Started Poems | Examples

Just getting started

Just getting started 
Who left the lion free cos
God took away my sorrows 
Now I bounce back 
The love is obvious 
The feeling is clear
My heart is open 
Forward ever 
My soul is willing 
Their is no holiday for a poet 
Everyday is an inspiration 
The energy never mute 
Either do my frequency die 
One thing eternal is life
This is not a lie 
So be alive yes live 
This has always Been my message 
I curse no soul except  that against 
Humanity 
That against my right to exist and 
Cohabitate as a proper human 
The world is ment for all 
Not for a few 
So cast me not away so quickly 
Cos no deformity can challenge nature 
And this is the greatest remedy to
Our dear Mother Earth 
I will keep wailing 
I will never stop writing till 
I rest my case.

The pen which started it all

I traipse my fingers delicately across spiralled letters of each written word and dated times 

The clumsily transitioned Thoughts are transferred on to pages full of Passion and expressive rhyme.

Splattered,stained and ink spilled journal, with it's torn ridge spine ,misspellings and crooked lines ,  

Reading the moment a daydreaming story teller and her poetic adventures began, such beginnings were mine

It Started With A Promise

It Started With A Promise 



 

It started with a promise 
A sacred trust we made when we were young.
Through happiness and tragedy that 
Sacred bond enabled both of us to carry on.
Standing beside me with your hand in mine
You helped me face my darkest days,
And your promise you would stay by my side 
Forever and always.
But always did not last and one day  I turned around
And you were gone.
I wondered how i would go through the pain of losing you
But I did and  managed to carry on 
To carry  on and find another way,
To pick up the pieces of shattered dreams
And was able to face a new day
And now I hear  sadly that you had passed on
Those memories we shared together are
Now only ones I can look back on.
I lost that special soul that one I will dearly miss 
When I think of him and our moments in this lifetime which I often do 
I fondly remember a friendship  and the love that started with a promise.

Who started?

One day I decided a book I wanted to write, 
,,Waiting on the back of the line" 
- pushing myself backwards.

But everything has to need sense set me of, 
writing structure is though.

It isn't natural to me.

Every Story aligns with me but it doesn't make sense, 
while people take the chance by grabbing the pen.

It's fine with me no one is sure of what I am,
since world is also not everyones Fan.

Why does everything have to make sense?

The Towel in the Ring Started to Swing

  He threw the towel into the ring
    It bounced back up and started to swing
  Realizing he had no right to quit
    He pulled himself up and landed a hit…   

  He waved a white flag at the challenge, plain to see
    Yet that stubborn flag refused to cop a plea
  The odds against him were what they were
    But there he was, up and fighting in a blur… 

  So when you’re sure you’re down and out
    Never give up ~ let out a shout

I've started wearing a wig in the car

It's thrilling
But so is this poem

I want to take up a most profound authority
Throughout the neighbourhood

A village pastor
And various pursuits of a similar kind

Give me my own planet
My own earf

Postmodernist scumbag
And cowboys from hell days

I want to hear the new Beyonce album
Between the buried and me

I am a cloud cuckoo lander
And wear a wig when driving my car

And the drying clothes all in the attic
I haven't time to fold them away tidily

But even the thieves were forgiven

It Started With A Blank Canvas

The master artist stroked with his brush of beneficence
The canvas relented. There, hence, blossomed magnificence.
Each stroke gave birth to a rainbow of multi-hued images.
Each dot gleamed, as though waiting to be alive for long ages.

Trees, shrubs, and herbs; hills, mountains, fountains, rivers, and oceans
The galaxies, heavens, and Hades each depicted his notions.
Ponds, lakes, and waterfalls— everything seemed good in my eyes.
None couldn't avoid praising the way he had sketched the skies.

Why, yet, are these desert storms, volcanoes, and earthquakes sketched?
Why are these charcoal-like black dots, like landscapes, seen outstretched?
Is it the soul wish of the artist, who has his own way?
Are these, like gems fixed in jewels, a part of the array?

The master may have many unique morals to impart.
Aren't good and evil, hope and hopelessness, parts of one's heart?
To brush up the marshy, bushy paths, I should add my mite.
Isn't continuing the master's work my divine right?

my mate Jericho has started writing poetry

he throws snowballs at buses
but now is able to memorably convey experiences
using iambic dimeter
creating an impersonality
vidya games and spondee
he threw my bicycle in the river
now juxtaposing contrasting stuff side by side
heroic couplets

passive aggressive ballads
caesura; and brexit geezer
he said my inflections and monosyllables 
were slick and sick; cowboy poetry
his first poem is called "no one understands me -
how to wear the crown of thorns"
it has a jolly tone that will uplight the reader's spirits
gardyloo hoecake

IT STARTED WITH A BLANK CANVAS

Love is a blank canvas, a phantasmagoric fantasy,
to pucker up with glossy lips, the subtle soft brush
against the opposite sex, with eye-shades drawn.

