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Kaiden Jan 29
"Oh to be loved by a writer"
Someone once said to me,
Not knowing they are.
Being hated by a writer is so much worse tho

(Also, i wanna be loved by a writer ****)
Madeon Jan 23
As well as the writer’s balcony
Dressed in the ruins of summer,
Autumn slides,
Crowding at the edges of wakefulness.
The still undiscovered adventure,
Sadness being beautiful.
First stanza:
Where do I find the words to begin this piece?
Should I go for one or two stanzas—maybe even longer. tell me what will you like more?
What kind of meter or rhyme scheme would make you hear the humble knocks of my knuckles to your door?

Second stanza:
And what if I do it all wrong—
If I made it rhyme when you wanted a free verse?
If you could not hear the rhythm I aspired to contrive?
If you could not picture the imagery I had drawn?
If I wrote five stanzas when you wanted four—
What if from the moment your eyes landed on the first line, your face would tell me that you have heard me knocking but you will not let me in?

Third stanza:
Still, my fingers are wrapped around the body of this pen,
desiring to make its first stroke.
Held back however, by the thoughts of your words that has always resonated with my soul—
the very reason of why I am facing this difficult task in the first place.
Ambitious, I am very ambitious.
How dare I come up with this silly idea?
What literariness do I have that does not pale in comparison with yours?

How do I write a poem for a poet, when this is the first time I have tried, and all I have is a heart that made me believe it was possible?
From the perspective of someone who has fallen in love with a poet.
Never, never tell a good Poet what to write about
Or what to say. The Poet always tries to be right
To be on the good and the best side of history
The Poet does not express himself for glory.

The Poet believes in justice, equality and opportunity
For everyone on the Planet. The Poet is free
Free; free to say it as it is. The Poet is naturally
Very calm, thoughtful, and acts accordingly.

The Poet is the conscience of the humanity
The Poet is a truth teller, a great story teller
The Poet fights for the underprivileged of the society
The Poet wants love, peace, and justice ring in every corner.

To be a poet is a gift from God so as not to be afraid
To write or put on paper the content of his/her soul and heart
The Poet gets up very early or sometimes goes to bed
Very late to parley with the Muse, who is very bright.

Never, never dictate a great Poet what to write
The Poet is perpetually at the service of humanity
The Poet is not afraid to fight for freedom, equality
Fairness and peace for all. The Poet learns to be right.

P.S. This poem is dedicated to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a Freedom Fighter.
Happy Birthday to you, my Brother and Hero!
Copyright © January 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Vida Feb 18
SH stands for so happy
I carve it into my skin because I am so happy
I used to be so happy
All the time
So happy in the morning
So happy at night
So happy with a toilet paper roll over the sink
I loved to be so happy
I'm not so happy anymore
So
Unhappy?
So
Ber.
So this is me now
Not so happy
But I am happy
Just Happy
And JH doesn't stand for anything
I should probably write something for news
Vida Dec 2024
I think "not winning" has allowed a jealousy to consume me
Im so proud of my captain and excited for her captaincy..
But god ******* **** it do i want it
Want to rip the crown from her hand
Listen to the voice
The old decrepit witch that wants the beauty
God.
Save me
Save me from this vice
Provide me salvation from the evil that lives in my thoughts
Serve me with grace
Let me lead with poise
Because it was not
all for nothing
I am still me
Still a
C.
I lost the captains election for my sport but the world keeps spinning and I just gotta work a little bit harder. That's ok
Vida Dec 2024
Can't let gang know i **** with this  
Can't let them know
Low-key
Actually
Unironically
F. W.
Although
Gang
Doesn't ****
At least
Not with me

******* it.
I **** with me. Rep a new gang
sw333ta Dec 2024
i hope you come to none
it’s done
i’m done it’s done
well done
well gone
well played well stayed
i cant wait
for what’s next
to an end
i just can put the done in its one
over due what can you loose?
just like a drug
i give you a shove
to what is none of done
and what can’t wait can’t say
and what i say is great
to what i’ve Lund
to what is done
Lund to a crud
i give you a shove
but more harder bigger worser
i heard ya but i don’t know ya
i don’t wanna get a good
if i could i would
but i should
and i would
but i could
and i did hope.
i wrote this in 2022 ;)
The Ghost Writer

As I pick up my pen to begin to write these images
In my imagination I wrote this as if it was spoken
I’m hoping to learn something
let the words say something
That I can share for you to listen
Is it paranoia or premonition?
My instincts or intuition?
Now I’m leaving it all on paper
With rhythmic melodies and elegant Eliquis
I’m doing it all for the passion
Everything written in second hand
whether it's on purpose or happenstance
The words of my Ghost and its writer is all that stands
The writer of songs wishes to compose for his lover yet to come,
he asks the night if she will come as a floret in the wind
to caress him as a candle’s light, the lyrical harmony of
his beloved is clearer than the shower of the spheres
upon the deep violet petals, he rests into slumber
as a dreamlike vision appears of her hands softer
than velvet in motion upon the strings of the mandolin,
the gazes of him and her rivet as the one, gentle hymn of their souls,
he harrowingly arouses then walks to his thistly rose garden, revelation
arrives to him so he returns home to begin the inking of the symbols
on the music sheet papers, through his symphonies, he
resolves to tell the endless fables of love and tragedy.
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