#site
Tourism can be good,to mix for the local economy like windmills generating energy,
positive energy can grow like continuous effort
that 1 day can bring results,
Couples of socks can match and others may not,Similar to diversity where different backgrounds can soak near each other so may the sinful wars come to common terms,
The pond of water can be contaminated yet there was the homes of frogs,
So the homes of the innocent may the leaders not destroy them in crossfire,
Sinful Conflict and war what little can be earned isn’t required for the possible ocean of blood lost,
The pit in the land that can be empty from bombs could witness the future planting of seeds slowly growing into towering trees,
The community servicing others may be like a pricy jewel found in times of famine,
The best of protectors is A
Octopus may have tails each having its own function some hide deeper in the marine so hidden yet an important part of the ecosystem,
Some who may not be the most open yet are essential to attaining the highest level,
Such may be the hidden drive inside the Muslim that is determined not to lose to sin and let good put out the fire of sin with water.
From green lands that can stretch far miles and miles till what is outside what the eye can see,
May Allah protect the natural beauty of the soothing acres of luscious green
17h ago
Jun 3, 2026 at 7:36 AM UTC
for what profit does a man make a poetry site?
it is a puzzlement for me, for I would rather wrest away those viable hours writing poetry itself!
this is not a trifling matter, for if anything, the poems are the trifles and the truffles!
I thank God for fools such as these whose many thousand by them are pleased, and take and give my pleasures freely, but never forgetting
the ones who are the facilitators
————————————-======
À quoi bon créer un site de poésie ?
Cela me laisse perplexe, car je préférerais consacrer ces précieuses heures à écrire de la poésie !
Ce n'est pas une mince affaire, car, au contraire, les poèmes sont un véritable trésor !
Je remercie Dieu pour ces fous qui, par leurs versets, plaisent à des milliers de personnes et partagent généreusement mon plaisir, sans jamais oublier
ceux qui rendent tout cela possible.
nml. f i n i
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 4:23 AM UTC
Problems with this site I had
They made me feel so awfully bad
Was all my work now gone in vain?
Will my Poems ever come back again
My name was gone, thrown asunder
And in it´s place was then a number
It wouldn't let me change it back
Although in PC skills I do not lack
Then sparkled a star out in the distance
And shone to give me some assistance
There can be no space between the names
A hyphen now must serve as the same
Sooner said than done thinks I
Grinning with a smile so wry
A hyphen was placed between the names
And now my poems are mine again!
Jan 7
Jan 7, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC
My jar full of savings
Now burns with purpose
As, futile, I try press the notes through the screen
My heart full with fear
Now beats, strong and sure
I know what I must do protect this dream
This site full of memories
Might fade to night
And I cannot sit by and wait for day
For all the tears cried
For all the blood spilt
For all the friends gathered and lost the way
For solace, for safety
For sunshine and rain
For humanly beauty
For strength in the pain
For words turned to paintings
For words from the heart
For dark days and dark minds
For friends seas apart
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 9:52 PM UTC
Heart open, trusting,
Fagin's shadows play their game,
Deception's cruel dance.
.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 12:22 AM UTC
In the shadows she now stands
a bridge to the past
a link to yesteryear.
Beside her modern day brother
of concrete and steel
she whispers " I'm still here"
She doesn't pale in comparison
that fact is clear.
She shines in the sun,
in a weathered sort of way.
Saying "Remember me"
I'll be gone someday.
My purpose is now much grander
than just reaching from one side to the other.
I reach into history, into the memories
of those who remember me,
when I was vital
when I was necessary.
Not many left now,
of them, or of those like me.
So visit when you can,
hold a loved one's hand,
and pass beneath my eves.
"We're still here", so make new memories.
Cause when we're gone we're gone,
and all that will remain,
Is faded photos, old stories,
and memories.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 12:53 PM UTC
I'll pay a ransom for my art
the ivory tower must release
the fair maiden
my muse
for freedom of expression
Oct 7, 2024
Oct 7, 2024 at 6:30 PM UTC
This poetry site used to mean
Quite a lot to me,
But recently all that I've seen
Is not what used to be.
Perhaps this site is dying,
Like the fragment of my soul,
Which has given up with trying
To love this unpoetic hole.
"Five–O-two, Bad gateway"
Is mostly what I read,
And the same **** poems every day
Appearing on my feed.
This used to be a lovely place
To connect and to explore,
But now I accept it's lost it's grace,
And this site's done for, for sure.
I hope in time they'll fix it,
And this site will be restored,
But, 'till then, I will not risk it;
So I'll leave on my own accord.
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 10:15 AM UTC
To Ed
What child were they
When piercing squeal
Grabbed the foreman by the *****
What child were they
When putty tears
Smeared and blobbed
On the sheeting?
Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
Metal **** makes decent scar
That keeps the girls’
tongues a-wagging.
‘Always heed the ‘Keep Out’ signs,’
The stony man booms at the boy;
‘I told you not to wander where
Granite pavement yields to digger.’
