In what galaxy does a heart
not learn lessons the hard way?
It’s in the nature of all creatures.
The school of life welcomes its students.
Some will breeze on by and
not learn much of anything.
The ones that embark implicitly
on that lush wild river of discovery
will be amazed when they unleash their potential.
Everyone is given the same amount of hours,
precious time to squander or exploit;
checks and balances accrued in bank book.
Here on earth promises are delivered,
bruises fade and broken bones are mended,
fear eclipsed and IOU's paid and erased.
Everyone carries about their baggage:
the outcome of their experience,
the detailed records in their head.
We each have our predestined portfolio,
an agenda or checklist of things to learn,
be they tender or wickedly cold and harsh.
It would be ridiculous to expect that life is fair:
it’s a lottery we are allotted numbers,
some are lucky while others feel their curse.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Why did you kill on a Valentine's day?
She came to show you the depth of her love.
Yet that same love you wickedly betray.
You stabbed her in cold blood wearing a glove.
She brought a box of chocolate candy...
and a bouquet of beautiful flowers.
She also brought a bottle of brandy.
To celebrate with you for a few hours.
In a cruel twist, you stabbed her heart so deep,
You watched as blood dripped with crimson flows,
Your face flushed with anger more than skin-deep.
On her face, you rained a barrage of blows.
You made her face swollen, her heart shattered,
For no reason, you killed her in cold blood.
To everywhere, her dead soul you scattered.
In your conscience, her blood flows like a flood.
This you kept as a secret to all ears,
But she haunted me with the truth in dreams,
When I confronted you, you only shed tears.
In your eyes, I saw her blood flow as streams.
In revenge, I've sent you to a graveyard...
a promise I made to her in my heart.
Another beautiful valentine marred.
Wait at the gate, I'll also soon depart.
Wickedly blooming in my mind
Only thoughts
That go askew
Turning shadows into blooms
Carefully hidden from the moon
Jouncing down the unlit road
Feathery night blooms lead the way
Night
Blooms
Mine are here to stay
At some screenings of “Wicked,”
I’ve read, it’s a thing
For some audience members
To feel free to sing.
They belt out the lyrics,
Since that is their choice,
So that no one can hear
Any actress’s voice.
They got real defensive
When questioned and said
Anyone who objects
Should try streaming instead.
To sing in the theater
Brings them so much joy
That they can’t understand
Why this act should annoy.
If I buy a ticket,
All sound should exude
From the cast on the screen;
Singing patrons are rude.
When wondrous willows weep, wild whistling whipping winds whirl wickedly.
Wonderful while watching, writing, weeping...
In the list I saw a new contest, entitled "A Poem Please."
At first glance I thought, "Is this for real or just a tease?"
The theme for this contest was just periods-punctuation.
I'd have moved on except for contests I've an infatuation.
A string of five dots, seemingly a period after a period.
Hmm...Should I write in sonnet form, or an epic Iliad?
The challenge in this one is that I wasn't given a direction
of what to write about. It's in the hands of my discretion.
I know I've jumped off the deep end of the poetry pool
but if I turn back now, I'm sure I'll look like a crazy fool.
I'm left wondering how to salvage such a pathetic start
of what could have been a poem about a broken heart.
Nah, I've written that scenario a time or maybe twelve.
Into that nether region I should no longer try to delve.
No pizza party will this little ditty win for the likes of me.
But this something silly might make you laugh-wickedly.
Wizardry in black dress
whips up cauldron of dread
warts, newts and black potions
whisks wildly on broomstick
with a dark, evil eye
while cackling wickedly
woe to those who listen.
9/19/2023
Never let anyone make you feel small. Stay strong and courageous. You are worthy of love and kindness.
Memories from 2020:
New poem... small.
Some people are awful examples of humanity. They persist in remaining unrelenting bullies and power hungry control freaks... Destroying people, lives and careers when and where they can... Just because they can. But every action comes at a cost. They eventually pay the price in full.
small
By Michelle Morris
07/06/2020
you tried to make
me feel so
small
insignificant
worthless
to all
because you
hated yourself
so deeply
my pureness
of heart and
spirit
cut into your
darkness
completely
but instead of
learning
embracing
being kind
you wanted me
gone
completely
out of sight
out of mind
so you could
forever remain
small in
yourself
but delude the
world
that you were
larger than life
and karma she is a
gracious b****
who burns the
wickedly
darkened twists
and someday
burning in
hell fire you'll be
wishing you'd been
better
kinder to me
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Cleopatra’s aggressive cat made her look mild.
