Poet to Poet - Hello Poetry

Jun 2016

Traveler

Please bear with me
'Til my words be read
I am not your enemy
No matter what I said

Relax now
Don't draw a mob
As I said before
I have no problem with your god

Blessed be the light
Of your darkest day
For I would never
Ever turn you away

But sometimes
there are just somethings
I am compelled to say
Like for instance
Even though you label me
I love you anyways...

Infidel, atheists, gnostic, sorcerer, I'm all these things and so much more! (-;

Jun 2016

Polar

Sing Loudly

Their metaphors and smilies
didn't strike no chord with me,
For the language lacked musicality.
The words written slowly drifted
Across the page and died silently.
I was about to give up
When notes began to appear
And flutter delicately
Across the page,
Rising, rising to create a symphony,
Filled with awe and meaning
Until they sang
brilliantly, resonating,
Haunting me beautifully.

Jun 2016

Polar

Death of a poet

Death comes for a poet

With a plume of smoke rising

From a quill, pen, computer key.

When we write in love or hate

We have no choice in the path we follow

For all roads lead to home.

Whether you leave this plane

With the wealth of a nation

Or in poverty

In fame or deep obscurity

The real tragedy

Is that no-one gets to enjoy immortality.

Our saving grace is that we are the few

Who truly get to write

Our own elegy.

We are the few capable

Of surviving death and time.

Alas we may never see

Our elegy bloom,

Rise to become our eulogy.

Jun 2016

Stephan

Outside the lines

What is it about poetry
that so consumes you
Brings you to your knees,
cowering in a corner
of your own delusions
Reading in between the lines,
finding what is not really there
Dropping hints of absurd defiance,
collecting spoonful after spoonful
of puzzled meanings and chaliced dreams

Flowing symbolisms, metaphoric landscapes -
Where bushes are bluebirds
and sidewalks - bridges of no return

Why do you reach
into your pocket, searching for love
on white paper folded into a square,
when all along it faces you -
not in ink, but in smiles
expressing exactly what is felt
No boundaries or disguised emotions
penned in rhythmic sequence,
only true love, standing on this sidewalk -
which is only a sidewalk

What is it about poetry
that so consumes you,
when love is waiting – just outside the lines

Jun 2016

Jay Dee

To Love A Poet

To love a poet
Isn't always rainbows and sunshine.
For we are oh so passionate
about everything.
If you've won the heart of a
Poet ..remember you
Never actually leave
Their mind.
Don't forget it is you who
Makes their heart spin.
It is you who they
Depend on to be an unwind.
We will dress you with words and
Show you our way of viewing.
Keep this as a token for
The dark times.
Try not to wonder why
Your poet is constantly stewing.
Mostly we are trying to connect lines.
The ones to this. And the ones to that.
Your poet loves you forever deeply.
Even after you leave. Even after
Time stands still.
You will be tattooed to their soul.
And that is a certain fact.
Everlasting you will roam through
The corridors of their mind.
Even after.
You have.
Run out.
Of time.

- Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016.

#PoetsLove
#Everlasting
#WeRememberYou

Jun 2016

Poetic T

My Muse Is Dying

I have penned many emotions that bled endlessly
on the page, but blood only flows for so long before
it congeals and then it evaporates and a stain is left
reminding me of a time I once bled.

It was like water to my mind but water has many
forms and the form that intercepts my mind is one
of solid matter. All are instances now frozen within,
the thought is there static non linear and remote.

My words may die, but my thoughts progress.
I am only human and we bleed less and less.
Fear not for the thaw will come and like a river
my words may not bleed but trickle ever so often.

Fed up at the moment, cant see any reason for writing :(

#thoughts #stress #muse #fed-up #****-it

Jun 2016

Paul Butters

Poetry's Progress

Iambic pentameters are quite old
As poetry fashions go now, I must say.
Tetrameters are sharper, yes,
But both are old I must confess.

Make any speech, with force, you’ll surely find
Iambic rhythms: the power of pulse.
Such things are found in common speech for sure.
And lines of ten syllables must endure.

Poetic structures set in stone are not
My way: variety is key I have
To say. Some use of rhyme is okay too.
So how you write, that’s up to you (my friend).

For I prefer to write free verse,
To steer away from doggerel’s curse.
Longer lines are languid, with gravitas.
Short ones clout,
It’s as simple as that.

Paul Butters

As requested by my friend Stephen Chapman. Retitled and stanza added 24\6\16.

#poetry #verse #literature #iambic #pentameter #tetrameter