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Ian Robinson Jan 2
It was reddish with the sky all to white
a silent wind hushed the painted day sky
And forward I faced my back towards the night
and I soared with that warm wind ever so high

Up so high where I can breathe so clearly
Fleeing with the storm clouds drawing so near
I attempt to escape my hate hastily
The cleaver draws ever closer to my dear

Flying up to the man's neck with my shear
Without saying goodbye i take my stride
and quickly "He's dead, gone" i clearly hear
Again i take to the wind and the morning
I save time by changing and taking sides

I hope to get home swift before scorning
And go join in the day break aborning
This is what i call a broken sonnet as it has 15 lines instead of 14 but it still has 10 syllables per line
Pauper of Prose Jun 2018
With lantern strung high on a pike
I searched for an Empress of poetic might

Whose symphonic verse
Both elongated and terse

Would meld all the muses into one
Beauty tipping from the tip of her tongue

Scented in roses she’d carefully grown
A flower no gardener could own

And seeing the vile and valiant in all people
Thus never seeking saviors, only equals

Awash in wisdom that attracts locusts of love
And shining nay shimmering like a lantern from above
Wrote this while listening to Jhene Aiko's While We're Young
Greg Jones May 2018
Her eyes held the story of the tale of our young love,
Somewhere beneath her somber eyes.
Locked up away from me in a tower of her making.
Why do you hide away my love?

I’m in! I can save her
From the torment of her prison.
Escape the walls that echo out her pain.
But these eyes are not hers,
They are frozen in apathy.
“I never told you to come.”

Her hand I squeezed tightly while we ran down the corridor.
Desperately searching for the exit.
I felt her demons closing in now,
They were foaming at the mouths to
Deprive of us safety and love.

Then she fell down
On the floor, crawling, breathing hard,
Begging me to give up.

“You’ll be dead
Before you even reach the stairs.
They’ll take you too, I swear.”

The darkness surrounds her,
Slowly dragging her away now.
She won’t resist it or even fight.
“****** your memory,
Just forget all about me.
You’ll be safer once you do.”

I can’t just abandon the hope of restoring her heart.
I know it’s in her waiting for life again.
Snatching her away from the shadows that have plagued her,
Striving for freedom once again.

That’s it! Think I found it!
The exit from this construction
Laced with the smell of fear and mold.
I was too excited of the thought having her back,
I barely felt her slip away.

Turning to see her face just to be greeted by a pain
Piercing my flesh, piercing my soul.
She holds the knife, unaffected by her actions.
“I’ll be the death of you, you know.”

Like her, I too was slowly dying.
Her face welled up but she’s not crying.
Through tears I beg don’t let the dark win.



“Leave me to die.”
Avalon Jan 2016
Try me!
Nothing you do will ever make me quit,
Just as nothing I do will ever stop you.
So come at me and have at me!

I have grown tired of your rights,
as you are weary of mine!
I have been silent for far too long,
and you have been preaching more than enough!

Now get down here, and face me!
Leave your crown behind,
We will fight blind,
and let me show you true bravery!

Or we can go to war, my friend,
your hounds, and my army!
Let us paint this world crimson red,
as we charge into this endless battle!

Give me that iron bludgeon,
and I will return with a concrete fist!
Feed me walls of smoke,
and I will send you floors of fire!

Do me your worst,
and shall you see the worse from me.
Stop me in my walk,
and I will paralyze you in your wake.

And when your guts are finally there to get you,
come find me, and **** me!
Throw me down off a cliff, and
send them a distress call!

For I was not killed by the fall,
and as long as you live,
Know that the only way I'll die,
is standing true, and standing tall!
I am feeling revolutionary. you have to shout it out when reading this piece to really feel the fury in you. and maybe listen to Wagner's Ride Of The Valkyrie (Die Walkure).
Phil Lindsey Dec 2015
I did not know that poetry has rules.
‘Tis not a craft for ordinary fools.
Those, that form and meter never master,
Are ever doomed; they are the poetasters.
As opera singers, out of tune, do make
Discerning listeners do a double-take,
And chefs, who sprinkle salt instead of sweet,
Serve meals that connoisseurs would never eat;
A writer with a wretched poet’s curse
Will never craft a great Heroic Verse.

So as I count my syllables and feet,
And wonder if my metaphors will meet,
I pray that hypermetrics are okay,
(For I have used a few of them today,)
I’ll leave the verdict, reader, up to you,
Affirm that to my mission, I’ve been true,
Or if the ending to my verse bathetic
Christen me a poet most pathetic.
Heroic Lines in Couplets, I intended;
Judge me, reader, now this verse has ended.

Phil Lindsey 12/24/15
I most often do not write notes to my poems, hoping that any readers out in HP land enjoy them for what they are.  Also, I am most definitely NOT a technical writer,  nor have I had formal classes or training.  But I have been attempting to read "The Ode Less Travelled" by Stephen Fry.  Mr. Fry describes (often humorously)  iambic pentameter, rhyming schemes, meter, and much more in his didactic book. Thus, I have attempted to write a poem in Heroic Verse.  With my apologies to Mr. Fry.  :-)
Lenny M May 2015
You have to be Super Human,
Your invulnerability inspires me,
When shots are fired
You try to evade not One,
You firmly plant your feet
Turn the other cheek
And reply "If you miss me , You Miss Me",
Shrug shoulders
With a stone cold face expression,
Gift wrapped with a warm smile
Every breath you take
Inhales and Exhales "I am God's child",
Thoughts of you border admiration,
I Believe you can fly,
To sore like Icarus ,but would not free-fall due to arrogance,
You have to be Superhuman,
No weapon formed can harm You,
Even when evil doers want to tarnish
Your Truth,
You retaliate with A Sunshine Force Field
And say
"It's all love boo",
Up, Up, and Away,
You slip on your cape
and try to brighten another caper's day ,
What can I say , You have to be Super Human
Up in the sky it's a bird , No its a plane, No its ...
My lovely voice can carry, and carry it will
For her voice is scary, and hateful, and shrill
I’ll protect humanity with sounds so pleasant
And drown out her screaming; like a dying pheasant
And i’ll be the hero, and i’ll have the fame
And she’ll go down in history as a woman with no name
Graff1980 Jan 2015
My heroes don’t wear capes or camouflage
Don’t snipe from sand dunes or hide behind mirages
Don’t shoot hoops in Nike shoes
Or praise Jesus while supporting corporate issues

My heroes hold hands on picket lines and tear gassed streets
Wear blood red wounds from aggressive police
Sigh and cry for the innocent
Try and try against impossible odds
Sing songs of freedom
Not the military type but the kind that social movements keep bringing

And they are still bleeding
And they are still singing
And they are still marching
And they are still dreaming

My heroes keep
Carrying children from the wreckage
Running into burning buildings
Bandaging wounds
Holding the hands of strangers who are in danger,
Sheltering strangers, feeding strangers,
Caring for the poor,
Singing songs of love,
Putting down their guns and refusing to ****
While they pass out water bottles on the battlefield

These are my heroes
And they are still healing
And they are still singing
And they are still loving
And they are still dreaming
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