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Kevin J Taylor Jun 2017
A poet's breast within me beats
Beats heart and something I call soul that leaps
Charges, races, racing, finds its feet
Drags me, joyful, joy-filled, from my seat!

Elevating common prose
For pleasures sake, each poet knows,
Gains by use of tools as those
He would at length I’m sure disclose

If payment were perhaps an ear
Just for a moment lent to hear
Keenly offered verse— or beer,
Loved by poets too, I fear.

Most often those who are unwise
Negate the poet’s enterprise
Out of their need to criticize
(Perhaps within their misery lies)

Quite certain they must find a fault
Regardless of the somersaults
Some poets do to try and halt
Those who, in the name of help, assault.

Unless you’ve written words as these—  
Verses made and meant to please
With just a little work to tease
Xenia* coaxed from a’s and z’s

Your day lacks all that razzmatazz—as
Zest for verse—and all that jazz.

*Xenia—gifts given to a guest or stranger.
This is an Abecedarian. First letter of each line follows the alphabet. Fun to do.

Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
jane taylor Apr 2016
as winter acquiesces to the blazing sun
a soothing breeze softly grazes tips of aspen
gently shedding past liaisons
a perfect panacea
allowing wild freedom for summer’s dawn

healing from the ominous night
a flower gingerly releases its grasp
leaning into golden rays of summertime
keenly aware of newfound vulnerability
it yawns into the light

a rousing essence induces
a silhouette of life once thought lost
prodding river’s rigid ice blue crystals
to melt and flow with buoyant wonder
kaleidoscopic-like waves

having weathered near annihilation
a sculptured consciousness remains
painting summer clouds with soft-hued wisdom
all awakens from the dream
and should the cold return once more

the sun will shine again

Natalie Aug 2018
I feel keenly the quiet of many dead suns
Growing inside of me,
A biting blackness
Leaching out towards my fingertips.
It reverberates back, again
And again, swelling in my chest
Until I feel I could burst from the abundance
Of nothingness.

How horrible this could be!
Such quiet, inward rage...
The mind consumes itself
And turns to feverish delirium,
Enshrouding me in a blanket
Of bitter, tacky sweat.

In this empty, blazoned state,
I swallow worlds of men
Like syrups from a bottle.
O, the ravenous binge!

I devour it all to a hush.
The mood seems desolate at dusk,
a time when emotions are on the rise;
The shining hours of day are gone,
and mystical images confront our eyes.

Not quite sure of what we see,
in the vastness of the indigo skies;
'Round about the glowing lamps of light,
keenly focused upon iridescent sights.

Are we witnessing life's mysteries unfold,
the way our elders' stories told ?
Yet darker still our evening grows,
shivering, shaking in the windless cold.

Sitting close on our front porch swing,
seeking wonders of imagining;
There they go--the ghosts of our youth,
which beckon still despite the sting.

We're not alone as visions float by,
and dawn reveals what the future may bring.

Frances McClelland
July 17, 2016
Hannah Zedaker Nov 2017
e v e r y
                      ­                                     Juxtaposed
V    a     c   a   n     t,

Once upon a time,
A friend in need at all times,
Time was such my best friend
And so we hopped till the end.

To my castle he'd come,
For he was always welcome
Any time he ever wanted to,
Something my queen loved too.

We'd ramble woodland paths together
As he reeled off one story after another,
All day long having a good time
Till when castle bells could chime.

Time was not of this world,
But a great war lord
Of a very far away land,
King unto the realm of fairy land.

He who had a novelty crown
Bestowed upon him by a fairy clown,
A crown not of gold but of palest silver,
A precious gem from the fairyland silva.

With lurve in the air one morning,
My friendship with Time died aborning
When he chose to do something frivolous
Just when the Sun's rays were so glorious.

Time emblazed my heart,
Something that didst hurt
When he smiled unto my wife,
Such a great shock unto my life.

He gravitated towards her after a deep sigh,
Like a whirlwind, my mind whirled high.
He thus gallantly asked her for a dance,
And was granted a golden chance.

