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Hello Poetry, will you hear my cry?
Can you put my cup into your table of mystery?
Or simply leave out the rest of the words?
Like the stitches you pushed me to wear
Whenever I mix the sugar in pain.

Hello Poetry, will you marry me?
Can you count the uncounted stars
And remain in silence whenever we kiss in the rain?
Will you pour out the wine and give me cheers?

Hello Poetry, will you be my Superman?
Who'll catch me when I fall to the pit of your romantic stanzas?
Or hang me up until you see me in tears of the ocean so deep.

Hello Poetry, will you shoot me in my weakness?
And wrap me up and sing me a song so delicate to my ears.
Will you teach me to punch curiosity of the world's psychopaths?
And tear up my bones until I pursue my calling.

Hello Poetry, will you answer me?
See how crazy I am, wandering in the desert of your magic.
Or is it an aroma of how you allure me to your depth?

I was captivated by you, coz over and over again
I hover into your words, that I became a lover --
A lover of speech and intent;
Of your soul so determined
To push me into the limits of my vocabulary.

I am in love.
I love you, Poetry.
I am your Poet.

A second, minute, moment, a while
To get this **** into your thick head.

Nothing matters, besides status and wealth
it's all been done, it's all been said

The weak, the poor are used as stepping stones
We are examples of living, breathing, ***** drones

Only one motive; to move to the top of the ladder pyramid
To use the ones who are so dumb founded
For not a second think of the disabled or them flaccid
**** it! Do you not see what a vulture you are?

You abuse the the gift of GOD
don't think near, think real far

You forget to look down and see what's crawling under you
Asking, begging, pleading, crying, crucifying in front of you

You look the other way when you see a crippled or disabled cartoon
Who asks nothing, but an identity too

A cry for humanity, an outburst that lingers
Stop racing, or at least take off the **** blinkers

To see your place in life, and help the needy
Please your Lord, by not being so greedy

Take a moment, re-evaluate your life
Be thankful, be giving, be loving, and caring

Appreciate it all for all what's it's worth
In the end we are all going back to the Sands and pits of the earth

Recognize your wealth of healthy status
And Realize of those who suffer from this prestige
Do not get irritated, this is not just another speech!

Take this as an enlightenment, or even as a wake up call
When God questions you, your judgement would not try to low ball

So take away from this a lesson learned
Where your tombstone will repeat of your deeds well earned!

   by MaQ

To me a poem is a Statement, even a Speech.
So, Friends, Britons and countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Britain, not to praise it.
The evils that empires do live long after them.
Colonial wrongs seem never put to right.
Achievements hidden away in dusty books
By historians, all honourable men (and women!).
Yet historians say the Brits were too ambitious
And too self-righteous by half.
For historians are honourable men (and women).
They say we must accept that we’re a tiny island nation
And accept our place in the world.
Yes, historians are honourable men (and women).
They say we were too ambitious.
But now, the world is threatened by dark forces,
And only the winner takes the spoils (and writes the history!).
Once more unto the breach us Brits must go,
To fight like tigers
And smite the foe.

Paul Butters

Momma brought me up to fear
all of those four-letter words.
Two times two combinations that
stirred my interest and made me wonder.
Four-letters that I would
string together and spout off
louder and prouder than
a freshly lit firecracker
spinning and spitting on hot July pavement.
The same four letters that
slapped my fingers, flicked my lips,
lathered my mouth with bitter bar soap
and coated my tongue
with crushed red pepper
until there was nothing left
to touch
to speak
to chew
to taste
but my cautious curiosity surrounding
a apprehension of language that I refused
to acknowledge.

And when I grew up, like most little girls do,
I kept my nose in my books
straitlaced, like Momma asked,
and I learned
about my freedom of speech
and his freedom of speech
and her freedom of speech
and the same freedom of speech
that celebrates our right to use all words
in any order—
four letters or not.
In those same books, I learned that
freedoms come with their own price.
And trust me, I’m no stranger to their
single-syllable ugliness.
It’s their power to elicit such reactions
that makes them such forbidden fruits—
such juicy, delectable flesh at that.

In that same vein, I read the bible too,
and I know
when Eve bit into that apple,
homegirl wanted a little more than to just
keep the doctor away.
She wanted her own mind.
She wanted the same freedom that comes
with those four-letter words,
and she wanted the power
to fire them at Adam as she saw fit.
After all, her mother didn't
give her that mouth—
God himself did, and He knew
how that story would unfold.

But now I’ve grown up
and read a lot of things,
I understand those freedoms.
I respect them and use them
to color my communication as necessary.
I weave them into poetry and stories,
paint them with lush inks
and let them drip down
from once naked pages.

The truth though?
There may be one four letter word
that I’m afraid to speak,
and it has no mother-given stigma at all.
Anyone can tell you, its four letters
have more power than
any curse or swear ever conjured
by the evercreative tongue of man.
I keep it hidden in the thick of my throat;
locked away
until the L
the O
the V
the E
sheds its skin
and transforms into something
that I won’t refuse to acknowledge—
until I find my freedom
to scream it without a care
for its never-ending consequences.

Yeah, Momma should’ve of warned me
about that one.

****.

They say "actions speaks louder than words"
but i say *"is it nice if it's both adopt it in anyway?"