"inspiring" poems
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand
life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreaking
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful
every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be
go out there
and change the world, kid
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
you say my writing is
beautiful
but you forget that you’re
the one
inspiring it
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 3:09 PM UTC
Her presence cannot be denied,
She stands tall and strong with pride;
You cannot overlook her magnitude,
Because she has beauty with attitude;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
For her just even be.
She defines the essence of perfection,
In each notable fashion without exception;
Highly cognizant of her forefather and mothers,
Therefore she paves paths for so many others,
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Even for a crazy world to see.
Her smile is like heaven's gate open,
Bringing joy to all who are chosen;
A lady of strength beyond any measure,
And a heart too big for one person for treasure;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Who wound up inspiring me.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
you are may
i am december
kisses exchanged
during the bluing hour
child like
staring at you
in wonder and amazement
frosting night
falling snow
flakes in your auburn hair
i walk you home
in the cold frigid air
holding your hand
dreaming of you
you are rare
a beacon
a lighthouse
in a storm
in my daydreams
you are the pixie, the fairy inspiring me
at night
you are the siren, i surrender to
a trifecta of youth, beauty, personality
you are refreshingly young
spring in my wintered life
preternaturally beautiful
perfection come to life
your femininity bewitching
your youth intoxicating
your mannerism seducing
i would do anything for you
oozing sensuality
innocences
of a woman on the cusp
you hunger for sophistication
to be worldly-wise
seeking passage guidance
from an experienced traveller
the trade, the deal, is timeless
refined by evolution
i am humbled
to have been chosen
the ultimate champion
of your ****** selection
in turn, you are my trophy
the spoils
of a never ending war
i know our time is short
the span of a bloom
a season at most
i know the outcome
seen the devastation
the problem is
we think we have time
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
oh the joys of time travel
to be able to flit between moments of perfection
defining moments, inspiring reflection
and thought
nothing overwhelming
just joyous and sweet
and everlasting
oh the joys of time travel
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
she's an angel
but
her wings are wings of the devil
her smile is inspiring evil
her glare was piercing , furious
hiding behind a mask
lacking affection
seeking love
that broken little heart
that poor little girl
a deafening noise
a blinding light
rose her head
a warm perl ran through her cheek
a sarcastic curve on her face
kept walking
yet walking towards a wall
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 4:10 AM UTC
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
My life is full of poetry
in lyrical design
Expressions in a rhythm
that ascend and then decline.
One moment I am full of joy,
then sorrow breaks my heart.
My soul is touched by music
and the thrill that it imparts.
I love the rain, embrace the sun
and smile at winter snow.
I crave the full moon's silver light
and dance beneath the glow.
I savor sweet aromas
taking pleasure in the breeze
And love the gentle rustle,
as it passes through the trees.
Yes, poetic is the gift of life,
inspiring me to rhyme.
I'd write a million odes to it,
but I just don't have the time!
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 5:35 PM UTC
Many of the most profound pieces of poetry
May not have been dreamed and transferred
In particular manners professional,
And many of the most practiced writers
May not have been as noble nor indicative
As their readers would imagine and preach.
This concern thus produces a humorous conclusion
That through probability, possibility, and realism,
Many of the greatest and most inspiring words
Passed down to our misguided generation,
May have been conceived, scribbled, and explored
From the humble origins of atop a toilet.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
Process by which plants make their food and clear our air using light,
They have no feet or hands but they make their food right,
Being self sufficient,I bet they've got no need to fight.
Nature is inspiring,
Birds always happily singing,
Guess their songs are never expiring,
And they're surely thankful for the air they breathe through photosynthesis,
Do we appreciate our trees enough?or maybe the point of their existence we miss?
Don't chop them off unless you need to.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
Look in the mirror
Look at the clock
Look at the time
It never has stopped
It only goes forward
It's a one way walk
See how you have been growing
You ask yourself, "where have the days been going?"
