In the stillness of dawn, a primal question awakens,
A whisper that dances, a quest that never dampens.
On the blank parchment with lines, I lay my thoughts bare,
Each stroke of the pen, a truth I must share.
You define your font, size, and spacing that is life,
In the chaos of letters, I seek to find light.
In a sense, we are kin—words on paper entwined,
More woven than we know, in the fabric of time.
Shelter in syllables, where our stories reside,
Reaching for heights, aspirations as wide.
Like the ants in their labor, I’ll learn and I’ll grow,
Building bridges through trials, in the ebb and the flow.
Boys and girls, we gather, each voice a bright thread,
Mothers and fathers guide us, where hopes gently tread.
In the tapestry of society, we weave our tales,
Finding strength in our numbers, as each heartbeat prevails.
So why am I, a question that bends and expands?
In the ink of existence, I craft with my hands.
Through the lines of my journey, I’ll seek and I’ll find,
In the vastness of being, the answers unbind.
An idea was imprisoned in such a bind
It bounced about within the precincts of the mind
What did it mean I heard you say
I didn’t know about it right away
For it was not alone in there
And had to survive a longish stare
But what was missing in its story
Was the truth in all its glory
What will be written for the ages
In history as you turn the pages
Will it be corrected with a stroke of the pen
Or will the stroke win in end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Story Structure
Some writers leave a story at the climax,
like an adolescent male leaving the reader not totally satisfied.
Other writers never bring the reader the climax, of their story.
Good writers take the reader with them.
They start the story with an introduction to the body of characters.
Learning every nuance and curve of each, the writer brings them to life with every stroke of the pen. Gradually easing the reader into the main body of the story.
Building page, by page, and chapter, after chapter,
until the readers are unable to restrain themselves from turning the next page.
Slowly the reader becomes the main character.
Living every moment, feeling every pleasure, pain, and sorrow as slowly the reader reaches the climax. Then after the reader is spent, the writer eases the reader down slowly with the epilogue.
Ending the story with the reader in the afterglow of the tale.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
Have you ever wondered about all the things that require your signature in life
How about a marriage certificate, I now pronounce you man and wife
A steady hand is needed as you buy your first home
If a writer's cramp occurs with so many places to sign, you are not alone
The car of your dreams you are about to drive off the lot
Or maybe the insurance for that car you just bought
Your passport for an upcoming dream trip you are about to take
The officer speeding ticket for moving too fast, oh for heaven's sake
Your birth certificate your parents sign to prove you are alive
Your driver's license after you show you know how to drive
The only thing I would like to sign is a big check from the lottery I just won
One more stroke of the pen and my work day will be done
In the pages of my journal, I find my way,
Reflecting feelings, I scribble and convey.
It is a path to self-aware,
Discovering who we are, and learning how to care.
A lifeline they provide,
For what I write today may heal wounds deep inside.
It is a remedy, a panacea for the soul,
Each stroke of the pen, a balm to make me whole.
In the night, anxiety's embrace,
My journal hears my fears, in its warm and safe space.
A voyage, within and deep within,
Through the ink and paper, I explore what lies within.
A ritual of the heart,
Transforming life's moments, a profound work of art.
My voice unfiltered and pure,
In my journal, authenticity is the only lure.
.
Melody Maker
The music in my mind plays softly.
It is quiet today.
I can write and enjoy
each stroke of the pen
as it touches the paper...
like a lover for the first time
with their dearest one.
Gentle, soft, and methodical
the sounds interlace the moment,
with memory, to create remembrances
for later, when the resonances have lessoned
or stopped altogether. .
In the distance
I can see the white clouds,
they are rising slowly,
and gaining power, and physical strength.
My heart beats slightly faster, at the sight,
and the music responds.
Somewhere nearby
harps were joined by lutes,
and flutes.
Not dancing and prancing,
but bouncing against the unseen
droplets that will fall with the coming storm.
It has not happened,
but I know that it will... still.
I rush to finish the equation,
of love and forever,
the answer clearly presented.
The tune changed,
and rearranged...
the water touched the paper,
and caressed it anew,
the secret was then lost.
A piece of my heart for you to read
Words of power for you to feed
A kiss on a letter for you to wish
The stamp of desire to fill your dish
The stroke of the pen to make you smile
Silent writings will fill you for a while
Sending this post across to your soul
I mail my love to you to make you whole
Downward marriage falls seeking some relief
Children follow awkwardly, senses moan
Husband and wife acting out of belief
Three children entering chambers unknown
Locked in battle, the wife reaches for sword
Under advice, she unleashes all hells
Falsely accusing the husband deplored
Of abuse, harm, and hate to citadels
With one stroke of the pen, I was condemned
Guilty 'til proven otherwise I was
Cast out, no home, no gold, no kids, clemmed.
