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things i never saw while awake
i saw them in my dreams
words i never heard when walking
i heard them while asleep
if you are afraid of saying it
put it down
i will read of it
Never, never tell a good Poet what to write
Or what to say. The Poet always tries to be right
To be on the good and the best side of history
I want to build you a library and fill it with all your favorite books
And all the reasons I still love you.
And I will never stop adding to it
That way you can wander the halls of my heart chambers forever.
You know, I thought if I just kept writing about my pain
That the pain would get better
That I would get better
That maybe by sharing my hurt
I wouldn’t hurt anymore
But the truth is that
I will not write you an apology or a eulogy or even a love poem
I will not write you a thank you note or a permission slip or ever an obituary.
I will apologize when I am sorry
And I am not sorry
I have never won a poetry competition. Never gotten second, third, or an honorable mention for that matter.I have never been told I should become a poet, but that’s not why I write.
Why is it we feel the need to write about love?
Myself especially.
Look around you at the world.
Look at the pain.
Look at the suffering.
Look in the places you never thought to look,
EYE write when God moves me.
Consumes heart that soothe hand to
pick up pen and begin to formulate
words fed by emotion.
So many poems these days remind me of a college poetry class presentation. Not the students who genuinely want to be there there. No, the students who took the class for an easy A and are now forced to write to pass the class.
Don't be afraid to ditch a pencil for a pen
Because when you erase,
it still leaves a mark.
So be confident
Write permanently on others' minds and hearts
Let them see your smudges,
and typos,
Dream Sand Yell, fail, break out of that worry filled jailSoar, write galore, soar some morePencil, no!
The words will show me the way.
They do whatever I say.
So I write them all out.
There's no need to shout.
My poetry can save the day.
Poetry is an interesting creature.
The tranquility of the living earth
Has brought me peace inside
But mainly because the things I see
For others it will hide
As I coast along this busy world
I question myself here
I’m scared of losing my ability to write
Like the way essays seem to escape me right before i have an idea
"If you don't write your story,
Someone will write it for you."
I would agree with that.
Yes, I'd say it's true.
But someone will write it anyway,
When you're buried deep in the ground,
"If you don't write your story,
Someone will write it for you."
I would agree with that.
Yes, I'd say it's true.
But someone will write it anyway,
When you're buried deep in the ground,
Words hold power.
They are a release for the brave, the wounded.
Where words are, emotions lie behind it.
So I write.
I know a writer
She seems like quite the fighter
her arms and legs are covered in scars
But her eyes are so full of stars
I know a writer
The LORD's Word
Creates ocean waves
They surf right through my brain
The love of the Father
Is what keeps me brave
If you're interested and bothered
To know my inner flame
Then Salvation
Why not write poetry?
Who says you can't create
New words on a blank page
To make another smile
To bring back memories
To pass a lengthy day
Listen up kids theres a story to be told, dont get caught up in the future 'fore you know it youll be old
its a cold hard truth, that ya cant stop time but pay attention to the present and you just might find
It's something simple that makes me smile.
Something simple that motivates my day.
I wake up bright and early,
Waiting for inspiration to come my way.
I don't have to search far.
The sensation was like lying on the bottom of a pool
Weightless yet heavy
A blue blanket wrapping me in eerie silence.
At 12:49 in the morning, I am asking myself why I write. Why do I write songs? Why do I write essays? Why do I write letters to my loved ones?
At 12:52, I am answering;
I am allowed. I am able.
When a poet is born, change is born
Ideas meant to inspire are born
I am a poet through song
I tell my stories, and those of others
I write messages meant to be openly interpreted
Sweet bird, write music.
Listen to your heart.
Listen to
the mellow beats of music.
Listen to
every note as the
pianist plays.
Listen to
the rhythm of guitar strings
When the world is dark,
And the tears stream down my face.
When I can’t breathe,
When the weight of the world rests on my shoulders,
That is WHEN I write.
When the colors fade to grey,
When I write I never ask why.
I never had to think about it.
It always just happened.
But it wasn't until I noticed
That I write to survive,
I write because words can save lives.
It’s not supposed to be frustrating
Was it not meant to be liberating?
Who made the rules?
Who abides by them?
