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Through poetry writing, I believe to be gifted to me
to Inspire and help others
less fortunate than
myself
No ticket to Heaven required I do this purely out of love wanting to help
encourage others starting out poetry
writing
To write what they love and believe In no matter what stick with their believes
never listen to people telling them their poetry Is not good enough or telling to change their
style
you like an artist who paints stay with what you believe and stick with It regardless
You be rewarded as I was with my late wife Helen to whom I promise In life always to write her a poem and never
did
but after Helen passed on I wrote my first poem thinking that would be my last but since that first poem I've written well over
a
thousand some not so good some rewrites but since last September I've Improved so
much
through the encouragement of fellow poets through their comments and especially by reading their poetry true Inspiration they have
given
me and I've made wonderful friends through the poetry site I have so much to be grateful for so long live poetry that has given me a new meaning to
life
I consider poetry writing to be a gift first to have paid tribute to my wife but also to spread love around help other In needs but for self gain keeping promise making people smile that's where my rewards come
Bohemian Mar 18
Her pixie dust that I envy
His hands were coated with it during daylights,erstwhile
Dust that turned red
Under the full moon nights
He might have undone her woven stitches
Loosen the twines and strands
One by one
With his learned needle-less hands
She seems to radiate the rainbows
That he steals and his face glows
We watch him baptized
In a cult under the shrine
While his shadow casts a merciless bovine
Enticed by the fragile
His facade thrives
Sinisters shriek
On one and another's atrocity
Eerie evaded by his enshrouded arms
Hugged in delight
Those violent eyes
Glimpse venereal walk,preying,on road side
In this city many have died.
|Suffering with feelings ,such is the helplessness at times.
I am afraid more than I envy her,I am frightened for her|
I wish not to discover her residual feelings unseen dumped into a pit,is your kindness just preying since the people adjacent to you seem to fade away gradually. :'(
Why deceive ?
When it is, Us
We always embrace
Complimentary vibes
In a new dimention
For a new destiny
Where to travel on

Wholeheartedly
You will begin to
Feel proud
Saying
This is a story of mine
I'm
One side of that coin

This is what
I heard
Between Yang N' Yin
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Story of yin and yang
Johnny walker Feb 18
I'm so happy today I'm retired so my time is my own and I've spent all day writing of Helen and I've loved every
minute
been writing for probably eight hours none stop passes my days reading and writing
poetry
For this Is my life where not so long ago I hadn't read or written a poem It's what I live for poetry has truly been my savour
a beautiful addition
to
have but through the Inspiration of fellow poets
that make It even
better bless them
all
Inspiration have given by fellow poets truly amazing
they all are
Seanathon Jan 1
Give me a quiet day
Where someone remembers
The tallness of trees
And the will to stop and speak to them
To wake them up and then
Sometimes it's the littlest things
Julian Delia Nov 2018
PART III: THE LOCKED DOOR

The straw that broke the camel’s back.
The lethal blow that made his resilience crack.
Think, analyse the commensurate reaction to his fate;
Paralysed and desperate, in his own words.

‘Asphyxiated’ seems like such a clean word;
‘He died of asphyxiation,’ that’s what the articles wrote.
What about dying of starvation? Let me elaborate on this note –
I meant, dying from being starved of hope.
I hardly think one ‘asphyxiating’ does this justice.
How about ‘a sense of debilitating hopelessness’, instead?
Or maybe ‘hopelessness that feels like all-encompassing dread?’

Because that’s what all of Gaza feels right now.
How? How the **** did we get here?
Year after year, Palestinians die and suffer.
Fear after fear, they come alive, one after the other.
‘We’re dead, already’ –
How does reading something like that not make you feel unsteady?

So, what do you do after suffering like that?
Nothing, except for lying down flat on your bed,
Crying, watching everybody around you dying.
And then, when you can’t cry anymore,
When you realise your entire country was treated like an eye sore,
When you can’t take it anymore,
That’s when you lock the ******* door.
That’s when Asma broke through that door,
To find her prodigal son dead, collapsed on the floor.
I finished it; Mohanad, I hope I have done your soul justice.
Seanathon Apr 2018
The moment you worry
About the days which are gone
You create the current warry
About what you couldn't control
Warry is a slick word
Seanathon Apr 2018
The height of the stars
The depths of the ocean
The colors of the flowers
And the warmth of a summers morn
No human heart nor hand to hold
Is responsible for making you
Feel with such feelings as these adorn
To love is to try. To forgive is to forget. And such choices go beyond mere human fleeting feelings.
Then there was this wood framed window
A glass pane cut for viewing out
It stares as should a good named fellow
A pair of lookers viewing doubt

Just as one sees through another
A good named fellow keeps it clear
Injustice done decrees a brother;
The wood frame window’s kin appears

When looking out means looking in
Good named fellows unhook the latch
Exploring how to dream within
A wood frame sometimes meets its match

Just then, there was a wood framed view
At last, a scene of how it should
Reflections he would not see through
No glass to keep this fellow good
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