Welcome

Welcome poets one and all. May your travels through poetry increase your love for composing beautiful verse. We're all family here. This is a place to come to read poetry, sip coffee and explore the talents of fellow poetry writers.

COMING SOON !!!

 

 


       Amity Me

 

 

Faith Acrostic

 

Fear not

Always trust

In God for

He takes away fears

And gives us peace.

 

 


Tender Beginnings

 

it's windy outside. trees swaying
erratically -
thunder in the distance
rain is sure to come, concealing
tears of loneliness, feelings
of exclusion -

it's quiet inside. soul searching
peacefully -
revealing my vulnerabilities, and
i dare think of human kindness
kisses you let me borrow
but not keep -

sweet is the nectar endowed
in frozen -
communication. unthawed
two souls discovering acceptance
in a world intolerant of
human differences -

and secret tears ceased flowing
quietly -
a breeze invades the stillness
solitude conquered by friendship
a heart giving way to
joyful overtures –

A Knowing

 

What is this longing I feel? My love
has burst forth like a rose, hidden
behind the leaves out of sight

 

Knowing you consciously loved me
once, but it's been so long
you have almost forgotten

I want to fall outside of you, wrap
my arms around you like a shield
to protect you from the horrors

you live in; this ugly state of being
unaware of yourself. Instead
I just hide behind the leaves, hoping

the breeze carries my scent
to your nose, so you will turn around
and see me. Like a statue

I stand observing. Powerless to
come to you without being summoned
how I long to whisper, ever so softly

in your ears, that you are not alone
on this path. Our love has passed
the eternal test. Forbidden to interfere

with your chosen path, I’m comforted
in knowing, in the end
you will be my soul mate

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by Harry Youtt

I'm one of the handful of people who knew of Ted Kooser before he wrote "The Poetry Home Repair Manual." Who is he? Well, he lives on farmland in Nebraska, but he carefully refrains from calling him...read more
  Write NowWrite

Fireside Poets in 19th c. Britain

Poetic Recognition

What is Poetry?

By: Dolores Moore

Billy Collins

     Emily Bean


La Fee

I long for a moon, I yearn for that kindred soul.

In the wake of night, whistling toward the twilight, does my lover forget my small plain face.

And I, the poet will cry. Tears may fall under a dank and desolate sky.

Oh woe and woe again it seems, a pit of nothing so she screams!

Heave me from this hole, leave me all alone and I’ll wander the land and roam.

So many won’t be burdened then.

No, no I shall travel living out Dylan lies and indulging in desolate Southern dives,

with the faces of men I longed to kiss forever etched into my skull.

And then? Again you'll  find me on top of some ramshackle Moulin sipping away my fears covered in a green haze.

Lazy wanderings day’s waiting for the day where he remembers my name.

As time stands still, my mind becomes ill.

Grazing on Marlboro and Tanqueray, as the wallpaper peels like the curved edge of ancient books  by writers so beloved, I will say.

Darlings I’m not okay.

 

‘Hate.’

Softly and gentle; my lover lay’s.

As the sun screams harsh into a new day

Enthralled by lust; as our bodies untangle

Purple welts and blood, my darling body mangled

With wakeful repose he avoids my glance.

As I arise; naked and watch my goose-bumps dance.

A quiet smile and whiff of decadence

I wonder when my brain will finally see sense.

I watch him tumble out my white painted door.

And I fall down laughing on my licentious floor.

 

Weeks have passed since I was skin to skin.

I do hate to see my dissolution win.

So I scratch and scream while the nights roll round.

Banging fist after fist on the cold sodden ground

To elevate this burning that no one can feel

But I; so sad but insanity has never felt more real

Only a mere mile away is the man who ends it all

Yet I, the gentle lunatic shan’t make that lustful call.

 

To grasp, to hate;

To sin a sin so great

To live with a lie

To try so hard not to die

The night has fallen quickly

And my despair is far too desperate to see.

 

Valiant Versifier

My father told me of a man whose words flowed like the Thames.
He was born in the wrong era he said. He belonged with the libertines and thanes.
A gentle man of sweet nature, he stumbled up upon, me and my father as we were walking along.
"Oh sweet fair one" he cried, looking down into my eyes. !
I shall be gone soon enough and my lifeline is thin! "And alas my life was one field of cynicism and gin .
"So show the world your words, pierce hearts with a verse." "Decadence, squalor and beauty are not but a simple curse,
so I shall lie here in my most destitute hour, so lie beside me and look up at that concrete tower."
"That you and your father call home, oh frightfully dire...The rest he said was but a slur, so I helped him along and bid him goodnight. And slept on the pavement where we all once where.

Famous Poets and Poems

Famous Poets and Poems

 

Snow by David Berman


Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.


Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.


When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.


But why were they on his property, he asked.

Ted Kooser Dodge Poetry Festival

americanlifeinpoetry

Enjoy poetry? Click on over to this site. Ted Kooser, a Poet Laurette, host others poetry as well as sharing his own here