We did and we do
We can forget them too
Be grammar rebels
Art lovers
A cloud so unreliableto provide such decent shadethough many stop to watch themthey're perfect, they're God made..They're made of wispy waterso white up in the skycollections of lovely ice
The air currents swirled
like water in the ocean,
swift and calming.
.
The air reminded me of fall,
though life blossomed like spring,
new and refreshing.
.
A garden green,
In the 11th grade my English teacher gave me a pen. The pen was smooth and elegant with a digital clock on the end of it. He told me that he saw potential in my writing.
Why is this so difficult?All I want to do is write.That should be the most important thing.Yet I focus on two things;Paper…Or keyboard? Do I want to writeWith a smooth blue gel ink pen,Or do I want to quickly typeWhat I thinkAs it pops in my head?
The quill slides over
and into the inkwell
the battle 'gainst evil begins
then promptly the clash
of the two sided sword
rings louder with the side that wins.
a story, a plotline
To read is to step into an alternate reality
To write is to build one
To act is to live outside of yourself
To dance is sometimes just to have fun
To sing is to let your worries flow
Write for your self,
Write for your family,
Write when you're happy,
Write when you're sad,
Write about what's right,
Write about what's wrong,
No matter for,
No matter when,
There are a lot of things that have been plaguing me.
It is something that I really need insight on, especially when wisdom is abandoning.
It takes no time to write if your saying what you feel
As if what you say represents an official seal
To the way that you see and the emotions you have
For the way that you write is proof of what has
"Why don't you try writing what you feel down?"
Write it in a poem
Write it in a song
Write it in a story
I can do that
Will that help me?
Writing my emotions down
Ok I think
When I was five years old I loved to read
My parents told me stories every night
But by the time I hit six reading wasn't enough
I decided that I wanted to write
...
We as people are canvuses.
We get to write our stories and paint our pictures.
We take care of ourselvs.
If not, we are broken.
Delicate, soft, easily destroyed.
Every story has an ending, deside yours.
As long as I can remember, I have tried to compose love like a chemical formula with me as the main component: mixing different elements of a relationship, always using the wrong variables, never reaching that perfection I was searching for.
I write on my wrists
the lies that were told.
I draw picture of
the love that was untold.
I imagined meanings
that never came true.
I wrote You.
I drew You.
I imagined You..
Each line a little story, a demonstration of truth,
a living proof of action, tied together by their roots.
Grab people and shake them to share their
creative minds oppressed by harsh realities
I fight
I write
I conquer.. with my words
Ain't that something?
I'm mighty fine, alright.
I have a message:
You best be listening...
You know why you're living?
I am from the sun and sea, fire and earth
I am from forbidden love, heat and passion
I am from broken laws and wounded souls
Constant trips and endless highs
I am from falling snow and raging winds
we are full of stories to tell
memories we store and dreams that we sell
soon they fade from view
sadly they dry as the morning dew
ignorant of a dream's worth
or a lesson to which memory gave birth
I’m from the collage of photos above my bed,
And the guitar in the corner.
I’m from piles of books and country music.
As I sit down once again, in front of the old computer with the whirring fan
My fingers begin to hit the black keys, each one a small click
That make an musical orchestra of words
Thoughts swimming everywhere
Running in a labyrinth
What is going on?
Feelings chaotic
All emotions lacking peace
Who am I anymore?
Paper before me
Hand gripping pencil tight
I have a house I call my own,
within a white cerebral sky.
It’s lively and it flows,
but someday it’ll die.
Splattered with pink, red, and white,
People we have to Stand up for what we believe in ..
Dont let anymone stop your shine ..
As African Americans we have to do this for Dr. King for having a Dream
For Malcom X , for keeping the PEACE
If I could take a pen,
And make the world understand,
I would,
Paint a picture of peace,
Clarity among the people.
I would make them all read,
Open their minds and see,
Facing the dedication plaque of The East Coast Memorial in Battery Park,sat a navy spiral bound with a worn post-it note upon the cover.Head slightly tilted, I scoff at the carelessness of some kids.
Invisible Knight
Hefting sightless armor
Decorated in gold talons
Your wrath is unmatched
As your peace is unequaled
Reading develops the mind.
