• Could you make suggestions for the improvement of this poem?

    Mister Young I got up off the ground without making a sound when I finally found the disaster While unbending my knees caught my hair in the breeze in one hundred degrees melting plaster Watching girls of the world raising dresses unfurled while the questions were hurled so much faster I was writing a play on a sweet summer... show more
    Mister Young I got up off the ground without making a sound when I finally found the disaster While unbending my knees caught my hair in the breeze in one hundred degrees melting plaster Watching girls of the world raising dresses unfurled while the questions were hurled so much faster I was writing a play on a sweet summer day to her own known dismay so I cast her She took talent and poise from her suitcase of toys said the mirror enjoys her reflection Keeping up with the styles weeping under her smiles leaping over the piles of rejection We clacked day after night and came close to a fight hoping she would invite my direction But she took all the fame even blew out my flame she was playing the game of deception
    4 answers · Poetry · 3 years ago
  • Could you make suggestions for improvement in this poem?

    The Wrong Answer Disgusted, she flipped me the feather and said I wasn't worth the whole bird she knew she could always do better she walked away not saying a word What I'd done, was it really that wrong? What'd you do if you were in my place? I wanted to try to get along she wanted never to see my face Would a dozen roses... show more
    The Wrong Answer Disgusted, she flipped me the feather and said I wasn't worth the whole bird she knew she could always do better she walked away not saying a word What I'd done, was it really that wrong? What'd you do if you were in my place? I wanted to try to get along she wanted never to see my face Would a dozen roses make things right? Should I try to explain my own side? I knew I didn't want a big fight She wasn't going to let me slide if only I could realize I needed to... learn to live alone ~
    10 answers · Poetry · 3 years ago
  • Should I edit my poem or is it okay?

    The Singing Sun Ask a wise one what lies behind the smiling round face of the sun Plato would explain how goodness is the reason for all the fun Goodness made visible by light-- comes from knowledge learned in your youth gold sun and goodness illumines the intelligible with truth Listen to young sun and you'll hear how low... show more
    The Singing Sun Ask a wise one what lies behind the smiling round face of the sun Plato would explain how goodness is the reason for all the fun Goodness made visible by light-- comes from knowledge learned in your youth gold sun and goodness illumines the intelligible with truth Listen to young sun and you'll hear how low she sings, out into space cup your ear to her mantra chant a song pulsing in rhythmic bass Pierce the darkness, break the silence Add her song to all your time sensed ~
    6 answers · Poetry · 3 years ago
  • Is there enough here to identify the poet?

    Young William Simple and graceful lyrics rise from times most young boys do despise numinous morality grow from nature in a land of snow A cottage where he hopes to find philosophic songs for the mind educated unstinting growth witnessed by God and Country both Ullswater Lake he stole a boat a peak looked down and stole his... show more
    Young William Simple and graceful lyrics rise from times most young boys do despise numinous morality grow from nature in a land of snow A cottage where he hopes to find philosophic songs for the mind educated unstinting growth witnessed by God and Country both Ullswater Lake he stole a boat a peak looked down and stole his cloak pantheism thought teased his brain spectacular visions on which to train London was not the place to be the Lake District had set him free
    4 answers · Poetry · 3 years ago
  • Is it necessary for a poem to have a varied rhyming pattern?

    Untitled Black silhouettes row to sunset where the orange ball ripples and waves one light kiss of salty nape sweat while one hand slightly misbehaves Often knees begin to get wet from the droplets where the oars lave and brush under a bridge rosette as all the bells ring from their graves Scrape the bottom, drunken keel... show more
    Untitled Black silhouettes row to sunset where the orange ball ripples and waves one light kiss of salty nape sweat while one hand slightly misbehaves Often knees begin to get wet from the droplets where the oars lave and brush under a bridge rosette as all the bells ring from their graves Scrape the bottom, drunken keel debt there's nothing here the water saves row until morning songs forget anoint the forehead kneeling knaves
    3 answers · Poetry · 3 years ago
  • Please forgive me, would you?

    I wanted to thank those who commented on my cannonball poem last week. My delinquency in voting best answer is not a reflection on you. I enjoyed every comment and I had a splash of a time with you for those moments. Your comments I take to heart.~Andy
    I wanted to thank those who commented on my cannonball poem last week. My delinquency in voting best answer is not a reflection on you. I enjoyed every comment and I had a splash of a time with you for those moments. Your comments I take to heart.~Andy
    3 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Poetry: Do you try mind over matter sometimes?

