Poetry Blogs (poets)

Come close if you must, 

to my heart of rust. 

Taste my sorrows

of ash and honey,

beneath the illusion 

of love and money. 

After the show, 

your life’s a mess, 

you’ll fall in line 

with the rest.

. . .

It’s not too late, 

to change your fate.

Turn away from a life 

of heartbreak.

What you seek 

is found within,

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In the shadow of sleeping Kings, 

soldiers, and poets, 

comes another battlefield day,

man against man, invisible wars,

hell’s fury unleashed among trees. 

Yet, upon the rocky shore,

angels dance and sing,

reminding us there is something more

than misery.

Beauty glints among broken things. 

Hope is on the horizon. 

So on these solemn days, 

let us find something...

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Ask me if I had enough.

2020 is or was a bluff 

for the destruction of what I thought I had

building all the way up.

if the present isn’t linear 

then why can’t i stop looking up?

if the past does not exist

why does it always creep up?

I, once a Quantanium sprayed ora

that now seems to only have collected dust.

So please, I beg you.

Ask me if I had enough.

...

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A bow to The Poetry King,
who thinks he doesn't 
mean a thing 
in the grand scheme.

Wears his heart 
on stained sleeve,
makes paupers feel
like royalty.

Waxes poetic about 
life, love, and history
that would otherwise remain 
unsolved mysteries.

More than just a dream,
The Poetry King
lives eternally,
in you and me. 

https://youtu.be/0FT3SmZ_zx0

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A magenta sky 
greets my morning sigh.

Another majestic day, 
lost in the minutia of life.

Shoulda, coulda,woulda,
paralyzing dream sabers. 

Distractions abound.

Download another book,
refresh the poet's page.

Escape, behind a waterfall
of tears.

Long nights,
paved years. 

Fandango memories
sustain me. 

Resilience 
prevails.

Dry your eyes,
face your fears.

Wr...

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The Poetic Bond X - calls for submissions - up to four poems on any subject, in any form, and of any length (120 lines in print + weblink).  

So far 623 poems from 223 poets have been published in The Poetic Bond Series.  The Poets of The Poetic Bond come from all over the globe, from the US to Malaysia, the UK to the Lebanon, with ages ranging from 14 to 86, exploring themes of love, life, age...

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Cheapskate

So home from work another day over

switching on my laptop

First stop, WOL... It looks like a hostile take-over

Every comment on the right

my name is there to see

I spent a while commenting,

‘Poemagraphic’... that is me

I read a lot of other’s poems

some are rather good

so I leave a comment,

Cos. I think I should

If you find I’ve wr...

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All the words to say
The sad ones
The lonely ones
The happy, grateful ones
The mad ones
The ones that circulate through you 
But never leave your lips
They rage out onto paper 
For all to read
But the ones closest to you
Will never see
These words escape you effortlessly 
Words poured out late at night
Words splayed out for others in the light of day
Words that others will relate
Wo...

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I snuggle up to your virtual feet, 

raring to read

your magical poetry,

that makes me purr, 

like a cat in heat. 

There is no need to wine or dine me.

Just string a poetic line,

I’ll be yours until the end of time. 

###

https://youtu.be/0KSOMA3QBU0

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Poetry is my 
drug of choice,

calming rain, 
rays of sunshine. 

an antidote 
to suffering,

waltzing words
on lonely nights,

my lost lover 
whispering
in my ear,

release, 
of fear,

wind beneath
birds in flight,

illuminating 
light,

immortality...

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You think you can 
break my heart
without breaking 
your own?

We are one. 

Your tears 
are my tears.
My tears stream 
down your face.

Interwined energy,
we try to escape,
but it keeps pulling us back 
to this silent space.

You turn away,
nothing to say,
rue the day.

I laugh through the tears, 
because I know we will be 
bound again for years, 

lifetimes...

Our des...

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It was 1990 when we met,

before we were who we were.

The nineties were running through sprinklers

in summer,

playing whiffle ball in the yard,

popsicles,

make-believe games, stick horses,

and dances to Green Day.

The 2000s were much the same,

with crushes, dear diaries,

womanhood, and makeup

sprinkled about like the dandelion seeds

we used to blow into...

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Standing your turf
wielding a giant pen.

Power serving words,
determined to win. 

Into the net,
foot-faulted
out of bounds,
disqualified.

Will you be the 
pinnacle of calm
or pull a McEnroe? 

Steady your pace
or steamroll every 
opponent you face?

Time tames 
the temper
as many 
professionals
know. 

Love,
match point,
grow. 
 

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Forever ago may seem 
like 20 years of gray,
but I live forever every day.

There is no escape.

It's not the passion I miss,
I keep that memory sealed 
in a concrete kiss.

It's the lyrical 
soul connection
that went on months

before our egos
got in the way. 

In the forever between
tears and heartbreak, 

we managed 
to find ourselves 

and our destiny, here 
on this pag...

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The razor thin space between 
stimuli and response 
is decision. 

I decided to put a  
romcom relationship
where love never ends
and be, just friends. 

It was a defining decision.

He decided that without 
certain stimuli, there would be 
no response, just an end.

Tempting as it is to give in
to conditioned responses,
I'm riding the razor's edge
into a new frontier...

A pla...

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There's many things behind poetry that is still a mystery today. Why does it make us feel a certain way when certain words are placed together? Is it that it's relatable? Nostalgic? Reassuring? I know many people that don't enjoy poetry and many that do. Why is that? Are those that dislike it close-minded? Does it show they haven't been through what the poem is implying, therefore they can't relat...

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https://youtu.be/ZYTq97CreoQ

To all you writers and poets out there.

Thank you for your words of courage, 

words of truth,

words of encouragement

and nourishment.

Thank you for your solidarity,

for lifting us up.

Thank you for breaking ground,

cutting the edge,

standing on that soapbox 

with daring and drive,

having the nerve to shout out

what many ...

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To discern

                our place

To commune

To see

                beyond our close shadow of death

To focus

                my poet mind

I need direction

                a qibla

Or some beads to tell

                to take refuge from my life:

A candle flame

Only the candle

Flame

Flickering.

A journey into quietude

                begins

Int...

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Time heals 

but I put my time 

in an ice cube 

and now global warming 

struck and the feelings 

have been let loose

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By Alem Hailu

The poem below decrying war was written by Lithuanian poet Salomeja Neris when her country was invaded by Nazi Germany. By way of showing how it is possible to explicate a narrative poem and invite readers reread the poem and grasp the meaning I will explicate her poem Spring as follows.

Spring

I Spring

Once again will lilac sing,

And brooks will babble, brooks, w...

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Captivate

Your eyes captivate my whole being 
How can something so simple be so beautiful 
Beautiful like the bluest waters in the Pacific Ocean 

Your eyes distract me from the horrendous occurrences in our society 

Beautiful can't even describe your being
Because beautiful is what you are 
And what you always will be

You captivate me 

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We're always looking,

Searching, reaching

For the next thing,

Person, place

That maybe,

We miss the things 

That really matter

Only to find

At the end 

Of our lives 

That we've never 

Really lived.

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We are human 
And poets 
Humans make mistakes 
Poets own their faux pas
Endearingly on paper
Making us a uniquely
Fucked up bunch of individuals 

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The army and fucking

Folks just need to know

The army will get you shot

Why the confusion?

Commercials don’t impress me

guns are loud, and blood is depressing

héros are human

bullets are real 

Life is a deep breath you don’t wanna lose

young men with no options 

thanks for your death

I can buy contraception

from a man from a country who shot you

I s...

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Read Me!!

Read me!

I’m different from all the rest 

these words will change you

stay with me

important info is to follow

the world is on fire

the mountains are moving

Susie has a gun

buy this, sell now!!

stay with me 

This is an interesting group of letters

people like you.

and me.

heartbreak and iTunes

Facebook and menopause

things to grab the ...

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The Bench

I sat on a bench for an hour

ugly dogs and sad people 

grey men with bad backs 

carrying shit and ancient thoughts 

I wonder about a blonde lady

was she the one who gave blowjobs and never made you call her

I wonder how long he will take to realize he’s gay

or hates his father

or both

how much of that college degree do you really use?

do you feel pre...

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I open as Sylvia Plath

Awake, Askew

Cock my eye

Morning Dew

By breakfast I am Ginsberg

My cereal howls

Sex and Jazz

Trashcans rust and curl

I leave the house as Wordsworth

And wonder lonely through a crowd

Arrive at the track as Bukowski

Gamble on the lunchtime horses

Smoking a cigarette

While outside

A sparrow sings

As the day wears on

I am Cummings

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Let Not The Ink Run Dry

     I share because I care

And dare to say words

That some find ill at ease,

     But one thing

I’ve found within

The realms of poetry,

We’re all as daring as each,

We all open our minds our

Hearts our soul and speak,

     And yes,

I see we’re all hankering

For change,

     I see many

Who care just as much

As me, and i...

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Last Sunday I was entertained by an article in the Sunday Express written by its resident poet Martin

Newell under the above title and taking up the remarks by Jeremy Paxman about modern poetry.

Mr Newell wasn't taking any prisoners. I quote:

"As a working poet for almost a quarter of a century, if this matter ever goes to the barricades, I will be

with Paxman.  The problem is that poe...

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Graffiti

the brooding

malcontent

with paper cut

heart

stares at a wall

of graffiti

and thinks

I could do that

so he picks up

a spray can

unleashes

his feelings

in dribbling

white letters

fifteen feet high

his blood

becomes molten

his rage is

a torrent

of years

without voice

a scream

to be heard

...

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As the last drips of rum

slip from glass to lips

I feel the heartache

of pirates and poets.

The anchor is raised on a ship

setting sail for foreign shores,

whilst my glass is raised

and tipped once more.

An empty glass,

an empty bottle;

this is the heartache

of pirates and poets -

to feel the ebb and flow,

to be the empty vessel

on a...

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Nothing happens, I have no answers

Only the great sadness seems to assist me

Faced with despair, people are losing their identity

The word violence plays its language

Everything is corrupted

Everything looks bad, aging

In the thunder of the night I discover that my brother is my enemy

The only thing real is this sad reality

©Noris Roberts

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Im off to London soon for the long journey to read some poems at the Camden ey. Its a RRRants run event. Starts about 7.30pm Im struggling with health BUT still keeping it together. Not sure if I will have footage of this one, we'll see. Heres some from January 2011.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fy6dQhBpmYg

To find out more visit either www.thepoetjohn.com (for more about my writing) ...

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  Accidental Afternoon of Poetry

19/6/10

1:00 - 3:30

£1 entry

50p NUS

YARD theatre

41 old birley street

hulme

manchester

A special kind of open mic with a twist

After accidentally keeping a booking for the YARD theatre in Hulme for the 19th of June i thought i might as well use it for some good.

This event called "Accidental Af...

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Anyone in the Greenwich, Blackheath, Lewisham or surrounding area wanting to form / join a poetry and mixed media performance group please contact me either here through Write Out Loud or via my website http://www.wytchewoode.co.uk

Thanks.

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