I had a nice poem
I erased it because of a friend
That friend made fun of my poem
For that I hate him
That friend's name is Michael

Three's a crowd.
Two, on clouds.
One in Hell,
A frog in a deep well.

Long before I ever met you,
I saw you in my dreams
You were faceless,
Without a name
I felt that burning flame of love

Life has a way of putting the puzzles of one's life together
Unlike a floating feather
We landed on soft white smoke clouds

I manifest my DREAM while sorting my fears
The fear of love is more to be dread than love itself
You were faceless without a name
I saw the burning flames of love within your eyes
You saw a vision of uncertainty within mines

Along with our wildest fantasy
My premonitions was I being lonely

Many angels appears as false prophets
As they fall on they face before the throne.
I rather be alone,

So forgive my angry tone
Your faceless tears, that reaches out to my heart
You’re flapping wings, my many scars, my downfall
Forgive me, forgive my angry tone

Beautiful flower poem in japanese:

Utsukushi hana:

Utsukushi hana no yona
Sore wa chimei-tekina kakusa reta toge o motte iru
Utsu no o matte iru
Umareta bakarita jinsei o shuryo suru
Hayai, sore o haishutsu suru
Sore ga kanso suu tame ni
Jinsei o mite kare
Fuyu wa kono michi o kuru toki,-suki
Katsute atatakakatta subete no seimei o korosu
Sore wa taikutsu ***** ita toyuu riyu dakede
Sono utsukushii hana
Sore no tame ni jinsei
Meiwakuna hachi no yona monodesu

I am free
and joyous
and grateful
and kind
but I am not creating.
I cannot.

My eyes glued shut.
My lips sewed together.
My hands chopped off.
My body closed by the same monsters that slit my wrists and changed my name.

The storm has passed but the damage has not.
The demons won't release their claws around my throat nor the teeth that sink into my chest.

Ideas and images run at uncharted speeds,
racing and buzzing past every corner of my mind.
Where do I put them?
Where do they go?

I'm trying to find her again:
the girl who painted fairies & danced without socks & wrote stories about ghosts and mermaids.

Those pixies, bare feet and adventures are still floating.
Waiting to be spilled out onto a page, a canvas, a body; any surface worth noticing.  

The thoughts have been patient and kind for too long.
I fear they won't wait any longer.
They urge and itch to be set free, but without any luck, they melt.

They boil and drip into what can only be described as gone.  
I fear that once gone; they will forever be lost.

I am not inventing, I am not expressing.
I am simply wasting, hoping someone else might construct things for me.
I am not creating.

it doesn't have to be
perfect.

you're cutting demos
not diamonds.

i'm creating paragraphs
not parachutes.

she's drawing pictures
not pistols.

he's constructing bookshelves
not buildings.

we're making differences
not disasters.

we don't have to be
perfect
to be
poets.

You require at least three similes.
A metaphor or two.
This section needs more sibilance,
and another allegory on alliteration too.

Creative writing
now a standardized test
where a poet seems
to do slightly poorer than the rest.

You receive a checklist, told
bye and buy the book.
Drain away the colours upon your pencil
or face the examiners sickle and hook.

Creative writing
now a slog a convoluted use and reuse
of that which
"improves"
your descriptions and inscriptions.

You need a conclusion.


something befitting a happy end.
Try anything smart
and a bad grade i'll be "sure to send."

You poor fools!
Pity be upon you!
You are practicing
A dying art form!

Do you not realize,
That poetry is biased
Towards the literate?

There once was a time
When the scribes were
Revered as gods, but
Regrettably, that time
Has long since passed.

Now, we live in an age of
Constant, electronic stimulation,
Mediated by a steady flux of
Ready made imagery, where

Flashing lights and bright colors
Whittle away at the attention span, and
Destroy the capacity of the mind
To imagine for itself, so

Keep your word count low, and
Your syllable count lower, or
You just may lose your audience.