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Gratitude
see beauty
open one's heart
obtain relief and forgiveness
show thankfulness
Cinquain
Make your poems Memorable,
That’s what I say.
No need to be incredible,
Just let them play.

Read them with your inner voice,
Write them that way too.
Hear the music in those words,
This I’m telling You.

In ancient times these poems were songs,
Remembered off by heart.
At least you’d call them statements,
Knowledge to impart.

Iambic metre’s very common yes,
And so of course is rhyme:
To make these verses remembered
Through the course of time.

Yet verse is best as poetry,
Lyrical if you will.
We have to write with feeling,
And give the reader a thrill.

Paul Butters
Went for afternoon nap. Woke. Got thinking. Poetry must be MEMORABLE. Like ancient poems had to be before writing was invented. I'll write a poem about it...
I’m no author, novelist or poet.
I’m just Me,
And don’t I know it.
I don’t need to be classified,
As long as I’m writing, I’m satisfied.

Typing out words, line by line,
I don’t care if they don’t rhyme.
I don’t care if my verses don’t scan:
I’m not always an Iambic Man.

I just say what I gotta say,
I’m not worried about any pay.
Words come to me without much bidding,
The world of its evils I hope to be ridding.

I love to spread lots and lots of Love,
Bringing peace to all like a messenger dove.
Things of beauty bring joy, John Keats rightly said,
To make us sleep easy when we go to bed.

So I’ll paint what I paint,
And sing what I sing,
Just letting those words
Do their magical thing.

Paul Butters
Inspired by someone writing you are not an author just because you upload work to self-publishing sites.
 Mar 2016 Paul M Chafer
Bailey
You turn the water on.
You pour in the neglected bubble bath liquid, you pour in a lot.
You are expecting much from this bottle as you empty it of its contents. You step into the tub and lay down.
Then you see; your toes stick out of the water, the water gets cold too fast, there are no toys to distract you from the awkward silence between you and the bubbles you were expecting to ease your pain, to set your mind free.
You curse the bubbles, stand up and pull the drain, not bothering to watch the soapy water swirl into nothingness.
You turn the shower on and rinse off.
You get out and wrap a towel around you and put on your sinful clothes.
You walk away from the bathroom.
It’s then that you realize your skin is baby soft, the bubbles had done something for you after all.
You forgot to thank them before you pulled that plug, sending them to their doom.
It wasn't their fault.
You are the one that grew, that left them in the back of your cupboard. You're ashamed for only about a minute before you return to your daily routine, only to get ***** once again.
broke the poem up because a few people suggested it
 Mar 2016 Paul M Chafer
Bailey
Life is like a lollipop. It’s sweet and sour. But not many know, that they have the power. You choose whether you bite before the center, you choose what flavor. But the truth is, your life's gonna **** if you don't plan to savor. So unwrap life slowly, and enjoy its taste. Before you know it you've swallowed and it’s already too late.
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