"peotry" poems
Dissing amazing poets prose and angst they posting on net site for peotry
makes you look like you queen and king of petty and uncool.
Got a grade school nephew he is age four and he speaks without thinking.
We know why little kiddies speak out and can't control nasty actions.
Why grown *** people sit on net dissing poet's poems.
Me thinks it's like having a nasty out of control mind like kiddies
like when those kiddies diss poets poems and actions are nasty.
Repeating for you what those who are wise know and with no dissing.
If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub.
American meaning be like nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Posting whatever the hell poems is good and no such thing as a bad poem.
on poetry site this be no write poem, no poems under name.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
trying to write good stuff but some body on here wrote some thing
hurt my feelings bad. in letter i read from another poet on hellopoety
been doing big net search cause the letter said what we all writing is
bad poem writing, letter said most folks **** at writing and had a
uppity way of telling us they leaving cause we don't write good
been doing net search cause i wanted to know what peotry wrtiing
was and what i write is poems and got some likes on some of them
and one trender. found short meaning of poem when i googeld just
now. A poem is expression of feelings and ideas well my words are
poems that i write on hello poetry site like every body on this site doing.
now i think i don't know if i want to write no more poems on here.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
I used to write a lot of poems online.
They'd trend, attract followers, etc.
I thought I'd publish a book one day,
People seemed to like reading my stuff.
But, eventually, as most fame does,
my 15 minutes wore off.
I started getting less likes,
Less comments,
Less recognition for my work.
And I guess it made sense
Because I wasn't writing as much
Or spending as much time editing.
So I read through my old poems
To see if I just got worse
Or if there was some underlying reason
For my loss of popularity.
And soon, I began to realize
The only poems I wrote
Were ones of heartbreaks and sadnesses;
Poems of woes and loneliness.
So I wondered to myself
"What changed?"
And saw that I wasn't writing as much
Because I wasn't as sad as I was
When my peotry flowed more smoothly.
I didn't need writing as an outlet
To cope with my pain.
It's not that my life got much better,
(It didn't at all)
But I was learning to continuously find things
To be happy about;
And less to write my
Depressing monologues about.
I had begun to move on with my life
And teach myself that bad days are unavoidable,
It's how we react to them
That determines how we feel.
I used to write a lot of poetry.
But now,
I live it.
- p. winter
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
It's raining, and you're gone again.
I never noticed how sad that song is,
Until it was playing in the rain
As I drove away,
With you in my rear view for the last time.
I have this dream
You chase after me
Begging me not to go.
My truck creaks when you aren't in the passenger seat. Singing along to that song.
Sometime I wish you wrote sad peotry too.
About me, writing about you.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Such elegance ...
Each syllable
A pleasure ......
In every sense...
Intellectual stimulence
Lets our frontal lobes,
Mingle with indulgence...
The fragile side we so deftly hide....
Set to the wild to run free... .
It's a broad point...
A guillentine
A lexicons
Aphrodisiac.
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 9:17 AM UTC
I’ve been gone for awhile,
It’s time to settle back in,
Into this world of peotry,
Where I found myself within.
—Thomas James Written on October 06, 2011
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 6:59 PM UTC
When depression strikes,
A door for poetry opens.
The door that lets out the misery
The pain that keep hurting me
In turn invites public sympathy
By posting some of these poetry
Poetry that grew, from the feelings I have taken out.
Poetry that nourished, from the tears that I have shed
Poetry that would die down as times passes by.
And what I hope for,
Is when the leaves of my peotry starts to fall to the ground
My heart would be healed from the pain that once surround.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
I fell asleep with the poem to my chest.
It gives me a much warmer feeling than any of my blankets.
I take it everywhere I go.
When I go to town, to bed, or just to the fridge.
It's from my Easter bunny.
The one that I love from his nose to his toes.
He's a strong little bunny.
With his light curly hair, that hides the truth.
He's also a sneaky little bunny.
He got me to be "normal" for a week.
For that I should give him a treat.
"Here little bunny, I want to play."
Would you play with me?
You can choose the time and the place.
I will bring the toys and poetry.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
Eating strawberries in a very ****** way (but without ever using them for ****** act because: do not play with food!)
Pronouncing things to myself in the different languages I know
Walkin by a flower shop and turning my head as I walk
Preparing food and taking ages just to make it look beautiful and tasty
Looking at a small child and smiling about the way it is walking
Touching the cover of a book and feeling mysterious
Doing kicks in the air with no one to see
Having *** fantasies including only people I have never seen
Riding a bus
Writing poetry that is not meant to be anything but existant.
Liking you just because you have wasted your time reading my peotry that keeps on existig.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
I am crumbled like a paper with inadequate poetry and disowned words.
I am the bad poetry that you hear from an amateur. The one that lacks litery expertise. The one that doesn’t know enough metaphors. The one that fails to rhyme. The one with broken lines. The one that swallows millions stories into a line. The one that need more expertise to be understood than to express. The one that overspills yet fits into mouth just fine. The one you wouldn’t understand. Ever. The one I couldn’t explain to you. Never. The one you would probably hear and dislike at once.
The one that you would hate.
I am that peotry.
That is short of a melody.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC