How to poet a life away
Toss the trite learned
Skip grammar mostly too
Rhyme or not is all yours
Step to drummer unheard
Believe in life yet untold
Read a thousand times
More than you write
Live, so you will know
What you are talking about
Take wild leaps in mind
Without losing it too far
Write not only about love
Although that’s all there
Really is or really is not
Fall in some love also
More than simply once
With not only your words
But others in thought
Wishing to poet too
© 2017 Jim Davis
I wasn't born
With this hole in my heart
But it developed gradually
When pain drilled my chest to cling it's art.
Oh! I was smiling radiating the usual rainbow colours!
But just then, I was grayed and torn
Just like withered flowers!
The pain! Yes the pain
My tears all are in vain
They are just emotional fool , being unstoppable!
I am fed up of emotional breakdown
My soul became mournful, being lost in the ghost town!
I know, sorrows are part of life
But how can I frequently bear the pain that cut deeper than the knife!
I try my best to just forget and move on
But what shall I do when I am trapped in the useless emotion?
Just in a process of getting relieve from the feeling of being hurt! It's really difficult...
Sorry,my poem sounded somewhat boring but I really meant what I said .
Guess you're gone again
Watched you walk away;
You always said breathe out then in;
Know you'll be back someday.
Same seeks same to find its home
Not meant to chase the vogue
Some souls are surely made to roam
Rebel always chooses Rogue.
And rebels need a reason
We can’t abide bad laws; yet
Against the heart there is no treason
When standing for a Cause.
Always loved unspoken things
Like the thrill of open sky
Every bird must find its wings
To let go of fear and finally fly.
Beneath your chest there beats a fire
A powerful creature that needs to be free
Weave these words into the pyre
This is who you’re meant to be.
And I refuse to be your cage,
Won’t bind your feet or blind your soul
Won’t consign you to dance on broken stage, ‘cos
You’re meant for more than that role.
Can’t hide a sky of stars in a box
Can’t bottle a boundless tide,
Can’t block nature behind black locks,
Though I’m ashamed to say I’ve tried.
If you must fade to find your grace
Because you’re made of art,
Just know you always have a place
Wherever waits this heart.
You’re always free to go, and
Seek each untraveled road;
Build your dream abode.
Just please hear this song
That I’ve been singing all along:
I’ll always prove your fears were wrong, for
Some things will not erode.
I could sit and stare,
And bide my time;
Thoughts rip and tear,
And try to rhyme.
Somehow it seems so strange
That though we poets,
Filled with strands of gold or gray,
Can rarely find a way to say
What's truly on our minds;
We're too caught up in the blinds.
Perfection is a savage curse,
But self-rejection's even worse.
Maybe it's okay to be afraid;
You can't pick and choose what to feel;
Know your soul's not being weighed, so
Put pen to page and just be real.
Maybe I'm actually a hell of a lot smarter than you accounted for, or
Maybe you thought no one would care when you slammed that door, or
Maybe all whispers fall and all vows die and no one remembers before
or maybe I'm the token ***** of all the humor life could pour into a bashful face
It's funny how things go without a trace
Like you and me and destiny
And trying to have a place
See I thought I'd be a saint
Married love into the taint
But my only Buddha's a midnight toker,
a hedonistic fraud, that laughing joker
Looking for God in a game of poker.
This was a drinking poem!
Here's a poet's plight:
To force words to come is a fight;
Gorgeous nothings hold no light;
Meaning shall not bow to might.
Thirty thousand words or more –
All just sounds heard before;
But somewhere deeper there's a door,
A certain feeling from some core.
Or, in clearer words:
I have nothing Great to say,
but That shouldn't stop me anyway
From speaking when I feel I must;
No other way to reverse this rust.
Perfection is a savage
Curse to ravage the mind
'Round and round in circles, growing blind.
But of all the stones and stars
Or overpriced, shiny cars
The greatest gift of all you give
Is that you let me gently live.
You accept me as I am,
Tarred and scarred and marred with gray,
There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay
When they won't be judged anyway.
There's this frustrating little tic
Where no words can quite click
Because no lovely language can compress
or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space
That could give a hint of a trace
Of the meaning that was felt.
Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient,
Nothing Great, simply true:
You're wonderful as you.