Dear ghost in my wall, do you hear when I call? Do you fear that we all, will disappear? Maybe no. Do you crawl, beneath my bed, while I lie down my head, and I dream of you? I'm sorry that I screamed at you. Do you come out at night? Do you play with my hair? Are you so, unaware that I know? Are you where, there are no more tomorrows? Is it anger that you fight, or is it despair? Is that why, you're still here, living in my wall? Don't be frightened, by the sight of my humanized life. I'm just so insecure, of that light shining there, at the end of that hall. Oh dear, insincere, my biggest fear, I'm talking to you because I'm, in the wall. My God, you're not dead, it was me, that instead, died where I fell, down in that hall. I'm in Hell. I feel unwell, I'm sorry for the way that you all ran away, when I was sad, and haunting y'all. But please say a prayer, because now, I am aware that I'm the ghost, you all fear, that's living, all alone, down in the wall.
On the hearth of the dead, so gloomy,
The heart beats hard, with little left.
In vain the bird still bears its wings
— What is a silken nest to be,
When it cannot fly?
A bitter tear only wets its cheeks.
O bloodthirsty one,
forever cursed you are!
Therefore tonight,
dance a circle for the children:
A circle of friends, a circle of joy,
May it move for your good,
Eternally, joyfully,
around the world.
Let the hungry not crave bread tonight.
Let the barefoot share their shoes.
To those who thirst the most,
Let water be given, forever free.
Play the fraternal circle,
children,
Let roses grow behind your footsteps.
Bury the curse of hatred deep,
For it is the cause of all misery
— This, you must know.
A creative spirit who lives inside her head
Her heart spills forth in ink, each syllable a story
Pouring three decades of emotions onto the pages
My love for you lives somewhere above me
a quiet star, burning wiser than my name.
It shines where my doubts used to gather,
it glows where my fears once claimed their throne.
My will was only to try,
yet love for you carried me further
past the edge of hesitation,
into the soft certainty of success.
My will was to leap,
but your love gave me wings
not just the courage to jump,
but the grace to rise, to fly, to stay aloft.
My will was to learn,
but loving you made me a lantern
glowing enough to guide not just myself,
but those who wandered near me in the dark.
My will was to heal,
but your love stitched me stronger
turning my fractures into gentleness,
turning my wounds into wisdom.
My will was to smile,
but your love made me laugh
not the small laughter of passing joy,
but the deep one that cleans the soul.
My will was to survive,
but you made me flourish
you taught me that life is more
than breath and heartbeat,
that living is an art of blooming.
My will was simply to live,
yet your love taught me
how to live happily
with a lightness in my bones,
a melody in my steps,
and a sky inside my chest
that keeps widening for you.
Though I was often hurt without closure,
Over the years I learnt to keep composure.
I may forgive, but I shall never ever forget.
I now choose to live life without any regret.
I have now found my own inner peace.
I've found ways to make stress decrease.
I walk briskly, but with a clear mind, freely.
I think and talk more calmly and positively.
I realize I have everything I currently need,
I found a love so true, I know we'll succeed.
He made me slowly remember the real me,
Because he is a reminder of what I could be.
I am a woman of my own kind of composure.
My inner child was always one more mature
For being wise enough to see thru another.
My intuition always makes me a true winner.
Santè, Seloana.
Sweet, gentle Seloana.
You brought forth a promise of perspective, fresh and clear.
You brought the company dreamt of by many; a sense of home.
You brought vulnerability and a tough as soft as the heavens.
An otherworldly being, you are. Undeniably, so.
“Perhaps a hint of heaven itself..”
i whisper to myself, running the risk of enchanting myself if i were to say that name.
tous les mêmes, tous les mêmes.
Soulful, serendipitous Seloana,
Some may ponder the type of effect you could have on a being.
So few are lucky enough to have an answer.
Something I am honoured to say is true.
Swiftly as inhumanly possible,
you snuck me in.
Pas de faux semblants ici.
Home. Seloana est à la maison
Seloana, mi amor
mon âme aime to âme
~r.a
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sheets of onion-skin parchment
absorbed spilled ink like wounds—
each stanza a fractured bone
set crooked by unpracticed hands.
the poet’s quill snapped mid-confession:
a silent scream bled into margins.
Hey there, come gather 'round,
I’ve got a story, n it's got a sound,
my page here, is where the magic's at,
so grab a seat, let’s have a chat!