Time can only progress
Yes, the river of life is always flowing
We lived cabins
And castles and caves
We came from Adam and eve
We evolved from apes
From Socrates and Homer
To Napoleon and Alexander the Great
The minds that desired knowing
And the enlightened ones glowing
People can only advance
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Revolutions and rebellions
Riots and revolts
Great discoveries
A key, a kite and a lightning bolt
Great writings and inventions
Innovations from inspiring jolts
Improvement was showing
To the future the world was going
Humanity only began to develop
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Religions and sciences
Economics and politics
Television and radio
Monarchies and dictatorships
Tanks and machine guns
Atomic bombs and battle ships
We went from arrow shooting and spear throwing
The muskets needed reloading
To nuclear weapons
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Exploring new lands
To find the world wasn't flat
To find silver and gold
And buried artifacts
To establish new territories
And expand the map
The searching ship kept rowing
As civilization went on growing
Accomplishments of the past
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Boats and rail roads
Fair trade and industry
World wide markets
Over land and sea
To keep out nations going
And stablize the economy
But now every country has money that they're owing
And the land that they're owning
Is has evolved
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Social reforms
Counter cultures fight
They protest strongly
For equal civil rights
The world's in constant change
Every day turns into night
Every opening has its closing
And then it comes back again
As long as there's someone hoping
Yes the river of life is always flowing
We put people into space
We have fought for equality
Created a world from nothing
And advanced technology
We've struggle to go to where we are
And continue to go strongly
The opportunities fate has been bestowing
We look forward to see what is ahead
The memories and mysteries the hourglass is holding
Yes the river of life is always flowing
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
You …
My Love.
My Queen.
This Shining Light in my eyes.
My Laughs.
My Dreams.
My Soft, Contented Sighs.
My *****
My Lavender.
My Dew Covered Rose.
My Smile.
My Cinnamon.
The Joy in my heart … ever inspiring my prose.
My Best Friend.
My Co-Star.
My Fearless Partner in Crime.
My Breath.
My Cohort.
My Side-kick throughout time.
My Snow-capped Mountain.
The Wind caressing my face.
My Vast Green Field.
The Ivy Covered Wall
that harbors my soul … ever refusing to yield.
You … are my Life.
You … are my World.
You … are my Everything
and I will always love you.
~Charlie Brown
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
She’s known as Riotous Rose.
Never has she wanted for company
in the intimate spaces between sheets.
His voice, it calls to her, guides her
down below to rapturous desire.
A carnal growl achingly echoes
inspiring ravenous teeth and hands
that ravage in the gentlest of ways.
****** roses blossom in her cheeks.
With nimble fingers she picks them
before offering them to her lover.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
It is absolutely breath-taking..
how each of his exquisite poems sing..
a distinctive melody,
how his mind works like magic...
sculpting the most incredible forms no one could.
Brilliance just shines through his woven pieces...
no words could really define how awe-inspiring his work is.
*His meticulous sublime words...
uniquely create ingenious and flawless stanzas,*
*making each and every one of his craft...
out of this universe.*
That is truly..
how gifted he is.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
My mind is constantly occupied by the demons of my past and the omens of my future.
Waging an impossible war, causing sickness, and torturing my conscience without remorse.
I can hear the screaming of the casualties as I take one more sip, hit, or push.
Begging for me to stop, but at the same time thanking me for the temporary numbness
I can feel my heart exploding in my chest,
as if it were trying to free itself from the slavery it is experiencing.
Beat after beat it continues to grow weary and unsympathetic,
Trudging through the chemicals and unrelentless lovers.
all the while receiving no attention or appreciation.
I can feel my soul, beautiful and full of life.
As old as they come, with more stories than I would probably care to hear.
Wise and wounded, healed and broken again.
Becoming tougher and more layered
much like the act of crafting an authentic samurai sword.
Swift and elegant. Waiting to escape this imperfect body
only to move onto another puppet of which it will guide and personalize.
The beauty of these three broken and bruised vigilantes working in total harmony is the most beautiful and awe-inspiring thing I have ever come to know.
I am greatful until the end, whenever that may be.
I will enjoy the life that they have given me,
and I will spread that energy to those in need of it.
As ***** and tired as they may be,
it is more than most will ever have the opportunity to experience
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
I'm cold. A chill in the air.
Wood fire dwindling to smolders.
Ash crisped cinders to share.
Cotton between our shoulders.
That endearing musk of burnt wood.
A soft kiss on your cheek.
My arm wrapped round you.
I whisper in your ear
those words I do love to speak.
"I'll distract you not from the beauty of this world,
nor the loves you've counted.
