"poetical" poems
My eyes overflow tears
which couldn't come before
because of the lack of feelings
– missing feelings.
My hand touches you in vain.
I feel lost, rather alone.
And I'm still human
even without my affection.
My shoulder belongs to you now,
therefore I avoid going away.
I'm sorry, but love is more poetical
across the street.
My words rest in my mouth.
After all, smiling is enough to charm
who the affection could never thrill.
I'm sorry, but I'm more I away from this exaggerate.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
She unfolds petal by petal to spread fragrance
To make surroundings to make her presence
What a marvelous beauty with her real essence
She is what is a credence in poetical assonance
So let be the part of eternal music of waterfall
It is silent communion between call and recall
She is like a bottle of wine which is to enthrall
With its taste, charms, graces and just what all
My sweetheart I want to be part of your music
In the entire world it is only you just to click
Out of all beautiful girls you are the only chick
So let us kick together the world and be quick
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
an incredible incite (the ruthless volatility of words)
~for L.B.~
the only place of solitaire solitude in the city accompanies me
like a faithful country dog that doesn’t know better to be afraid,
of moving cars, sleepless night terrors and unscripted “dreams”
where image and words say come “follow me” with ruthlessness and no cloying come hither looks and
see and take and recall with perfect midnight blue sky clarity for
the incredible incite of credible insight
surfacing unexpectedly in a intemperate pool of slushy snow,
that will be an ice storm of painful confrontations with naked
inner truths standing outside in sunny sub zero playground
there is great risk. volatility gone wild. when the speed
governor is removed and you live at 100 mph on local streets,
when the merest slight of an accidental incidental touch
transforms into an incite incident and hell is the threat
that you will not die today and your own words will ruthless
pull from the nerve places where sensible and sensual cannot
coexist and this write this script is a poetical insight inside, an
incredible incite and what your spilling is spaghetti sauce blood
when you left your brain on broil, instead of the faking daily of
slow simmering ineffectual intellectual words that just don’t
cut the crap. your addiction complete, you cannot live without
the incredible incite, the ruthless volatility of words,
otherwise why rough write what you see
in the blind
beyond the blind
1/6/18 5:03am
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC
Hi! My name is poetic and I'm poetical,
I shine with the pen and I always get lethal.
Don't be stunned when my poetry's jab
Causes plague and blinds you with a flap!
My speech is rooted in truth
And my words are anchored by oath.
The metaphor speaks for itself
And the simile becomes my wealth.
I am a poet,you don't seem to know it!
I don't think twice,I just blow it!
The poem that you've just read today
Was taken raw from the shelf by the way.
I was a broken puzzle
And now with these words as I addazzle,
I can say poetry brought it all together
And made mild conditions of the weather.
Don't hate,I speak my mind,
And regret after the words are combined
To infiltrate your soul and propagate
A well refined feeling of weight!
Half the words I orchestrate the meaning,
The other half I display with grinning.
What matters is that I planted the seed
And you nurture it well as you read!
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
Sailing in my thoughts
Like a ship in the ocean
Swaying up and down
On the poetical waves.
Thoughts are the waves
Poetic and creative
Painful and joyous
Stormy and calm.
They hit unexpected
Leaving a mark behind
Like love leaves a scar
Thoughts leave a notion.
Poets are in need of them
The ideas of stormy waves
Their mind is able to create
After a thriving earthquake
Which brings about the storm
In the creative days.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
1. You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.
2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)
3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)
4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.
5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.
6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.
7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.
8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.
9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.
10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.
11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.
12. You write Peyton Manning farewell poem.
13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.
14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.
15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Oh Eliot, Poor Eliot, Your Fans Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad^
<>
we tithed thee with donations plenty,
here a dollar, there a fiver, a coupon for free chips,
worthy of somebody’s eternal gratitude,
that would be you,
da Duke, Duke of York
the largest online free poetry site,
a million visitors a day, why you must be
the richest poet online billionaire, right?
you,
da Duke, Duke of York and
occasional poet...
in return, all we occasional poets demand
steady on instant access, immediate satisfaction,
after all, a part time job deserves your bestus-best,
just like every other large online site, that never crashes,
we’re not like just the rest, we are
p o e t s,
occasionally
so keep the servers engines, well stoked with Newcastle coal,
keep them up and running round the clock,
using only alternative energy,
of the unceasing sun light of merry old England!
quit that other job, you must,
instead of giving up on us,
give in to us,
a poetry break, a writing recharge,
though please add a limited liability
clause to the FAQ’s,
that poets’ lives must deal with the hiccup
occasional
you, da Duke, Duke of York,
newly now, an appointment royale as Major General,^^
you, the very model of a modern major general
possessing information vegetable, animal, mineral and
technical,
who knows the Queens of England, who,
maybe even now is telling tales of your heroics with the hordes of
hysterical
occasional
poetical
globalists
demanding
light brigadests
charging the redoubt
and
when you have a moment spare,
a haircut, please.
no, that is not a request,
naturally
<>
10/19/19
Noontime NYC
natalino
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
You are the center of my poetical universe.
