My List of inspirations:

The sun that shines on me
it rises and sets
creating inspiring colors of the unknown.

The flowers that grow, bloom, share joy,
and sadly die away.

The Birds that sing, and fly in the wide open sky
making people want to sit and enjoy the outsides.

Music that surrounds me with joy
beyond belief and picks me up
whenever I pick up my guitar.

Stories and Books written so descriptively
the variety is never ending.

Horses and when they graze
such a calming soft sound
and when Horses whinny when they see you
and push up against you as if to say,"Oh, it's nice to see you again"

People and their strange ways, looks,
and personalities, no one is exactly the same
an inspiration for sure.

Family and Friends and their love for you
standing next to you even if the world isn't.

The ocean with it's waves and foreign creatures
so much more than land and so much more unique.

Dolphins and their kind eyes and playful ways
twirling out of the water making their exotic language.

Mantarays and Sting rays and the graceful flow in the other ocean creatures.

Beaches and the sand so smooth getting everywhere
it's in your hair, food, and all over your towel.

Summer even though it is short it is beautiful
and lively. Warm air and soft breeze.

Leaves, fall and summer they are still beautiful
with their colors.

Learning, history has our success and our mistakes
and people who are important.

Art, beauty in the eye of the beholder. The artist has the paintbrush
the creativeness creates strokes.

Wisdom, it is whatever you believe it to be. Wisdom comes in many shapes, sizes, and ages.

Peace, one thing the world has not held on to...yet.

Love, when there is love in the air all is well. Love is expressed in many different ways.

Imagination, Dreams, and Creativeness a land that is yet to be
discovered more.

Teachers, they something more than just school work.
They teach you how to survive life.

Poets on this site, I have learned so much from all of you.

Smiling and all who dare to share this joy! The most contagious thing known to humans!

This List will be ongoing and I will write something more when I find more inspirations.

I dreamed a dream so perfect
of white and pureness found
Of swimming pools of happiness
and creativeness unbound

Where I was king forevermore
and you could not invade
With all my joy in full display
and all true feelings laid.

You entered not
for it was you who feared
Me! You feared me
and dare not ever neared.

So beautiful.  Magnificent.
Yet slumber comes to end
and soon I found myself returned
into your lap again.

Until I can once more escape
in sleep where truth is gone
to places you shall never know
nor ever gaze upon

What is originality anymore?
The pop songs we listen to day in day out,
That are only updated remixes of
Songs that our parents
Already know every lyric to.


Is it the pranks we play on each other at school,
Poking holes in the top of water bottles,
So we don’t get caught when we try to catch our class mates.
Drowning them
In carbonated energy drinks.

Don’t think you’ll get away with it.
The teachers already know,
About flicking elastic bands at the backs of girls knees,
So they scream a little louder
And turn around to see
Boys smirking faces,
Because they have been there before.


Define originality.

Originality
. /əˌrɪdʒɪˈnalɪti/
noun
1. the ability to think independently and creatively.

•the quality of being novel or unusual


synonyms: inventiveness, creativeness, creativity, innovativeness, innovation, novelty, freshness, newness, imagination, break with tradition, resourcefulness, cleverness, daring, individuality, unusualness, unprecedentedness, uniqueness, distinctiveness
.

Is it smuggling ***** in water bottles,
Or sneaking down to the back garden
To have one last cigarette with your friends,
At 1am
On New Years
When you have had more to drink than your parents
Yet you are only 15.
Watering down whiskey from your parents liqueur cabinet
With apple juice.

Getting caught drunk
After being out with friends, Stumbling in at 2am
On Sunday morning.


Storming up to your room
After having a row with your parents.
Slamming the door,
Screaming at the floor,
Calling a friend,
And ******* about the people who brought you into this world.


Maybe
I’m not as good with words
Than I thought I was


O r i g i n a l i t y I s D e a d


Your parents Grandparents
Aunties and uncles
Have seen it all before
It’s a fact of growing up
And one day
You will too know
Exactly how it is