Conniving and planning disaster while he smiled.
Poisoning that queen, that prince and that king.
I think we should do every diabolical thing.
We never knew his name, but he had our number.
He walked with a cat prance that had a teensy lumber.
His paws were enormous, teeth wickedly pointed and white.
If you were not fearful of that cat, then you were not bright.
driving myself full of joy
earning mileage benefits of pure happiness
on cruise control with my eyes closed and you in my arms
of course you tell me to keep my eyes on the road
however the way you are feeling right now makes me wanna do some thangs
you laugh at me and 'boy, watch the doggone road!'
i comply for i know that her rather innovative hands will thank me later
the end result is worth the frequency of being consistently frequent
when we reach our destination, i kiss her warm lips with no hesitation
she playfully hits me on my right arm and says 'damn, can we unpack first?'
smiling wickedly, i reply by saying, 'confounded, woman, i already KNOWWWWW what i wanna unpack first!'
she complies
end of poem
Lone snowflakes drift in
As anorexic, claustrophobic bats shiver
Wrapped in their bat wing sleeping bags.
A field mouse plays “Three Little Pigs”
With a patch of straw.
An eerie wind whistles wickedly
Alarming an itinerant mole.
I snore, noisily unaware,
That my brother sub-let
His half of the den.
John G. Lawless
©1/21/2023
I did
I
Apparently
Blindly
Cautiously
Delicately
Enthusiastically
Falteringly
Gracefully
Haphazardly
Innocently
Jokingly
Kaleidoscopically
Lamentably
mostly Masterfully
not Necessarily
Obviously Ostentatiously
Playfully but Practically
Questionably
Readily
Silently
Thankfully
Unusually
Vivaciously
Wickedly
eXcellently
Youthfully
Zestfully
Changed my mind.
© Sangeet Portals, October 2022
A young lady was wickedly chased
by a man with intentions not holy.
Though once so incredibly chaste,
her innocence now was not wholly.
He cleverly seduced with a carrot,
this man; self-described as a colonel,
a ring with a diamond, one carat;
the truth of that; not one kernel.
He embraced her, enticed her to cede,
on the grass in the soft morning dew
he knowingly buried his seed;
she, sadly, knew not, what later was due.
Now, while lying alone in her berth,
as her ship slowly rounded the bouy
this lonely young girl gave birth
to an innocent fatherless boy.
Homophone Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Hat Bueckert
Date wrote: 12th October 2022
Blood Satan likes but on this no blame:
Lord God and Christ do too: Preferred flame
Then, wickedly, goes for Goring Horns,
His own copy of Christ’s Crowning Thorns:
The Horns not for self-caricature,
Rather for use after your capture
To make things never look the same,
Though in your mirrors old selves remain
When its darkness smile in his lips plays,
Promptly vanishing with The Sun’s Rays
Real big irony, for Morning Light;
Had Light simply lost after The Fight
Never did say he had abhorred Incense
But cleansing hyssop’s thinks plain nonsense
Not possible smiling at A Cross
Each time he sees one, counted a loss…
For see-through garments and the tightest,
Lots baring with move, of the slightest.
It rushes around it, it darts in and out of it.
Is it a dream, flames make you scream, to sit
around the fire, and watch you rush.
Blood your mighty
river, makes you blush, so you stand.
To stand is a mighty effort, it is thick in leaves, it is king,
it stands back up again, in drops that drip on your lips.
It smiles wickedly, your knees shake and sigh, bold as
glitter, you try to fold, it back inside..
You sit then, to take it in, with just your eyes, as you watch
the hand less veil, roll back the tide, and touch the fold.
It knows your taste, it knows your smell, it knows the holy
tears that you have shed, to keep it in, yet still it dances round
the rim of fire, with a much hotter flame.
Every bed, in light of day or dream of night, hides the rose,
it's might of leaves that rid the bud of sight, to beat around
the edge this queen and never walk inside the steam, it is
the greatest blush of all..it smiles inside your, forest dear.
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