Learn more about other poetry terms
Let me tell you a story of how my people were extracted from their villages like sap from tree trunks and walked hundreds of miles to a new home. Let me tell you a story
There once was a peaceful creature hidden away in a sweet cedar forest. The forest was ancient with beautiful features, but never a stranger or tourist
To not only be able to tell mineBut to shed a flickering light onto othersA glass eye behind the lensPeeking into the lives of all
The effect of your affection is wearing out You shouldn't have waited so long Kept him wondering if to you he belongs Only for the agony to prolong The place has turned vacant, yet
I remember giving a bracelet to one of my babysitter's when I was young. I made it out of my mother's yarn.
I stepped through the vale of unconsciousness. The vale smelled of bubble gum candy. I dived through the clouds on the other side and descended upon a cherry blossom forest. My toes felt the cool grass in between them.
You take my breath away, my dear No one else has managed such a feat I am not easily impressed, yet my jaw is in your ocean
He was strange One to be mocked shamed outcasted He was someone I didn’t understand So he was bad Now I don’t know
If I could take the time and find a way to rewind it I would.
For the longest time, I let it encapsulate me. Fear gripped me with its frozen, harsh, ugly hands. They were unrelenting. I would tell you a story of suffering of pain
To win my heart, cross my roads To get my love, you knock my doors Let's to start, to earn cruise To build a nest within love rose Adore you much, looking forward To keep in touch, even one word Eager to fly, to reach sward Where your f
Two waves in the sea Two branches of the tree Two wings of the bee These are you and me In everywhere I go I keep your love to gr
Make it easy.
Poem Story: 1 Black and blue, like starlightA boxer wins the fight of his life.Thru the ropes he goes homeTo hold his wife, of so long.
three years old -- mumma tells me "dont disrespect a book else it will not teach you all that it knows" i listen to her and see the book in new light i see the inanimate object as an equal
I can take the heat. The rays of sun never fail to slow me down and lighten my head I lie in wait for the heat to form a pillow under my head and a blanket over my body
Poetry, So simple a word that creates sentence, These sentences turn into verses, Those verses form a story, And within the story you learn about the writer. You read their emotions,
Hidden Hidden feelings Hidden situations Under the smile you wear everyday You can see a story
The ships have all sailed. the tide has gone out. left here alone; "come back safe!" you shout. but dark shores are decieving. and ships tend to sink. the money wasn't worth it.
Tell me all your stories of all the things you've seen Tell me about your struggles Tell me what they mean Tell me about your past And where you got your scars Tell me about your walls
I. Lines that break on the epitome of sound ring forth like the swells ~~~~ of a whale dipping into the sea ~~~~~~~~~
Two twins named Chantelle with buckets and bells took to the road to scoop from the well bending right over, Chantelle, who, quite sober, slipped off the end and tumbled and fell
Come, my love, to arms, my knight, Come join me in our glorious fight. The enemy's crawling up my skin,
Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a lesson waiting for a sailor in Mudd Bay. Well, he wasn’t quite a sailor yet, but for that he had a plan-
Faythe was killed by my hand What have I done? I was expecting the death of Gabriel The damned Chosen One
W h o w o u l d h a v e t h o u g h t t h i s p a s t
The dark tree’s branches swoop over your head,And fill up your soul with a feeling of dread,This place is forsaken; you think to yourself.The trees are all dying, lacking all health
I was 3 when my life was flipped upside downI never got to sleepover at a friends house or Ride a bike or been ask to danceNever got to chase my brother or play like a normal kid
Once There was a castle. In that castle was a princess. Cursed, By danger and imperfection.
This journey begins in the golden state, Where waves well and traffic too turns time late, And travels to the prideful lone star realm. Trust me -- I am not the man at the helm.
Dear Somebody, Sometimes I sit back and wonder… What is it you’re doing again?
"If you don't write your story, Someone will write it for you." I would agree with that. Yes, I'd say it's true. But someone will write it anyway, When you're buried deep in the ground,
"If you don't write your story, Someone will write it for you." I would agree with that. Yes, I'd say it's true. But someone will write it anyway, When you're buried deep in the ground,
At five, when I fell off my bicycle for the first time and bled, my mum leapt in to pick me up and ,"Honey!”, she said, “You know why Superman has a cape that is red?"