Two men have given me books in my lifetime... up to this moment. I wish more had. When I graze my fingers horizontally along the spines of each story shoved into my shelves only two books cause them to stop and linger. A book is such an underrated gift.
The first boy to give me a book knows a side of me that no one else does. I talk to him constantly despite the distance, yet I can't save him. He has an addictive personality. It's the drugs, it's the alcohol, it's the sadness, it's the tortured creativeness in him, it's the live life fast anarchism of **** the world. I've been careless with the book he gave me. It has sat neglected for a long time, I haven't even finished it. I've tried but I just can't get into it. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, as you can tell from the title it is all about taking mad amounts of LSD while living during the 70s and following around a bunch of now famous bands and being wild and being untethered from social constraints. He gave me a piece of his freedom fetish that intimidates me because I know deep down that if we're together we'd tear through the world in a feverish pace. So fast that there's no way we could live a decent life without having burned up everything we could ever do that it'd have to die tragically and quickly.
The second boy gave me a bittersweet love story set in a world filled with magic. It's characters had tattoos of protection symbols, strange powers, and a girl in love with a boy who ****** her off but was gorgeous in a bad way. The boy who gave me this story hid behind his tattoos and made me promise to not fall in love with him during our first date. I read the novel nonstop and finished it two days later. He gave me the sequel with the stipulation that I give away these books whenever I was done with them to someone I thought would truly appreciate them. I cried after the second book and like the story's main characters we couldn't get pass our self-made obstacles to make our love work. For a year I refused to pass them on for it was one of the few things I had left of this boy. Until the day I sat by an army officer on the plane home and he was almost done with the first novel and I coincidentally had the second novel. It was just too coincidental to pass up on so I gave the man a story to carry with him. A story he didn't even know was deeper than the words on the pages. I still have the first book and always will just like the tiny, faint, tender pink scar he left in my heart.
**** diamonds, **** flowers, **** songs, **** baby animals, **** anything trivial you could ever give me as a girl. **** all that **** other women like. Give me a book, a story, a poem, a letter, and i'll remember you forever.

With my poetic words, I’m looking to breathe Life
into the souls and spirits of others to prevent…
the conditions that lead one to a spiritual Death;
with directness, my messages’ clarity is clear,
as instructed in the Great Commission from Christ.

Temptations of head-scratching, clutter, confusion
and being overly clever are avoided, when Biblical
references are supplied; hopefully, my personality
shines through, despite my analytical thinking and
my spiritual creativeness of expressing Salvation.

My idealized thoughts are evident and recognizable;
now most of my readers, can easily detect the sound
of my inward voice, with its straight-forwardness
and consistency. Finding a resonance of Faith, they
can identify and love poems… that are analyzable!

~

From the cinders and ashes of exhausted flame
Came a wonderful truth that is not one to blame
For this feeling of love that brings forth its weight
Which we gladly present in the form of debate

On the darkest of night not a star above shone
We hear of the plight his decision alone
For the heart of this woman true love would reclaim
From the cinders and ashes of exhausted flame

And this knight you will see just a few steps away
Had decided to take with the band on this day
Whilst knowing full well that his Lady would fear
The thought that her armor clad knight was not near

He played till the hours, well into the morn
His heart between song and his lady were torn
But still he continued till the sun called the day
And this knight you will see just a few steps away

As he knocked on the door, crooked smile on his face
He called out her name as he stood at her place
Ignore him she did for twas easy to know
Where he had been, what place he did go

He hadn’t a clue that she waited her chore
And watched from above on the very next floor
His attempts to gain entry to this her own place
As he knocked on the door, crooked smile on his face

As she moved on the balcony, eyes gazing down
Watching his antics without making a sound
And thought to herself this was really a shame
It is his love of music that is surely to blame

Then her mind turned to songs he had written for her
As the love that she felt for him began to stir
Wonderful feelings inside her spun round
As she moved on the balcony, eyes gazing down

She decided to forgive and forget would be best
For his feelings and love he soon would profess
Through the entry she walked, quiet feet on the floor
To the base of the stairway that leads to the door

A moment to breathe, a glance at the clock
No longer she hears the sound of his knock
She would let him in, allow him some rest
She decided to forgive and forget would be best

Dejected, no answer, he turns now to leave
To lose her, this Goddess, he surely would grieve
Why had he made such a mess of this thing
By playing guitar, by wanting to sing

He knew that he loved her much more than a song
Then why did he play with his friends all night long
She warned him no longer his words she’d believe
Dejected, no answer, he turns now to leave

The door is now open and before her eyes
A sight that is not often called a surprise
I terrible dream, she thought this must be
This sight that I see right in front of me

Why would this happen, why do such a thing
Knowing he loved her as he loved to sing
Don’t do this my darling, the words that she cries
The door is now open and before her eyes

A burning guitar, burning songs on the ground
Fanning the flames of this inferno mound
Her Knight as he tells her this act is to show
He loves her much more than a song and a show

I’ll sing nevermore, not a chord will I play
To be in your arms with you I will stay
Know now this sign of my love so profound
A burning guitar, burning songs on the ground

She could not believe it as she stood there and cried
Such sadness and sorrow had built up inside
My darling this is not the course I desire
To see your creativeness go up in fire

I understand not why you’d go to such means
Never, not ever in my wildest dreams
This is not a way I would have ever implied
She could not believe it as she stood there and cried

Weep not my love, the decision was mine
It should have been done such a long ago time
For here at your side now I never shall part
And sing you the song that you’ve placed in my heart

These ashes were pages and wood and some strings
Nothing much more than material things
So therefore I say we’ve the rest of all time
Weep not my love, the decision was mine

She was his Queen and he was her Knight
With her blonde flowing hair she would pull him in tight
She sat on the ground, he fell to his knees
This moment of love they were sure to seize

Her long gown of violet, his suit of steel
Their passionate kiss, they way that they feel
This perfect love the whole world would delight
She was his Queen and he was her Knight

From the cinders and ashes of exhausted flame
Came a wonderful truth that is not one to blame
For this feeling of love that brings forth its weight
Which we gladly present in the form of debate

On the darkest of night not a star above shone
We hear of the plight his decision alone
For the heart of this woman true love would reclaim
From the cinders and ashes of exhausted flame

Sitting in the bath once again, small blue pad in hand, bit of plastic as support, I write this poem.   Albert Cat demands a bit of attention and pad slides into the water.  I grab a bit of toilet paper to blot it.  That makes it worse.  So, blurred and vague, I reconstruct it, using magnifying glasses (2!) while watching the evening news.  Here it is:
             I Like Facebook

I like Facebook. I don’t know exactly why.

