Nehemiah Theophylus Haokip
(8/29/2014 10:26:00 PM)
Mizoram the queen
Queen of flora and fauna
Mizoram deserve it
Religious of one united
Standing in the truth of their wealth
Sun rise very good to them
As they know what were for it
The place so clean
And the pavilion so fresh
The fight so ignored
And the unity so strong
The mountain so high
And the water so fine
The people so nice
And the their heart so frank
Mizoram is it
Where we join our hands
Leave and heave welcoming till the end
Culture of its pillar
Never to be standing alone
The people serve its rightful path
For the religious so great to them
The morning rise with the thunder of love
And the evening rise with the wealth of its love
Weather kills all our sorrow
The cloud hides all our muzzy
And the rains wash away all our tears
The colors of its place
Recalls that we are the mizo
The people never serve in lies
And even the birds don’t wish to migrate
Of Mizoram our generosity
Long live were the words of yours
And the royal of your wealth
Will dignity all our lives
And we the people of yours
Salute you for your kind arts
Of Mizoram my place of all!
Zoila T. Flores
(8/28/2014 6:35:00 PM)
Freedom is something precious
that I wouldn't change for anything.
(8/27/2014 2:48:00 AM)
Well if freedom means having the priviledge to do what you want then, we still a bit little far, rules are everywhere you can't really be free can you?
(8/25/2014 5:16:00 AM)
Be opened like the flowers, be heavy like the clouds, be free like the airs, and move towards the sky.
There in the sky discover the sun, the moon and innumerable stars and make yourself enlightened.
(8/21/2014 11:13:00 AM)
There are a lot of pretty poets who write free verse in a great way. It's how much one is gifted and how much one is experienced. Thanks.
(8/17/2014 7:53:00 AM)
To me, writing in free form removes the limitation that rhymes places on the poet use of words. It allows the poet to freely employ
words that will suit the message.
(7/15/2014 3:55:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
Cry Within The Soul
alone to stand
on the silent street.
people talk aloud
for a lonely day to die.
Come another wasteful year,
see another falling tear,
seldom are we joined as one,
people hard and cold,
shun man and child alike,
dead to all,
remember that once
you had the chance to love,
to talk, to laugh,
a friendship lost
in a moment of silence,
in heated rage,
so life is hard
what of personal folly,
forgive those who hurt you,
go into the street,
stand and stare at buildings
to the sky,
roam away from city sights,
find the country lane,
on gentle hills
to ponder life's treasures
the fruitful land,
lea or meadow,
mountain or dale,
call it what you will,
the home for animals grazing.
A land to enjoy,
the freedom of walking,
you are part of it,
it needs your love,
do not neglect your heart
in summers harvest,
to reap joy
just by loving earth
in happiness found,
a part of the whole
a part of nature.
(7/13/2014 4:19:00 AM)
| Read 2 replies
Cacaphony between the inside and outside
Mad hurricane, dizzying tornado
Comparing, contrasting, is this normal?
My audience is the mirror to this statement.
Too late?up to date.
Show and tell
every sight taste smell
I walk with my head low
they won't know
about how fucked up I feel
all the time
Take a bow,
i'm doiing this for the free gift card
I am not a poet,
nor a prose writer
I am a snippet stomper
I made quips so sharp
theyll whip ur shit.
Cut me slack, it's 4 AM
This confetti of thought, exploded on you.
take it home with you.
And forget about it.
(7/4/2014 8:22:00 AM)
Terrance Tracy (7/4/2014 2: 43: 00 AM) Post reply | Delete this message
O the anguish that hurts the soul are words spoken when one’s emotions are high, vicious accusations relentlessly expressed gave birth to a foolish journey to find some rest.
The seasonal high humidity and heat accompany the disabled voyager on a foolish journey to what end he did not know nor care.
With each step pain is felt in his temporal body and eternal soul, health or peril he did not care on this foolish journey to nowhere.
One more step and then another, one more step and then another the voyager rehearsed in his mind giving no thought as to what he left behind.
Traveling on a busy highway struggling with each step the voyager stumbled by a familiar church perhaps he should stop here, but his soul was wounded and he would not abide in there.
One quarter of a mile up the highway he spied a bridge with grave needs for a voyager to rest, there he will sit and pray to his God to ask for forgiveness for undertaking such a foolish journey.
Reaching the bridge he accepts the invitation of the rail and begins to contemplate the fruition of his fate, dear Lord what have I done I left behind the love of my life in this test of strife.
The traffic was heavy and so was his soul, as the voyager sat on the bridge rail several cars stopped and offered help but all the voyager could muster was to say that he was homeless and nowhere to go; for he wanted to be alone with his Lord and ask for his sins to be atoned; he just wanted people to leave him alone.
Hampered with physical limitations he could not take a step forward or back so he just sat there and began praying and hearing his Lord speaking to his heart that which you have done was not very smart.
I do not condemn you so look for no stones for your sins have been atoned return to your love, the wife of your youth, for I will give you strength to endure the hardships and defeat the roaring lion that roars your ears and has caused you to be covered in tears.
(7/1/2014 8:49:00 PM)
freeform?you asked for it...
-get me started on a pastel purple butterfly-
to ear plugs i say, " well done, good and faithful servant"
the birds have been faced today.
if we knew exactly what they spoke of, we might listen.
if they knew how much we loved sleep,
they might zip their wee beaks and learn to sign.
^ that means what is coming up next has nothing to do with birds,
but we can still sleep walk in the middle of the day
sneaking into areas of other peoples lives and
either 'oh' or 'meh'
or 'you look healthy,
just kidding, get me a diet coke?'
metabolism slows down after age 36. it's a factoid.
whatever that means- i like it.
i don't like the first part though.
the killers are killing me- the music they knead into my brain.
it's like i'm on my roller blades again, crashing into poles
because i'm worried someone is reading my diary at home.
shades of purple impress me, but not pastel.
pastel is like tupperware
and those parties should never be thrown or attended.
helicopters are like giant butterflies without feelings.
do butterflies have feelings?
i bet they feel like messing stuff up, due to the cocoon phase.
we shouldn't allow them to land on our shoulders
without being jarred and questioned.
i've never trusted a butterfly out of nowhere.
this poem went off its meds.
my dialect has diabetes.
this biz needs a nap.