Without, alone, despaired, scorned, for no cause
Time to think, time to ponder, time to pray
My children became my crusade, that day
09/21/17
'Taking a disappointment in your life turning it into something positive'
Form: Sonnet
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri
Hitch In A Ride
There I was on the side of the street looking & searching
There was no taxi or city bus in town
Man I must have looked like an adorable clown
Outside just trying to hitch in a ride
The sounds of Dylan were all around
Many juke box blazing while folks were getting down
A stroke of the pen & I was off again
Searching the same old scene in a funk in the land of mean
Many years have passed still having a reason to grasp those high school
Days of running in search of blood holding my own in the time of love
A pull at the heart would egnite the flame to the mentally insane
Well, look it there I just caught a ride no reason for me to hide
Just when I thought I would stay in my lonesome saddle
A call for me to go home in a chase against the cattle
Hitch in a ride is no good way to live perhaps a chance to forgive
Out of the blaring sun it had tainted my inner vision
For now it's home sweet home I completed my mission
It is intellectual dishonesty
When politicians discuss disparity
Both parties dance around the issues
As if the ones the issues pertain to are fools
Voting rights for instance can make or break a candidate
So why suppress the vote for some
When in their hands determines the candidate’s fate
Unemployment is still on the decline
Change and dollars are hard to find
Some will argue that my stats are wrong
But those are just opinions that are strong
Health care is a major component to any thriving society
So it makes sense to support health sobriety
Education is a big deal
But it’s being promoted for the rich
While the aspiring students get chills
Word to the wise
In all your getting get understanding
Because freedom aint free
No, not it is not free
Laws and legislation determines
The future for you and me
And voting is the top priority
It’s the stroke of the pen
That controls the politicians
no storyline can thrive to throw off loves balance,
to purposely paint a picture to detour its countenance,
the stroke of the pen changing in every moments release,
unconditional love neverending in beauty with each piece,
to place the heart back in its proper alignment,
in the changing of each moment with loves new assignment,
in the blink of an eye the storyline can change,
the plot, the characters, don't always end up the same way,
what you expected at the end of the story to be,
what you thought you rationalized becomes the opposite of what is seen,
love can thrive in ways past our own understanding,
the pace of his heart, God's happy ending...
no storyline can thrive to throw off loves balance,
to purposely paint a picture to detour its countenance,
the stroke of the pen changing in every moments release,
unconditional love neverending in beauty with each piece,
to place the heart back in its proper alignment,
in the changing of each moment with loves new assignment,
in the blink of an eye the storyline can change,
the plot, the characters, don't always end up the same way,
what you expected at the end of the story to be,
what you thought you rationalized becomes the opposite of what is seen,
love can thrive in ways past our own understanding,
the pace of his heart, God's happy ending...
no storyline can thrive to throw off loves balance,
to purposely paint a picture to detour its countenance,
the stroke of the pen changing in every moments release,
unconditional love neverending in beauty with each piece,
to place the heart back in its proper alignment,
in the changing of each moment with loves new assignment,
in the blink of an eye the storyline can change,
the plot, the characters, don't always end up the same way,
what you expected at the end of the story to be,
what you thought you rationalized becomes the opposite of what is seen,
love can thrive in ways past our own understanding,
the pace of his heart, God's happy ending...
The world was simpler then
Why can't decisions stand fast
Immutable, Are there only ten commandments? Oh, I wish I had never done it,
Or not, how to avoid this tug of war
But then everything was simpler
Singing "She love me"
"She loves me not"
"Red rover, red rover"
Let my love come over
Where is my love?
My long lost love
My long lost precious love
The day's move from morning to dusk
And the seasons color changes
But not my long lost love
Lost by a stroke of the pen
Lost in the shades of time
The Soup is an Ocean,
a sea of writers, wanting to be heard
Each Poet is but a molecule,
a single element, in the vast compound
Each pen is the beginning,
of a quake, far below the surface
Culminating, larger, larger still,
until it is an unrestrained motion
With every thought, a ripple,
with every stroke of the pen, undulation
Until the writer completes their work
the tremor becomes a full blown quake,
Higher, higher with fevered pitch,
the reader feels the movement begin
From the very first word,
until the water wall of words grow
It continues to grow as we read on,
when we reach the Apex of the poem
We are overcast, with a shadow,
the curl of the wave, waiting to envelop us
As we reach the conclusion, final words,
the very content of the Poets mind
Comes crashing to the shore of our minds,
the reality, of Tsunami Soup...
Sub Categories
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