Thank you,
For your hard work,
But please, to make it easier for me, I'd like all submissions in private message,
Or email.

I sweat through nightmares,
Clenching the sheets.
In between reality,
And bitter dreams.
How much longer can I fall?
When will I wake up?
I'm giving it all my strength,
But that's all I've got.
No one is scared of heights,
They're scared of falling from them.
Ex. You aren't scared when you look at a tower,
But you're scared when you're at the top.
Legs shaking,
Threating to give out.
Good thing the ground,
Always comes eventually.

Everything,
Is going great,
So many beautiful poets,
This poem is forming fine.

But there is a lot to go through,
So, please, don't worry if I don't get back to you right away.
I ensure that all submissions will be included,
And that my "thank you" is coming soon.

Long windy winter night,
Couldn't reach my heart's flaming fight.
Screaming out to me,
"Go to her, fool, you love her."
I never thought,
I'd fall so hard.
But darling, your hair,
It's just like the rolling sand dunes of the lake.
I want to run my hands through it,
And feel what it's like to be loved.
I see it in your eyes,
Your so lonely.
But there's no world where you could be mine,
Your beautiful, I'm a freak.
But I could kindle your candle,
Keep you in the heat.
Leave me, my fear,
I won't let you ruin this moment,
Not this time.
I'll take you to the hills,
With fields of wild flowers.
I can show you love like you never had,
If you just let me in.
How am I,
Spiraling so,
Far,
Just from,
Your lovely hair?

So, this isn't really a poem,
More of just a post.
I'm looking for 300 poets,
New or old,
To write a line.
For a 300 poet poem.
I have one so far,
I'm in need of 299 more.

Everything is great!
Working a little slow,
As it is the holidays.
Just letting you know,
Everything is working out.

Somebody tell the sky,
That it doesn’t have to be gray,
If it doesn’t want to anyways.

It’s awfully hard,
To rain on someone’s parade,
If the sun is shining through you.

Even when your curtain is closing,
That’s no reason for you,
To not give the best finale you can.

The hands on the clock are slender,
Like her fingers,
Who used to weave through mine.

Soft was her voice,
It could grace you like an ocean breeze,
Or it could work like a hurricane,
Make you wish you never left shore.

This new winter snow,
The color of her skin.
Thin as her kiss,
Leaving me warmer than I was before.
These days I find myself missing it more and more.

But she didn't leave,
It was I,
I had to return home,
She didn't beg me to stay, she knew I couldn't.

But I know,
Someday we will find each other again,
And in time, I will remember her kiss.

Sometimes,
I write these when somethings on my mind.
Most times,
I write these when nothings on my mind at all.

Finally it's over,
This year is gone, snow falling,
Covers the trees again.

I think my heart might be made of stone,
It's durable, but often pieces of it crumble away.
It sparkles with crystals,
The remnants of happy memories.
It's cold to the touch,
After all, rock is heat resistant.
But that's not the greatest,
For I can't feel the warm fingers of love.

The sky is gray,
And the clouds are low.
The winds are chilly,
And traffic is slow.
I'm still kicking,
But my heart beat, I no longer know.
I'm missing the sea,
I'm missing home.
I want to see,
The salty waves as I roam.
My love is buried in the sand,
Too bad.
Guess I'm leaving off this morning,
Feeling sad.

Well I c-n't
Type with the letter "-"
My puppy fell -sleep on it
So it might t-ke me
- minute to s-y I luv you too
Bec-use his n-se is n-w -n the "-"

The wind chimes clink a sweet melody, blown by the soft evening air.
The fire is dying in the hearth as we say our good nights.
Some head out to the porch to listen to the sounds of the night,
Though I and the others head off to bed.
A coyote howls out in the forest, maybe on the cliff I found walking earlier.
My bedside candle is lit as I open my book.
As I read I listen to the calls of the owl, asking “Who is still out there, on this starry, cold, night?”
I blow out the flame and shut my book just as I hear them coming in.
I turn my head on my pillow and slip off into silent slumber.
Wondering what the next dawn will bring.

Never may the dream man wake.
He slept so somberly.
I used to think he feared the world,
But now I think I see.
Never may the dream man wake.
His rest is soundless now.
Now, never to see what he was escaping.
I thought I saw the picture, but never could I have foreseen.

Never may the dream man wake.

We now have
An army of
Poets with single
Sentences and I
Only need 290
More poets' sentences.

A new morning,
At the death of an old week.
Skeleton trees reach their bony arms,
Into the see of rose gold clouds above.