Love doesn’t know the body yet, still sizing it up.
It doesn’t know the femininity and masculinity of art.
O Leonardo…O Romeo…Ah Juliet…O Venus!

Love craves the parts that match up, some the same,
others staining the cheeks, straining and draining strength,
magnetic and quaking, erupting and earthshaking.

Love weakens knees, draws attention from the whiteboard,
sharpens the brilliance of the sun, dots the i’s with hearts,
Nearly breaks the blank canvas with its passionate volume.

This canvas sans focal point. Bubblegum pops, primroses
afloat with ribbons and strings, ponytail tugs, pastels and
honeysuckles. Swings way too high - the girl, the guy.

It Started With A Blank Canvas

It started with a stamped canvas
Long, long ago, long, long ago
To be prettier than dianthus
Finished it'd put on a great show

Long, long ago, long, long ago
The embroidery done in detail
When finished a lesson bestow
Remembering now the tales I could tale

A few stitches remain to be sown
'Pon that piece started when you were born
Long, long ago, the project blown
Gone with job of rearing firstborn

Could it be finished for another?
My arthritic hands are crippled
'Tis hard to do stitches, I'd rather
Still hold you close, but not smother

Long, long ago, long, long ago  
Is not today, what will matter later
I really can't say, as you still grow
Possibly become an arbitrator

It Started With A Blank Canvas

I stood in front of the canvas,
I had a story to tell,
I had images impressed in my chamber,
Visions in my night’s sojourn.

I started stroke by stroke,
I painted brush by brush,
In the hush of the night,
In the symphony of the silence.

I was startled to see the tempest in me,
I had gone to the depths of the cauldron,
I was perplexed to see the night that pervaded my room,
It hid subtle monsters.

I was sceptical about displaying it,
Who would understand?
Someone did,
So I wasn’t a lone species after all.


February 24, 2023.

It Started With a Blank Canvas

A blank canvas beckons for a blend of colours... 

Azure azaleas attract its attention
Festive fuchsias add flavour to the frame
Majestic marigolds mesmerise the muse
Baby pink roses radiate regal regards
Crimson carnations create chords of casual charm
White lilies whisper wisdom to the wasps
Lustrous lilacs luminate with their lambence
Bold buttercups breathe ballads to the bees

Peace picturised...the painting is perfect

It Started With a Blank Canvas

How endearing the innocence of life was,
When blissfully it started, with a blank canvas,
Cherishing in mother’s love and warmth,
Happy as can be, cuddled in loving arms,
Flaunting vigor of adorable, zealous charm.

Life ran into hurdles as it learned to walk,
Stumbled, yet got up, after every fall,
Giggled and babbled, learning to talk;
And from gibberish, as cogent words formed,
How flawless, pure, beginning of life was!

Soon, as it donned unique shape and form,
Colors adorned fabric of once empty canvas,
In brushstrokes of inspiration and resolve,
Enlisting hope, amidst despairs of loss,
And beams of light upon tenebrous clouds.

On ambitions it thrived, braving passionately,
Yet, encountered unbearable abyss of grief
As doubt and dismay churned in defeats
And failures sprouted within complacency,
Deviating from path of purposeful deeds.

From inner peace, as wisdom vibes chimed,
Life freed from mundane, agitation of strife,
Triumphant when dreams and reality rhymed,
Questing for tranquility in eternity of time,
Retouching feats-unfinished on canvas of life.

It Started with a Blank Canvas

It
started
with a blank
canvas, and it
was in the morning
that the artist began
painting his most cherished place.
First he dipped his brush, and dark blue
consumed the top half of the canvas.
Aqua next appeared beneath the deep blue.

On the aqua’s horizon, the artist
painted the white mast of a sailboat.
Two gulls soared in the cloudless blue.
At last appeared the tan of
sand and a green palm tree 
nearby a chair on
which was lounging
the artist’s
lovely 
wife.

It Started With A Blank Canvas

  It Started With A Blank Canvas


   Blank canvas of my mind was open
   from very childhood,
   since my consciousness was ready to draw and paint.
  
   I started to use that blank canvas 
   time to time as I wished.
   My dreams and musings ,
   my desires and yearnings,
   my fulfilment and achievement ,
   all colourful happenstances showed spectacular outcome !

      While failure , despondency 
      or if crushed by betrayal or malice,   
     or sorrowful events etcetera
      exhibited ugly sketches,
      even couldn’t be deleted.
      Those put deep black scars to get permanently pasted.
      The wasted space was beyond to recover.

      Tried to erase to make my canvas
      exhibiting masterpiece but failed.
      Ultimate my canvas produced
      a collage of juxtaposition.

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