"penning" poems
Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.
Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.
An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.
But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.
Take my hand, why don’t you?
Come.
Dance with me.
© Qwey.ku
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
Penning naughty poetry
fills me with childish glee
pushing away boundaries
religion pegged on me
writing myself free
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
I like fishing, but dislike boats.
I'm sick of washing, but still wear clothes.
My brother-in-law hates the way I live my life.
My sister keeps the peace, the good little wife.
Mum, I haven't spoken to for many, many, weeks.
Another life, another town, it's solitude she seeks.
My common-law husband is wheelchair bound,
You can't jump puddles with legs that are round.
We own some land, the bank owns the house,
If we miss a payment, they kick us out.
You can't pitch a tent on the corner of the block,
Reading the small print--they own the lot...
Sailing and laundry, painful relations,
Mid-life crisis and petty celebrations.
Watching a loved one severe his spine,
Angry with friends, 'cause they're walking fine.
Another rejection or funds cancellation,
Penning a poem to vent my frustration.
Seeing the darkness in plain black and white,
A smile on my lips--This is my life...
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
~
Painted in a corner
Smeared about the floor
Chants of lone forgiveness
Quiet in the war
“Deafening the sound of death”
Garden roses trampled
Broken stems abound
Wilting on the visions
Blooming losses found
“Petals of peace scattered carelessly”
Blood along the pathway
Eyes hid in the mist
Penning someone else’s name
On this lengthy list
“Alphabetical to the grave”
Standing from the shadows
Crossing battle lines
Reaching for the freedom
Voices loud can find
“Speak up children, your voices matter”
Put aside your weapons
Time has come to cease
The nation now has gathered
United prayer for peace
“On our hands and knees we pray… send the evil far away”
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
#*Penning down the thoughts
Am I not done with the words
Have I used them all?
**Round and round
Thoughts and words
In the loop bound**
The thoughts have been naughty
Jump off the mind cliff, doughty
Don’t want to be worded
Flight to nowhere boarded
Off the radar crash land , all spotty*#
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
I need only to smirk and you’re mine
Anytime
If it’s god that you want
I have dozens in mind
Devilishly divine
Bending time like a grandeur delusional
Spine
In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime
A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme
Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design
Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing
Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing
To deify Destiny’s
Deathly serenity
Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises
And penning my ending in violent demises
Disguises surmised by the climate arises
Girl always there riding my similar waves
As I try to save face digging mechanized graves
But the cloud tentacles
To the depths
Drag me down
To demented ascension
Black holes in the ground
Where disciples of light
And my huntress in white
Vivify me by day
Resurrect me at night
To instruct and deduct
Reasoning in a state
Of a being supreme
Contemplating its fate
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Sharing my words picked out from life's hat
I can't find the most accurate to say
So letters I dabble in various permutations
Layers of letters turn into words and come to play
Could call them journals, these text-laden creations
But I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Penning the words picked out of life's hat
I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me... Relating experiences out of life's hat
I can't conjure poems... About anything or everything
Can't use my words to incite or inspire
These are just ideas and I just like rhyming
They are just experiences that fuel my fire
But I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me... Spouting rhymes out of life's hat
I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Drawing scenes from life's hat
I can't sketch a portrait with a simple pencil
Can't put together an installation and call it art
I can paint fairly well; of which I have done several
I can draw out emotions and depictions from the heart
But I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Producing paintings out of life's hat
I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Playing melodies from life's hat
I don't have the quality of voice to match that of a crooner
I can't play instruments that could earn a place in a band
I can sing in key without the help of a tuner
I enjoy music best with a guitar in my hands
But I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Singing songs from life's hat
I'm not a writer, poet, musician or an artist...
I do a little of everything, not excelling at any one title
Although I wish to have everything clenched in one fist
All I ever really do is just dabble....
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:34 AM UTC
dahil wara katapusan an duon san mga mata
mabubuhay akong minamatay
san dating kaaway ko sa lawas na ini
sa lawas na ini naghambog an talawon
pinapagubtik an kaaluhan na nagpapamuda
muda na nagpupukaw saakon gurugab-i
kendi na nagpapahibi
mesias na naghahala-hala
magiging madalas an pagsid-ip niya sa bintana
para laen ko makita an liwanag
malaog siya sa kahon ko
laen para magkawat
kundi dagdagan an pagub-at
makasakat an pagbagsak
siya na ako
masurat tula.
~Written by Melton Balicano
(a bikol dialect)
since these eyes have been weighed down on unending
i shall live while being slain by an old foe in this body
this body where the craven had once boasted
surging chagrins that blaspheme
blasphemy that rouses this corpse in the dark
treats that shed tears
a messiah that taunts.
he shall constantly peep through the window
so that I see no light
he will break in my casket
not to thieve
but to burden further
the downfall shall rise
then he becomes me
penning a poem.