A piece of literature of predetermined length meant for different purposes Those are: To inform, to entertain, to lie, and even to comment on society's various ills However, there's a new, insidious reason:
RICH MEANS MONEY... WELL IM RICH WITHIN.. AND SOME PEOPLE REFUSE TO SEE THE REAL ME... FUNNY, PEOPLE NEVER LIKED ME BECAUSE I WAS NICE.. SO IN RETURN THEY WOULD BE MEAN TO ME, RIGHT! BUT THE TRICK WAS , I LEARNED TO STAY CALM..
Dear friends, I believe in love, I believe in might but I'm beginning to lose my sight of everyone around me, everyone near, everyone who might be close to hear that I'm losing myself, losing me
You were a library book with the pages glued shut Sixteen years of abandoned backstory. With what pivots and plot twists do to anti-climax. You were a language I’d forgotten A play without the final act
37.1 trillion cells 23 pairs of chromosomes 46 chromosomes total 4 stories The pigment of my skin, a reminder of the humid city my family came from.
I woke up early Made you breakfast in bed Because I love you Took out the trash Despite what you said Because I love you
A blank sky screams A boy runs to it His feet plod off against ice-ground It is screaming too Now the screaming has dimmed
I entered into an unfamiliar room Didn’t know what to come of it. Leaving old friends behind Will always leave a wound Looking for the light
On a quite curious day, certain events were set into motion. Seven young men sailed out on the ocean. And to their dismay A beautiful, cursed maiden joined on the way. Every man entranced by her beauty
If I were a poet, you would surely know it, Even though this poet, will not show it, He loves to go for it, so here we go. Once upon a time, In a world so clean, with the sky so blue,
Once upon a time There was no prince. Once upon a time There was no castle. Once upon a time There was no happily ever after.
someone once a story toldof a reign, far I may addthere lived, lonely growing olda monarch who very sadwas rapidly going mad.
We met by the sea In the billowing greens By the hanging tree Where a body was seen Swaying in summer breezes; In the tree by the sea
Spot her across the room Smile, look away Allow a minute or two to pass Make sure she’s still there
Once upon a time there was a girl. She inspected herself with a small, dainty twirl. Leaving her home with a basket in hand, She was off on her way to travel the land.
Once Upon a Time… The only son of a King and his Queen was cursed, His fate sealed by the cruel hand of a dark fairy.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Rapunzel. Her hair was her first love. She got everyone's attention with the dramatic length of her hair. Everyone stared at her, even the bush dove.
Once upon a time there was a king, but not just a king, A queen, but oh no, Not just a queen, A quite young maiden, But not just a young madien, All were unaware that the perfectly imperfect,
Okay Crew! This is take-two. Snow white, please, rehearse your lines and wait until the sign this time. Unfortunately, there is no lunch break. Sorry princess, you will have to wait.
There once was a Baker with piercing blue eyes, a cranky old Baker whom all despised. There once was a Baker with hair flaming red, a crusty old Baker a man many dread.
than once there was a father and so he had a son but only ever after when he settled down so once there was a father he went on many journeys and only when this man came home
One sided... Could it mean the spark? To be busy to a point That couldn’t be announced Plucking petals from a darken crispy rose
Once upon a time...there were three bears. Yeah, I bet you think you know where I'm headed with this story. I can assure you, it's not what you think.
You caught your breath. Your eyes shifted downwards and upwards and all around the room, as if you were looking for the truth. You pushed your back against the cold wall. You hesitated.
You used to mean a lot to me, and now you are just a stranger And the sad thing is that it was my fault we ended this way
Pen in hand. Blank paper before me. As my pen hits the paper, words begin to flow. As if it were a river of language flowing from my mind to my hand; And onto the paper before me. Words become sentences.
The old farm stood alone and still. A car made gravel fly. Elise braked and shut the door. “I’m wrecked, why even try?”
The only legend I have ever loved is The story of greed and a grateful sparrow. A man was honest His wife was full of greed He found a sparrow hurt and scared,
Now you're waking from the night Blinded by aetherial light All the tears have dried You've no more left to cry Wounded by the blade
The boy Ordinary Not popular Not stupid Had anything for him The girl Outcast Not noticed Gifted Not happy The boy The girl One conversation
The flowers grow But I could care less. The birds are chirping again. But their sound is not music to my ears.