Keenly I watched this flint-hearted boy,
Thought him skint but feared not nor coy.
With alacrity and in broad day light
Together they cwtched in delight.

He whom I always enjoyed with the wine,
There enjoying with a queen of mine
Whilst committing mischief;
This friend of mine such a thief.

Time whispered thus into my Queen's ear,
Whispers I could hardly hear:
Alas! He promised her the moon
For they'd eloped by noon,

To places strange I might never have a clue,
To where mortals have never dared walk to,
All the way to the realm of fairy land,
Such, such a very far away land.

©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
10th Aug 2016.
I've been sick for the past days though thank God I'm here to share and sip from the well of poetry once again. Oh how i missed you my dear friends! Honestly, I'm all thankful to the Almighty for "TIME" didn't vanish away with my life all the way to fairyland the same way he did to my queen!

#Time #Lonesome #Me #You #Relationships #Melancholy #Fairyland
A who before.


Heading seem;
Mark a pick leave gentle the;

A knot;
And upon pine along.

The may— and know limpid the.
From so a grass.

The appears sturdy;
Brush ***** clear


Low? to there tender
an above mind to hush trees;
Does brawny;

Erupts sincere my to


It be the without is barely.


I’m downy.
The near.

The voice;
Mandii Morbid Aug 2017
There lies a rage inside.
Deep within, away it'll hide.
I taste the venom now and then.
The shadows slowly creeping in.
I dare never to let it go.
To turn reality into a hell I so keenly know.
Visions in my head, loop, again and again.
Begging hands to act in both blood and sin.
Just a shift, I can never lose control.
Of this ageless battle within my soul.
Else darkness will descend,
spread itself inside my skin.
Born with a secret from lives long passed.
Every body a vessel not meant to last.
I see it now, a cycle on repeat.
This cursed bond birthed in hunger and deceit.
In the end we always meet, eternal.
Through the burning flames of the infernal..
GreenTrees May 2018
The more I see, the more I adore.

The more I search, the more keenly I know what I'm looking for.

The more I miss you, the more time I find myself waiting for you to walk through the door.

The more I hear your voice the more I pray for an encore.

An though you've left this earth to be in heaven, you remind us that

The more I love you, I love you more.
Graff1980 Dec 2018
History is a pendulum
swinging perilously
back and forth
over our shared humanity.

Slicing bitterly
at the air above me
with a visceral hatred
for all the good things
I hoped we could be.

Kinder to hater,
forgiving to denier
loving to crier
sharper it slices
cutting the air cleanly
leaving me feeling it keenly.

Wild rhetoric
going viral,
virus of ******* words
spreading like the plague,
a poisonous and bubonic phage.
I struggle to stop it,
this rising tide
of tired tirades,
republican charades
turning different skin shades
into the enemy.

These neighbors are our family,
but the pendulum sees them
separated by the serrated blade,
exhausted by the hate
and violence that blazes.

History returns to sicken
my sorrowfully stricken
Ameed Jun 29
I don't care
I never did
I never will

I don't care about the stabs
I don't care about the lies
I don't care about the loss

I never did
I never will

I don't care about you abandoning me in the middle of nowhere or making me doubt every single person I meet or forcing me to look at the mirror and despise the foolishness I had.

I don't care about all the above.

I try to convince myself every night that I don't.
But, I do;
I fully keenly wholesomely do care and my care was my doom.
© Ameed
Mugerwa Muzamil Mar 2018
All along my unconscious
has been consumed by your
beauty which is below
the threshold of my wakefulness

Yet I crave it

You're not of classical beauty
but such a timeless white Lily
whose pureness grasps the mind
And radiates Its light to the orbits

For its adoration, essence is not
in form but in the method
Your quirkiness captures
my infinite imagination

You keenly read the mapping
of my unrestrained tears
Your pureness lies in innocence
Mine in experience

A kind of beauty
Izlecan Sep 2018
On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.
Natalie May 18
The boundaries of my body are blurred. The once
Blunt ends of my fingers blend and smear, like Rorschach blots,
Into a pool of surrounding air.

The short scrubs of my hair sprout wildly
Like stalks, seeking
As vines of some flowering **** for something to leech on.

I am expanding one moment,
Collapsing the next, retreating infinitely inward,
Drawing in my limbs.

I sponge up all my musings, stifle
My breath, tuck words under my tongue
Or in the penny pouch of my cheek;

Some days I must go mute
And lock myself in the echo chamber of my mind,
Re-absorbing reverberations

Of the sour thoughts that I have shunned
While I searched for peace
So keenly outside of myself.
There are many ideas we lend
Credence to.  Old saws too
Often heard.  We believe
Them .  Think they are
True in a pallid way but
Convincing proof it is no
Longer known. Yet were
Once truly experienced
Now they are tired unto
Death.  What is this but
A forgetting of tiredness
Of unfeeling.  To wake to
A new vibrancy of feeling
Of meaning, of keenly
Knowing.  Look and be
Astonished at how the
Grass is green.  Feel its
Green love.  Let it go in
You.  It is a salad that
You are hungry for.
Eat it with voracious
Eyes as the truth of
Green love.  You are
A horse set free at last
Into the living meadow
Do you not love Him
Who has said I make
All things new (at last)
But it was always so
And it is a wonder and
Cannot be remembered
I love you.  I love you.

For Stanley who loved the green
After an uncertain amount of time
He woke.  It was  bitter realizing
He had died.  He knew he had not
Been a particularly good man nor
Bad.  He could not appeal his fate
To a higher power but still was it
His fate to be alive imprisoned in a
Coffin?. For who could tell how
Long? -it just did not seem right
Indeed it was unacceptable to
Him personally -to confront it
Head on was insupportable
His mind began to wander
Hither and wither  only to
Return to the gravity of
His situation after many short
Dalliances  with relatively
Pleasanter thoughts--bit
By bit like a Pavlovian dog
He returned less and less
At some point in his day
Dreaming he drifted off
To sleep thence to a dream
In it He was alive in a far
Land; a stranger it was  not
Without its fascination but
He keenly felt weighty
Sense of being alone and
Wondered at the wisdom
Of venturing further
He then came to upon
A cross roads where the
Paths diverged in a wood
Suddenly He remembered
He had died and if he woke
That is where he had left
It was that or choose to go
On living in the dream.
He chose the less traveled
Path; and that has made
All the difference; and the
Rest is history as they say.

Anyway it was long time
ago but I should say that
John after a long journey
Did find his way back to his old
Home and into the arms
Of his Beloved sweetheart
It was just another instance
Of the strange occurrences
At Owl Creek Bridge But
I do not suppose you remember
It was such a long time ago
Jasmin Joy Dec 2018
I reached here an hour ago.
I am waiting in the queue to reach the door.
I wished to see what had happened to me.
Requested to the angel; to watch my death.
I was startled to see my wife.
I never expected this, ever in my life.
Everyone had left my house.
I stared at my lonely spouse.
My funeral was greatly over.
I saw it from my new bower.
Suddenly she(alone)washed her face.
with a bottle of water, of ice.
She took her phone and made a call.
Slanting to the pillow near the wall.
She said,'' All that was a success'',
smiling; I realised my death was a process.
She poisoned me, in the bread.
A silent attack, poison all spread.
It was she a wise lass..
I'm the poor, innocent ***.
I was her best teacher,
She is my one and only traitor.
And that was her brave move.
I watched her so keenly
And she is cheating me cleanly.
Now she is with her secret lover
All the mystery is now over.
It was too late to understand her.
Time is out, to be judged
The images of her dodged.
I will not go to get her.
I almost forgot her
I'm no more a husband. Now
Her soul is sinking into new
True lovers, in this world are few.
An imagination.. Got inspired for a story written by my friend.
Door refers to the door for judgement in heaven.
(Alone) - The wife is alone in the room.
Dodged- the images that he was seeing was fading away
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