Posted by admin on July 3, 2009
Tiptoes,
Sliptoes,
Don’t step on my toes.
No heels,
Slow heels,
Careful with the pills.
Quiet,
Silent,
Screeming to hide it.
Lash out,
Crash out,
Watching you check out.
You try,
We cry,
They hear all your lies.
I slip,
I trip,
You lose your last grip.
Your words,
Your curse,
Hands, anger over burst.
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Posted by admin on June 17, 2009
Poetry is not inside. I
Write, true, but
Fiction comes too strong. the
Meter is wrong. I death a
Metaphor, I don’t know.
Climax is not dying, nor do I wish a
Character so dark. The heart’s
Image wants to be good, but the
Symbol is bad.
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Posted by admin on May 8, 2009
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
I’m not sure I entirely agree,
But I’m not going to say anything either.
I’m just going to sit here and live me
fantasies and let the world go by.
Life and death are nothing.
I will live equally whatever happens.
The nation is gone, and others also.
But I know that in places things are different.
I have visited those happy realms.
I have felt the euphoria of utopia.
I know.
I feel.
I sense.
I understand.
I am.
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
I’m not crazy, I try not to be.
But some things must be said.
Some things must change a lot.
I imagine we are too far gone.
Despite my acts, even though I get involved
Are we really going to save life at all?
Is hope entirely gone, or can we still
Save those elsewhere who were lost long ago?
I try to see the dissapointed place.
I feel the loss of distopia.
I’m unsure.
I’m numb.
I’m cold.
I’m lost.
I’m not.
Some people say the world has gone to pot.
They are right. Or not.
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Posted by admin on April 24, 2009
Writing a poem everyday is a challenge that has been extended to me more than once, and which I have managed to fail at more than once. Usually it ends up more as a poem three times a week. Many of the poems that I have posted (and continue to post) here on this site are the results of my attempts at writing a poem a day.
Writing a poem everyday won’t necessarily produce the best poetry. It won’t necessarily generate volumes of memorable or fabulous poetry that moves humanity to new heights of inspiration and genius. Writing a poem a day, however, will make you a better poet and a better writer.
Like practicing anything else, writing as often as you can will help you to produce better content. Trying different forms, different words, or different concepts are all good ways to expand your talents and your mind. Even though many of the poems I have written aren’t that amazing, each of them has taught me at least one less that I won’t forget.
I challenge anyone who has any interest in writing to write every day.
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Posted by admin on April 22, 2009
Your eyes sparkle on the tip of a laugh,
Dimples calling for an echo at last.
Your smile’s shadow stalks my mind,
A pleasant memory of happy times.
I endure the hated gulf of minutes
That keeps me from your side.
At last we meet, we touch, and I feel
The face that makes all my senses reel.
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Posted by admin on April 8, 2009
I saw you walking yesterday.
Today you are in the newspaper.
Many times I wondered at your quietness,
And why you always sat so far off in the corner.
My frineds and I had lunch and talked,
While you usually ate apart,
Sometimes we discussed your quiet manner;
Your ways always seemed difficult to understand.
You and I were never really acquainted,
Although you were always just across the street.
And we met each morning and each afternoon,
I never thought we might actually talk,
Or say more than “Hello,” and “good-bye.”
Now I know that when I saw you walking yesterday,
I should have stopped and said something to help,
So that maybe you wouldn’t have killed yourself.
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Posted by admin on April 3, 2009
Did you ever want to be a pig boy? I did.
And live the pig boy’s dream.
To chase and wander and do
All those pig boy things.
Did you ever want to be a maid? I did
Who lived in the scullery, and learned
The secret mysteries that saved
The world and saw the sorceress burned.
What about a widow’s son? The kind
Whose luck outmatches all his brains.
That stumbles on the magic tree
And both princess and kingdom gains?
Or tailor or farmer or glorious fool?
Who slew the giant and told stories
To the dragon? That saved the king
Found the loot, and took the glory?
Please tell me you have,
For I know that I have,
and dreamers this world needs.
Without us, we’re done for.
We need heroes to send forth
And do all the daring deeds.
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Posted by admin on March 13, 2009
Sitting in the dark, I miss you.
My LCD blinks at me.
A car whirs by.
I think of you.
You think of me.
Or do you?
I write.
I think.
I do not sleep.
And you?
You miss me too.
The important thing about writing poetry, as I’ve discovered is to simply write consistently. The good poems come when they want to. The rest of the time it is just words put together with a bit of hope for something inspiring. I hope you enjoy today’s post.
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Posted by admin on March 4, 2009
I have a secret sunshine.
Gilded in light and warmth and trust.
Perfect, or nearly so.
Blossoms with all the fragrances of joy.
Perfect, or nearly so.
Dainty and light, as moonlight on deep water.
Perfect, or nearly so.
Caring and tender, soft as the puss willow.
Perfect, or nearly so.
Strong, faithful, my succor that does not fail.
Perfect, or nearly so.
Eternal the list, unending the phrases, but best:
Perfect, or nearly so.
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Posted by admin on February 27, 2009
I do not hurt enough to write poetry,
Nor do I love enough to try.
I have not the happiness of soul.
But there is a need. LISTEN
to my little voice. I will be
HEARD. The violence is not
strong enough, the passion was not
long enough. If I can raise my
voice LOUD enough, none of the
rest will really matter because by
then you will KNOW who
I am. My desire will be
satisfied and people will
CALL me a poet.
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