Faint chimney smoke,
From a distant home.
A family who wakes,
And won't see the sky,
In the same way I do.

They will return to their beds,
In the soft clutch of tonight.
And won't stare out the window,
Into the twilight curl,
Of stars and branches weaved.

If the stars stopped shining,
The night would be like the deep sea.
Dark and cold.

If the stars stopped shining,
The light from the sailor’s lanterns,
Would reflect off the sea,
Like sunset on the Antarctic ice.

And the shipmen and their saxtons,
Could not find their way back home.
And there would be a little boy in the window,
Every night.

Waiting for his father to return.
There would be a woman at the widow’s peak.
Waiting for her husband to come home.

If the stars stopped shining,
Would lovers still love each other?
Because if the stars stopped shining, I don’t know if I would still see you.
In that certain way I’ve grown to love.

Poets,
Your lines are lovely,
And,
Your poem is evolving.
Because,
This is not my poem at all,
It's,
A product of your work,
Therefore,
It's yours.
The,
Second stanza has begun,
And,
We only need 283 poets more.

Nix liquefactum est,
Venit usque in gramina.
Capulus et sugar,
Tu, me, et ver.

I think I fall in love too easily,
Maybe that's why people keep leaving me.
I have a whole box of herbal tea,
That I bought after she left me by our favorite tree.

Aliquid sicut flumen,
Quasi aliquid rosa.
Res potest esse sicut pulchritudo,
Mais tu es belle.

The rain comes swiftly,
To mourn the loss of another tonight.
Tears from Heaven,
Falling to Earth.
It pours down from the sky,
Drowning out the whimpers of the grieving few.
Was it really just yesterday,
You said you were far too young to die.
I think God agrees,
He keeps the gravediggers,
From laying you in the ground.
Rochester is a sanctum of sadness,
Even though few will ever feel the lose of you.

These cold days,
Poetry is all I've got.
Where snow falls solemnly from looming clouds,
The only thing I surround myself with are words.
I miss the spring city,
Nothing could penetrate my armor of love.
For now that December has made it's descent, I am left in winter song,
Alas, for poetry, who's warm heart could melt the ice of sorrow.
Where will the fae dance tonight?
For reading poetry it makes my heart soar, and it makes my heart sore.
Snowflakes lace the winter grave of Autumn leaves,
And poetry, a silent goddess in the wind, has captured my tongue.
Where is the sun? In this winter's song,
For poems are the light in my dark.
Cold, the fingers that hold my pen,
Verse warms my soul.
Where am I? In this winter's song.

Good Evening, Mr. USA,
                  Awful fine day today, wasn't it? Living up in the great nation of those stars,
And those swagger stripes! I'm happy in the morning, waking up to jazz music. In a place where I'm beaten-down,
    Trodden in awful ways. But here I am, in the God blessed United States! I've been here, seen this, but still I'm dazzled. By freedom,
Knowing I have a place. In the great United States! There's only one place in the world, where you can find your dreams out on the streets.
    They used to say, "The streets are paved in gold!" It's hard to doubt, looking at the way the sidewalk shines in the sun. Don't change a thing Mr. USA, things are just great.

                                  From, MON.

If it’s not love it’s poison,
If it’s not good, then it’s evil.
If you’re not warm, you’re freezing.
And if you leave you’re cruel,
And if you stay clinging on for too long, you are nothing.
So, if it’s not love, it’s poison,
And if you’re not surrounded you’re alone,
And if you're not full you're starved.
If you break you’re nothing,
You’re alone,
So if it’s not love, then it is poison.

Oh Liana,
Your name spills from my mouth,
Like classical music in an empty auditorium.
For the room must be empty,
Because if you were here with me you'd notice my affection,
Right?

Never mind, now I know,
You could never be you for you,
You wouldn't even be you for me.
It's not my fault,
But if it isn't, why does it hurt so bad?
You were the one thing I wanted,
You were my one and only dream.
I put you in front of my needs,
I ignored the water rising to my eyes.
I ignored the feeling of my heart dying inside,
Just for you, Liana.
I did everything for you,
You did nothing for me.
I don't blame you,
I know why you couldn't.
But darling please,
When I say I love you could you at least respond to me?

Pay attention,
Listen up.
This a PSA from reality,
And here's what reality has to say.

"Do not light a fire,
If you don't want the smoke,
Do not play with knives,
If you don't want a cut.
Don't waste your time drinking,
If you want to have a life to comfort you,
When you grow up."

There you have it kids,
Don't play with problems,
If you don't want one in your face.

For young/new writers,

                                                  The best draft of your poem is the first.

