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Jan. 8th, 2010 @ 02:03 pm (no subject)
( piles of poems, since i didn't want to flood you guys by posting them individually )
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[info]onlyonetree, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 8th, 2010 @ 12:41 am Normal ©
There is no such thing as normal
and I want it to be that way.
Not that I have anything to say in the matter
but ‘Yeah!’.

Texas isn’t normal
nor is Washington, D.C.
I don’t’ think in Normal Illinois
there’s an ordinary thing.

When eco-friendly energy takes hold
I hope there will be a ton of turbines in Oklahoma.

And I hope that looking down from a mount
in Arizona or Televive
there will be a glistening.
Roof tops beckoning the viewer
to cleaner cooler dwellings below.

I hope that all along the Mississippi
there will be loaded tributaries
that generate the heat and cool
and the refrigeration for food
that will keep bodies and souls mingling
for lives long.

Normal is not our country.
Normal is not the world.

Normal is not the purpose
of any boy or girl.
It is merely a reference point
into which we all can tip a toe
and let ourselves there by know
we are not completely alone.
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[info]niquela, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 8th, 2010 @ 02:37 pm new member
my poems can be found at www.poetry.com/user/chad-m.-zaputil/34140279/

tell me what you think cause I'm new to posting my stuff on the net.
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[info]pumpkin_man, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 7th, 2010 @ 12:55 pm Fall, Double
Fourth eye open.
Third already blind.
Seventh try.
Sixth sense inside.
Thirteenth reason,
And the twelfth reminder.
( Read more )
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[info]flyinhipooffate, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 7th, 2010 @ 09:29 am Miracle Girl
Current Mood: grateful

still recovering.. on a whim "Miracle Girl"
I'm still recovering from the hit to the head.. my right parietal / temporal area is so very tender. .. on top of it all I picked up a nasty cold something I've been fortunate to avoid for nearly a year and a half.. good thing it is J-term!  So as I sit here in bed, on a whim I thought I'd randomly select a picture from my photobucket album and write a poem... it happened to be a pic of my little darlin' playing guitar, so here goes! :)



Miracle Babe... Miracle Girl

In my mid-twenties we bowed and prayed
amidst infertility we were afraid
Oh dear Lord, please hear our prayer
touch are hearts with love and care
send us along a child within
fuel our love, our hope, our grin

The Lord soon heard, a miracle formed
our souls were bright, our hearts were warmed
along came a delightful baby girl
with abundant blonde hair and just one little curl
We cuddled, we hugged, we laughed, we played
we taught, we sang, we worshipped, we prayed

And here today over 19 years later
amidst my hopes.. she is far greater
in kindness, in wit, in smarts, in love
I bow in thanks to dear Lord above
She frequently calls, just to say "love you"
and we so often share, in what we do

Yes the delight of a child shines forever on
in my hope, my heart, my love, my song
and just turn around, and here she's grown
and it won't be long, till she's on her own
yet the bond in love, is for always there
in joy, in love, in hope, in care
As I sit in bed and a tear fills the eye
in awe of the miracle blessed from the sky



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[info]journalfriend, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 6th, 2010 @ 04:07 pm Not my normal writing style, but that's OK.
This is a particularly difficult time for you.
It feels as if your worst fears are becoming a reality
and you can’t or won’t stop it because you also feel
how inevitable it all is.

As if you are twenty thousand years old
but don’t know it yet.
And while going through the motions
it will eventually dawn on you.
That you are immortal, and none of this is new
or exceptionally tragic.
Life will go on.
But that seems to be the problem.

Life isn’t empty, but it’s also not guaranteed.
And it won’t make you wiser or stronger or more content
to accept this truth and live by its word.
It just makes you cautious,
and maybe a little more lonely.

And when you’ve finally given yourself
to someone, finally pried open your ribs to make room
for him – you will regret it.
Not because the pain of a breaking heart is so much
that you couldn’t bare to undergo it once more,
but because you probably won’t love anyone
like that ever again.
Not naturally at least.
You will argue and bargain with yourself
on almost a daily basis.
Convincing the more skeptical and reminiscent you
that this is the best it’s going to get.
That this has to be good enough.

And despite all of this, you will try.
You will fail, and try, and fail again.
Until the blood has been sucked
from your head and you are pale with your tail
between your legs and hardly a heart
at all.
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[info]orange, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 6th, 2010 @ 07:23 pm broken
all broken hearts and broken skin
eventually need some medicine
eyes dull and brain coughing up
images of pain
nerves taut and ears sharpened
to the point of no return
now only the path
leading towards madness
is the easiest road to take

your hands could mold love into perfection,
or break every
single
thing.
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[info]eviltweeter, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 5th, 2010 @ 08:40 pm (no subject)

*I always love feedback/critiques/suggestions. Thanks for readings

Flower Heads and Grain

We were conceived
as vulnerable spindles

w/ ballet eyes

made of metal & glass.

In a palm or on a femur,
sleep is a pulley.

We revise:

Rest
is not gained.

We hit the pummel horse
like street drummers.

Tribal rhymes.

In the kitchen sun,
apples melting in a pot,
silver whisk
& crank.

In a cabin
w/ Henry, pen
& lantern.

We leave behind
ink fingerprints

smudgeclouds on the
tabletops.

We are the undeniable

walking through
phonetic arches while

Whitman continues
to heal Newark.
We prove & define.

