Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Dec 2018 the black rose
Shamai
Poetry
Is a way to write
What I’m feeling
Or meaning to feel
Or have to feel
Or don’t know
What I’m feeling
Perhaps
Yes, just perhaps
Poetry
Is about
Feelings
 Dec 2018 the black rose
caroline
“Social media is taking over our lives,”
she tweeted angrily.
 Dec 2018 the black rose
Meera
She looks like heaven
And tastes like hell
Stillness in the lake;
The hills are dumb till their death;
Silently I walk
Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.
 Dec 2018 the black rose
ryn
Q & A
 Dec 2018 the black rose
ryn
Come morning
their innocent eyes would ask
the most difficult of questions.

My heart would stall.
My tongue would stiffen.

And my eyes would answer back
with tears.
 Dec 2018 the black rose
Pozowie
My mask is the only me i have ever known,
What lies underneath... not even i will talk about.
It's only for me to know and no one else to see.
 Dec 2018 the black rose
Daniel
I have never thanked you,
for the conversations.

I have never thanked you,
for the smile.

I have never thanked you,
for asking me how i'm really doing.

I have never thanked you,
for staying alive.

Thank you,
thank you.
 Dec 2018 the black rose
Rj
What does it mean to be human?
Does it mean that your body is flesh and bone?
My body is made of plastic.
What are you made of?
What makes a person whole?
Is it fulfillment? Happiness? Soul?
Whatever the case, I am not whole.
Are you?
Are humans intelligent or ignorant?
I am both.
Which one are you?
Are humans kind or wicked?
I do not know which one I am.
Do you know?
Do humans get to choose who they are?
I have tried to mould myself as best I can, into the person I want to be
Have you?
Are you human?
I am, decidedly, not human.
I am that which I do not know of
I am that which I do not wish to discover
I hope never to know who I am.
Who are you?
Uhhh **** my man
Next page