              Self doubt is the number one cause of death in poets,

                                                               So don't drown in worry.

         Swim in it calmly,
                                                      
                                                            Like a swimming pool.

I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.
I am born of the trees and stars, of cold winds and breezy nights.
I am a son of the red sand hills, and the lost letters to neverland.
I am the making of love and pain, of lost will and false strength.
I am the lord of memories of longing and heartbreak.

I am born of an island of stone, and seas of stories.
I am a child of hatred and spite.
I am King of a long-lost land.
I am the farmer of an ancient plant.
I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.

You- you,
Gotta open UP,
you're eyes.
Thiz iz zo,
Disturbin g.

Jesus Garcia,
Drive your train.
Be brave and drive the flames away,
Jesus saved his town, but couldn't save himself.

I miss the days in summer,
When cold rains didn't drown out the sun.
And cold winds,
Wouldn't make my dry skin burn.

Tea is a colorful drink,
It comes in many different shades.
White Tea,
Sweet and delicate, brewed from the fragrant flowers of the tea tree.
Black Tea,
Strong and simple, a firm hand to lift you up from bed.
Green Tea,
Earthy and natural, weather or not the leaves or fired or steamed.
The Tea from my Grandmother's ***,
Beautiful and delicate, imprinting upon you like fresh snow on the roads of Boston.

I see your eyes
They're begging me
To attend them

Not today
Go away

I'm not going
To beg for
Your attention anymore.

Quis sum ego?
Vir, poeta, amator.
Aut ego iustus amissa sum?
Ego feci nomina illa usque.

Sleep with the lights off,
Warm under sheets.
Wake to the morning sun,
And the promise of you and me.
New year's day,
New year's eve.
Can't keep away from the new year,
And the new you, the new me.
Piano, sparkling anything,
Diamond ear rings.
There is no where I'd rather be,
Than holding you.
Be the last memory of this year,
And the first of the next?

Today,
I talked to you.
For the first time in what seems,
To be forever.
You were pretty as always,
Quiet as always. . .

"I hurt you and I can see that,"
How did you not see it before.
I can't stop myself,
From writing,
"She broke my heart,"
All over my face.

But,
At least you know what you did to me.
I'll heal eventaully,
Baby steps.

Soft snow falling,
Kissing the white tops of the trees.
It'll be a white Christmas this year,
First one my baby cousin will ever see.
His sleepy eyes and rosy nose,
Does he know that his joy will simply grow,
When Saint Nickolas completes his flight?
No I doubt he'd know that tonight is the night,
Of the birth of Jesus Christ.

No, but he will learn,
All in time as bed hours turn.
A yawn catches me drifting off,
As I sip my spiced cider and listen to the Christian hymns.
Staring into the golden lights of Grandmother's "Angel Tree,"
I often wonder, did baby Jesus know, he was sent by God,
To save our souls?
Or did he find his light along the way?

I'd ask the pastor,
But tonight the church is quiet.
Waiting for Christmas Mass tomorrow,
While young children are tucked into bed,
Drifting dreams of presents fighting the will to wait up for Saint Nick.

And as the candles fade,
I figure it is my time as well.
To turn to bed,
And await the sleigh of Santa Claus.
This Christmas though,
He will not be able to bring me what I want.
Unless, I could catch a ride,
On his magic flight.
Visit the ocean,
And sing "White Christmas," with you one more time.

But matter not what I long for,
I will slip away to sleep eventually.
'Merry Christmas to all,
And to all, a good night.'

Who took my happy days?
How come I didn't see them,
When they came to steal my times of joy?
I remember walking for hours in the evenings,
I remember staying up late with friends.
Who stole them from me,
When I wasn't looking?
I remember loving like the world was going to end,
I remember cuddling up with you.
Your kiss was so warm,
I loved those freckles that spread across your face.
Who lead you away,
Did you look back?
When the invisible man took you from me?
Where did my joy go?
I remember I would get scolded for smiling too much,
Now I've forgotten how to smile.
Why'd they take my smile away?
What did I do to deserve to lose it?
Where'd they go,
My happy days.

How long does it take?
For you to see my poem,
Mr. Publisher?
You have me checking the mailbox,
Over and over, like I’m a little boy again.
Every time I open it and find no letter,
I feel the pain of self-doubt inside.

I wonder, Mr. Publisher, when will you read my work?
Or, have you read it already,
And are planning to send it back?
Using the ‘significant postage’ I left in the envelope.
Will I open your letter,
And find a cold message of rejection?
Or, will you love my poem?
Will you beg me to come publish with you?

