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  • Mariska Coetzee (6/18/2012 6:39:00 AM) Post reply

    My Love Seems To Dwell In Darkness

    My love seems to dwell in darkness-
    which like a hungry beast lies in waiting, lies in waiting-
    to devour my heart.

    My love watches me-
    like a raven eager to tear at the decaying flesh, the decaying flesh -
    of my heart.

    My love lurks in the shadows-
    like a wolf prowling the night for death to consume, death-
    to consume my strength.

    My love drains my sanity -
    from me, like blood flows from an inflicted wound-
    an inflicted wound in my deepest being.

    My love hides anticipating-
    like a crow in a shadow watches a dying creature, waiting for death-
    waiting for death to take my will.

    My love seems to dwell in darkness-
    which like a hungry beast lies in waiting, lies in waiting-
    to find me once more.

  • Fia Fionn (6/15/2012 5:45:00 PM) Post reply

    any input would be appreciated.....

    tears


    tears and more tears... I write to you without even seeing the keyboard
    tears roll down my cheeks, no one to hand me a tissue
    I wait for them
    visions of them dying
    I was so sure she would live, so sure
    worms, decay, dirt covers them
    engulfed them, swallowed bones and flesh
    I mourn. why does no one see it
    my cheeks worn from tears
    no one to hold my hand. clenching fists
    unburied lost years
    mother, brother, sister, friend
    breath stopped. revisited fear
    worn shoes. a watch. crippled heart
    incense wafts in the air. coffins
    the clank of the chain as it passes over
    bodies lay inside
    crosses made of palms left. holly water sprinkled
    tombstones rise. names appear. dirt is moved
    grass grows
    fear engulfs me
    why has no one come

  • Terry L. Allen (6/13/2012 9:26:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hi, I am new to this site. I thought that I might be able to get a few people to read my poems and possibly get to meet and know a few other poets from this site. I am listing one of my poems here as a sample.

    On Comes The Night

    Sunset like a cotton candy world
    full of color fills the sky with mock
    representations of the world below,
    drift and float on by.

    Hills, valleys, rivers and fields
    in panoramic view
    cross the sky above my head.

    Clouds disapate and colors deepen
    as the colorful temptress of sunset
    takes flight her time now spent.

    Twilight whispers and seduces
    as she brings on the blanket of night.

    With bed warm promises she'll
    lull you to sleep
    till sunrise arrives with it's golden light.

    Replies for this message:
    • Juliet Demarko (6/28/2012 7:57:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Dear Terry-Sunsets are impossible subjects because they have been written about so much-usually in a very mundane way. The metaphor you use of twilight /sunset?as a temptress seducing one to sleep is ... more

  • Alexis ... (6/13/2012 12:15:00 PM) Post reply

    Hello All,

    So I am having a hard time getting my poems read and rated and commented on. If you can take the time to read them i posted a few so you can go to my page and let me know what you think

  • Dr Syed Anwar Yarkhan Jilani (6/1/2012 9:14:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Would you consider this a poem?How can it be improved, please?

    Humility and love are precisely the graces
    That Man of understanding healthy faces.
    Find occasions for practicing humbleness -
    Where words and acts combine like laces.

    Meekness, lowness of the heart should be
    Making it object of special tradition to be.
    To rise perpetually begin by descending
    Lay the foundation of your tower to be.

    God descends to you as water flows down
    Bestow peace and riches without a frown.
    The unseen gracious hand of God keeps
    You afloat and shall never let you down.

    The evidence of having a spiritual maturity
    Is an awareness of your rational impunity.
    Many hypocrites in some sense are in sight
    Perhaps it was a transition to your delight.

    Humility is freedom from your own ego
    A de-stressing exercise devised long ago.
    Confuse not fear cowardice and insecurity
    As these have nothing to do with humility.

    The labor of self love is a profound one
    Efforts needed to protect from burning sun.
    Take no delight in the vain praise of men
    You are the doctor, the drug and solace.

    Replies for this message:
    • Locura Alaam (6/8/2012 11:03:00 AM) Post reply

      Yes; I would consider it a poem. You are good, your poem is good; I enjoyed reading the lines one after another with an interesting flow. However, I couldn't help but notice that your first three st ... more

  • Portia Lane (6/1/2012 6:33:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Please read this poem and let me know what you think. I wanted to focus on alliteration... did I over do it??Any other comments/suggestions?