Rain falls on a February morning Freezing into spears before it hits the ground. He dodges the drops among the trees
I am not lonely. I am not lonely. I am not lonely. I am not lonely! I am not lonely. I AM NOT LONELY.
Autumn gold Covered the trees in late season, Light glistening on the leaves As hot cider is poured Into mugs on the front porch.
When I ask grandfather, “Why is your face so wrinkled?” Mother hushes me, Grandpa smiles, I keep quiet. But as the years go by, My childhood question unanswered,
Come all who wish to hear The story of a girl who once lived in fear A girl who was once afraid to grow up So, come around and get cozy, you must For this is a story of a young girl
As the sun slowly rises And gently wakes me with the touch of its ray,
My mother was an English teacher. My mother is an english teacher. She was an english teacher because her overeducation
roachaphobia: simple, rhyming, frivolous: hatred wrapped in fear. my very first poem was written at eight or at least the first poem i clearly recall i remember because my glory was fate
This is what I have left, The last connection to who I used to be. I write to remember, I write to forget, I write to find where eternity meets the end. I write about hope, Long since lost
Everyone and everything here is old; archaic.The new things and people are but copies of generations before.Arranged a little differently, perhaps.They are restored classics; cliché- yet contemporary; chic.
This poem is the story of my life It is a messy one. And I've shed tears of hope and strife. Oh look, there goes another one. When a person really cares they'll do what'ere it takes
This is more of a trial than you might think (The mother in law comes to the salon first) The area closest to the church can be dangerous for anyone. It happened year after year Sort of like on purpose The two dead dogs In the street outside my w
My body is my bookMy creases the linesMy scars are the action scenesMy tears are the tearjerkersMy ears ears collect the sounds of lifethat run through the wires to my computer, my brain
Little girl staring down at where her pen meets. So many thoughts in her head, but nothing on the sheets. In her mind, she creates a world no one else can find, But when she goes to write... nothing seems to rhyme.
Painfully shy, an introvert, without many friends A child of divorce, found salvation with a pen Black and blue world, smudged ink on her hands Wrote herself a ticket to faraway dreamlands
The lines on her face They be storytellers Each with their own voice A wrinkle, a page Providing a resting place for the dust of the day Hidden among the sun-taxed maculas And if you ask her
A small, meek girl with brown eyes and braids Expressing her creativity through words on a page Teachers commented, "quite ambitious for the second grade" She simply released frustations with writing rather than rage
I found words too simple and elegant To stay as dialogues or simple remarks, But I found something important An idea that hit the marks. Frustration, longing, heartbreak, Soon blended into stanzas,
There is a girl, And she is young pretty and bright. But, she lived with words inside of her, like a parasite. They could be nice, gentle and loving, like a mother is to a child.
Upon death the Spirit was born Not heralding a crown or extravagantly adorned The Spirit was free, and had a right to be
It started with me falling in love No not like that I didn’t fall in love with a boy, or girl, a moment in time But I fell in love with words At the tender age of three
Witches push Macbeth Leading to king duncan's death Ambition guided his hand He became the king of the land Evil grasped the king
dont try to explain yourself with words others will not understand turn it into images and scents and emotions and place it into their hand in the form of paper weighted by your thoughts
Can this just be the present That everyday is Even with a nemesis Or without even saying Wanting the same Even if it's in different shades Or different context
There's a warm group of pink pigs roaming the unattended class rooms. One little pink pig drifted off due to the sweet aroma of an unknown substance. He then goes onto the kitchen
I write to ease the pain of the day, untold with many stories to say. My pen moves swiftly along each line, while I sit here and wait for the words to align. Hours upon hours, while each word empowers.