It controls you and changes you.
Reading a book is an adventure, that all should take a ride on.
Reading an inspirational piece is something that makes you grow.
The traffic sounded like the sea, always moving,
never changing.
The sun's rays grew intense, burning the skin,
Danbury is my home, my house, and my hearth.
It is the bustling Main Street and the quiet back roads. It is the big lake full of waterweeds and the seagulls that fight with the geese on the shore.
Soft dreams ignited these ashes settling down
Once doused in a fading hope for their lives away
Beyond from where limbs and lives were bound.
They were lost to the world on knees of final pray
The same thoughts are on repeat every single day.
Should I end it now?
Should I wait for nature to take its course?
It'll be easier?
I'll be committing a sin.
Life isn't supposed to easy.
The sun shines brighter on the other side
Where children can run and play
At the park and by the slide
I am not a writer
I lack the very basic need to be consistent
I am unable to describe things vocal or written
I do not have any stories to tell
I put writing off most of the time till 3 in the morning
I'm having these weird feelings;
For a fellow friend.
I always think about him;
Even when he's out of sight.
When he speaks to me;
It's like music to my ears.
Its come to a point where i dont write poems for myself anymore
But instead i write poems so i can hang onto what we used to be
Im hoping one day you happen to stumble across one and maybe itll take you back
Unfit I was, high school started.
Scared of words, I suffered
Months of hunger, I chose
Not small enough, I continued.
At a time where anorexia played a factor,
Words from others became a fear.
Who would of thought? that with composition, lines and verses
Y’all cast these disperses to pay off my courses
Disperse em, then convert all disbursements
investing, buying, spending them all in the moment..
Words
They are such an everyday thing
A mundane thing
A simple thing
But they are so powerful
Have you considered the power of words
The Bible
The Constitution
Am I the only one to look up at the sky and wonder
What is beyond the stars yonder
Like a sponge I soak up information
About anything that I can find
People are unpredictable.
If you think they are who they say they are, then you're wrong from the start.
You can only know somebody, if you truly know their heart.
But how will you know that if they cover up their scars,
What will be when I am gone?
I think this question, thinking I’ll go on
But for all I know, I could die tomorrow
Then, would my loved ones grieve in sorrow?
These words that boil inside you are strong
By nature, to hold them imprisoned is wrong
Speak raw, speak power, speak truth, speak you,
Your poem, your story, your song.
Do it for heart or do it for fun
A passion if there ever was one,
They see it in my walk.
The rhythm of the words flowing through me like music,
They hear it when I talk.
I am untouchable
Surrounded by the black gates
Unsure of which to open
“Let the people in!”
Cries my heart
Yet I am lost…
Separated and gone
Write my name in the water
When I was a child, my life was so swell
I wish that was the story I could tell
From heartbreak to heartache
I roamed through my life
Holding a pen and a piece of paper to write
Write down my feelings
Emotions
So hard to express;
Feelings
So hard to share;
Thoughts
lost in between
what is and what can be.
Communicate
what is kept inside;
Express
what lies buried deep;
I lived as a child.
I grew with my mother's love
and my father's protection.
I wasn't "right" in the school's
perspective of expression.
I was downgraded by my words
and was labeled without proof.
buried in metaphors,
the allegory of a door
representing the figurative
pathway to the highways
and byways of my brain-
the complexity. as it rains,
i'm brainstorming some more
The passion that leaked was spilled by led,
The words able to form what's been left unsaid.
There are times I wonder how it all began,
Though I'm sure it was because of the age of man.
If you've ever woken up inside a dream, you already know why I write.
If you've ever screamed "feel-words" at the clouds which lie low, you already know why I write
Why I write
My words aren’t just words
That are thrown into a sentence
But you must uncover the mystery
Of what I have written
I write for those who can’t
But want to be heard
A single lasting impression,
The hinting lack of discretion
He poured into each word he never said to me.
I am simply letters from a father,
The aching heart of the waters
I write things out.......
so can express, all of my stress
Just trying to work things out..........
