez balloon!
I felt again so sick and so big as I went flying right past the face of the moon
But I still managed to YEEELLL to everyone in the whole town,
Happy Thanksgiving to you all!and pass me all your chocolate PUDDING! Please!
LOL
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka laydp2000
copyright@2005-2008
November,27,2008
In June everything was festive and green,
a patch of deep blue couldn't be seen...
the struggling sun was kept off, with dire,
by a dense foilage of emerald;
and the robins competed with the blue-jays
to harmonize a new song with notes
that even a great composer couldn't write...
Oh, how I loved that sweet sound!
Auburn trees in Fall showed a dull color
andulated by the softest wind,
which wasn't as perfumed as that of spring,
and its sadness was compensated by a beauty,
which inspired a poet and a composer
to write it with a tender melancholy;
and I jotted down the impressive images
of a peaceful Nature that revealed its loveliness!
The freight trains scurred through the defoliating forest,
I found a massive rock and laid my body to rest;
and finally those struggling sun-rays
broke through to warm my forehead quickly:
so glad to have seen, with awe and curiousity,
the forest's beautiful and swift creatures
storing away food for those gloomy winter's days!...
Oh, how happy I felt to have been the wanderer of the forest!
If you knew that you’d be leaving soon
And had but one last poem to write;
What might you pen as you begin
To say your final, farewell good night?
Would it be addressed to those who’ve blessed
Your world with all good things?
To someone close you love the most
Or perhaps, a song of spring?
Of changing winds that swirl and spin
From cradle to the grave;
If you had but one last poem to pen
What would you want to say?
Would thankfulness surround you
For every breath you’ve ever breathed?
Or will you write before losing sight
Of past regrets and shattered dreams?
Will your pages be filled with all the thrills
Of memories made with laughter?
Or will sadness remain despite all the gains
Of riches you’ve chased after?
And I wonder will the darkness fill
Our minds with somber sojourns;
Or will instead we find we’re led
To God’s gigantic, love-filled ocean?
If we have but one last poem to write
Before leaving Earth’s atmosphere;
What will we say that just might stay
In the hearts of those still here?
Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every
thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with
how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm
worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far
above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of
course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the
Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and
dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make
himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not
qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do
what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will
hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my
"rambling worries" to Him.
I have entered many poetry contests
to display my best...an amazing number of sixty or more,
only one of my poems has won first place;
poets are like enduring athletes who fight to the very core!
One big hurray goes to myself for the first win,
congratulations to the other participants
who are on the top of that list, or have been
awarded Honorable Mentions for their efforts!
When my poem doesn't make it to the finalists's list,
I don't feel discouraged, I brazen out the doubt and try again;
even Lance Armstrong, with his skills, can't always win his race,
and the trophy must be given to someone else!
I rejoice when some of the chosen poets appear
on the winners' list; I am happy for their accomplishment,
and into a word-restricted message's box I gladly comment
on their poetry...with the insight of an achiever!
And for those whose names never made it as previously thought,
I honestly tell you, from experience, not to be a bit discouraged...
your time will come when your enthusiasm will require a big shout;
never put the word, " Winner " to rest, write for fun and persist instead!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
When it comes to poetry
I don't know a lot,
But I enter each contest
Just hoping for a spot.
The terminology to me
Is foreign and new
So I look up each form
And my best, try to do.
Acrostic and tanka
Were words I didn't know,
But I'd look up the description
And off to work I'd go.
Once upon a time
I wrote what I felt.
Now I live for each contest,
Get another under my belt.
They've become an addiction,
These contests , to me.
Still, I'm waiting on my results,
And not too patiently.
Maybe again, one day soon,
I'll write just for pleasure,
Though I'm still keeping score
To determine my measure.