You could say that he was a Carpenterof sorts ---he built heartsfrom the outside in fixing rebuilding with his own parts, making a sacrifice just to hear their laughs just to see their smiles so that his own mind, his own soul could just possibly
the girl sits in her fluffy bedroom chair curled up blanket-covered a book in front of her and she is crying, because her favorite character died or someone told the truth and it hurt
Empires rise and fall Yet I Dream Inventions are built from the dreams I send I still wander in my world I painted What do I dream I do not know
Get close and get comfortable we are about to depart. - Anywhere is just fine, name a time and place. There are no boundaries. - Everywhere and at any given moment... -
Broken bottles and tired eyes Filled with tears you never meant to cry The corroding building where you go to play
What would you know, About me and my plight? Have you heard me scream for dear life? Have you seen my inability to talk, Incapable of expressing myself, Unless it is by paper, by words.
It's like I'm lost in an ocean blue as can be without a map in my hand or a single home to call mine I've been looking for answers looking for what's true but when I look for love
Grandmother tell me a story not that repetitive one but the other one the one about you and me how you first looked at me how you first held me
There’s something about bold font That stands out from the normal lettering subconsciously hollering within one’s head Because it all started with a young boy entering junior high,
My folks and I are quite weird;Crazy for the wild.We're always after danger,Never anything mild.
Now I've had a thought, that every person has a story to tell. So humor me for a moment, and write yours down as well. I'll pay it back full price you see, and tell you mine in return,
And the World Ended the cycle is over and will begin anew with differnt players on a differnt stage telling the same story of sorow and of joy endings and begenings but its alright
Poetry Oh Poetry What should I write I'm not good at this, but I guess I will try Here is a story That I just made up It is wriiten in a poem To show the other people up
A Business Calamity By: Jake P Attractive to All Apparently Altering Animals Artificially At this Aside Best of the “Bad” Bettering Beasts By Battery Believing it Brave
Looking past the landscapes there stands one dream. One final goal that you know deeper than the cliff you're standing on you want one dream you know. The trees are greener the grass is taller
Part I. They Fell In Simply put I cannot understand you The way you make my chest shorten And the way all this furniture of our lives came about
She's not sure which matters So as voices of conciousness and wisdom enter They only glide across her ears inquire at the door of logic's acceptance and are silently lead through the corridor
We see our skin everyday. the flesh gripping tightly on our bones and protecting us from the world outside as we shake a hand, dry our eyes, or contemplate in the mirror upon if I can fit in and erase my thighs,
So tell me about the things that keep you up at night. Tell me about the things you love so much that you would fight for them. Tell me about where you grew up. Tell me about why you grew up.
She was merely just a character,
Cancer, I want answers Oh, Why did you hurt me so? Cancer, Like a tiny dancer, I have been weakened, Why do I feel mistreated? Cancer, I hear the banter,
Caring is o so kind. If not be so easy-
I could tell you a story. I could tell you a tale. I could spin my life, And make it sound so well. But then you wouldn’t understand my being. You wouldn’t catch my meaning.
Aught afore the mountains And afore ye seven seas T’were created something else As a few now still believe And a beauty that they were And so shall e’er be The fish-folk of the depths
Whence the rider came about Looking for a different route He stopped by a water spout And rested there to quench his drought
i never can understand how a father can leave his daughters to fend for themselves he blames them for his pain but they're caught in the game the same one he claims he lost to their mom to
it's kinda like there's this air to the developing story,
Complications are starting again,
Reading a story is the seasons Of an altering year. Just like spring leaves,
There once was a group of friends, The rules… yeah, they would bends; Awkward and silly, They’d laugh wily nilly, But that is not where this poem ends… The first is a girl named Hannah;
Haiku Stories, Volume 2: The Frog
Haiku Stories, Volume 1: Undervalued I can hear their words They fight loudly, then play nice This is my family I can see his face
Haiku Stories, Volume 3: Amalgamation
You’re so alone. It doesn’t matter that you are surrounded by people. That many care about you.
it starts with hot breath he leans in to kiss her
Holding my wooden basket, Fingers splintering, Walking through the apple orchard, Feet blistering. Birds echo their symphony overhead, Then my ears catch a muffled noise;
A strange affinity to male teachers One would suppose her sick No, not sick.. Maybe she liked the attention Of course such a surface observation was not correct She was a recovering addict
I used to live on Kauai, my life was paradise I was beginning to think I was beginning to arise When I moved to Maui, and everything crashed My life there, which was short, was absolute terror
they looking at me like he never gonna make it gave me a barrier I'm destined to break it I'll take it give me the good with the bad i had worse they say he not all the way there well at first
My grandfather's hands tell a story
We are the
When my stitches dissolved, I resolved a plan A list, if you will Of qualifications for the perfect man Or, if you will The perfect woman. When I fall in love I want to be EMO
I remember the morning I was riding my tricycle
Another world inside of me That no one else will ever see Mostly it is comforting But in the dark where no one sees It's actually quite lonely..