You can find this poster for free at Poets.org

Showing Comments 1 to 10 of 47

Peta S. Cameron
Posted on: Nov 07, 09 at 05:48 AM
What a great zone Mellisa, I love reading what is on your zone. Fantastic! Cheers Peta Cameron
Jeffrey Miller
Posted on: Oct 14, 09 at 11:52 PM
Thanks so much for featuring one of my poems on your site. I am honored to have one of my poems featured with so many other wonderful poetic stylings.
Jon Coe
Posted on: May 22, 09 at 02:09 AM
Well.....another day has come and gone the sun rose up and went to bed, anon I did my best, with what I had I do not feel sorrowful, nor, sad The moon takes watch upon me now green fields, nestling, up to cow Inside, I think, and write with glee until the sand man cometh, late for we
pa cockle
Posted on: Apr 24, 09 at 09:59 PM
You have outdone yourself here Missy...On behalf of the Ebay chinwaggers thanks for judgeing our Comp and displaying the winners and entrats...bloody good job ma'am..
Shaheen Darr
Posted on: Apr 23, 09 at 08:49 PM
This is great, with focus on Australia...good idea! Used to enjoy watching "home and away" once upon a time, Australia looks like a wonderful place. :)
Nancy Horton
Posted on: Apr 20, 09 at 01:07 PM
Oops... sorry, my head is in too many places at once I guess. Here's a direct link to that thread if you want to check it out. http://lifesdailychallenges.7forum.net/poems-quotes-f11/
Nancy Horton
Posted on: Apr 20, 09 at 01:05 PM
Melissa, how are ya doing? Wanted to drop by & invite you to my forum. I have a tread there for inspirational poems & quotes. Your beautiful writing would be a compliment there! I look forward to hearing from you now & then. Hope you're doing well, have a super day!
Jon Coe
Posted on: Apr 17, 09 at 01:46 AM
Just wanted to post something here on this wonderful site. There........it is something indeed!
Petra Newman
Posted on: Apr 15, 09 at 03:42 PM
Hi Missy; I love this zone. It lifts my spirits and make my day:) Poetry has a suttle way of tweeking the heart. I love the new updates:)
Linda Ann Nickerson
Posted on: Apr 09, 09 at 02:20 AM
Super zone! Thanks for highlighting my article. You've made this zone very user-friendly, while including lots of helpful information. Nice!
November 2009
S M T W T F S
1 2 3 4 5 6 7
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15 16 17 18 19 20 21
22 23 24 25 26 27 28
29 30 - - - - -
picture credit:  Devian  Art

  VERENA SCOTT

i see the stranger
with a glint in his eye
yet his smile gives me the chills
his lean silhouette
and fluid stride
belies of a strength that kills

the day-old stubble
on his chin
with laugh-lines showing through
hides the scar
below his cheek
the mark of a spirit askew

and as i hear
the smooth deep voice
uttering words that sound just right
i sense the danger
flowing beneath
it’d be wise to leave now, take flight

yet like a magnet
pointing north
i am powerless to obey
the instinct's alarm
that’s shrilling within
and i say ‘shall we hit the highway?’

for indeterminable
time we travel
rocky roads that lead us nowhere
gazing from heights
of reckless passion
before diving off cliffs on a dare

momentary careless
and rash abandon
doesn’t hide the illusion that’s clear
for written are rules
of this thoughtless game
being played with this stranger here

yet while we can
we draw the life
deep from each others soul
before returning
to the place
of reality that we stole

picture credit:  http://jenya88.deviantart.com/art/Time-92710618

 


FEATURED POEM

 

"Wrinkled paper"

 

Have you not hands
carved with experience
pitted with prints
wrinkled and old?

Have you not a mind
which has tossed away
memories you thought
meant nothing?

Have you not intuition
to know
others stand in the future
unarmed with knowledge to fight?

Have you not eyes
which guided you
to these very words
which speak volumes?

Have you not life?
For life,
you must speak
and write.

 

We're only a dream

 

 

Far into the distance
amid cumulus clouds
where colors mold
Aurora Borealis skies,
you and I stroll.


Two people, joined hands,
and joined hearts. Each
knowing the other, only here,
where...we're only a dream.

by Rolan Whitt

This poem is reflective of people, as well as leaves. - Earth Leaves Leaves From different trees Clutter The same ground. read more
  Write NowWrite

by Tasha House

Coffee addictPlunk down a cup Fill it right up Beans and brews Teas won't due Coffee for me Coffee for you Just you wait I'll get one too Smells so sweet Smells so strong I can't wait I've waited so l...read more
76 articles  Write NowWrite

by Kain Thornn

"Widow" She put his shirt on like a night shirt And curled up on the couch She could still smell his favorite cologne In the collar Light from the fireplace Danced about the room A tear fell ...read more
  Write NowWrite

Old People's Home

by W. H. Auden

All are limitory, but each has her own
nuance of damage. The elite can dress and decent themselves,
are ambulant with a single stick, adroit
to read a book all through, or play the slow movements of
easy sonatas. (Yet, perhaps their very
carnal freedom is their spirit's bane: intelligent
of what has happened and why, they are obnoxious
to a glum beyond tears.) Then come those on wheels, the average
majority, who endure T.V. and, led by
lenient therapists, do community-singing, then
the loners, muttering in Limbo, and last
the terminally incompetent, as improvident,
unspeakable, impeccable as the plants
they parody. (Plants may sweat profusely but never
sully themselves.) One tie, though, unites them: all
appeared when the world, though much was awry there, was more
spacious, more comely to look at, it's Old Ones
with an audience and secular station. Then a child,
in dismay with Mamma, could refuge with Gran
to be revalued and told a story. As of now,
we all know what to expect, but their generation
is the first to fade like this, not at home but assigned
to a numbered frequent ward, stowed out of conscience
as unpopular luggage.
As I ride the subway
to spend half-an-hour with one, I revisage
who she was in the pomp and sumpture of her hey-day,
when week-end visits were a presumptive joy,
not a good work. Am I cold to wish for a speedy
painless dormition, pray, as I know she prays,
that God or Nature will abrupt her earthly function?

Featured Poetry Book

The Writer's Sight

Signs of Life by: John Ecko

  • Signs of Life by: John Ecko A visual look at concrete poetry You can purchase the beautiful book of poetry here
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