Oh, Mr. Publisher, I need to know!
The little boy in me has grow old by now,
He clutches his walking stick,
As he goes to check his mail box.
Looking for that wax postage seal,
Red like the hide of a fox.

Mr. Publisher please!
I grow anxious everyday you do not respond,
And I re-read the poem I sent you almost every hour of the day.
My lover left me, Publisher Man,
She cursed me for giving more attention to you than her.
But matter not, does that!
That witch will see the man she left when I get my letter of approval from you!

Though, she did take most of our things with her,
Left my house a little empty, didn’t she?
Where will I sleep,
If she has the bed.
Alas, Mr. Publisher, I mind not the lack of sleep,
I’d rather spend the time waiting for the letter that's coming soon.
But how close is soon?
I remember telling my friend,
I’d be able to be her lover, soon.
But soon still hasn’t come,
As she still waits at the door for me.

Mr. Publisher, not a very good postmaster this town has!
For I still have not received your message of approval!
How strange is that?
I’m sure it simply got turned around,
It’s been days after all!
Days with no bed,
Days without my lover,
Days missing my friends.

Dear Publisher Man, have you not sent it at all?
The little boy who ran to check the mail,
Had his funeral yesterday.
I was invited, but as you know,
I was busy waiting for you to respond!
I’ll have to visit some other time,
For I’m sure I’ll see the postman who carries your letter soon.

For the first time in days I left my mailbox,
Mr. Publisher,
Well, not by choice you see.
For, you had me waiting for so long,
I died before your letter came!
What a shame,
Guess you didn’t have time for my work at all!

Mr. Publisher, not a soul came to see me be buried in the ground,
I kept telling my dear friends I could be with them again,
Soon.
But soon never came,
And the only one who will weep on my grave,
Are the crows,
And my dear friend,
That I left years ago.
Ha! Will she be my lover now?

You can keep the stamp Publisher Man,
I won’t be using it anymore.

Slipping soundlessly into sound,
Is the dancer,
Moving in motion so proud.
I regret the times I didn’t see,
The true amazement she could be.
Instead I saw her uncut form,
Raw emotions,
Which I responded to with stabbing thorns.
It wasn't enough that I returned to you,
Bearing a bouquet of apologies.
Because I loved to hold you,
You loved to be held by me,
I needed attention, I thrived on greed.
Now I hold nothing,
Because you left me.
Slipping soundlessly away,
Leaving forever,
Now I remember you as a fading tune.
God I love that song,
Oh, God, I loved you.
Why do I portray your voice,
As a flute,
Silver, portraying tunes.
Nothing more,
We weren't meant to be.
But sometimes I wonder, how do you portray me?

Dead trees,
White snow,
Green pines,
And a long way to go.

It frustrates me that I’m sitting here,
Staring at a blank page.
For I feel so much.
And I have so much to write,
On this empty page.
I have seen enough to write an endless novel.
So why is my page empty?
Not full of wooded trails.
Or life's many tales.
Not even the sympathies,
Of my many brothers,
And many sisters.
My page is empty,
Alas, the poet’s dying shame.

I sorry,
I turn on brain.
Me no think.
Think make you go away.

It's a nice day in Paris,
A chilly afternoon.
At a tourist cafe,
With an Italian Painter,
Chatting about the French language.
"Why would you write about Dan's Amour?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well it's Dan's thing, seems personal to him."
"No, no, I wrote about dans amour."
"Yes that's what I said, Dan's Amour!"
Sigh

"Wisdom doesn't come easy,
So when someone tells you something you better listen.
Pay some attention to the wise men,
Even if they don't seem the wisest.
Listen here son,
Sometimes good men do bad things.
So they can protect the ones they love,
God is forgiving, he understands.
Sometimes you gotta get your hands *****,
To keep someone else's clean."

November comes in waves,
First, the leaves turn orange,
And fall from the trees.
Second, the last summer bird flies away,
And the city is left lonely,
With the haunting song of the crows.
Third, the winds turn bitter and cold,
And those who walk the streets dwindle,
Till I’m walking the city and find I’m alone.

You got your nails done yesterday,
They look so pretty.
Black with white swirls,
Sleek shiny paint.
They're kind of blurry,
Maybe if you held my hand,
I could see them better.

Have you ever seen,
White light shine,
Through black diamonds?
Seen the reflection of moonlight,
Off of gold?
Do you walk around parties,
In black suits and dress attire.
How great it feels,
To keep time on gold watches.
Black diamonds,
Silver seas.
I'd give you riches,
If you'd love me.