______________
http://thebroadset.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/Broadset
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[info]roman_spring, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 5th, 2010 @ 12:38 pm moment to myself.
I watch my love melt into the cold air
of the night, I sit upon the frozen ground.
My attention turns to the glare
of the moon and I wonder.
I wonder if those are stars or satellites.
Will I ever know what's real or fake?
Only when I can touch and feel
the realness it portrays. I now lay back and imagine.
To be a wise chief on this land,
my pipe I have carved with my story-filled hands,
I casually taste the sweetest smoke
and look to the same sky,
and in that moment, I know, that this is all real.
That this is all beauty, and all mine.
But that is only the past.
Ashes fall onto the creases of my pants,
and I understand, that nothing beautiful
has the strength to stand up for itself and last.
So I finish, my love returns and repairs me.
she runs her fingers through my hair
and kisses me goodnight.
She warms me more than the sunshine.
She helps me dream of satellites
floating, forgotten in the atmosphere.
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[info]poet_for_peace, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 5th, 2010 @ 01:45 am wet feet
hold my hand dear i'm
getting wet feet and
i know it has been
awhile, quite awhile
but you make me want to
feel the way i used to
feel all over again.
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[info]warmbodies, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 4th, 2010 @ 04:45 pm (no subject)
bright white light II-
there's a pain i can't fight...
i'm forever, dressed in night...
night is all that's real...
it knows just how to make you feel...

follow me to the land of forgotten dreams...
deep inside the mind, there's diamonds in the streams...
a rich land...
hidden under the sand...
skeletons tell the story...
of risking their lives for this paradise city...
forbidden by the kings...
a beautiful voice sings...
'stay away from my things...'
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[info]anystyll, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 3rd, 2010 @ 10:32 pm please
( poem )
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[info]jimthecat, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 3rd, 2010 @ 10:15 pm Joy is...
Closing the door on smiling faces
Having time to waste
Realizing that somebody loves you
Saying a prayer when you need help
Saying a prayer ONLY when you need help
Realizing that you will never love her the way she loves you
Hoping she forgives you
Falling asleep to familiar voices
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[info]rogue_poet153, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 3rd, 2010 @ 04:02 pm (no subject)
evil flowers-
a billion broken hearts and they still stand tall...
broken hearts, dreaming of them still...
but the flowers have no heart...

there's a rain of blood...
there's things you don't know...

mother, she never spoke a bad word about anyone...
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[info]anystyll, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 09:25 pm The Bench Warmer
The Bench Warmer

There was an old woman
Sitting on a bench
In early Years she might
Have been called a wench.
Simple and plain
Of no social gain,
She sat on a bench next to me.

And as I looked over
her strong layered shoulder
I saw the lines of her face
And started to wonder of the
Stories and hunger
Seen in her days gone by.

And we sat in our silence
Strangers in our experience
Sharing a bench on a cold winters day.

Then she let out a sigh
And with a tear in her eye
She turned to me and smiled
And thank me for my time,
Got up and slowly walked away.

Ada Burch 12/31/09
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[info]pinktank1, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 09:24 pm The Wonder of it All
The Wonder of It All

As I lay with you and sleep
Had taken you over,
I watched the moonlight
Cradle the Curves of your face
I saw the the light dance across
Your body, the beauty of your form
Catching me by surprise
And all I could say
Was Thanks God for That Day
That light and That moment
With you.

Ada Burch 12/31/09



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[info]pinktank1, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 09:38 pm Insanity

4. Insanity

Insanity
There are no words for it
It is something
You feel.
You are.
You do.
So what is left?
What is it?
How can you feel,
when insanity agitates you?

Insanity.
Why do you wrap yourself in it?
What is in there for you
but destruction?
You hurt people
when insane.
Why would you want that?

Insanity.
You are evil.

This is a part of my personal challenge.
I wrote this, so I own it
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[info]lillerzz, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 01:41 pm This Is Not a Love Poem
This Is Not a Love Poem


This is not a love poem.

There are no descriptions of bright eyes
or wide smiles or tender looks,
no kisses and no caresses and no hand-holding,
not one declaration of love forevermore.
See, I'm not the kind of girl
who goes after what's easy,
and not the kind of poet who does happy endings
So this is something different

( The rest at my journal )
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[info]jazzonia, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 01:36 pm Have Ear, Will Listen!
Current Location: center of the universe
Current Mood: aroused
Current Music: song of songs, sounds of silence & harmony of spheres
I AM-USE

Low sounds rushing slowing
sounds of mowing, consistent
grumbling, a rumbling in the gut
a murmuring sound, even growling

Faint whispers, chatter, laughter,
talking, faint clattering,
teeth and tongues engaged

clicking and popping sounds,
a bit of hiss, a crackle, static
sounds of paper being crumpled,
noise and feedback in a loop,
whistling of different kinds

all to suit the mood or occasion
various activities ongoing, proceeding
more enjoyable activities, with results
conducting a ceremony, composing a ritual
passionate prayers, recitation of verses

more than that! none of that! silence itself.
Quiet activity, the breathing, the heartbeat
the soft and the harsh, all movements instrumental
a band marching in time with a meter, a rhythm

the instruments follow procession with feet
the circle strung through and drawn taught
and vibration pervades, permeating all

piercing sounds, shrieks, cries, clearing throats
coughing, singing, yodelling, operas and jingles
through the matter affected, reverberates crystal
a passion controlled in the loving muse, practice

forms spun with spiritualized-matter
eternally-infinite gesticulation coordinates
waves full of particle, blessing direction
cursed only contraries, antithetical hypocracy

conspiratorial dictatorships, clogging tubes
plugging, damning, draining, then badly
need for memory falls back simply, unknown
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[info]acesifda, posting in [info]poems
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Jan. 2nd, 2010 @ 01:08 am I Wanna Talk 2 U - Recording
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[info]laureate989, posting in [info]poems
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