Like a bench press, getting weight off my chest
No need to speak
Anticipation grips the air with unearthly forceAs the opposition stands with ready armsThe goal more than to inflict just harmAn ink laden sword holds more weight: endorse
My pen touches the paper.The ink slowly flows.The world spins idly byAs my story steadily grows.
How do you change a color of a rose?
When its color is already deep red.
Do you paint over its radiant shade?
Hoping that will stay when the right things are said.
Awaken!
A new day has arrived,
And as new scenes arise
To the forefront of my mind,
I run deep with them
Into the wild of my thoughts.
Not thoughts alone, though,
But rather places and things.
What is a poem? Really?
A page--blank without words
Words--bold, yet impossible without letters
Letters--lines, scratches, dots
So small, so miniscule,
My hand, yes it hurts
but my mind hurts more.
Why do I write you ask?
Because I can't go back to how I was before.
I can't afford to be that girl
Who feels the need to end it all.
This is for the child, So young, Who thinks his parents don't care. Who sits up all night wondering, And hoping he'll do them well. This is for the girl, So scared, beaten and abused.
I was first introduced
By a man named Dr. Seuss.
His rhymes helped me in the best of ways,
Especially if it was one of my worst days.
A real inspiration,
Gave me a good foundation.
(poems go here)Why do I right? Why does anyone?
Why do we write what we write?
Why do we mark up the precious white?
I can’t speak for you,but…
I can write for me
I write for peace
Today there is a deafening roar
surrounding me
Its scattered chaotic quality
makes me feel unease
Most days this noise
is my soundtrack
and silence is too much
Today I fear its suffocating
I am from time well spent and moments lost,
Licking the cream from Oreos and
Summer days spent at the park.
Where I'm from we catch salamanders at the river,
Stay up late watching drive in movies
I write because I am an Aquarius
I write because I’m bold.
I write because I can.
I write because I want to debrief.
I write because I love to eat.
I write because I am fabulous.
I write for the world.
Its skies of blue stretching uniqueness across the planet
Revealing its luster and foliage for all the universe to see
My name is Renee, consoled by my thoughts, or so I thought.
I take words and create to poems, the power within them stays a mystery.
I write to express, to heal, to relieve.
A person can write and run to improveThey could write to get better payThey might run to feel accomplishedThis person might run or write to get awayThe creative prefer to write an exscape
Among the city's heavy smog and flashing lightsI move in slow motionparalyzed by its heavinessThe waves of silenceand static talk over meI stand where this world does not satisfy
They wonder what goes on, can't see, even with glasses, thoughts of what I can and can't be, preach to be free from the masses.
Poetry is the soul, written in ink
You might as well ask me
Why do I breath, why do I think?
These words set my thoughts free
They are a state of mind, unleashed
I write for the troubled young boys and girls
With shattered dreams
And broken homes
Those who depend on the streets to raise them
Guns to train them
And Friends to tame them
I write because I can express my self on paper without hurting people.
I write because it helps me realize whats going on at a certain time in my life.
I write because it helps me let out emotion.
I chose to write today
Having been gifted with literacy
Gifted with the words I say
Have power, the authority
To bear truth, God-given knees
Bent in prayer, wholly broken
…and as my pen dances,
across a page, so white and crisp,
she scribbles words,
she laughs,
she cries,
she teaches those who do not know
that in order to understand,
Every thought.
Every dream, every hope, every fear unheard- silently hidden within one's self. A soft, slow grumble tumbling up and courageously out- voiced through lead and chalk, ink and paper.
No longer a thought.
Writing is the calm after the storm
The rant after the fight
The memories after the moment
The shoulder that I cry on
It's an escape from reality
The "Once Upon a Time"s and "the Last Week I"s never really seemed like much
When such a better way existed
To tell a story.
And when I took into account all that I knew about
I was introduced to poetry 7th grade.
I started to understand the concept: releasing.
I write because it is an outlet for my frustration.
Why do I write?It is really simplePoetry is my lightIn this dark world we call existence
Hardships plague me everydayIt's so hard to bearBut when I writeIt all goes away
Waking up, rubbing the crust out of my eyes
to realize, where i reside is a land on its demise
I then reflect on I, surrounded by subsidized housing
and homeless vets, and fiends who get cocaine wasted by the ounces
because I must
because I love it
because I'm clever
because the world needs to hear me.
