Prismatic Poems - Poems about Prismatic

I write my soul in ink on paper, My skin is stripped away, Blood replaced with ink that flows through my veins, Defences shattered and the visage of lies is broken, My mask is taken from my hand and replaced with a pen, I don’t have to hide my feelings, Feelings that are so destructive they must stay hidden, Hidden from those...

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"A silenced tongue weighs heavy against the soul," quote by poet. I sit amongst a single light, light illuminating a hand-built oaken desk, desk with pictures of the past lay out randomly around me, whilst I hear the whoosh of her oxygen machine droning on— breathing life into her failing lungs. Drowning in overwhelming emotions, I seek an outlet to...

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“The Prismatic Self" As I lay in my bed trying to figure out what to write My mind goes blank and my creativity is way out of sight The need to write the perfect poem and rhyme Keeps me from getting anything done, until I have run out of time “Why can’t I just write...

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Contest : The Prismatic Self Sponsor : Daniel Henry Rodgers Date submitted : 19/5/25 —————- “Contests around track, contests for followers, for best tasting wine, most exquisite architectural design ~ endless quests to become best versions of Self, sharpen mind, mould Soul to perfection, through which Divine can chime, new times.” Poet ————— Descend into Earth amphitheater unawakened, costumed, dire straits crows or...

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I say the word and feign a Freudian slip From between its legs duplicities drip Often doubling as a quip and tasting chalky, just a bit History will record the troubling truth that I never existed if I don’t submit I’ll submit this thing as if it’s a soliloquy while being transparent with reverse psychology When transparency is brutal it packs a...

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gauntlet of mirrors transparency personified transparency personified when the curtain falls in an arena of quick sand and impromptu judgement the stage was well set though actually it presented itself as rather empty epic theatre art form at its vacant best I placed himself at the very manifest epicentre of concealed and subconscious intentions would I shed the gauntlet despite sharp sordid shards sharing...

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"I try to share my thoughts with Poetic touch through contests being Rational Analytic , Courageous and Righteous not Religious and surely not to win but to be seen on keen eyes to have perfect precise perception." _ Poet. ...

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Night time again. I ask for god to forgive me. An hour passes, I blink. I see myself in the reflection of my eyes. Pages sit on my bed, unwritten, I don’t dare touch them So they may remain complete in incompletion. I shiver and heave at the thought. Two more hours pass and I have touched them now. I sip at...

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I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer a soul bare-r (but not always my own); a word-weaver. I pull at thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs and cirrus, frayed dungarees and threadbare memories until I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems. Sometimes I get caught in my own knots— I cut myself loose of those naughty strings. I...

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“This contest my poem will win, because it will make the sponsor grin.”- By Poet Poetry Soup gives in plenty the literary opportunity to show-case the assorted skill of poetic creativity, emanating out of the fantasy fountain of imagination. The torrent of words flows with the streams of elation, ripples as poems with the rhapsodic rhythm of heart, yearning to become...

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The sparring mind requires a venue fit for wide ambition’s pointed blade—the craze of poignant poetry’s unbridled wit.— Masked)by the wily writer’s wire-meshed gaze, the soul unleashes on the stage of writ a flurry of pen strokes, a wanton blaze of mangled meanings, aiming now to split— —to split the atmosphere in half…for praise! Ah—perhaps, in this contest of our wills, I...

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Colossians 3:17-25 KJV Bible "And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by him. [23] And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; [24] Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the...

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Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap… —by poet The Prismatic Self See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics...

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Caressing the floral frame, I see reflecting in my eyes A question of perspective, of purpose, of the prize. Am I looking to gain favour? Do I desire to impress? Is my motive to spread joy with the topics I address? It's true. I would be lying to say that in my heart The virtual trophy doesn't matter, what does...

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In the hall of mirrors, I lose my face A maze of reflections, each one a different shade Of truth and lies, of light and darkest space I search for the real me, but it's hard to stay The judges' voices whisper, "Not enough" A litany of doubt, a choir of rough Hands that shape and mold, yet can't define The contours...

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