I'll never let you waver from your hearts dream.
Stay true - look up ahead and mine will be seen."
This faint light up ahead.
It flickers and dances.
Clawing and bubbling to break.
Daylight will be upon us, no chances.
Don't blink or you'll miss this.
The birth of life - light years away.
An explosion of color flooding the sky.
Life inspiring feeling - opposite to grey.
Rain of warm power filling my voids.
A dream born anew each day.
A love found in you.
Explored in every single way.
A never ending gift.
If only we're awake.
Just then as it broke.
Did you feel it?
I felt yours and you mine.
Our hopes and dreams become one.
A valley of trust now glowing.
Warm tones red through yellow.
Delivered by the morning saint.
My dream revealed.
Endless passion only the sun could paint.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012
A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.
We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.
Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.
The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.
Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.
The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.
I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.
This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.
When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
a black bat
hangs upside down
digesting a fly
his face almost human
a flying Frankenstein
he excretes
puddles of guano
like miniature buttered popcorn
a dark and wavy goulash
gods gift
to beetles and worms
dizzied overheated men look on
to an uproarious variety hour
of song and a high heeled kicks
inspiring
a tempest of throbbing
whisky drenched
folded ***** and cash
trouser trout fish,
undulant
sexed up
tape worms for love
pulse the night
egging on bunny **** pom poms
devout finger puppets of Eros
for
shimmering ****** lipstick twilled vibratos
sequined tassel spinning areolas
and lavish come **** me dance girls
bring down the house in flames
making hearts apostate
clamoring
and melt men like steaming everglades
the bat
hangs from the chandelier
licks his black lips
and looks on to panorama of hieroglyphics
hearing music
a thunderous nonsense
witnessing visions
of
flies, tasty white winged moths
and the thrill of screams
while biting the head off of another bat
in a claret stained red velvet cabaret
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Beatrice
Independent, Selfless
Daring, Trusting, Hardworking
Loving, Challenging, Caring, inspiring
Prior
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
*Just when the sun illuminates,
Upon the sapphire skies,
And the clouds appear,
To slowly dance, side by side.
Shimmery, cobalt blue waters,
Perform a low sequence, on the seaside,
Leaving a bubbling blanket,
On the surface of smooth sands,
Washing away, pretentiously.
Bringing a gentle tropical zephyr,
With rhythmic sounds,
Echoing, through evergreen pinnate leaves,
Swinging gently, into the calming air.
Inspiring a magical after glow,
With dreams fulfilled,
In ecstasy,
Leaving a warm and peaceful impression.*
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
I want to be a little crazy.
I want to be crazy beautiful.
I want to be beautifully creative.
I want to be creatively inspiring.
I want to inspire those who want to be a little crazy.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
I really just want to cry,
Just let it all out.
I don't know why
I feel this filled with doubt.
I'm kind of done
And I no longer see the fun
In prolonging this pain.
There's nothing I could do..
I just can't keep sane.
And
As I look around,
I see smiles,
Hear laughs
which makes me wonder...
How these people can live without breaking a sweat.
It's pretty inspiring they can stay
This strong ...
I used to be strong,
But then I grew weak
And ended up doing the wrong
That shan't be speaked.
Since then I have started to pray
Every single day for his help
To get me through this horrid phase.
But...I guess I don't pray hard enough
Or
Have a big enough faith.
So...
The reality,I assume,is
I'm forever lost in this place.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
In a field of red roses by the lake,
A white rose calls up to the sun
With her beautiful petal scarf
And her cheerful smile
Over another field, a tulip stands sad
He is one in the crowd, no one special
“Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may
But he struggles, moving his cheek
The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day
Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor
An angel’s tears of joy, he might think
A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped
Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose
And fears never being able to embrace her
He feels that both have too much in common
But his inner parasites would hurt her
For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water
Such normal tulip will never have a chance
Her perfect stem is made of silk
His is damaged and made of paper
Still, the tulip dreams
Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip
Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life
Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end
The white rose doesn’t realize, still
How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty
Until the tulip sends his seeds of love
In the form of this poem and painting
For a more radiant future he fights
Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart
Because she glows in the night
Inspiring him to be better
And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip
She should know that he is right there
In an everyday battle to talk to her
He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:14 AM UTC