Because I want the world to hear me.
Yes. No? Maybe. Because.
The world has shut me out.
Told to never speak truths again.
My mind holds back my hearts true nature and shoves it in a corner of doubt.
My poor heart slowly becomes passive like a wild lion whipped into submission.
Poetry found me
when I had just
become a teen.
Before then I
had loved to
write but
that was just
short stories
These words I write
Stress relieved
No rules
No pressure
Just me
Writing what I want
Haikus, limericks and more
Nobody to telling me no
My story is written
Forgetting for a second
Why do I write? I write to make my imagination physical, to emulate the thoughts that occupy my mind, giving them substance and presence on paper.
I Write
I write to feel.
I write to know.
I write because I have somewhere to go.
I write because I have something to say.
I write to make my demons go away.
I write to know that I am alive.
I began writing,
As a child,
Bearing sorrow of mother's absence,
I was damaged, but content and mild.
I fell in love,
With poets and poetry,
I promise to always write,
My own personal decree.
Five butterflies whirr around my head--
playing catch-me-if-you-can with each other's glowing, neon flutter.
I'm elated to see these spectacular creatures in orbit around me,
I write,
and who for, but for you?
I write for the twilights to come,
I write for peace among men, peace in their hearts and souls,
The wild nights, the worldly sights,
It started years ago,
In a time much simpler,
When I was young,
My first exposure.
In first grade, I was,
With a teacher and a class,
When I learned,
My first exposure.
Why am I so inspired?
I'm not tired.
It's almost midnight,
But I got to write.
Words in my head,
Won't let me go to bed.
I'll just let them flow,
Until they get slow.
Why am I so inspired?
I'm not tired.
It's almost midnight,
But I got to write.
Words in my head,
Won't let me go to bed.
I'll just let them flow,
Until they get slow.
I am bound in new white pages,
I am read throughout the ages.
I am old and I am new,
I am false and I am true.
I am past, present, and future,
I am modern and old culture.
I am the hero and the villain,
Because I am weak,
Because I am strong,
I write
To destroy evil,
To create beauty,
I write
Because of peace,
Because of turmoil,
I write
To learn,
To give,
I write
When I was younger, my father left home.
They thought he had a heart made out of gold,
But side by side the Lord and Devil hung
in that chamber of his inner being.
“Don’t spend your heart all in one place, mortal.
Why I write? I write because it’s right and its fundamental value can compensate for what I’m feeling. I write to tell the story of my life, what I’ve done, where I’ve been, what’s my meaning?
My soul is river stone
And fire fed
Dragon eyed and embered
Lurking in mountain’s jeweled gold
Soaring on iron wings
Anger.
Love.
Strength.
Weakness.
Hate.
Fear.
I write for them.
They take over.
They use my pen to escape.
Word
By
Word.
Once they start, they do not stop.
I write to be Ambitious
I write because I'm Notorious and
When I'm feeling Glorious
I write to Educate and
To Lead with my Intelligence
I write because I'm Caring
I write to get through Anxiety
I write because it is MY right.
To put pen to paper, to speak against the night.
The night, so dark, so cold.
It is my right to have my story told.
I write because I am a wright. A playwright,
I sat upon a hill and looked out at the wide expanse before me,
Rich green grass covered the earth beneath me, and an honest
Blue sky stretched out endlessly
People walked, and ran, and laughed, and spoke, and sang
I feel the stress of my life flow out of my mind and onto the page.
With the pen gripped tightly in my fingers, I know that everything is all right.
So why do I write?
I am not a poet, but I write a lot
of poetry.
So why do I write?
I write to show my point of view.
So why do I write?
Sometimes it’s to feel like I have
a small amount of control.
I write poems of anger
Thoughts, frustrations
Joy and fear
As a means of putting out
The words that come and swarm in
My head like bees
So this is my first poem on here.
What is it supposed to be?
Is it supposed to be about me?
Do I show who I am,
As if my clothes are sheer?
Or should I just go grab a beer.
To Hold.
To Feel.
To Write.
To Draw.
To Move.
To Clench.
Mine to Own,
Yours to Hold.
God’s best tool He’s given me.
Hands.