~a translation of Balicano's masterpiece
Glenn Sentes
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
I am invisible
and invincible,
an unknown image,
known only with
my visible mask,
an invisible soul,
hidden behind the veil,
shrouded in the
cocoon called
the body,
peeping through
two tiny holes,
from the invisible.
And the one writing,
is invisible
with an invisible heart,
penning the words
of the invisible thoughts,
flowing from the
invisible through the
cracks of the
invisible powerful mind.
An invisible soul
dwelling within
a sound visible body
with a sound
invisible mind,
doing the impossible
and great things
with giant strides
to influence and
impact my world.
I dominate and subdue
the oppressors and
adversaries with the
might of an invincible
invisible warrior.
I healed the
sick and afflicted
with the invisible and
powerful affection of
my invisible love
from my invisible heart.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 3:03 AM UTC
Growing flames will turn your name into a cloud of ashes.
A flowing mane remains untamed through whirling dervish clashes.
Beating hearts as hope departs through valleys long and winding,
Burning sun, you turn and run, the path ahead is blinding.
You always knew I wouldn't do, so why'd you even bother?
Pass my time by penning rhymes and double ******* lagers.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
It's painful, to write My Love Story.
I've to scratch and claw My Head.
Bite My Tongue and clench My Teeth.
Until the right Words I find in Bed.
My Words are written with sadness,
with the Stars listening to My Pain.
On Dark Night I hum a Lullaby,
in Harmony with the falling Rain.
I write to Heal, My wounded Heart.
The Moon helps Me with Her Glow.
Clouds remind Me to take some rest
and the Trees say, "Go a bit Slow".
I Write to escape from this World,
Day and Night I keep penning My Art.
I Write on HePo, to soothe My Soul
and Heal, My Broken Heart.
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 11:58 AM UTC
i'm always trying to describe
the wrong things, aren't i?
describing your voice
when it's the words that matter
outlining your face
when it's the smile that really shatters
upon my eyes
trying to write this feeling down
when it's the reasons that are really
important to me
and i guess that's when i realize
i've been avoiding penning this fear
afraid of the reasons, of the causes
that led me here
and this feeling?
it's nothing more than a consequence
or so i tell myself
as i step carefully over
the dark puddles
and onto the hard cement, looking
for the yellow lines
that will tell me where to go
left or right?
right or wrong?
i've been describing the wrong things
i know that now, and i have
each scene played out
in black and white
while the real meaning is lost
in the spaces between the letters
and the missing punctuation
gathers itself into the sky
spelling out the word i am afraid of
fear
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
~
*i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play. there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary. of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.
but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning...
instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem. how can i not embrace this?*
~
BY KOBE BRYANT
LOS ANGELES LAKERS
Dear Basketball,
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
I knew one thing was real:
I fell in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.
As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.
I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.
You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream
And I’ll always love you for it.
But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.
And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
:05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
Love you always,
Kobe
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Moments of life,
Moments to explore,
Moments when I go crazy,
Moments when I need more.
Moments that are mine,
Moments that I do not own,
Moments that are heightened,
Through thoughts and no thoughts alone.
Moments penning poetry,
Moments by the sea,
Moments smelling flowers,
And the thorns pricking me.
Exquisite Joy
and Exquisite pain,
Moments with another,
feeling his grasp on my mane.
Moments where my thoughts are in knots,
Moments of release where I see just stars and dots.
And then sweet oblivion,
And floating gently above the tree,
Moments where I open my body and soul,
And am bound and totally free!
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 11:35 PM UTC
New year, new future, new performance on life's stage
New book, new chapter with a brand new page
New friends, new plans, scrapes from new falls
But...
I am the same, I am still me, penning the same ****** scrawls
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Despair unrequited asked of me;
*where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?*
do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or simply tire of expectation?
tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!
show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.
only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures
&
when spent,
upon my epitaph do write;
*'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'*
© Qwey.ku
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:06 AM UTC
Just in a single word
try penning first
and foremost on mankind.
It can only be 'love'!
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 10:07 PM UTC
he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival
everyone engrossed
with all that he wrote
oh yeah there was a real
classiness to his tote
he'd arrived at other forums
not getting applause
those places weren't aiding
his penning cause
he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival
when he found the site
where the mob noticed him
there stayed he to garner
kudos on his trim
of the adoring hordes
his arrival did infatuate
a diamond ace card
dealt him triumph's fate
he turned up a winning
ace on his arrival
he turned up an ace
the ace of revival
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC
I'm pouring out my thoughts on to this paper.....letting my mind free for the next caper.
I've been a superhero and a lovesick man. A few stories about putting a ring on that special woman's hand.
A story about suicide and my last ride....sound similar.....but they are not the same.....different car same lane.
Will eyes ever see this creation by me? When I look at my comments.....it says none......I'm not Drake so I'm not on one.
I guess I didn't move the crowd with my words.....if I read it to the masses would I even be heard. It's absurd that my fellow poets just don't know......they are the gasoline that helps me go......and when I blow it will be because of the fire they ignited and kept lit......
all because they didn't consider it robbery to read my shit. I apologize for that last line... but it went with the flow.....I just get frustrated when people don't leave a kind or even a bad word.......especially when I drop a piece that I think is great and I really do.....when I create it......it's definitely for me.....but I share it first with you....
The first eyes to see my baby....but you act like she's ugly .....looking at her face....and retreating in disgrace.
I guess you never met a poet who was poor ....but had expensive taste. That's why my pen stays attached to my waist.....
I wrote this poem sitting in my car after I got off of work and now I'm in the parking lot. TheTeacher penning jewels and looking to hit that jackpot......
Comments raining when I hit.......I quit! Take this pen and shove it!
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
We twist words,
So they look like beautiful
Cylindrical knots
Than the lines they really are.
Art is never really made out of
Straight lines,
It comes with curves, tangles,
And mystery.
Writers are liars.
We embellish, we polish,
We try to put as much spice in your
Cup of coffee just so you can hear us
Think.
We lie. Hard. Yeah there's no such place as "hobbiton"
And Sherlock Holmes was never a real person.
And there's no district 12 where Romeo met Juliet.
All lies.
But yet, we love them.
We scream feed us more.
Writers are liars, but we also ******
Mirder out characters
When we get bored with them.
You think Moriarty was bad,
See the man penning his words,
His soul is darker than death.
We are liars. And thats why we are good writers. Because we
Don't need the truth to support ourselves.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
I am anti-matter.
Trending on Twitter.
Shooting a guest-spot on Two-and-a-Half Men.
A five-dollar foot-long
meal-deal of a man,
long on propaganda
while short on substance;
A School-House Rock rendition of
Aspiration Asphyxiation
penning love-letters to Jesus
beneath my breath
to abate the sensation that I'm just
redundant protoplasm
with a pecker and a pocketbook
failing to distract myself from the fact that
every intake of breath is a death sentence.
I have no praise-worthy abilities.
You can't **** your way into heaven.
Satan himself
caught a better break being
cast out of the kingdom--
there is certainty in condemnation.
Those poor souls who harbor
the illusion of indemnity
through faith in a
purportedly magical Jew
truly are the blessed few
not via the Lord's redemption, mind you,
but by the thoughtlessness of their devotion.
Perhaps the two are tantamount to one another.
The ****** are so labeled
because we question ceaselessly--
curiosity is no comfort.
Should the sun burn black,
the world will go cold
or
some star-burst might
scorch our galaxy clean
of all delusions of eternity.
The meek can inherit the ashes.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
Words impossible to pen down ,
let go like a loose electric wire .
Mixed lines , confused verbiages ,
unsettled like random mosaics.
Composure of the birds disrupted ,
like ripples in the calm water .
Running with my life onto my palms ,
over to topple .. gasping to breakfree.
Lost identities , scars of the past rooted deeper.
I want to run , walk , fall but not stop ,
i want to caravan the world , conquer speed.
I dont want to be tagged intelligent ,
to meet the social benchmarks .
I want to set myself loose , breakfree cross boundaries,
i want to be a ROGUE NINJA.
I want to let the untamed breeze fill my hair ,
I want to live ....
Theres no point penning down your thoughts with perfected adjectives..
JUST BREAKFREE.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
I am writing a new story,
but don't look here for the narrative,
because
I am not writing it with these words you think you are reading,
or the patience that I have found.
I am penning this new manuscript,
and all the illuminating circumstances that make those reading
wish they were the characters in the joy-tear-jerking plot,
the parts everyone passes eyes over in order
to make their own lives richer...
I am scribing my way through to the end
not with words, letters, jots, tittles,
but with
actions.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
*
Yes, it’s a poem no matter who reads it,
worded conclusions one line at a time
Splattering ink on the pages of reason,
whether or not you can sense any rhyme
Searching my dreams for the perfect notation,
picking and choosing what I hope she sees
Gathering leaves of our tomorrow seasons,
falling to earth on the breath of a breeze
Echoes I’ve whispered in words used so often,
carved in the essence a float in my mind
Wandering footsteps through valleys of wishes,
happy endeavors in phrases I find
Till comes the day when she sits here beside me,
sharing the beauty her smile does inspire
And of the views framing skies of forever,
promising visions of windswept desire
I write these verses of heart felt emotions,
all of them true in the fashion I send
For very soon I’ll be rounding the corner,
penning her poetic love once again*
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
They call me a workless guy
What they mean is worthless
Envious they’re and that’s why
Don’t like my leisurely pace!
I ain’t the one to run the race
Make do with my small needs
I hate to wear a worried face
Bear a mind where darkness breeds!
I don’t wanna run a race
Where the end ever recedes
Hate to be for the time pressed
Yet finding needs increased!
I give a **** taking it too hard
Love to run my time as own
Penning a poem feeding a bird
Watering dreams homegrown!
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC