"Read away and let your imagination soar." By Poet......
I love books both new and old,
did you know there is power between the pages?
A book is made up of paper and ink,
the words give power to the fiction.
As a reader one can go many places,
learning about life and living.
Reading can bring one's imagination to life,
as you turn the pages reading away.
We can place ourselves and feelings in the story,
as we become one of the characters.
Sometimes it will take our breath away,
other times it may put us to sleep.
As a writer our imagination comes alive,
when the ink hits the paper.
The power of fiction,
can take us over as we write.
The letters become words,
then the words become sentences.
Our story becomes alive for the reader to enjoy,
after all we write for our readers.
As we write happy or sad,
the reader's feelings will come out.
We hope the reader will enjoy,
our vision for the poem or book.
"It takes a real heart to write forevermore." By Poet
Here I sit with pen in hand,
staring at a blank notepad.
I need many letters,
to make my words come alive.
I thought I was a writer,
but as I sit here I wonder.
Poems come from the love of writing,
writing about the past or about the present.
Poems can be true or false,
some will make you cry and others will make you laugh.
True writers write from their heart,
as the ink rushes through their veins.
Now the words flow faster then I can write,
don't think, just write.
The writer and reader are both in love,
in love with letters, words, sentences and reading.
Now I am writing away,
forevermore.
True writers write from their hearts,
because they have ink in their veins.
Words flow onto their paper,
as they go writing away.
Their wonderful imagination comes alive,
wanting their readers to enjoy their work.
"A true writer must write. Ink is in their veins." By Poet
Writers love their many letters to choose from,
letters turning into words then into sentences.
Poems come from the love of writing,
writing about the past or maybe about the present.
Poems can be true or false,
some will make you cry and others will make you laugh.
The writer and reader are both in love,
in love with letters, words, sentences and reading.
SEARCH FOR ME on the dusty bookshelf,
in this room filled with very old books.
I sit here waiting to be chosen,
needing to be read by a reader.
Do you know it is hard to find me?
Old books standing cover to cover,
wait for a reader to SEARCH FOR ME.
I long to be in your loving hands,
and being read by your loving eyes.
"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.
As the light entwines with the shadows fine
Feeding my fire..I believe.! Is The Lord Devine; who takes us
Higher.' I've no axe to grind..As was in former times.'
I am open to listen.'
I can see a rich glisten.. at the periphery of my
Indeed Limited vision.' Was that a wolf.' Or a
Brother.? May confusion not smother.' the
Sharing of visions,i let there be faith not
Derision...All humanity He made them..From
One Word." truly amazing.)
A human writer needs,
to think and many times rewrite their work.
We put our heart,
creativity and imagination into each piece we write.
AI has stolen,
the creativity and imagination from writers.
The human writer is the true creator,
creator from their human heart.
AI is the great copier,
because they have No heart to write with.
I write for the reader,
I am a human poet all the way.
Dearest reader, I have many secrets
But I wont tell you now, I'll wait till you're older
Heavens know I have many regrets
But I wont tell you now, please wait till I'm bolder
There are many things about me you dont know yet
But I wont tell you niw as you rhetorically cry on my shoulder
There is a version of myself you havent met yet
But I wont show you now, for she's angry, much darker...colder
I dont know if I'll tell you when your tears have dried
Or when you no longer cry
I'll tell you my secrets but maybe when you're wiser
Though it might take a little longer
For I dont want to be a bother
Till then you can cry on my shoulder
While I pretend to be stronger
Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.
Lover of novels
Always immersed mind full of
Imagination.
Time is a funny thing,
time does not always seem real.
Governments and their rulers,
come and go.
Some are good to their people and country,
while others only destroy.
Can they be brought to their knees,
maybe ~ sometimes?
When we are living in today,
we have real time.
Can we now see or understand,
the many years that will come?
Then one day we awaken,
to that far off date.
Now here in the new real time of 2025,
we say where did all the time go?
In their day many read the book 1984,
some laughed at it as it was the talk of the town.
Some saying,
this would never happen.
Now in real time of 2025,
many years later what do we find?
Today many are saying,
we are now living in this book of 1984.
The question is,
are we?
Some say yes,
others still feel it was just a crazy book.
Have you read it,
only the reader can decide.
I thought to read
my own palm...took
a 5’ver out of my pocket
to be authentic
spoke out-loud
only listening too
the echo:
“Does she love me,
or does she not?”
my wife had entered the
room, and crept up behind
me: “She loves you!” and
took the 5’ver from the table.
keen orphic reader
cabalistic tendencies
mystical and keen
enigmatic strong
a master of the occult
lively prophecies
Writers love their letters,
letters turn into words.
Words turn into sentences,
waiting to be read.
Poems come from writing,
writing about the past.
Maybe from the present,
maybe true or false.
As a faithful reader,
we laugh we cry.
Many love to read,
yet again and again.
The reader and writer,
then become as one.
Both in love with,
letters-words-sentences-reading.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.