With Pivotal Poetry, you can follow along,
my rhythms echo, it’s where you belong,
escape with me, let the magic unwind,
in the realm of words, expand your mind.
Pivotal Poetry, it's my voice, it's my art,
feel the rhythm, it’s a soulful start,
dancing through the stanzas, painting with my heart,
each line a brushstroke, creating my art.
In the quiet of the night, or the bright sunshine,
every word I craft is a moment divine,
sharing my thoughts, in this lyrical space,
join the journey, let’s embrace the grace.
To know me better, just listen or read,
in each twist and turn, find the stories you need,
with every cup of coffee, I find my delight,
brewing inspiration, fueling up my night.
A blend of emotions, the perfect brew,
in this poetic cafe, there's space for you too.
So grab that cup, let’s toast to the day,
with Pivotal Poetry, let’s dance, let’s play!
November Challenge - Ode to my Amber-Green Eyes - 11-11-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ode to My Amber Green Eyes
Deep pools of amber-green fire
You sizzle with my topaz energy
Gold flecks of electric vitality
Change to chartreuse coals of passion
You sing of my Celtic heritage,
Poetic legends of Valkyrie,
In flashing loden bonfires
Tigers mesmerized in beryl depths
Find serenity in green ocean waves
To my lyrics of lush summer forests.
There shall be poems people may never see,
But someday: books they will come to be.
There are themes I cannot share here,
But I write them to show him a love so clear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The nib scrapes the page like hiking boots
on river rock. Not for fame—that ghost dissolves
in tea-stained mornings. Nor for catharsis' loot,
though confessional steam sometimes evolves
into verse.
No. It's the hunger: that sly ache
when streetlight bleeds on wet asphalt,
and you taste copper on your tongue, awake
to the hum in telephone wires—a vault
of unsaid things.
You become conduit,
antenna trembling for static's raw hymn~
translating the fracture:
how grief sounds when it hits marble;
how laughter thins at the rim of an empty glass.
Each poem is a compass needle
swinging wildly—not toward truth, but the why
beneath broken sidewalks—the sacred needle
piercing silence allowing the dark sky to cry.
Hey...Let me remind you
No one is there for you
The world is full of evil's
It's difficult to find among them, real who?
Never give them those rights
which can harm you
You are your happiness of true
So..be always youu
_Diksha B.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The broken amphora leaks wine dark as ink~
not for drowning sorrows but for making sigils on stars.
We don’t merely rearrange rubble with our words
we ignite phosphorus in marrow-bones
guiding wanderers through sulfurous nights.
When the world grinds its sermons into dust,
we distill comet-trails from the grime.
Those soaring meditations? They become
bridges where ghosts cross with new alphabets,
each footfall cracking the ground into stars.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More than a poet recording words,
not just rhymes on a page,
nor another verse in the wall of poetry.
We are the demolition crew,
swinging wrecking balls at the mundane,
the expected, the politely applauded.
We are the seekers of nirvana,
not in lotus poses and silent chants,
but in the scream of a dying star,
the whisper of wind through shattered glass.
Decay?
We embrace it.
The rot is fertilizer,
the rust, a pigment for our palette.
Society's leftovers,
the discarded dreams, the broken promises,
these are our archaeological digs.
We are miners sifting through the dust,
separating the divine's sparkle
from the fool's gold of false idols.
The pabulum fed to weary hearts?
We spit it out.
We are alchemists of absence,
builders of cathedrals from ash,
architects of soaring meditations,
born from the embers of what was.
We are more than penmen and penwomen.
we are purveyors of truth.
I'm in an 'I care a toss for you' world.
My words seem as though they are empuzzled.
Social, I say. Society, I say.
On policies, like a donkey, I bray.
Who hears? Who cares? Only my weak nib breaks.
What else do I gain except acute aches?
I do not stop yet. Do waves fail to break?
When it's essential, doesn't the earth quake?
Shouldn't tsunamis reset sea-foundations?
Shouldn't volcanoes bring land formations?
Conscience and consciousness should harmonize.
Each poem of mine should be a sunrise.
Specific Types of Poetess Poems
Definition | What is Poetess in Poetry?
Poems Related to Poetess
rhymester, dilettante, writer, author, lyricist, muse, rhymer, bard, versifier, artist, dramatist, maker, poetaster, parodist, lyrist, librettist, odist, balladist, metrist, rhapsodist, rimer, sonnetist,