Years ago, that child, was I and
Diggers now are doors and roofs;
Then here, one day, my own boy falls,
And blood comes oozing from elbow.
Running from
The construction pit
The thrill of sand and truck
Implodes.
But, how should I, with damaged tools,
Be the
Grafter Dad
He’s seeking?
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 2:28 PM UTC
I was gonna hurt someone today
But I forgave myself
so everything's okay
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
My writer guide speaks now through me,
to launch my verse, that whispers sweet.
Words dance as they fly toward a page
to anoint future eyes.
I will echo gratitude,
when poem does end and time has flown.
I’ll post it on a site, HP
that calls both night and day.
Perhaps in time some likes shall come
with goal to reach 1000 hearts.
And with a prayer I just may find
it trend to make me smile.
Oh Reader please open your heart
to know in truth you are divine.
Let your sweet love guide as you find,
born is a poem so fine.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
The World talks about pollution
But still there is no solution
The world behind is so green
But the fire and smoke make it grim
Oh! there was a beautiful linden
But the hazy smoke made it hidden
Presuming the world will end one day
And there would be no body even to say
The smoke was so much pernicious
Which turned into distress and was serious
Tis our obligation not to feel ignominy
But to look forward to make the earth greeny
This smoke will make us one day motionless
If we do pollution and remain being careless
Let me warn you it is a slow poison
Even more dangerous than the nuclear fusion!!!
At night the fire became so intense
That gave a scene of joy and tense
In pale moonlight it looked so grey
Which was due to the burning of ******* and hay
The smoke arose and arose so high
That covered the stars in the sky
Oh! God I wish it should go to space
And save some years for the earth to face
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
Can you tell me please,
Who the **** finds it a breeze
To scan poems in several identities
Just to minus all the
Comments?
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 2:23 AM UTC
An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.
Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-
Thank you for giving us a place
to share what we believe.
I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:32 AM UTC
**** that smile
Reminds me of the beach
Bright hot sand
And clear open waters
Gets me swimming with butterflies
And delusional with heat
The uplift of his lips
Something so simple as a boyish grin
Wraps my thoughts around beds!
Beds and blankets...
Doritos and a series of comedy shows on screen
Just to hear him laughing
That would be ****** illegal for my heart
His laugh
His star fire eyes so full of life
Like a deer caught in the headlights
All so new
That's what he does to me
And I don't even know his name
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:37 AM UTC
One thing
I love about this
site
is that
it's free
...
You're free
to write as you please
...
You're free
to comment as you please
...
There's plenty of room
for self introspection
..
And everyone here is either
like minded
or has an interesting
new
perspective to
contribute
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
You walked the bomb site
with Benny,
he was relating
about some gunslinger
he'd seen at the flicks
and how the gunslinger
had his guns different
from other gunslingers
he'd seen,
with guns back to front
so that he had
to cross his hands
over to reach guns
from different holsters.
You listened as you often did
to his talk on guns
and gunslingers
and cowboy films
he'd seen.
He bent down
and picked up a stone
for his catapult
which he had
in the back pocket
of his jeans.
You told him
about your young brother
and how your mother
wanted you to hold him steady
while she changed his *****
and how he kicked his legs,
and how hard it was
to hold him there,
and your mother saying:
Hold him steady
while I get
his clean ***** on.
Benny weighed the stone
in the palm of his hand,
then put it in his pocket.
So did you managed
to hold him?
Benny said.
You looked past him
as a copper walked
towards you both.
Copper, you said.
Benny turned
and stood beside you.
What are you doing here?
the copper said.
Looking for ammunition,
Benny said.
Ammunition?
the copper said.
Stones for my catapult,
Benny said.
Bomb sites
are dangerous places,
so clear off,
the copper said.
You stared nervously
at the copper.
But I need stones,
Benny said.
I don't care
if you are looking
for the Crown Jewels,
the copper said,
sling your hook.
You followed Benny
off the bomb site
into Meadow Row.
The copper stood
watching you,
hands at his sides.
Let's go to the other
bomb site,
Benny said,
up off the other side
of the Square.
You looked back
at the copper
still standing there.
©
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.
Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.
That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:34 PM UTC
the owner operator
of the poetry
site
doesn't adhere to
his own guideline's
rite
it states that all members
must be
polite
yet he allowed slurs
from the Michigan
*****
one clearly recalls
what happened on that
day
a lowlife bloke used the term
***** in an offensive
way
whereupon the poetess who'd received
his nasty comment, left the site's
bay
she'd not be subject
to this derogatory
spray
no action taken against
the one in the
wrong
he still remains part
of the site's
throng
an injustice within
the owner's weak
song
the smell of it is unforgettable
of reeking
pong
would seem that the trash talker ****
does whatever he
likes
and the webmaster is complicit
in the words he
trikes
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Error 500 slammed on my face
When I wanted to post
It raced its pace
And left me standing at the coast
Not the first time to be
Now it's like something's wrong
I am able to comment and see
But then the page load takes too long
Is HP comming to an end?
I hope not, please!
See to this, mend or amend
And put this error 500 on freeze.
Thank you.
©sim
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC