Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Apr 2016
Nigel Finn
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
 Apr 2016
James M Vines
When the kings and princes stop hoarding wealth and all are willing to work. When the truth is once again taught and we return to the golden rule. It is then that we will return to justice and fairness in our land.
 Apr 2016
phil roberts
These days it seems
I remember my early childhood
Better than the contents of my last meal
Dementia creeps.......

Right now,
I'm remembering one early evening
With four of us small boys
Sitting on a wall
Discussing the realities of the world
As we knew it

The moon was pale but visible
And a subject for discussion
As serious as old men playing chess
We wondered how far away it could be
One lad said it was farther than London
But we knew that was obviously wrong
After all
We could see the moon
No-one had seen London

                                       By Phil Roberts
 Apr 2016
Melissa S
you see no color
at least not in people
just when you describe bugs

there is no limit to your hugs
which light up my world
an unconditional love

whether its making silly selfies
or talking in our unique alien language
being carefree with you is the bee's knees

seeing from your perspective
gives me imagination
and gives me courage to just be me
My son is the best teacher on giving love lessons :)
 Apr 2016
wordvango
just a leaf left
on the pillow next to me
now, a whisper of smoke
vapor tracing your path

out the door
going back to the
limb I stole you from,
the place you must return

I rake my bed for more,
try to make
a place
for you to fall

again, next time.
 Apr 2016
Got Guanxi
when it hit you home.

you’re eyes closed at shutter speeds,
when the heart sinks,
or sank.
and each blink individually,
starts to take a second of your life from me,
frivolously.
and your mind focuses,
but like a broken lens,
you nictate, nictate,
like you’re stuck on repeat.
and you dictate the aftermath,
like you have admitted defeat.
as cynosure slips from your fingertips.
the closure in the locus.
you spoke to me in hindsight,
and you spared me in the moment.
still glowing, albeit, caliginously.
you described the bright lights in defiance,
lying sweetly,
in a conversation, in constellations,
i’ll remember you in full bloom;
in keepsakes;
we wished to the the stars aligned,
shining flowers for you in the nights sky.
whilst you fought for your life, in kind.
high as a kite, twinkle in your eye,
as you guide your life
away.
still in spite,
of your perdition,
the latest addition of you.
when i see you in ruin.
through the body as it mortifies,
and your fortified smile,
tortured denial,
a defiant forcefield,
shatters and eviscerate,
and as you evaporate;
i see your lips crack through dryness,
my queen and highness;
i’ve not seen you laugh for a while.
and as I see time pass,
from you astute,
a calmness in your eyes grew,
and now when you belly laugh,
you gasp for air,
it’s as if,
not much is inside there.
as you stutter and stammer,
judgement impaired,
scared.
and yellow coloured,
tinged skin,
bed ridden
in affliction,
to me,
to you.
as it dawned on me
and then it dawned on you.
when it finally hit you home,
nothing left but skin and bones,
the final petal of a rose,
fell.



**I still miss you.
I miss you still.
I always have,
always will.
I love you all with Christ , unconditional Love.
For every one is a beautiful Creation of God.
So please do not be discourage here my friends.
For Christ has a beautiful purpose for each of you.
He  wants to bring you from darkness unto his Light.
Thus using the transformation of your poetry here.
To draw others unto him, for each of you here.
Are an example unto his to show this world his Light.
So fear not, be strong unto the Lord for he is good.
 Apr 2016
Brent Kincaid
You didn’t teach me
How to succeed without ambition
How to live without approval
How to survive in this condition
How to hold my head up high
How to run when I could barely walk
How to value the me others hate
How to survive all the painful talk.

You didn’t teach me
How to keep my heart healthy and whole
How to tell the truth hidden in lies
How to find the spark inside my soul
How to be proud listening to taunts
How to look upon hatred as sickness
How to sing songs of praise of others
How to selflessly, and lovingly bear witness.

You didn’t teach me
How to value the people who love me as me
How to enjoy people of a different color
How to appreciate all the different nationalities
How to bounce back from the blows of life
How to learn from the work any that I do
How to love my life and cherish all of it,
Because loving me never came from you.
 Apr 2016
The Dedpoet
I do not know what is real,
Are there words real,
Real the poem,
Are you real,
you that reads this?

I question myself,
Everything and everyone,
The only answer I have
Is that I am alive between
The verses.
 Mar 2016
Matthew Berkshire
Our humanity does not lie in our goodness,
but rather it exists within our flaws,
for it's our flaws that make us interesting,
and it was because of this that I found
my aunt to be the most interesting person in the world;
for she was flawed in the most exquisite ways.

She was nothing short of a legend in my family.
Her deeds were not spoken of in day-light,
but whispered about late evenings
amidst closely clustered kitchen tables.

I remember hearing lurid tales:
she's been married twenty times -
she's been arrested before -
she's knocked out a boy's front teeth.

I never knew if these tales were true or not,
and I hope to never find out either.

I'll believe them; I'll believe in HER -
as she believed in me before:
as she believed in love and excess.
We talked shortly before her death,
What good is a life without regrets?
Patricia Berkshire let the wings of angels bear thee to thy rest 3/29/2016
 Mar 2016
Thomas P Owens Sr
In the dim light of the kitchen
I noticed she was standing,
gazing through the window
for quite some time
I took another sip of coffee
and made my way over
her back to me
I put my arm round her shoulder as I often do
"What do you see out there in the dark?"
she didn't answer
just continued to stare
then turning slightly toward me
I saw a tear had made it's way down her cheek
her hand was shaking just enough that I would notice
"I don't remember walking over here"
she said in such a pitiful voice
that I had to fight back my own tears
"You're just tired
Maybe we should turn in early"

Like the dying light of a distant star
I was losing her
a little more each night

In the dim of the kitchen
I sip my coffee
and eye a black patch of sky
where once flickered the light of a star
so brightly
Next page