My typewriter has seemingly enough ink
I'm ready to start a poem about sanguine hills
and trusting in angels 2313
but the ribbon has ran dry
The lost longing licks my lips
jerred past the emerald typewriter
gaslighted with fear
I haven't a realm
and hell why not ?
frail and dim I give up
When think tanks run dry,
Will the people ask why,
Bullets are bouncing off the tanks,
That were once intellectual banks.
When the think tanks run dry,
Is there anywhere now where people can try,
To stop the die being cast,
For the dogs of war to be released from the past.
When the think tanks run dry,
Where will we get the positive energy we need to buy,
At any price, to refill the think tanks,
With thoughts that are not blanks.
When the think tanks run dry,
And all we can do is sigh,
As more grenades are tossed,
Has the chance for peace been lost.
when dewdrops run dry,
and the sun warms the new day
one by one I’ll pick
the petals of cherry's blooms
gently falling in your palm.
16 February 2022
A Strand (1075) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
I've got nothing to draw from.
My Wells' run dry.
Precious as it comes.
At times I feel overdone.
My Wells' run dry.
Fallen from the sky again.
Sick of all the sh!t I'm in.
My Wells' run dry.
Learning to speak again.
Can't breath without oxygen.
My Wells' run dry.
It's no big deal they say.
It just won't go away.
My Wells' run dry.
Awaken from an eternal slumber.
Time to pillage and plunder.
My Wells' run dry.
Now that I have gone past 1700
have I nopt written all that I can write?
I don't want just to repeat myself
being a light gone out in the night
But still these blessed AP friends
encourage me with such comforting lines
showing how appreciative they all are
receiving kind words recognise the signs
Everytime I pick up that pen of mine
thinking what can I think upon now
but the good Lord fills good thoughts
masking poetic music in the mind, O wow!
It's such a positive feeling within
when another piece you provide
one's inner thoughts can be released
to inspire others that you can confide
It's amazing to think what a pen does
the ink just won't run dry
positive thoughts I always try to find
so others get that desire to really try!
(After having written 1700 poems, just some thoughts on how my ink can go on and for how long!)
J-ust let your tears run dry,
A-llowing your eyes to glow;
N-ever be lonely and blue,
E-rase the pain and sorrow.
Topic: Birthday of Jane M. Buenaventura (May 3)
Form: Acrostic Quatrain
V-ile weather early Friday
A-ims to fade for good;
N-o way will the storm
D-estabilize the merry mood.
E-nd of the night has come, the new day has begun;
R-ising sun March twenty-fourth has brought delightful fun.
S-hadows and darkness
A-re both nowhere in view;
N-either dusk nor twilight causes you gray or blue.
J-ust let the burning beacon
U-se the wide bright sky;
A-llow the light to shine,
N-ever will God's blessings run dry.
G-od's graces never run dry,
A-s the rivers overflow;
R-ising sun has taken
Y-our life away from sorrow.
G-od's graces never run dry,
U-nderneath the wide sky;
T-roubles twelfth of March
A-im to pass you by.
N-o reason to doubt the Lord's love up high;
G-ift of the Father is endless, God's graces never run dry.
She sits in the room, not making a sound
She's sorting all the chaos that is entrapped in her mind
Lots of memories come flooding back
Like a levy that has broken
From years of neglect
It spills over slowly
Sending tears down her cheeks
Landing in her hands
They form there, a puddle of regret
Of all of the things she could have, but didn't
What brought her here to this very moment
Only time and understanding within herself can say
She only knows in her heart, she can't continue this way
It has to get easier
This anguish that she feels
For now she'll just continue
To find peace through her tears
They are her salvation
Her way to a new life
One day soon she knows
They to will run dry
Oh, my Lord,
Be patient with all of us poets
Who, incessantly, on love we write
And
Rivers of burning tears unleash
Every day
For
To express the unbearable pain we feel
Because
Someone has shattered our hearts by
Turning us down
But
Who unmoved, like stones remain
At the sight of thousands of men, women and children
That
Victims have fallen to the terrorists’ bullets and
Knives around the world
Excuse us, oh Lord, for our indifference, but our
Tears have run dry
So
Unable are we to mourn those who for Your Love
Have fallen!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 JANUARY 2015
* Dedicated to the memory of all children, women and men
who have, either, been raped, enslaved, sold, executed or decapitated
for not succumbing to terror, being they Christians or of another faith! Our indifference doesn’t help anyone but those who commit such crimes!
When Cupid cries, is that the reason rain falls from the sky?
Does he cry for pain? Sorrow? For all the people who won’t see ‘morrow?
Or does He cry, because the person who loves you the most, me,
Cries because it’s you I can’t touch, hear, smell, or see.
Cupid’s arrows brought my heart to you
And now his tears tear me apart from you
I will love you and you alone until the end of time
Or until Cupids eyes run dry
And you, I can be with, and you can be mine
deep down dormant in the dark i hide
fountain pen looking for words to write
empty mind, empty heart and empty page
waiting for something to quiet my subtle rage
pen on paper, just waiting to scribe
bleeding through till the well runs dry
-----
sorry for the recent absence soupers. a lot of personal stuff happening right now. hopefully in a few months time, i can be back to my normal self. in the meantime, i'm going to try to post something, anything, every few days. thanks for all the support, friends. - Raven
If what I earn, and what I deserve
isn't worth the price I pay,
I just save it for a rainy day.
The truth is that everyone else
shares the same cloudy sky,
and it's so useless blaming yourself.
Heaven knows you try.
If it takes until the rivers run dry,
if it takes me all the rest of my life to learn why,
I'm going to wait until the rivers run dry.
You’re kidnapped by the serenade,
of the whispers before they hush.
Your eyes seduce the blade,
as you crave and dread the rush.
Your skin and the steel collide,
and the edge delivers chills.
Now all of your fears subside,
as the crimson slowly spills
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