    A poet’s plight

    I have here my pen and pad
    And now I plan to prove my genius

    If I can only get this stupid pen to work

    I will use mesmerizing metaphors
    And beyond brilliant similes
    I will compare things never compared before
    I will give words new meanings

    If I can only get this stupid pen to work

    I will stitch my story one scene at a time
    Decoratively divulging distinct memories
    I will quaintly quilt what is on my mind
    Even reluctantly memorializing past misery

    If I can only get this stupid pen to work

    I will tell tales never told before
    In ways no one has ever heard before
    I will leave my listener wanting more
    Each stanza sending them through another door

    If I can only get this stupid pen to work

    I will cunningly construct a new poetic form
    Into which rhythm and rhyme will swarm
    Into which even prominent poets will storm
    For it will transcend traditional norms


    If I can only get this stupid pen to write!

    Ugh! I give up! !

    This is a despairing dilemma I have disdainfully endured
    A wicked war waged against me without forewarning

    This
    Is another example
    Of a Poet’s
    Plight

    Replies for this message:
    • Hawkins Rodgers (6/3/2012 10:37:00 AM) Post reply

      I've always been a fan of well used alliteration, and I'd have to say you've accomplished that seamlessly. I liked how you kept repeating the line " If I can only get this stupid pen to work" ... more


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  • Hawkins Rodgers (5/31/2012 10:07:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    In the Middle

    In the middle, people come…
    and they stay for a while,
    They catch up…
    and they chuckle…
    and they don’t dare not to smile.

    In the corner, dressed in black, there’s a kid there alone,
    He’s turned to the wall, keeping his business his own.

    As I approached him, I noticed with a shock and a start,
    The hilt of a blade, there was a knife in his heart

    There he was bravely trying to clot the flow of his degenerating ideals
    Convinced that the pain he felt is something that no one else feels

    I put a hand on his shoulder and a hand on the blade
    I pulled, and it gave; the wound began to fade

    Drenched crimson, he turned and stared past me
    There was hatred in his eyes for those who were always there, but could never see

    He held both hands to his nose and cringed in repetition
    It wasn’t until I saw this, that I noticed the putrid stench of stagnating tradition

    At times, those in the middle, heard his cries and turned to the cross
    But any sight of the actual problem, on their eyes was a loss

    They were too busy deluding what they once revered as the truth
    Curbing its acutely adverse flavor, to appeal to their youth

    There was a time when their message was wholesome…now it’s stale
    Any fool could feast on their “bread of life” as he marched, straight, to hell.

    ***
    I talked at him, but despite my words, he had nothing to say
    So I laid the knife at his feet, and remembered that day

    Sometimes I visit the corner…
    and I stay for a while…
    we catch up, and we chuckle…
    and we can’t help but smile.

    Replies for this message:
    • Portia Lane (6/1/2012 6:39:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I enjoyed this poem. The rhythm varied couplet to couplet. I don't know if that was intentional, but it may be a smoother read if keep the rhythm consistent. Even inconsistent consistency would work. ... more

  • Caleb Topo (5/29/2012 4:22:00 PM) Post reply

    Deadly Plans
    by: Caleb Topo

    Everything that starts out good,
    Ends in the worst of ways,
    I wish my parents understood,
    Why I sharpen blades.
    I told them my life will end real soon,
    By my own two hands,
    I lock the door to my room,
    And fulfill my deadly plans.

  • Alexis ... (5/27/2012 8:52:00 PM) Post reply

    Ascension

    Deadened are my lively days
    When simple was a word I didn't know
    I stepped with high-heels onto a moonlit street
    And without a sound feel a rhythm
    I could feel any beat
    Out of my own volition

    I would dance down endless roads
    As they stared
    The passersby
    And jealous were the stars of my candescence
    Although they glowed
    But I was luminescent

    I would dance through towns and cities
    Not knowing I'd gone miles
    But that cars were far behind in speed
    They slowed around curves
    But there was no break in me

    I had come to a sea
    And effortlessly I did transcend
    Now feeling I am free
    Leaving endless streets behind
    That held no space for me

  • Alexis ... (5/27/2012 8:49:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    A Wonderful Nightmare

    A wonderful nightmare
    I did once have
    And it was both good and bad
    I was well aware
    Of its grasp

    And I still couldn't let it go
    It did seem
    To be a dream
    And still I didn't know

    It would shine like the sun
    And end a night with no moon
    And it made me become
    What I never knew

    And I had to trust
    What was hard to do
    I had to do much
    As it did continue

    I kicked and I turned
    As this wonderful nightmare was playing
    One day I learned
    One day I awakened

    Replies for this message:
    • Evie Stripp (8/14/2012 11:06:00 AM) Post reply

      I like your poem because it describes how I imagine a nightmare feels like. It shows how sometimes your dreams reflect on aspects of real-life and how sometimes you are greater in your dreams than you ... more

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