You are the sun that my pieces revolve around.
I was the one who loved you from the start,
The only one who ever appreciated
The kind of man you are.
I never got to know your heart,
I never got to see your soul,
I never know what's going on in your mind.
I know your name, I know how you look like,
But I don't really know who you are.
Which is why I'd sound stupid if I ever said
I love you
I don't know why, but I do.
You are the center of my world,
The only thing that my mind revolves around
When I'm bored out of my mind during class.
You're all these things to me,
But I bet you'd never even given me
A second of thought during the day.
But there's that seedling of hope,
Deep within me,
Not asking for much,
Just at least think of me.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Anglophilia
An early passion
one cannot say
when or why
perhaps his father's admiration
or was it his mother's apprehension
for them
Leaves of sweet ruby tea
hot ginger pasties
glory of candle skinned ladies
the warm eyes and cold hearts
what lovely cats you have
Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
noses against windows
those of shopkeepers
that smothered
Napoleon
Yes, Avon flows
the timely midnight trains
to a myriad country stations
all the many
noble selfish
ideals
Joy of bright roses
in a small garden below
where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
and hear the City's pride
its mechanical soul
sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
i sense a bitter person
twisted by life's fate
rather call it passion
instead of woeful hate
life is like a soda bottle
shaken with compression
bathsheba has released some gas
thro poetical expression
moralistic fibres
unafraid to speak
troubled past endured
made her strong not weak
also sense connection
you, myself, and jack
we have found a way in life
to get **** off our back
might be totally wrong, but it's my impression. please let me know
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 11:34 PM UTC
O LOVE! O LOVE! WHY ARE YOU EVER DEVOID OF LOGIC?
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Mankind in its pathetic folly entice you in a dint of stupor
Knowing not your true colour and texture
Endeavoring to achieve glory in your mastery
With the so limited human capacity
In grey faith that you are a cradle of bliss
But O love! Why are you ever crooked?
Young men and women in strength of their sinews
Toil day and night in ******* of humanity
Praying and whining incantations with the hope for optimal love
Ornamenting their bodies with diamond and bronze
Fibre and silk ornamented to helm of providence
In the foolish quest for love equillibria
But in full stretch of your vice, you impish love
You catapult all away to the shifted goal posts
O love! O love! Why are you ever ruthless?
You hate the learned but you favour the strong
You hate professors but you favour the soldiers
You hate the rich but you favour the agile
You hate the lawyers but you favour the footballers
You hate the pastors but you favour the ruffian
You hate the whites but you favour the Negroes
You hate the groomed but you love the ragamuffin
You hate the chaste but you favour the mistress
O love! O love! Why are you ever illogical?
Love, I revere you for wickedness and irrationality
In all of your history you scored sum *** laude
In the duo as blend of your domain, Look;
You never dwell in a genuine companionship
You like where the couth will interject;
Amidst fornication between married and single ones
Amidst adultery in the triangle of foul compassion
Amidst miscegenation between black and white
Amidst infatuation between the whole and the lame
Amidst conjugal appetite between the old and the young
Amidst concupiscence between house master and houshelp
Amidst immorality of married master over the wallowing servant
Amidst libidos between literate teacher unto the peasant pupil
Amidst disordered passion among the sly lesbians
Amidst impious ********** among the suave gays
O love! O love! You are the most wicked force!
Love I am told; your colour is red
You may be red or you may not be red
But all in all, you deserve poetical veneration
For your herculean ability to bend the most wise;
In your force you made sagacious Shakespeare to bend
In your force you made Princes Diana to bend and bend
Bending downwardly stooping for Afawoyed the moor,
In your stupefying dint you made Napoleon de Bonaparte
To bend and bend downwardly stooping for Josephine
Josephine a famed she-Casanova in the gone Paris
Among the then humanity and the then animality,
In your impairing machinery you set sons on their fathers
In the roman empire of Antony and Ceaser
In the scramble for Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen
Beauty of her aquiline nose heavily hovered perhaps
In the eyes of the Roman beholders
The father and the son only to sent the empire
To the love forlorn smithereens!