    Of Venice Just a sun-puff across the square, past the wild pigeons of St. Mark's, is a quieter place for us, a short journey; we may embark. We dance in step up stairs and stop atop a bridge where we can talk, as gondolas slip-slather by beneath our feet; below the hawk. Bells resonate, peal demonstrates we all ring-run down the... show more
    Of Venice Just a sun-puff across the square, past the wild pigeons of St. Mark's, is a quieter place for us, a short journey; we may embark. We dance in step up stairs and stop atop a bridge where we can talk, as gondolas slip-slather by beneath our feet; below the hawk. Bells resonate, peal demonstrates we all ring-run down the calle. Eclipse the noise, we find a shop of finesse and delicacy. Artists and craftsmen, hands of skill. Glass beads, quite splendid and unique made before eyes filled with wonder made in the Bright Soul boutique A deep blue forever keepsake I clasp in gold around your neck to honor your beauty and love and show my eternal respect. Can we glide together aboard a gondola that slips through dreams making love tunnel memories? It can't be as hard it seems. ~
    11 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Poetry: A Haiku for You and...?

    Bbbzzzmmm What has come to me and what I have left behind are a shoulder glace ~
    Bbbzzzmmm What has come to me and what I have left behind are a shoulder glace ~
    4 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Poem: There is a time to every purpose, right?

    Plant a Seed Mid-summer, when peaches are ripe and heavy with tasty respite Fruit stands pop up by the side of the road Tended by kids off from school country faces with family rules Shrewd and savvy as car salesmen might bode Thirteen for three dollars, a steal a quarter a piece, still a deal I paid five dollars for a... show more
    Plant a Seed Mid-summer, when peaches are ripe and heavy with tasty respite Fruit stands pop up by the side of the road Tended by kids off from school country faces with family rules Shrewd and savvy as car salesmen might bode Thirteen for three dollars, a steal a quarter a piece, still a deal I paid five dollars for a basket load On checkered cotton table cloth I placed my basket by my troth Guests at my picnic could eat á la mode Fruits from a tree, fruits of labor shared with loved ones who can savor and appreciate happily, seeds sowed
    7 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Poem about, Who can quench my thirst?

    Her Water Can She knows I like, having her read the poems I haven't written yet Picking fruit straight from the seed Toying with time's cause and effect Affection near, before I am Every little thing she does I know she likes her water can and overlapping ripples' love Her basket fills with fragrant buds she hands them... show more
    Her Water Can She knows I like, having her read the poems I haven't written yet Picking fruit straight from the seed Toying with time's cause and effect Affection near, before I am Every little thing she does I know she likes her water can and overlapping ripples' love Her basket fills with fragrant buds she hands them to me one by one We care not the reason because our time allows us to be fun .
    4 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Poem: Have you ever chased rain clouds?

    The Late Twentieth Century Day after day of sun baked, heat of a drought the thermometer's about to burst puffy white clouds float in bright summer blue skies not a drop to quench our building thirst Baby, is it still hot out there on the porch? 'cause I'm burning up real bad inside Maybe we could put some warm breeze in our... show more
    The Late Twentieth Century Day after day of sun baked, heat of a drought the thermometer's about to burst puffy white clouds float in bright summer blue skies not a drop to quench our building thirst Baby, is it still hot out there on the porch? 'cause I'm burning up real bad inside Maybe we could put some warm breeze in our hair I'd do anything to go for a ride We packed a lunch basket and we loaded the car We headed to the hills west of town Before we had driven, not half the way there Huge raindrops had begun to come down We stopped the car off from the highway a bit Got out and danced wildly in the rain People drove by us honking their nosy horns They probably could think us insane. Soon quite soaked to the bone in cool wet release Unspoken and just laughing away We took the long way back home, followed that cloud When its hot now I think of that day
    5 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Is it me or is it...?

    The Moon is Laughing Again I looked at the moon, it looked past my eyes I pulled my black hat down tight I said, “Hey old man I'm looking at you 'back for you later tonight!” The “ Play Pool Here” sign lost a few letters The first P and last L, gone. It was dollar drinks night for certain girls my guess, I could get... show more
    The Moon is Laughing Again I looked at the moon, it looked past my eyes I pulled my black hat down tight I said, “Hey old man I'm looking at you 'back for you later tonight!” The “ Play Pool Here” sign lost a few letters The first P and last L, gone. It was dollar drinks night for certain girls my guess, I could get along Of course I was minding my own business That's my usual story She did the sly-glance, over her shoulder, her bracelets, her perfume inside her wrists, her hair, the locket around her neck. She moved across the room to be nearer her blink, the sway of her heart tatted hips, her shoes, and the shade of her own lips. when I came to later on I told the moon, “Old man, don't look at me.”
    3 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago
  • Does this necessarily make me a scoundrel?

    june bug simple general spontaneity she doesn't carry a script a playful sense of curiosity a diamond above her lip a fashion minded spirit wearing jeans to humor me and my hat two-step across the oak knotted floor beams a music note as her tat we sang with the band and howled at the moon waking with the morning... show more
    june bug simple general spontaneity she doesn't carry a script a playful sense of curiosity a diamond above her lip a fashion minded spirit wearing jeans to humor me and my hat two-step across the oak knotted floor beams a music note as her tat we sang with the band and howled at the moon waking with the morning sun she fixed breakfast then left me around noon our first date was the third one
    9 answers · Poetry · 4 years ago