Long On writing and wordsmay Poems
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A thought is born from within
No cure surely is a sin
And yet the matter is simply this
What is it that is your bliss
Do not throw away the inner self
To be aborted and stored upon a shelf
And yet the voices beyond these walls
Sing louder and louder. Louder they call
The problem unanswered is not solved
If only then to know how these evolve
So much easier this case would be
But no it is harder for you and I to see
Questions. Answers. Questions you see
More questions than answers given to me
Self-pity is no solution only the worst
Do not allow these feelings to become the curse
Wretched fatigue may also add
Unto the environment already bad
Tears of sorrow may temporarily help the matter
But only to run out and not to flatter
Among whom can be asked for help
No one for this cannot be dealt
By one or two or three or none
Only I can solve it for only I am the one
Whose inner thoughts are being bound
That with one time could not be found
Now they wish only to be heard
But by whom and in how many words
Form:
Please Critique My Write
By Elton Camp
There’s a request from which I intend to shrink
“I want you to tell me what you really think”
It may seem to ask your honest opinion to tell
But unless it’s praise they’ll be as mad as hell
Although I’ve gotten pulled into this trap before
That’s certainly not going to happen any more
Even if the write is dull, error-filled and trite
What they want to hear is your endless delight
Even the slightest criticism will drive them wild
It’s almost as if you had just slapped their child
And whether it’s a stranger or some friend,
Know that you’ll never hear from them again
But you must expect them to publicly criticize
And say you are presumptuous, mean and tell lies
But, to your advantage that actually may work
For you’ll never again have to deal with that jerk
Poetic flesh transparent to the bone
heart on a sleeve, emotions on display
they find a world that has much to atone.
Verbal skills and persuasiveness to hone,
arguments to champion, minds to sway,
poetic flesh transparent to the bone.
Eliciting bright laughter; anguished moan,
a message of humanity to say
phrases that may find his ears alone.
Humanity can have a heart of stone
much selfishness and cruelty on display
poetic flesh transparent to the bone.
Seeds of homespun sanity to be sown
solutions verbalized in his own way
phrases that may find his ears alone.
Of speakers there are plenty time has shown
and listening's a skill that's gone astray
phrases that may find his ears alone,
poetic flesh transparent to the bone.
A Poet sits in a chair..
Not sleeping, lost in a stare..
Wonders where next line will come..
A task not easy or filled with fun..
Dribble drable will the readers take..
Or perhaps label this poet a fake..
Maybe a line may take off and scream..
Or just a mans way to blow off steam..
No more to write, the cap is on the pen..
Now just copy and paste and submit to send..
A comment or two may just make my day..
For all at Soup enjoy my say..
imagery within me avail-
as I amble,down and vale
emily:is a 2(or sometimes 3) line paradox form(i labelled it thus,inspired by Emily Dickinson
poem 1732).It may or may not have a title,uses a word with separate meanings,(or one that
sounds the same,with a different spelling) with the intention to mean several things,therb to
enhance the thought's ambiguity/enigma.
ED 1732 begins: My life closed twice-
before it's close
SHAKESPEARE's Romeo& Juliet: ask for me tomorrow-
and you will find a grave
man
You like to show off those twenty one hundred dollar bills in your wallet.
You believe that it will impress people but insanity is what I call it.
After seeing your money, someone may clobber you and take it.
When you get an urge to flash your cash, please forsake it.
I wish that you would stop showing off the money that you've got.
You think it's worth the risk of being injured and robbed but it's not.
Please listen to what I've been saying and one day you may even say thanks.
Instead of keeping that amount of cash in your wallet, you should put it in a bank.
(This is based on a true story.)
I have dipped my pen in the sublime,
it is my gift to you...
And as I write this tale
I hope your dreams come true
But the children today are confused
and you, my friend, may ignore
But then I guess
I shouldn't have given to you before
I gave my gift, it's just for you
And though this story I spin may be a bit alarming
once you read it through
I'm sure that you'll find it charming
The words may seem to trap you
in a flurry of imagery
and now that you've truly seen,
you'll look at the world very differently...
~Marie Viloria~
9th place in the contest: Writing In The Sublime ~