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
Thank you Shaun,
for the pictures and flowers.
Thank you Lily,
for the ray of sunlight.
Thank you Bry,
for psychopathic measure.
Thank you D,
for the feeling of good pleasure.
Thank you Tay,
for tea and bears.
Thank you Meg,
for Sherlock and apples.
Thank you Zee,
for robots and twins.
Thank you Carrie,
for fangirling and friendship.
Thank you Liam,
for support and superheroes.
Thank you Paul,
for understanding and ingenious.
Thank you Ceryen,
for fake names and shared tears.
Thank you Chiara,
for Italian cheese and fanfics.
Thank you Rod,
for fish and evil.
Thank you Lia,
for kitties and souls.
Thank you Stephen,
for gravestones and vegetables.
Thank you Christine,
for mercurial and poetical love.
Thank you Caitlin,
for product design and Poundland.
Thank you Jordan,
for weddings and Brenda.
Thank you Conaill,
for DT and Courbet.
Thank you Brendan,
for axes and aunts.
Thank you Tom,
for form time and Brittany.
Thank you George,
for philosophies and pigeons.
Thank you Morgan,
for video games and hearing.
Thank you Alice,
for Pokemon and tumblr.
Thank you Aliyah,
for hearing aids and help.
Thank you all,
for reading and listening.
Thank you, me,
for absolutely nothing.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
They fly through the sky
And land who knows where?
They land in creeks and streams
In ponds and rivers
And in trees
Yet never frightened of their fate
Throwing paper airplanes through the wind
Where will they go?
Where will they land?
Some land in seas or in oceans
Others land in bushes
Or in hedges
In thunderstorms they're never frightened
Or afraid
Even when it rains
It still flies through the air
Sailing on the wind or the rain
Sailing past the rain and the thunderstorms
Caught up somewhere in the wind
Landing on trees or any where
Oh, how brave you are
Never to shed a tear once
No matter what your fate is
Never trembling at the thunder
When its too loud
Nor hiding from the dismal rain
But instead you fly through the air
And land who knows where?
I think its most poetical to describe
Paper airplanes on the wind
And to pen their beauty which
Sometimes makes me cry
Who knows where you will land
Except for God
Who knows where you'll go
Except God
Where will you go?
Where will you be?
Out on the river or floating on the sea?
Throwing paper airplanes
Who knows where they will go?
~Marian~
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
As with power of light and darkness i ride,through cosmos i glide Divine poetry Devilry MostHeavenly
Illusion of time shatters,starfire scatters,blood of heaven splatters
Left hand of God is my name Eating his wings is my game,to make me his bane
thane of heaven,tool no bell for me,for fell your heaven in the cosmic 7
666 or 999 to from chaos to eternity
Lament of innocence sang for a devil profound in god
Requiem thy starlight
gaze upon the spectral hellsight
witness destruction
and creation from 1 cause and effect
Omniscience Omnimastery
Enchanted Badassery
Starlight! in this night most long,for light is wrong
Starlight!be evils fright and my right on good and darkness
Starlight!Poetical poem for your ascension moment in this unholly Light and Darkness Interveniton
Secret of the universe,fire shall bleed,darkness will bleed light and let light bleed darkness
Cut god open so light and darkness bleed,on his blood i feed.
Grant power to the game
of the foolish winer
for light and darkness
power of illusion are
beyond the stars
beyond every universe,astral plane,dimension,and existence
lies the future and destiny
of my soul
for it is in this moment
as i speak
my awakening will come
2013-2021/2023
2021 a castle is visible from all sides of the earth in the sky,no one knows whome stands before it.
