Yesterday, her words were stolen,
carried off by a world that would not see.
No ear to listen,
no place her voice could root,
a voice borrowed by shadows.
They took her courage,
the freedom to move unafraid,
to let her voice soar.
She spoke.
The world twisted her words
laughter shattering over her
like shards of glass.
She learned to watch their eyes,
to shield herself from sharpness,
from the ever-turning circle of judgment.
So she poured her truth into her pen…
it alone could carry it.
No hand could seize it;
her pen held her truth,
where reality breathed.
She is imperfect, simply a woman.
Yet she pardons those who hurt her,
and cherishes those who stayed,
however briefly.
Time passed and her pen became her fire
not simply refuge but a clarion call
rising bold unafraid completely hers.
Her words live on, unbound, indestructible…
bright as sunlight breaking glass.
My pen hesitates to speak its mind.
Trepidation? Perhaps! Perhaps something more...sublime!
The words needed to convey collective thought,
Are now lost in a maze...in a labyrinth of time.
Ink fails to write the plight of the pen.
Punishment? Perhaps! Perhaps something more...amusing?
Perhaps some recurring penance demanding payment?
Perhaps both? My pen finds it all...most confusing!
What bright light must now shine thru yon window?
What new wonders must fill these empty skies?
What shadow lifted, from pen...so gifted!
What ink must now flow thru it?...from my eyes!
By Poet "The computer is the delivery room for a new poem."
Pen, ink and paper join forces,
Opening up a wonderful story.
Everyone will enjoy reading,
My dancing words are now a poem.
"LISTEN to the Wind as it sparks your imagination giving life to the words you write." By Poet
LISTEN to the wind as it softy blows,
so soft it can barely be felt as I write.
As I find gentle words for my pen to write with,
words filled with love and peace for my reader.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows the leaves,
colorful fall leaves dance across the ground.
Now let my words dance in pretty fall colors,
dance across the written page for you to enjoy.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in a storm,
winds are picking up with mighty power.
Powerful words can blow in both good and bad,
exciting my many readers saying, wow!
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in words,
windchimes will now start to sing to you and me.
Singing chimes and words can bring love to the air,
for a heavenly choir to sing out loud.
LISTEN to the wind as it sparks my writing,
and imagination giving life to my words,
making my readers celebrate what they have read.
P-owerful tool wielded by writers and poets
E-choing inner emotions and thoughts in silken words
N-estling amiably between deft fingers
.!.
/!\
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My pen bleeds by Blossom Monyei
My pen will bleed till forever,
Staining the minds of those that'll even glance.
Words that flow from my heart's endeavor,
Leaving marks that won't fade fast.
My voice will echo, a lasting sound,
In memories that will always be found.
The ink will spread, a dark stain,
Staining hearts with every line.
A permanent mark, a memory gained,
A testament to what I've said.
Bleed, my pen, and let the words be read,
Forever marking those who see.
The bleeding Pen.
Blossom Monyei is a young Liberian poet and spoken word artist whose writings reflect pain, resilience, and hope. Known as “the bleeding pen,” his poems are simple yet powerful, often touching on themes of brokenness, family, identity, and the struggles of African life. Through his words, he paints raw emotions in a way that connects deeply with his audience.
In ghazal all my thoughts I pen cannot,
In plain palpable words explain cannot.
I loathe many a thing in this woke world,
All I dislike, detest, disdain cannot.
Yes, oft if not always I show feelings
But spell cannot, pretend or feign cannot.
I can call spade a spade, even shovel,
When it comes to pen, call it sane cannot.
It’s too late to change the man born long ere,
What God has given not regain cannot.
___________________________
Ghazal | 19.08.2025 | poem, pen, poet
Note: Let me add here: and whatever I well can, the poetry site let me cannot.
Tiny Worm pen names,
accounts in poetry world
very clear to me
I like to listen to my head
What does this carousel say
Spontaneously
I like to pen the silence
If it had not been written
It would be lost forever.
I think that someone here uses ten pen names, two males eight females
"AI has stolen the imagination from writers. The human writer is the true creator from their heart. AI is the great copier because they have No heart to write with." By Poet
Writers imaginations like to play,
with creativity and words each day.
Only with a writers big human heart,
a writer gets their pen in hand to start.
Keeping your imagination alive,
then our readers can give a big high-five.
Tell me ~ will AI really survive,
or could robots be just a lot of jive?
Bringing my muse and pen will always stay,
I am a human poet all the way.
that's interesting
the pen from Latin penna ~
the feather or plume
What’s an appropriate pen-name
for a poet on the climb for fame?
First of all, it should have a ring to it,
a certain literary allure about it.
Make it clever, give it an appeal
even though it isn’t yours or real.
Choose a name that draws the ear
and promises a lucrative career.
Sound and purposeful psychology
when coupled with creativity
will boost sales for years to come –
a strategy that pays a handsome sum.
But you should know immediately
it’s not fullproof, with no guarantee
that a name (real or not) will do
what a hopeful writer wants it to –
increase his reputation and sales.
It’s a risk, and a risk often fails.
I should know, for of my many pseudos
none have brought me sales or kudos.
--BlossomMonyei--
I'm a pen that bleeds.
Bruised, inquisitive,
Generous of knowledge.
I'm a pen that bleeds.
Bitten by an Iscariot snake
I'm a pen that bleeds.
these questions that I ask
All I am is curious.
I'm a pen that bleeds
Breaking bread with the knowledge I have.
To those that starve.
#blossommonyei
#liberiapoetry
#WeeklyContest
Liberia Poetry Association.
Voice of Liberia-VOL
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