Foundation Poetry Poems | Examples
These Foundation Poetry poems are examples of Poetry poems about Foundation. These are the best examples of Poetry Foundation poems written by international poets.
Sautéed psalms of silver strong
Believing in youth as maturity soothes
It is as it should be in my heart
No longer obsessed with less
Teal tears baptize and bless
Lust all that fuss dismissed
Creating a fuchsia foundation
For a clean heart of love so artistic
Kisses create passionate pulsing poetry
Amethyst heart fails to be imperfect
Yet victorious gloriously worth it
All the waiting praying forsaking
Of the wrong one’s led to
Love’s lavender ladder
Where superior intimacy awaits
Baking basking in indigo intimacy
Singing heart hymns
Turquoise touches melting them
From one note into one song
That dotes strokes sings steams
Hotter than July’s jade dreams
Purple passion new yet old fashion
Perfectly imperfect and ravishing
Unique undercurrents oust urban youth;
undulating surge unease surfing group,
accentuates; surroundings' virtue mute;
luck runs out, understanding, wouldn't recoup;
Cut up undisturbed, unlikely hurtful,
because: numerous arguments, pursued,
genuine ulterior grounds, doubtful;
thus, thoughts ultimately tuned attitude;
Quietude ruptures universal truce,
thus, unloosened corrupt accusation,
sought purely understandable sourced ruse,
though unfounded, but: subject's foundation,
Vague; uncertain prejudice, departure,
adequately neutralizes culture.
My poetry is my foreshadowing prophecy,
So maybe someday such a man will love me.
My poetry is a foundation of my philosophy,
So maybe someday love comes again freely.
My poetry is a record of all the times I see,
So maybe someday I will see more clearly.
My poetry is my literary documentary,
So maybe someday many know my story.
My poetry is a gift and a curse I hold dearly,
So maybe someday even I can be free.
My poetry is both a source of joy and misery,
So maybe someday others may thank me.
My poetry never meant to make anyone see,
So maybe someday I can truly just be.
My poetry reflects my inner sanctuary,
So maybe someday my heart finds security.
Discovering Light
Cry Ugly shame lost its power
Shame was regret…
Buying into malicious judgment I wasn't good enough…
He knew I was more than good enough… I gave all I was capable of…
He loved me because I gave 100%… even when my 100% fell short
He channeled his disappointment and hope through his poetry.
Discovery emerged reading his heirloom book… regret quickly segued into shame.
Shame perfected as a child… stepping stones used to set my foundation
Decades devoted to unraveling the source… reflected in the dark strands of thread woven in my tapestry
Oblivious of the light, silver and gold spun adjacent to and translucent overlay… changing the tapestry's initial designation.
Sherry Barton
April 13,
"Some words show up fast, some want to sit and play with us. What can a writer do???" By Poet
I like to write so my words in poetry can live,
letting my imagination come to life with jive.
My ink will not be bound but alive,
for my ink not my blood must write to survive.
Watch out for my crazy and fun imagination,
it makes up my whimsical writing foundation.
Some days I even find myself using meditation,
the ink and paper will show my new creation.
I write for the reader,
I want them as my very best cheerleader.
As prisoner of poetry my words fill their reading feeder,
then they can become a poetry eater.
"I like to bring my imagination out in writing so you can bring your imagination out in reading." By Poet
I like to write just because poetry can live,
so my words can come to life with jive.
My ink will not be bound alive,
for it must write to survive.
Watch out for my crazy imagination,
it makes up my writing foundation.
Some days I even use meditation,
the paper will show my new creation.
I write for the reader,
I want them as my cheerleader.
My words fill their reading feeder,
so they can become a poetry eater.
Love is most busy when
It's at dutiful play
Carelessly In the rays
Thy Great father shall notify
You as to the ways in which
Love blooms
Do not close your ears
But care and listen
Love is most busy in
The clarity of the day
Be of full care not to over bear
Love is most busy when it
Carefully seeks the foundation
Of life
Love is most busy when it
Assumes poetic design
A poem, I suppose, unlike prose,
is laid upon the page like a painter’s brush.
First the outline shapes complete, background and foundation,
not too neat, but a promise of what is not complete.
And never static, not still life, but land and sea
and sky and earth, wind and wave, and dancing feet.
Some strokes are bold and to the fore.
Others link, not less, not more, but each essential,
as with lace, lest holes appear to spoil the trace.
We are God’s workmanship, His painted poem,
composed, and when complete, fine-framed
in His own likeness. To be like Him,
perfect, pure, refined, unstained.
A poem, I suppose, unlike prose,
is laid upon the page like a painter’s brush.
First the outline shapes complete, background and foundation,
not too neat, but a promise of what is not complete.
And never static, not still life, but land and sea
and sky and earth, wind and wave, and dancing feet.
Some strokes are bold and to the fore.
Others link, not less, not more, but each essential,
as with lace, lest holes appear to spoil the trace.
We are God’s workmanship, His painted poem,
composed, and when complete, fine-framed
in His own likeness. To be like Him,
perfect, pure, refined, unstained.
A Withering
The truth had blossomed
where now it whithers on the
foundation of lies,
no footing to uphold nor
its roots to build a future.
2020 February 19
*2nd Place*
Let the Pens Flow - Tanka
~~Jenish Somadas
Howmanysyllables;
5, 7, 5, 7, 7.
Optimism lays the foundation,
~ whereto, ~
there are no exteriors that exist.
Date:06/12/2019
Would If It Would Be...And Is...
From time immemorial,
those who would deceive
viewed morality
from under the bridge
and concluded
that integrity was a choice
rather than a component
of human character—
thus laying the foundation
for acceptable chaos
and autocratic rule of law
to be spat into the faces
of the disenfranchised have-nots
who now wallow in the phlegm
echoing from the buccal cavities
of the evil deceiving have-gots:
but cluttered is history
with the trump card debris
of wishful would-be tyrants.
Paper excites the totality of those with imagination
Blank white is foundation awaiting possibilities of creation
A mere sheet has effective, long life potential
Paper may excite pens, color tools or pencils
Sheet turned awe may launch universal prose segments
Sheet turned delightful may give man artistic fragments
Crisp, wanting sheets ignite many a muse’s heat
When pulp weds art, brilliant elements can peak
Paper offers delights of visual and emotional treats
Even paper balled up trash leads to final drafts.
there is no-thing...
it is vacuum
and foundation
of reality...
we
are the perpetual
want
that holds it together
in some recognizable fashion
that is communicable...
with reserves depleted
and endlessly challenged
we stumble on blindly
perceiving and questioning
a braille reality...
but with symbols and words
we make use of our turds
and through recycling
build this...
something is missing
from winning
for losing
as to how to brake
this...
recycle of poetry
...
Vowels stir in the back of your mind,
while consonants lack a foundation.
And the page taunts, with its virgin white,
as doldrums morph into frustration.
Ideas trip over each other,
unable to realign anew.
And sparks of inspiration get doused
by sweat, trying to salvage a few.
Your pen is poised just above the page;
wit dangling tauntingly from its tip.
And as blood and ink drip and mingle,
you realize you've bitten your lip.
It feels like your muse abandoned you,
as thoughts vanish like wisps of vapor.
Yet all that you can do is sit there;
staring at the unblemished paper.