People walking the streets with their gold, as if life to them will never feel cold That's what we want to see, is the life that was meant to be, for me.
Everytime you start a story with once upon a time It has to end with "and they all lived happily ever after" Sounding in a rhyme Ending with laughter My story doesn't
My heart drops every time I think about the boy’s body sinking to the bottom of the pool on that one, beautiful day in May.
Once, there was a little girl
Early Saturday morning.
Now starting back from when I was a young child, I endure
If you take a look at me, with my piercings, my unnatural hair that feels more natural than the mousey brown I was born with, you can guess
I will take hundreds before I find the perfect one. It is imperative to pick the correct filter. It needs to make me look tanner while also concealing the bags under my eyes.
“Hey there” you nice old man, Getting out of your cute minivan. It makes me sad to see you all alone Walking towards the great unknown. “I want to talk to you about your life
Let's take a guy - hey, let's call him Joel. Joel's a jock. You know Joel; big guy, beefcake, brawny. Brainless? Maybe. More like motionless.
Can I Get A Story I am Black and American Yet I am labeled as white And not because I bite
Anger. I can see it in his eyes,
Hurt is not an emotion. It is a growth that multiplies with you as you age, spreading like cancer to your heart, and hardening it to the point of never wanting to feel again.
I'm the girl that got bullied by her looks and personality
The last human alive Is not strong She has broken ribs and tattered lungs
Every book I open is a door a door to a new world. A pathway to a new destiny. A road to new friends. A journey. A voyage. An experience. I live and breathe with the characters
Time is ticking by, Tripping high is Time, I can't understand, why we let age pass us by, we lie, we lie, till we run out of time, we're 4 young men just trying to get by.
A poem inspired the Funerary Stele of Zezen-Nakhet
Every house holds a story like the binding of a book Every house holds a story
You use to be my Luke Sky-Walker, and now you are my Hans Solo. (Star Wars) You were tired of monkeying around. (Jungle Book)
A soul of paper:
Tick tock, The clock strikes one o'clock. The sky is dark, the stars shine bright, Everybody, but one, is asleep tonight.
One night, as I slept, I dreamt a dream of voices. In my dream, I saw young choirs, In the choirs, I saw young children. But no matter what, I heard wonderful singers-
This is the Fisherman's tale
The thing that gets me confused is when i see us being used Not from our counterparts but from the things we do Never good but bad it seems we strive for nothing far But rather just for the most veiws on WorldStar
There is a painter Was born in the first day of the last month in 96. She left a home to make many homes. Her job is to draw Draw an autobiography picture. She is poor .
People Are Dying People Are Gaining Power And Its All Ignored
Hello there miss beautiful, Looking fine there as usual, Got my mind all delusional.
I was 8 years old. My light up sketchers with my pink book bag outshined the sun and my smile. Entering the school with excitement I hear one kid say "Woah shes fat" That day sticks with me/
I've tried to write long poems that will show up in SATs and other standardized tests but I can't Then I realized something I'm not meant to be complex I'm not a poet of code language
Silence flows through the air oh so coldsitting there waiting a young man so old, asking for love
One beautiful morn, so fresh and oddOn a distant crag, a man did trodHe raised his blade to hew a perchAnd from the gouge three stones did lurchThe first was quite pale and buffed to soft green
Arise, arise Caesar said, as he addressed his troubled nation. You all agree that mighty Rome, is in need of a new foundation. For nor you or I can dignify, the recent struggling peace,
My opinions are right Anyone else's is stupid and aren't worth a second thought You’re stupid, I am smart You're wrong, oh so wrong
I hesitated but I did it, Kidnapping some jerk to help a different one And in less than a minute, He’s on his feet having a ton of fun He acted just like I had Like it’s all a flimsy game
Darkness is a fellow who doesn't believe in light They've never met, he claims He stares at me with eyes I can't see As if he is deranged After a time, he is so tired and dismayed
There once was a warrior, and
Skipping, excited, hyper Then suddenly falling.
