Cruel world - poetry
Wake up Azra, you must go.
Azra, my hardly girl,
I know Azra it is not fare.
It is you Azra
Oh Mother, must I,
Azra, Azra, my heart aches for you.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible if not you come too close, And then you hit them.You astonishment what happened.
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 mixture of stages of his life as a teenager running on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his children in Northern Vermont, and his categorical stance on life.
Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
Supernatural PoetryHere are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. Perchance a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with consistent subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:1.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish citizens of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss physically to thy knees, for the roar of defiant men will bleed: black blood, because of the vines of Jeremiah.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the full of go streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The mumble of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded after prisons doors-?They gossip about his blonde ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms packed with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only by means of himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her care for NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could exceedingly knowWhat find for culture could she go?Her look after commonly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can bear many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what athletic men requestNever deliberate what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To keep her from these menWho at all times for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and juicy red Through the bars, not in a bed.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were in performance cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And inspection from a distance Was his sidekick, Bodily Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI hunted to fight him too.
Caught in the Arms of ED
YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT WRONGI LIVE LIFE DAY TO DAYHOPING IT WILL GO MY WAYI HAVE MY Contacts AND MY FOOD PLANMY Analyst AND MY THOUGHTSMY Application AND MY EXCITEMENTTHEN Amazing HAPPENS AND I GET CAUGHTCAUGHT IN THE ARMS OF EDTURNING MY EYES AWAYFROM MY FOCUS TO WIN THE FIGHTTHAT I Accepted wisdom WAS GOING TO STAY.HE TELLS ME THAT I AM SELFISHTHAT I Must DOUBT MY EVERY MOVEONE Close I AM HAPPYDO I HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL THIS GOOD?DOUBTING MY Depth AND CONFIDENCEAS ED Continually KNEW I WOULDI AM Behind INCHES About MY WAISTAND MY PANTS ARE Lessening OFFI SEE THE FACE OF ED IN MY HEADAS HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND SCOFFYOU THINK YOU ARE GOING STRONGYOU THINK YOU GOT ME BEATLET ME SEE YOU LOSE EVEN MOREYOU WILL SEE THAT YOU WERE WRONG.
A Assorted Place...
I wish we had met 20 years ago..
Two Poems and an Assay ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']
Two Poems and an Examination ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']WitnessMy face belongs to whoever sees it Everything has a denotation but life Even the bugs strive for existence God saved man, from God Ghosts have lonely sins Her bones are stones Up and down the hill Gardens blossom Spotless skies Dramatists August I can not rest!..
House of the Gnome [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains dimness disappear! Here is where, unmarked spirits dwellWhere harp and recall expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the heap coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where attraction turns into ghouls!..
Become A Poet In Ten Minutes
Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready to write, but unsure where to begin? Want a answer that will overcome even the worst writer's block? Anybody can start inscription poetry today using a few clear-cut techniques.One, two, .
The Power of Drinking Disorders
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's admire the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count his Ghosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch his Stretched-out skies; let's follow The poet to see where he lays.Let's adhere to the poet to his end; To see if he can?whatever He wants to do, do over again?.
A Case of The Fears
Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a being to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from ambiance wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill certainly hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am being paid sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can be livid Fears I want to killI will do, anything it takesTo keep the monsters still.
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and conceitedly you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English]
The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw none. nothing.
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice exclusive my head it makes me think of you every lone day as I fight back tears of dejection and awe if you're okayMy life is empty devoid of you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my down-to-earth hopes seem in vainI achieve how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and count on you not to hateI don't deserve a be with attempt to show you how much I care when you considered necessary me the most I know I abortive to be thereNow your trust in me is gone eternally and I will never have the ability to say I exceedingly hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give just about no matter which in life if I could go back to that day and erase the whole thing I said and did to make your distress go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the deficiency of these words haunt me each and every day..
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru- By the hills of Huancayo Black Wrap was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of baking fruit; Hence, Black Cape fooled The goblins of oldBy using his cape to pull The scorching blonde fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life misused (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
Do you ever stare at the paper, behind you for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop behind you and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or false at first, don't worry.
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