(in this universe doomsday comes in another castle)
-AlucarD
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
I have nothing with or against you
and this really means nothing
but the fact that I am free
the world is full of love-slaves
illusionists and pretenders
politicals or apoliticals
atheists or christians
each one is only saving his appearance
tell these thieves to **** off
and let us be kidnapped by The Circus
let us be made Princes and Frogs
in this ********* happy end
of the world
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
They going to hear rhymes they never heard before
It will come as a rap beat, right down to Biggie and Tupac
So slick and ********
I am the rebirth
I am like an angel that walks the earth
I revolutionized
I am the element of surprise
Read my script like an animation on paper
For this new millennium
I plan to start the New Year
As a fresh poet and poetical rapper
With a little more style and more grammar
So don’t mistake me for those wannabees
I will work my *** off to fulfill my destiny
I will never sell my soul
To achieve the worlds gold and vanity
But I stay true and conscious
Because I know I am precious
With Christ I grow old
I am black and bold
My rhymes are a combination of words and grammar
A few misfits, an editor would penalized
But when you check my style
A gift you just can’t deny
I don’t beg for recognition
I don’t kiss ***** to gain fame or do self proclamation
I am the phantom that will earn my respect
In print my name is engraved
My path is paved, many are called
But only a few is chosen by God
Against all the odd
Connect my analogy
I am a poetical Genius
My lyrics are like a composed orchestrated
Musical rhapsody
Call me prodigy
I am the rebirth of Modern Rhymery.
All rights Reserved.
Christena AV Williams
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
sweet waters with mint fragrant hints,
memories flood me,
"walking back in time"
he describes it
of my early days of discovery,
this voyage upon the poetry ship,
with me, mere stowaway,
unfit by compare,
sailed to lands unimaginable,
friendships seeded in words,
sprouted like a field of summer sunflowers,
water weeping, for joy so joyous,
the mastery of his words
elevates, levitates,
the ashes of sadness now dispossessed,
floating on the Ganges
the drumming of my dreams,
of treasures of golden words,
in lungs undiscovered, unspoken,
leads me back to you,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram
April 10, 2016
~~~
Jun 1, 2013
Balachandran
How I love to say your name,
Rolling waves over my tongue,
It is must be said out loud
Two or three times to feel its rhythm,
Two or three more just for the
Spiced pleasure it conveys.
Bala chan dran!
My name harsh, Germanic,
Like the Black Forest,
Where my ancestors dwelled,
Until a harsher people drove them away.
Balachandran!
Under the ground beneath the temple
Padmanabha Swamy,
A temple dedicated to
Vishnu,
In the state of
Kerala,
the original spice country.
South Western sea board of India,
where miracles never cease to happen,
A billion dollar treasure discovered.
A treasure of words and sounds,
A language musical, every word a poem
Of incroyable elegance.
I am so glad that you were not born in France.
Perhaps someday I will courage summon,
To spicy lands, explore, and even come to
Thiruvananthapuram.
For now, I must be satisfied with the
Poetical musicale program I attend,
When I say over and over again,
Balachandran from Thiruvananthapuram!
Dedicated to K Balachandran
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
1.7k
Aged, wrinkled and worn
Our Palms of fortune and destiny
Show tracks leading to new places
Playing out the timeline of our lives
Like a show - a Chorus Line
The queues will flock for the matinee
And so this poetical line ends.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
I thought for days and could think of nothing
to satisfy the eye and hand and heart,
or satiate the mind, or at least seem
worthy to be willed into decent art.
The past ten years offer little I’d deem
rousing enough to write this first part.
Then imagination just so inclined
the speaker, the scene, what I’d sought to find.
Grasping the pen, I pressed it to the page
and out poured imagination as ink.
I painted a line, then outlined a stage,
and pondered for hours on their supposed link.
It seems excessive thought may shape a cage
in the corner of which ideas sink.
Sometime later the stage had some players
and the line had formed multiple layers.
All vanishes the ensuing day,
forcing thought on what’s soon to expire.
Dramatis personae hardly convey
the message famished minds desire;
Likewise, poetical visions crochet
a meandering, allegorical empire.
The thought-maelstrom bids me “Confess!”:
I’ve reduced life to a logical process.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Dream a dream.
Make paradise twice as nice.
Take away all ills.
Apollo taught muses their crafts.
While playing on his lyre.
The muses danced on laurel leaves.
Paradise on Mount Helicon.
What was purpose of those muses?
I hear your request.
In land of myth from times long gone.
Nine goddesses,
spirits,
to put the world to rights.
With artistry, music, science and literature.
Linked under the heavens.
Forget the evils of the world.
Music, poetry catharsis.
Thalia.
Hysterical lady of comedy it seemed.
Good cheer and plenty sent.
Clio.
Made her history.
Wanted fame 'twas said.
Tried to keep it cheerful.
Along came Melpomene.
Singing loudly while playing around with tragedy.
Urania.
In celestial style,
glances to the heavens.
While Polyhymnia.
Sings and dances.
Making many songs
Sometimes in a silent mime.
The lovely Erato compiled poetic words of love.
Euterpe.
