It's your choice to keep going.
It's your choice to heal.
It's your choice to reflect.
It's your choice to look at
that broken reflection and
to see a warrior.
It's your choice to quit.
It's your choice to stay broken.
It’s your choice to reflect.
It's your choice to look at that
broken reflection and to see a
failure.
Which choice will you choose?
For it will surely determine
whether or not you win
or you
lose.
When your struggling for words and you don't know what
to say
And when you do say something it comes out the
wrong way
You start to sweat and you get tongue tied and your embarrassment you can't hide
There is a simple solution for your plight
Pick up a pen and paper and write
You can write it in poem form or like a song
By doing it this way you can't go wrong
The words that you write must be from your heart
So think what you want to say before you
Start
Just be yourself in everything you do
Don't write to please others write to please
YOU.
He looks cuddly
I want to pick him up and hug him
But I have been warned
Koalas do not like that
At all
Part of me still wants to
The dangerous part
The silly part
The stupid part
Insidious is internalized inception
What's real with all these questions?
Feels like I missed my alarm and slept in
Broken legs but I still chase affection
These walls are my blank expression
My mind is the home I'm trapped in
It's lonely inside an unfinished mansion
The sharp truth most people gaslight themselves and don't even realize it...
Have I detached so far from reality that my inner voice doesn't trust me?
Days go by while paralyzed in self-reflection
Empty walls don't reflect growth they echo stagnation...
If my mind is a prison am I both the inmate and the warden?
Isn't an unfinished house just a finished ruin?
Perhaps I should pick up a hammer?
And stop admiring the scaffolding as architecture.
Before every line, I've written is a eulogy for a life never lived...
I met her at a place I dine
along a lonesome road
I tried to think of a pick-up line
I went into clever mode.
But they've taken all the pick-up lines
I didn't want to offend a date
Should I buy her, her choice of wines?
I spent ten minutes in that debate.
Then I asked her if her name was Google, because she was what I was searching for
She said, "I heard that one, it makes me snore."
I said, "how was heaven when you left it?" she said "they've tried that one too:
Why don't you get lost and leave me to my brew."
I could not give up, her beauty gave me a thrill
I tried a different tack, showed a thousand-dollar bill
I said, "how can I plan our wedding if I don't even have your number?"
Her eyes flashed; she picked up a piece of lumber.
the bartender saw me plead
He came forward to intercede
She said "he's hitting on me, but lumber can hit too:
And as for this bar, I could sue."
So I left her in the bar
I felt so sad and old
With the wrong line you can't get far
I guess I had to fold
So I married Mary Lou instead
Though she watches reruns of "Daffy Duck."
Better to take what you can get
it's not always smart to push your luck.
mozzarella man
flattering pizza phrases
Creepy cheesy bland
I could easily throw you over my shoulders and feel
warm and comfortable for the rest of my life.
Your nose has such a pretty uplift, if I were a cricket
I would have to ski off of it.
I knew you were interesting and intelligent before
you opened your mouth by your choice of women
to talk to.
You remind me of a musician who knows how to
play music of every genre.
If your hair was any curlier, I would have to
run home and get my Fuller Brush products,
so you would not be stampeded by adoring women.
Roses are Red, Violets are blue, you are so hot
I have fallen in love with you.
You stole my heart , the moment we met
Butterflies caught my breath
Now be my valitine ,my one true love, soul mate my love.
There was a lady called valentine,
famous for red roses
And the day for people to say ' be mine '
Love is the word of the day , romance is at play
And the whole world is in unison with valentine infusion.
I've bought a whole pound of Red-Hot Candy
If you'd share it with me, would be handy
I'd offer a chocolate bar
But my thoughts have gone ajar
Seeing you draped in curtains organdy
I’m not the best good-looking guy.
I burp a lot.
I’m very shy.
I’m sure I’m going bald real fast.
That odor is the gas I passed.
I snore at night.
My skin breaks out.
My breath smells like old sauerkraut.
My palms are sweaty.
I do cross stitch.
But honey dear…
I’m filthy rich!
There’s nothing up my sleeve
Nor inside my old hat
But here inside this bag
Is more than something that…
Is not quite typical
For a first date, but oh well
About what seems to some
As a bag from hell
But no that’s not the case
For hell is not the place
That has filled this edgy bag
That seems so out of place
But she is not convinced
I’m now an outsider
As she dismisses me
And my bag of spiders
As unfit for a queen
But that’s not whom I seek
I just want to share life with
Someone who loves to seek
Nature in all its ways
Be it flowers, dirt, or cider
Until then, while seeking love
I’ll bring my bag of spiders
A week passed, yet no words drifted in my mind
I feared I'd become numb and poetically blind
so, I gave up, went to bed and turned off the light
but in the very next moment I screamed in fright!
"Procrastinator!" My Muse yelled, in a huff.
"You are made of much stronger stuff!"
I slid beneath the covers; she threw back the quilt.
"Oh no," she fumed, "you'll not fill me with guilt!"
I pleaded and cajoled, but she bought none of it.
She pulled out my desk chair and said, "NOW SIT!"
I obeyed and sat but nothing worthy came to mind.
I felt her staring at my back, 'twas of the evil kind.'
Desperately, I tried to conjure rhymes that would do.
She sighed then she asked, "What's wrong with you?"
I turned my head to look at her so we could confer,
but she shimmered away in a wavy transparent blur.
I called to her, and reached out trying to pull her near
My arms grasped only air, for she had disappeared.
"Come back, please. I'm sorry I've not been writing,
but thoughts you've offered lately are all about fighting."
She reappeared smiling, and before she took flight,
whispered in my ear, "Just pick up your pen and write."
PICK UP LINES
Liverpool are called Reds,
Run mouths than turn heads;
Put the lofty hearts to their beds.
London will always be Blue,
Pick-up my lines if it pierces through,
I'd love to be duplicated into you.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 25th February, 2023.
Was it insanity or brilliance that stood calling my name?
I woke out of a deep sleep, disoriented, desiring an explanation.
My heart was beating triple time. Was this a heart attack then?
Don’t be any crazier than you have been, urged my persnickety muse.
Let’s get up and write something.
I knew it would not be anything that could appeal to the masses.
I have never related to any of them.
They want clean sheets and neat drawers.
I am not one to iron clothes or sweep a driveway.
The messier the room, the better; I have a hoarder’s habits.
Don’t write that! Said my muse.
My anti-muse laughed, wanting me to.
My heart had stopped beating now.
Not entirely, probably, but it had slowed down.
Pick up that pen! I rolled my eyes at the voice.
Cognizant that whatever I wrote today I would not recognize tomorrow.
I am a frenzied writer, channeling spirit, insanely clairaudient.
Related Poems