I am a lady, Whose feet are
Who am I? Who am I? I know that I am not you but more than this is true Here is a riddle just for you, so here is what you do— Read this passage and guess to see who this person just might be.
Do you know what it’s like
A little blonde girlshe stepped onto a plaine and away with her family she went Away from her friendsand her comforts and carefreeswith her ponitailed hair all unkempt
Born a lunatic to disillusioned, semi-sweet folktale farmers,
She said, What this means to me, One hundred sleepless nights, Wonderland, Mad world, My obsession, A thousand years, Paradise, Kids, Forever, King for a day,
I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my love of Shakespeare. He led me to the world of Macbeth and King Lear. He taught me to die for love in Romeo and Juliet. And live with no regret.
Read me a story Make one up; something with love. I look above at the sky that is miles high. Take me to the sky, my love. Bring me to safety.
How many frogs do I have to kiss to get a prince who will give me bliss. How many lamps do I have to rub to give me someone I can truly love.
Keep your head up kid Wipe those tears from your chin Let me tell you something,
He read me like a book Paying attention to every detail Remembering every word Taking notice to every detail He read every crevice of my life
Being an aspie can be a source of misery or a source of pride, it’s all in the bearer’s perception. “What’s an aspie?” you might ask. It’s a term for someone who bears the rigorous condition of aspergers.
In its essence we are teased Failing to see that which our ears detect But even so, we are pleased The human mind holds no defect That with such synchrony And all harmony We can dimly see that
Playing Paul VI. Camden Catholic's biggest rival. Down 52-50 with 20 seconds remaining. Cole steps onto the court playing in his first playoff game. He rubs his hands along the back of his shoes to remove the dust and quickly squeaks his shoes.
Chains Chains clinking metal frozen wrists bound reaching for freedom no key to set me free or strength to uncuff
Stars, starsCome aliveI need your guidence in the sky.Stars, starsCome aliveI need your help through this thick unknown.Stars, starsCome aliveAnd guide me with your light
During the dayYou're so bright,Through the shining sun.During the night, you're so dark,With the moon shining on your back.Weather expresses your emotions,Rain, sadness, snowy; madness,
I am a running man of ginger And I run faster than them all. I was rolled and pounded and cut out of dough Made in an oven as hot as the steam of dragons.
“WHY MOMMY WHY?” I screamed through my tears I was little then About three years ……………………………………. Mommy didn’t care
Smear my lipstick In words that you love me Touch me In poems and phrases you’ve remembered Remember me
I can feel you grow weaker As you step inside the class You use to torment me endlessly But those days have passed ……………………………………………….
Her hands were balled tight. I saw the tendons stretch around her white knuckles. She saw me looking, which exaggerated her anger. How could I be observing At a time like this? Two days passed
She stood, hair lapping in the frigid night air, at the coast. The rocky barrier separated the gravel road from a smooth, black and lapping bay. It was pitch black, like thick coffee with grinds that managed to escape into the brew. Lapping.
Hunched over a bright computer, Warm coffee accompanies her. Searching for words to express herself, Searching for words too difficult to tell. A closet full of skeletons, a pretty blonde head full of secrets.
You had me really scared and disappointed But we're passed that Our relationships got ups and downs Like the NASDAQ Late nights when no one else would You'd let me crash at The crib throwing fibs to those
Sometimes he's full of sin, Other times he's speaking sacred, As the…
My friend and I were talking one day and he asked me, "What do you think about the state of downtown?" I thought about this question for a second and said...
Love, Deep love, Why? I am Vile! Villainous, Mischievous Destructive, Productive Seclusive, Inclusive Hate, Deep hate, Why? I am, I! Represent, Comprehend
There is beauty in the night,Though it's not often seen.Such a peaceful sight,But stars seen through a screen.
Am I the only one to look up at the sky and wonder What is beyond the stars yonder Like a sponge I soak up information About anything that I can find
Have you ever seen eyes that speak sermons.Respirations that birth holy spirits.With those kind of eyelids that are like curtains,Blocking out sunlight that flowers cherish.