Made lyrics poetical
Brim filled with joy.
Maybe for Polyhymnia to sing
Calliope.
Her beautiful voice is heard.
Nearly a Nightingale.
Maybe singing bird.
Creation of poems based on epics.
Terpsichore
Danced on and on eternally.
While poets pens write on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
"Its Time" to hear a story hang your tears to dry the"Me Time" no it's not bath time that's truly fine. Oh! I "All Mine" just breathe I remember how hard it is to share. Like kids smell the summer breeze so bubbly happily ever me. What about you please just join me The"Me Time." So lovely the nature hanging branches.
We must have "Me Time" for looking in your starry eyes* filled with romances.
(My time) + Fall 4- Fall (Your time) the eye's wink at glances the weather cozy lackadaisical time is moving with us sensational. Me time fighters political. All the crazies let the truth in your words be told. The smells from my Moms daisies so poetical.
Lets slow things up the time is called the "Me Time" perhaps the tea time everything you thought before its a matter of time.
Make it your time, not the words that are forced to rhyme. No one really knows what's ahead
You and Me time read a book in bed
The likewise me to see your smile like the sunrise goes through the world of now what was before the future holds your smiles forever to adore
"The Me Time"
Its time for
"Hello Poetry"
It's Me
Just shine
Oh! Me O- My
Miss Sunshine
Me and you
It's Open all the time
But that's the problem?
Who is really listening
Like free bird Robin
On your free time
What about mine
Like a Bad Omen
How it grabs you and me
It's on me__________*
Let me pay
Don't worry be happy
Me Time" just like
any day look
at the fine print
U-Won't?
And if you don't
What do you mean
you can't
Just pray* Me Time
" They say it's your
" Birthday"
Talk to me hurray
Count the money
"Trust Me"
You could count me in
"Me time" what tastes good
Robin Hood so rich
Another world poor
A person gets evil heads
out the door
"Me Time" Cheers to pour
Your time journey
I will catch you don't fall
A shooting star shot me
Whoa that's my wakeup call
He avoids me
my mind floods me
Carefree all me God Bless the
child
How it set me up
Me Time "Never give up"
On the edge "Robin Rebellious"
Do you hear me!! It's contagious
Young spring chickens
you hired old ones fired
I see a stranger would he
Help me I need my family
Me time my flight gravity
Not a Stand-up Comedy
Nobody cant stop me
Who lives above me
I never want to see what is below me
Keep in touch with me
Can you pay me in advance
Relax make your own time
My time travel to France
That's the Me Time
My poems are all I got
Thank you, (God) and (Mom and Dad)
The time went by Fly Robin Fly
Never underestimate what you have or why
Like the day I was born
Called the "Me Time"
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 10:08 AM UTC
Though monetary wise,
It doesn't promise to pay
I craft poems everyday,
For instance say
'Why my dream object,
To affections mine
Is adamant to reciprocate!'
The other way round,
Though to acquaintances
Absurd, it may sound,
Some, I have to spend
My poems to newspapers
Magazines and
Websites to send!
For love of the labour,
I will never
Letup the endeavour!
There is a
Great deal of satisfaction
From sitting hours,
To put words into action,
Racking brain
And stretching imagination,
From the earth's core and crust
To the sky and firmament!
At night, when all is quiet,
Till I hit the nail
Right on the head,
I will not repair to bed!
Reading poems
Has satisfaction
No less, for it affords,
Handshakes,with poets
Of all ages,
Poets with poems
Of all colour shades.
Probably the works
Of Shakespeare
That we hold dear!
What is more,Tagore.
In my duties
I will be remiss,
If I forget mention
Savo,Anna Akmatova,
Sara Teasdale
And Salomeja Neris.
Till getting a cherished corner
www.Allpoetry.com
www.poetrypoems.com
www.poemhunters.com
www.hellopoetry.com
www.writeoutloud.com
www.novelcollective.com
Ecstatic I was never!
Now I peruse the websites
Of contemporary poets,
Displaying poetical prowess!
I want to add of course
An east African voice!
Out, a poem to digest
One could make a descent
Into wisdom's pit,
So poem virgins
Why don't you go for it?
From my experience,
For uplifting poems
'Start with Helen Steiner Rice!'
It is my advice.
'It is by the brow of one's sweat
One could paint
The future with
A rosy pink,
Don't you think?
Sitting idle,
Dreaming a rose-bed
Is quite absurd!'
Reversing such mind set
Go for targets set!
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC