I peer through
Into your world
I smell the fragrance
Of family
Cooking roast dinner
I listen intently
Party poppers
And Happy Birthday songs
Someone singing in the shower
I see colours and shapes
Moving reflections on glass doors
Dancing couples
A dog, shadow tail wagging
I feel the warm air
Of the inside world
Tangible moisture
Making my eyes steam up
I hear a phone ringing
Friendly chatter
About nothing important
Laughter
I peer through
Into your world
Yet, I am not to be invited
In from the cold
So I reverse
Retreat into the empty
Silent, homeless streets
Of a large cold city
The paper words
Letter unposted
Still clutched
In my calloused hand
Categories:
unposted, addiction, family, forgiveness, hurt,
Form: Free verse
So you want to become a poet,
Before you have a crack at it,
Before you try to fit,
I give you these tips to help you become a hit.
Read other poets by all means,
But remember their dreams are not your dreams.
Sometime poems come in streams,
And sometimes they end up on the floor as paper reams.
It is ok to write for yourself,
And leave a poem unposted on the shelf.
Making a correction,
Can sometimes change a poems direction.
Poetry is no different than other things in life,
And overstating your case can sometimes result in strife.
If you stick at it you will soon come to realize,
The right mood gets one closer to the prize.
Lastly, fun,
Gives one a longer run.
Categories:
unposted, analogy, appreciation, art, baptism,
Form: Didactic
I received misinformation yesterday
A friend’s interpretation of one of their friend’s conversations
borrowed through eavesdropping of a neighbor
I received confirmation yesterday that it was a
supposed observation, and had legitimate validation
that it was no fabrication
However, it caused drama and upheaval
The second I posted this misinformation on social media
I was told it was untrue.
Eighteen minutes later I unposted it
Luckily only six hundred and forty-two people now think I am a liar.
Contest: Once More I Failed the Truth
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Written 7-6-2-21
Categories:
unposted, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse
I received much misinformation yesterday
A friend’s interpretation of one of their friend’s conversations
borrowed through eavesdropping of a neighbor
I received confirmation yesterday that it was a
supposed observation, and had legitimate validation
that it was no fabrication
However, it caused drama and upheaval
The second I posted this misinformation on social media.
Eighteen minutes later I unposted it
Luckily only six hundred and forty-two people now think I am a liar.
Categories:
unposted, 10th grade, 4th grade,
Form: Free verse
Love is a noun
in the need of finding it,
once found, a verb.
Love is a beast
so wild
haunting on its prey.
Love is a drug
leading to addiction.
Love is a novel
starting at prologue,
chapters follows and
epilogue as closure.
Love is the sunrise
born and dies at setting
to await rebirth.
Love is a catastrophe
leaving an aftermath
of destruction.
Love is a disguise
of melancholic grief.
Love is an illness
that is inevitable
to weaken one’s resistance.
Love is a danger
when the warning sign
is left unposted.
Love is a season
coming then going
in alternates.
Love is a word
defined
when
felt.
Categories:
unposted, emotions, feelings, love, poetry,
Form: Free verse
He’s water, my opposite; I’m solid
earth. He cries a river more than I,
wetting my ground with his tears. We
might become a swamp and sink
in our own mire. . . Or we
can mold ourselves like
clay, and in so
doing, be
something
grand.
(One of my unposted oldies from 2007)
NOTE: I am Virgo/with Moon in Taurus (Earth Signs). Joe is Cancer
with Moon in Scorpio (a complete water baby). I always knew we were
complete opposites, but when I learned about our Zodiac readings, I thought
"This is ridiculous!!!"
Categories:
unposted, husband, wife,
Form: Etheree
I
wonder
if the poems
birthed from my soul
might be, like my days
upon this earth , numbered. . .
For recently that place - where
my seedling thoughts once sprouted in
abundance - has lain nearly fallow.
And so it is I’m brought to contemplate. . .
How long can poems keep springing forth from me?
Yes, days are fleeting, but looking to
sky, I see infinity. . . so
I wish on boundless stars that
thoughts will yet appear to
Illuminate my
mind, reflecting
poems shining
on and
on.
an unposted oldie
Categories:
unposted,
Form: Etheree