I wish I had the metaphors tolend description to the love of God.“A father throws his own son in front of a train…”What an inadequate thought. You threwhim from heaven to earth – no.More, he jumped.
Sometimes I am outgoing. I have my friends on my side. And nothing can beat my sense of pride. Sometimes I am shy. I watch everything from over there. I can't do much except sit there and stare.
From the depths of dark nothingness came a person: the Writer- walking. She carried a light a pointed, glinting weapon sharply yellow- illuminating.
It was 11 o'clock on Christmas eve Everyone was heading to bed When all of the sudden someone said "do you hear that" Here what we said "the noise it's sounds like bells overhead"
My Love, You are my heart, my joy, and my bride. For you, I took the nails and the wound in my side. For you, I was beaten beyond recognition. For you, I lived knowing I’d endure crucifixion.
I went out in search of an adventure. I travelled far and wide, alone, when I finally found what I’d been looking for. I came across a waterfall cascading down rocks of different hues that
It hurts, doesn't it? The world takes it's tole on you. Doesn't judge, doesn't care hurts everyone just as equally
Light and Dark walked together one cold winter's night under the shining face of the moon, full and bright. On this night they could walk arm in arm As old comrades might, forgetting their differences.
Somewhere in the land of Gray There was a girl, whose name was Kay Kay was smart, Kay was beautiful Most of all, Kay was truthful A dreamer in the best of ways In her head spent most her days
The story's growing more intense, the characters confused and vexed, you've come to know the protagonist, the nails they drove into his wrists, a book that jumps right off the page,
The story's growing more intense, the characters confused and vexed, you've come to know the protagonist, the nails they drove into his wrists, a book that jumps right off the page,
When I am running running from my problems running from the world, I can Stop. And think. And write. And be free. And then maybe I can Stop. And see. And know
watch, as this tragic story unfolds. my life, my hurt, my strength, and my weaknesses. my tragedy is one to tell, a one of pain, and one of hell. nights of tears, days of agony.
What it means to me.... With each and every word a story is waiting to be heard. From heartaches to heartbreaks I write what I feel. I feel what I write, I'll never be the same again, I can only learn from my mistakes.
I breathe, inhaling and exhaling Listening to the kids at the end of the block play One was wearing red One was wearing white And one in black standing in the corner I breathe, observing and watching
Poetry...words that merely chose me Opened my eyes and heart in ways the world cannot see I was lost...trapped in sadness that would last Fought continuously with the darkness of my past
As I walk down the street I see all the faces; The happy, the sad, the downright mad; Some might believe they are always this way; Soon you'll know that's just not true; The mad man at the bus stop,
She's alone in the dark with no one to speak to, with no one to hold her, no one to show her love. Not a sound comes in or out but this little girl's voice crying out for help
It was almost a love triangle except it wasn’t. It was just as ridiculous though. Someone had fallen in love with her, but she had already fallen in love with someone else.
For all the things I've left unspoken I know they would be better off left unsaid. I'm left in a dream again. Please allow me to show you my life. I want to show you my pain
Gold and red-checkered lips. Pink and purple plumage in pin-curled hair. Corsets colliding with chosen partners. Flickers of light from silver sequins scattering the ballroom.
The wind moves at a slow paceCreating a whispering voice Talking to shadows as they creep Through the eerie and morose night.
(poems go here)Write, sometimes is the only right thing to do From not being understood, to being stood up from all those in your personal hood From confused feelings, to living life confused
I write because I can. If I don't, I can feel myself bleeding out There is not a person on this planet, or any other That listens as well as the pen and the paper. Not a soul who won't judge you,
One side is where your on the inside looking out And the other is when your on the outside looking in There is nothing in between except that clear glass that allows you to see through that wall in front of you
Fairytales I never used to believe in fairytales I’m not like Cinderella when the clock strikes 12. Won’t prick my finger and fall asleep Or become a prisoner and love a beast. But I met you
If I write to you how I feel inside will you take my words and bring them to life? Will you give them a melody a way to be heard by the weak and the strong? Will you help our story become a way to let go
The sun casts its blinding rays onto the snow-covered ground to create a glittering reflection that has always reminded me of broken mirror shards.
