Self Expression Poems

Boxes

I refuse to fit into
The boxes they made for me

Days will pass
Over millions of minutes, and
Every time you look
Somewhere out there, 
New boxes are made for
The ones who don’t understand.

Maybe I’m wrong, but
All these boxes are imaginary.
They define everything about
The boxes they put you in.
Every box holds expectations, and
Right inside them is where they say

Self Expression

I wish I could untie my tongue --
find courage, strength to shine
light upon those least illumined
recesses still hidden from public
view, shielded and scabbed over
like festering raw wounds...must I
accept that there will never be a time
when, freely, I can express my "me"--
that one among those other "me"s
I've not displayed?  Depending upon
circumstances-- places and the hour

Dare The World

                                 
Dare anyone in this wide world,
To tell you, to line up and take it?

Use your head, if you want to be free,
You

Self-Expression

                         Express yourself:
                            

To Stand Against the Crowd

     

An online site is, in no way, for the meek.

You must live in conformity, giving no cheek!

Worse, one must be a jolly gal. or smiling fellow.

Living in a pretentious world, all bubbly-mellow!



The masses loathe those, going their own way.

You must conform, or forego your right to play!

Writers must be individuals,

Freedom of Self Expression

Freedom of Self Expression

True freedom
is freedom to train oneself by harnessing free will
to free oneself
From false freedom's illusion.


Aqua Marine. 5th July, 2024.

Normal

I have this cloud that follows me,
I have this cloud that noone wants to see.
It's all in your head
Nothing major can be done.
So suck it up
Get on out and have some fun.
But they can't see the demons in my head -
Scratching
Clawing
Biting.
The demons want me dead.
But they don't care,
They don't want to know
What is under my

Everyone Is a Student and Teacher

 Everyone is a student and teacher,
each offering a new perspective
to this world so mimic your muse
in poetry and song; upon canvas
wood or stone, for someone needs
your expertise.

Shadow of a Neutrino

Shadow Of A Neutrino


               A grandiloquent assumption of man in having a vast expanse

                       of knowledge regarding the enigmatic

My Collection Reflects Me

My obsession with writing implements is getting out of hand,
while not quite turning out as planned. I’m still without
that vintage Montblanc, but I’m saving a place in my cabinet
for it, right in the middle where it’ll really shine.

a good pen is 
necessary for writing
rivers of ink

I collect all sorts of pens, varieties of nibs allow

Wondrous Words

Words forming stories on my mind-canvas…
The written words, letters drawn upon a page are, power; 
a force to be celebrated and dreaded.

The images of the artist; 
words paint profound stories within paintings.
Communication illustrated to teach; 
from these seeds we all grow.

Words sketched with pen and brush can move mountains, change a life or heal;
the Cadillac

A Verse of Longing For God

A Verse of Longing for God

*************Sally Young Eslinger (C) 2020
                              

I doubt I shall ever fully hear 
The psalm my soul longs to write,
For it dwells

Poetics Poem, Red River Gorge, Ky

Poetics Poem, Red River Gorge, KY

I traipse the course of a forking, rambling stream
Barefoot from the rounded top of one small boulder
To another, the slashing strikes of cold water
Startling my every careful leap, place to place,
Landing with deep, short gasps, yet wordless
In an utter joy of intense sensation over sun-sprinkled 
Spots so bright against the

At Rainbows End

Miracles can happen
at the end of a rainbow.
For the curious,
for the daring,
for the courageous
who ride a rainbow,
there’s a reward
greater than gold.

World beyond imagination,
universes of elation,
songs spun long ago...
for all things repeat,
though nothing bad 
will you meet;
evil, you’ll defeat,
at rainbow’s end.

Salvaging Remains of Muse

“My muse died at 2 a.m.
she hadn't been well in weeks,
writing drab, soulless poetry
without alluring alliteration,
any references to the Greeks.

Too pooped to savor the flavors
of a good, old fashioned write,
she chose in her frustration,
to abandon her life station,
to just give up the fight.”

So left to draw from memories
of her great creative essence,
I’ll paste together bits

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