I like looking at the pictures,

Friends I’d never meet another way.

I like friendly messages,

Passages of verse I’d never read

If not for Facebook’s lead.

I like Likes and Comments kind,

Find in comments rich expressions.

Possibly I’m one of few - or few new millions.

I’m inspired when tired, fired up.

Even when I’ve written ‘crap’

No one’s there to trap me.

Some reviewer always sees my views,

Understands.

Someone always sends

Me praise; ends with a Like.

I’ve never had a spikey word;

Cordiality is all I’ve ever read or heard.

Commonality forever somewhere, there

Where someone wants to start a group.

Always somebody to whoop de whoop:

Somewhere folk who populate;

A troupe with common passions.

Then there are the monthly Happys:

Happy Birthdays, Christmases and Easters…

Never had one word rescinded.

Reminded gently daily:

Classmates, playmates

I’d forgotten, dovetailed,

Blazoned on the psyche;

Friends and places,

And of course, the faces -

It is Facebook, after all; the key, the glee,

A source of history.

As for weaknesses I’ve read about –

Never think to route them out,

Going ‘bout my business,

Focused on creativeness,

The lofty and the small.

I like Facebook.

Happy Facebook to you all!

I Like Facebook 3.31.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin

here are the main ingredients to my poetry:

Words, fraises, rhymes sometimes, inspirations, creativeness, LIFE, emotion, education, facts if neccessary, IMAGINATION, character, uniqueness, thought, impulse, opposites, TRUTH, symbols, patterns, and most of all my poetry contains a bit of ME in them.

I have detailed memories of occasions I'd like to forget
While I can never remember things I'd like to never dismiss.
Never miss this,
How emptiness kissed my closed lips as I concealed emotions I wasn't stable enough to
feel yet.
Happiness gets,
No place in a crowed room yet full of space
Full of thoughts I hadn't had time to think yet.
Keep me pressed for time while I have not a dime to spend
on costly relationships with mankind that seem to let my soul sour
every time I can recall.
While I spend my time writing poems of sorrows I realize that I can never again
relive the time I've wasted thinking about what could have beens or what should be's
funny how the lack of emotional space seems to burn like honey bees stinging my expressionless face.
I ran races of foot dreams for maybe if I made one last step to a finish line I had no idea to where its destination  could possible be I just new it had to be somewhere far away from my inner self so it had to be the perfect place for someone as spaced out yet completely glued to one spot craved to be.
Like cravings for cookies sprinkled with life was a treat I hadn't yet baked in ovens of temper felt skulls
made with love by the one who composed this distress into the perfect picture of a cloudy gray yet colorful mess.
This life helps me dress myself as I picture my thoughts as organized as yours
My ideas of greatness neatly folded into perfectly hand crafted drawers and my creativeness escapes to the next nut case that could handle my beliefs better than me.
Package my soul and send it right back to me for I want to wrap my uncanny way of places words onto pages to stay
I wouldn't know how else to survive if my life was anything but this way.

Moments fly and phrases die
Like thistledown in breeze,
Creativeness evades
The minds capacity to seize.
Shadows of vast portraiture
Do beckon from within
Just to dissipate like gossamer
When almost penciled in.
Sequences of magnitude
Dissolve upon the lips
And laughter’s spontaneity dies
As vapoured humour slips.
To fancy pearls of rapture
Emanating from the brain
Would tax ones capacity
To ever fantasize for fame.
Frustrations of the frantic day
Those rushing points of call
Where interruptions, interrupt
In fleeting moments all,
Where focusing, just shatters
In the face of crass demand
Where inspiration’s stillborn babes
Are delivered cold to hand.
Tragic are the losses
To the mortified’s dry pen
And jubilantly, Satyrs claw
Creations’ prize …to them.

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
28 June 2010

males (maybe just from my experience)
      seem to hide their pain in anger
females (maybe just my experience)
       seem to not try and show the wrong people

              male poets (maybe just my view)
   show their pain in creativeness that evokes hurt
              female poets (maybe just me)
   show their hurt in words that evoke understanding

      male poets (just what i've noticed)
           express love
       female poets (just what i think)
           express love

   maybe that's why i fell for a poet
                he expresses love, shows his pain
      maybe that's why he fell for a poet
                i express love, tell my pain right

we just understand eachother well
      ~love