Written Poems - Poems about Written

time and seeming aging affects us all that's the story told and told convincingly yet appearing with a healing emptiness appearing as these words...

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There once was a sensitive vicar, who said, "I'm not one to bicker, but the peal of that bell, makes me feel quite unwell, and plays merry hell with my ticker." An incensed old soul by the spire, preaching incense-igniting to the choir, exclaimed, "There is but one catch, when striking a match, don't set your surplice on fire." A parson spoke from the nave, "Spend...

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At thirty-eight, his story seemed to have already been written, he sipped his coffee and recalled where he went wrong or maybe got it right, for he had grown tired of the insurance game, of small offices with glass walls, of clients who came and went like faceless, soulless shadows. He was weary of the lies told to his...

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Red bracelet My mother went to ganga And bring some gifts Some gifts for my sister Some for my brother Some for my daughter. And one red bracelet for me That red bracelet I didn't like it once It was made up of 12 beads with centre of an eye I don't want it on my hand Just want...

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The radio: "Baby, I need your lovin' Got to have all your lovin' Baby, I need your lovin' Got to have all you lovin'" By The Four Tops (poem written after hearing the song in the car and singing along) sound and air are filtered through your "I love yous" the world purified and easy to breathe in I feel like a marionette, limbs...

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Mothered inspiration birthed from the seed of my soul send my mind in to a frenzy with racing thoughts hard to gather and control Words roll off my tongue with provocative pronunciation climaxed by the inflection of each insertion of punctuation ejaculated thoughts wrestled into pleasure provoking position are gone over back and forth and back and forth...

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If no one seems to give a hoot about a poem you've written, try reading it out loud to your dog or to your kitten. And if, as you read it to them, all the while, you see their tails wag and their faces smile, writing the poem was worthwhile ~ at least ~ from where they're sittin'. ...

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An outcast this night, I mournfully sigh with gloom: but, I make war, fight! to defeat my rising doom, and defend my haunted tomb. ...

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There is a teacher I know. Someone who walks into the classroom like he’s stepped into a memory, quiet and worn, yet still showing up. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice carries more weight than volume. His words are deliberate, as if each one has been measured before release. There is...

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She will never tell a soul that she will die. She tells everyone, even the people closest to her, that what they found will be curable, at least mostly. Her brother, her friends, her boyfriend, and her extended family will be stuck with the lies until she takes her last breath. After she is gone....

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There is another girl I know. She loves to people-watch during the time she has to waste, and when she has no time at all. There is a girl that I know who rests her feet on a bench, with her knees tucked tightly to her chest. There is a girl that I know who...

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There is a teacher I know. Someone who walks into the classroom like he’s stepped into a memory, quiet and worn, yet still showing up. He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice carries more weight than volume. His words are deliberate, as if each one has been measured before release. There is...

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Each time I see him, I see a clear reflection of myself. We function the same way. Slow to start. Easily lost. Reading the same line over and over and over until giving up feels easier than trying again. I know the feeling of not understanding what everyone else does. I know the feeling of...

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There's someone I know. Someone who probably doesn't know me. I seem to know him more than he knows himself. I know everything about him, and I know nothing at all. There's someone I know who has blind friends around him. Friends who laugh too loudly and speak without care. Unable to understand the difference...

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the underworld rumbles and summons beckoning in groveled whispers with undertones of shady pretenses haunted by gods and demons who brazenly wave their book of souls tormentors do the dirty work in afterlife meanwhile here kings and rulers wealth in pocket pauper in heart build their towers to climb to heaven every last of these towers of babylon will one day come apart at the...

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