I am a humble man, No hero, king or saint. My purpose is my brush, My canvas and my paint. My Dear, I have this gift - I paint all that I see, And everything I paint
The poem, A Marvelous Day, is based on a prompt from my poetry writing course and the book Writing Poems by Boisseau, Michelle and Wallace, Robert.
A girl walks the perfect road Sun shining bright like always Day after day Sadness does not exist For she knows not what it is She continues to walk this perfect road
Can we write a story That started at birth Can we carry a notebook While crossing the earth Can we tell tales that stir us With wonder and laughter And erase the tears
It worked it's way into our systems Taking it's host, leaving nothing the same It spread itself through our communities Faster then we could respond
Deep within the myrtle grove. Stood a woman who was foretold, that her son would rule the land. And rule these people with an iron hand. But the king was still alive, so her son would be deprived.
And dancing, they were, The two girls, and the boy Caring not about time, That seemed not to pass by They noticed not, that not a stare
Show me your story But dont use words, dont speak. Let the novel be written And make it expressive! Your frustrations, tribulations. We want to see, not just me, everybody.
I once fell in love with a dreamer He exhumed me from the grave I was digging myself. Love was breathed into my hollow lungs Oh, how I hung on so dearly to those arms, pulling me out of my own grave.
Hair wavy ripples teal tinted aqua skin supple hubble bubble nipples cripples bystanders even when fully sheathed Sweat drips and drops and plops beneath the penholder quivers at sweet nostalgia
Anger. Love. Strength. Weakness. Hate. Fear. I write for them. They take over. They use my pen to escape. Word By Word. Once they start, they do not stop.
As the credits roll I’m handed a rose Most certainly all knows, My pain it now glows— Yesterday clothes worn with shame and embarrassing stains, Now lies in a tomb of defeat, No it wasn’t retreat,
She ran. Past the creaky rocking chair and the old tin can, Through the mahogany door and into the wrinkled man. She jumped the white picket fence just to see.
Depth is in the thought, Ideas always flow, The times have been rough, No one wants to fall below. When we die, We've walked so fast, There we'll lie, But hope died last.
Truth everlasting as night turns to dawn, The stars peek out to dance on the pond. Reflecting the weary, healing the meek, Spinning and weaving a story incomplete. Follow the tale and the travelers that dance,
(poems go here) Life is like a story In which you gradually gain control. In the beginning, you are unwilling character But you gradually realize your own power To change future chapters
Two evil sisters Cinderella, a poor maid Her sisters prepare Magnificent scene The royal ball of the king The Music like gold
Fair is foul and foul is fair Lies, betrayal, hatred, and blood Loom freely in the air. Dearest hero turned foe Believe the literal truth and fell to an all time low His lady acted not as his conscience
You flourish an extent of bounded knowledge only within yourself. Ignorant, what is love you ask. Clasp this wonder, your mind not be inquisitive, but at peace. Listen, Let me guide you. A flailing heart only knows so little.
There's a song for every story a story for every song. It's one thing you can count on in the days that are so long.
A fact fades from truth to legend, to simple fantasy. Sustaining mortal life without life of her own- the Goddess drifts Four essences lye in her wake, She searches endlessly.
My father had once told me you'll never know just what you'll be even with the end in sight just before the end of night dont jump too soon, because you'll fall just hang on tight, fight through it all
Would you stay? Just a little while longer. Must you leave me right now? Would you let me feel your gentle touch Before I can feel it no more. And your beautiful lullaby voice.
It takes real eyes to realize the real life I used to see blind until I realized the real lies I lived in a utopia where love was our core But that’s when I was four, now the thought is nevermore
Dryness. No one expects, but dryness. Don't speak unless you're spoken to; don't speak only speak when it's worth it. Use your words wisely; it's a story, your story; Create it.
He called her his whore, his slut, his own bitch to ride on, like dogs.Prized only darkness, like lights. Abandoned in public, like free-speech. She wasn’t free, she wasn’t light,
Numb. Standing in fear and utter hypnosis, like a deer in front of headlights; the moment I cast my eyes on her I was certain she was the one who had been stalking me in my nightmares, wanting my soul and everything else that I had to offer.