My final defeat - fixed contest - poetry
She almost certainly can't bring to mind
But it did -
The day I found her agreed out cold on the alive room floor
Is mommy dead?
My gut said Yeah she's dead as a doornail
Thankfully my words said No No she's not dead
Little did I know I would admiration again and again
I despised that demon who called me nasty names
So confused, embarassed, shocked, and dazed
But I cultured early -
Never ask questions.
When I got older, I belief I could deal better
Nobody ever met the first boy I went on a date with
The bright face with the eternally joyful smile
Today at 30 years-old, I have perfected my enigmatic mask
Nobody ever gets even a indication
But everything close to accepting
I surrended for myself to a continual, gripping scramble
If I could just find.
Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www. bellaonline. com/articles/art8364. asp
Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a inexpressive frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the impassive frame Her foothold fixed the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing about her A hobo woman, apparent by life, and diagonal dreams With advent of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her assume engraved aligned with the made of wood frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, execution like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and traumatized hopes She yielded already the slow early payment of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a cherry moon hurled a flame across The dark clouds, burning all through the sky The littered sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye enthralled it Rocky images, main points Thrusting herself up audaciously from to the ledge The painted crack of dawn blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face aligned with the sandstone stone Massive injuries was captivating form, Her figure hanging so apathetically crosswise the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting aligned with life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her meager body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the figurine hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, assessment with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead ahead of her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was bold of falling.
No one ought to have to beg or crawl ahead of humanity. No one ought to have to conspiracy to attain philanthropy.
Let Your Feelings Be Your Guide
The light of all eternity shines with me now / My feelings light up my life / How I find my way is dogged by them / They light up my path and show me who I amWhen I was young, I felt so many effects / Then came the day when I could not stand the pain / My world was chaos then, overflowing with be sorrowful and grief / So I clogged up to guard that fragile Self withinYears would go by ahead of I could open again / I was artificial to by conditions ahead of my be in command of / Life dealt me blows which I later accepted as my own / To get up me to that be distressed deep surrounded by my SoulI worked hard to find my way back to the Light / To that place contained by where I could feel once again / There my Heart shone forth with a brave face / And shed light on all that I had concealedNow I see how I blocked that tender-hearted Self / How I froze in the face of my fortune / Troubles swirled about as a continuous find of grief / And I fell to sleep out of fearI am initiation now to the deep void contained by / Where I've stored all those troubles and pain / I fight my way back to that base once again / So I can come forth absolutely and be trueMy life moves ahead as of this day / When I committed to conclusion my true Self / I've engaged all approach of demons on this journey / To come again to that Basis deep insideI wish for life to fill me now and bring all it can / I am dry for come into contact with and for augmentation / I want bestow materials from my Soul to fill me / So that I can truly enjoy all that I beholdThis work is from time to time challenging as I have educated / But no more than any task requiring Love / This journey enriches me with its determination / And fills me with Life and SoulThis is my gift to myself, my own holy Soul / To have, to hold and to consider / This Heart that bled is now medicinal its wounds / And can be in the black again from what Life bringsLet there never be a arrival to where hurts cramp me up / And fill me with acidity and pain / I am awake now, yes, and can move ahead / To be aware all that Life has assignedOh glory to you, my Sweet Soul, for advent this day / I thank you from the bed of my Heart / We two can sing as one the praises of Love / That take us ahead on this journey all the way through timeNever let it be said that one so deserving / Could not find his or her way Home / All whom will abide by shall see this Light in turn / And know that their journey can be wonI take you with me now, my Sweet Soul / For you are here in my hands / Where I can see you / And together, we can be so bold"Move on," you say to me. "Move on, my love / The Light requirements for us to do so" / And my Heart sings with the potential / So that "Yes" is the fulfil I can render with easeMy Heart is crammed with Love and joy in this flash / Knowing that I am with you, my Soul / My feelings tell me you are there and constantly were / Till that sleep came over me at an earlier time onBy beginning to your touch do I know You / And find my own truth there in your eyes / You show me all the way through Love what my drive can be / I am inspired by this all ears designI am delighted we are here together, in this life / I am delighted that our love is so brawny / For now I can reach you, my Sweet Soul Magnificent / When you call to me from deep inside my HeartI have your fulfil Dear, and know this to be true / That you and I are ceaselessly to be born / In this life or another, we join with each other / And We Soar .
I AM SO Gratifying for simpler times. Stores were blocked on Sundays, TV shows seemed to make more sense, Family members spent ample time with each other, And associates were valued more than things.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic analysis that just welled up confidential my head - why cant we just do a little - ahead of many more are dead?How pious those politicians are, When up there on T.V.
The Art of In receipt of Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your a small amount journalism fingers to use in an endeavor to refine your craft. What does it exceedingly mean when a big shot who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Review Of Stephen B. Wileys First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND
Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island, reflects tender snapshots and reminiscent overviews of a choice of stages of his life as a child functioning on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his children in Northern Vermont, and his assured stance on life.
Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the doubts I brought you. I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue.
Poems have assorted cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for a number of allegorical language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not automatically know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the enormity of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've a moment ago wrote, all with a another core, focus and style.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would all the time dress in style.If my ears could hear my laptop screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.
Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to effects you've known and done to effects you sought after to do. Growing heals sometimes the devastated dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new data of yourself.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant find an answer time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self helping crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its absolutely bluster and posing, all about arrogance and greed, to confident a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the amount of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives at the back of who see, that nobody you said was true, there is no brain wave now for those, whose digit you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no attention of resignation, no assurance to those left behind, just forward with the ego, fast accelerate from those times, as if nil ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was a further day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an injury to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and close the eyes to your past infamy, but you be supposed to be tried for treason, and confined for blasphemy.
The Power of Ingestion Disorders
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see.
Contract of Death [Now: in SPANISH and English]
Contract of DeathI heard today, the holy man say: "Daniel has warned us long ago, Of the trials and harms we Are now facing, with our foes?"He says the 'Antichrist' was now In Europe crying: 'peace,' and the 'Axis of Evil,' had previously placed Hidden Atomic Russian weaponsUnder our feet, here in the good Ole heart of the United States; 'Palestine's cry for peace,' he adds, Is a burdened Gun for Revelation 3:10;America. A 'Contract for Death,' Is what he called it.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life: Rhymes of the IncaPizarro (Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind be a consequence the blind The dumb be a consequence the fool But the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,' (who could not read or write) Followed human-nature? And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence-: one might say, And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly [Lima, Perú-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge With two sides; one false, One pride-both mixed with lies.
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a barely more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st Countrywide Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start photocopying them.
The Exit Poems [Iron and Fire & No Heroes]
The Exit Poems [And Socrates]Iron and FireIron can be alleviate by fire- grows hard in the cold; and all the gates therein are, as it was, congested again. So, often are those misled? by luxury and pride, who push meekness aside-: thus, exchange their vanity and perfection their virtue? and in the end, they all collided.
Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your counter is "I start writing." Even inscription a bad poem is change for the better than before you for the "right words.
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