Category: poetry

Mouth Me, Poetry by Wendy Norman

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Genre: Life, Rhyme

Mouth Me

Poem by Wendy Norman

www.seafarrwide.com

 

If you were a mouth nothing more nothing less

What thoughts and sentiments would you express

Watched closely you can see what it can be

A scarlet vermil tinctured gash swearing profanities

A pink rose bud singing words so pure and sweet

Luscious peach that makes you bow and weep

A yellow stained pot of putrid breath

With singhing puffs from wilted lungs left

Dripping red gloss leaving stains of pain

Pale nude dry rough as sand paper

Devoid of knowledge, love, life or caper

Lizard licking trickery devious intent

A whisker and lipstick so seriously bent

Flowing words of a canaries song

Or laced with ice to make them wrong

Wit and intellectual spiels from thin lines

Passions full lips tantalize and entwine

Toothless gobs of verborrhea

Perfection portrayed in a Model’s leer

Newborns purity precious unique

Virgin angelical a life to seek

Natural lips that outdo rose red

With morning dew of lovers fed

Our mouths tell a story you cannot hide

What is truly you trapped inside

Sentiments and emotions linger there

Constituting beauty

Mouth me I dare

_____

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Rag Doll, Poetry by Linda Ward

Let me be your rag doll.
Drop me where you may.
Place me on your pillow when you leave for the day.

Genre: Rhyme, Relationship

Rag Doll
by Linda Ward

Let me be your rag doll.
Drop me where you may.
Place me on your pillow when you leave for the day.

Tear my shoulder from loving me,
and fix me when you find the time.
Leave me in the toy box,
when you need some peace of mind.

Let me be your comfort,
when the world has beat you down.
Take me for granted,
knowing that I will always be around.

Trim my hair the way you like,
even though it doesn’t grow.
Then undress me late at night
No one will ever know.

Let me be the tattered toy,
you live your secrets through.
Then throw me in the corner,
and swear I never loved you.

But keep me with you forever,
when you’ve thrown all your other toys away.
Cherish ALL the stains that
can never be washed away.

I kn.ow I am just a rag doll!
But, some one has to be!
Sometimes the greatest gift in life.
Is the the one that comes for free

    * * * * *

(Definition of a rag doll,
A limp, ineffectual person, as in You won’t get a decision from her; she’s a rag doll when it comes to making up her mind. This expression transfers the limpness of a soft doll made from scraps of cloth to human behavior

Second def.
v. in American Football, an engagement between a defensive linemen and offensive lineman where the defensive linemen tosses the (typically 320 lb.) offensive lineman away like a rag doll, usually with ensuing similar deleterious actions imparted to the ball carrier. It would be the reciprocal of a pancake, where the offensive lineman drills the defensive lineman backwards into the ground and then lands on top of him.

Urban def:
To be forcefully grabbed and shaken with such ferocity that the recipient resembles a ragdoll

Literal def:
n.
A stuffed cloth doll, traditionally made from leftover scraps of material.

    * * * * *

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Smiley Plant, Poetry by Sharky

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so.

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

Genre: Peer Pressure and Curiosity.

Smiley Plant
by Sharky

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so.

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

I’ve heard her be called a blanket.

Is it like a cocoon?

Protecting you while you become stronger?

How do you get out of it

and when do you know you’re ready.

I’ve seen people never drag themselves out of that land.

That tell me of the magical land while you’re on it.

It’s like a ticket to a land of bliss.

But I guess that’s why some people hate it.

Some people hate feeling truly happy.

I’m forgetting little details

I’m forgetting more than I feel like I should.

Why does it not seem important to remember that person’s name?

The pain in my heart

The emptiness that feels like it’s crawling, tearing, coming out of me

Ripping me apart.

It feels less brutal like this.

Hey, you’re acting a little weird.

You’ve got a smile I have witnessed in a while now.

Can I try some of that smiley stuff?

Does she make you feel like you’re being whisked away?

Does she feel like it’s protecting you from the past and present.

Do you feel like it’s torturing your future?

Cracking the whips at all of your plans

Making you alter the course of your steps.

Do you ever regret taking that first little blow

or do you regret the actions following it?

Hey Mary Jane, you know you’ve ruined my life?

Taking that first little puff, taking that first blow

Altered all my future sayings.

Hey you, you’re acting a little weird.

You know you’ve got Mary Jane at the palm of your hands?

Controlling you so

But You’ve got a certain smile that I haven’t witnessed in awhile.

Mind you if I try your smiley plant?

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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RAGING BATTLES, Poetry by Saloni Verma

A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.

Genre: Rhyme, Romance, Love

RAGING BATTLES
by Saloni Verma

A young girl walks bare feet,
Amongst the gunpowder and debris,
She looks at the bloody bodies, now covered,
She mourns deeply for her beloved.

The world was such an empty place before,
Then came her prince-on-the-white-horse to the fore,
They shared a bond that could last forevermore
The world wasn’t so empty anymore.

He was a soldier of the state,
Serving the country was his fate,
He loved his girl and his nation,
He was his country’s true citizen.

They walked the lush gardens hand-in-hand,
They scoured for shells in the golden sand,
They ran gleefully in the rain,
They were not aware of the upcoming pain.

One day, he got called for his duty,
He was called to serve at the front;
They were taught to show no pity,
The enemy had to face the brunt.

The girl was left alone to ponder,
The state of her lover she often wondered;
She passed her days lying in wait,
She couldn’t leave everything in the hands of fate.

She heard the radio day and night,
Heard the horrific results of the fight;
They often recounted the names of the dead,
With worry did her forehead always sweat.

He called one day, “How are you, my love?”
“Lying in your wait”, she only sobbed.
He told her of his friends’ death,
She only said that she was sitting with awaited breath.

He recounted the booms of the guns, the missiles, the bodies,
He told her how they had to live as a quarry;
He said he was proud to fight,
He said he was content he was right.
Though the barrels made him shiver,
He had always the strength-filled quiver.

She longed to see him day & night,
She heard from them one twilight,
He had been martyred by the enemy’s cannon,
“He was our bravest soldier”, said the Captain.

Her heart burst with paramount grief,
Battles raged in her heart as on the streets;
“How ironical”, she thought grimly of her loss,
That it should come at a time after their country had won.

She walked then between the gunpowder and debris,
She now only felt the thorns of the roses, on her feet;
Come and see the blood in the streets, her heart cried
Come and see the blood in the streets!
Come and see the
blood in the streets!!

    * * * * *

Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
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His Red Rattle, Poetry by Chris Biscuiti

He tries so hard to grab his red rattle
Staring intently as his hands reach out
One day soon he will win this next battle
Previous victories leave me no doubt

Genre: Rhyme, Family, People

His Red Rattle
by Chris Biscuiti

He tries so hard to grab his red rattle
Staring intently as his hands reach out
One day soon he will win this next battle
Previous victories leave me no doubt

He might not be able to smash his cake
But he’ll definitely love the flavor
With all he’s accomplished make no mistake
It’s been a year we will truly savor

He’ll have birthdays where he blows out candles
and unwraps all of his shiny new toys
One of these years he’ll easily handle
all the goodies given to birthday boys

This year we get the best gift there can be:
Six months without spasms and seizure free

    * * * * * *

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Poetry by Derek Ray

Do you embrace the place
where the trees grow untamed?

Genre: Inspirational

Poetry
by Derek Ray

Do you embrace the place
where the trees grow untamed?

They seem to know
what we want to hide;
the simple oneness that exists
between you and I.

    * * * * * *

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Disappeared, Poetry by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

Genre: Dark, Horror

Disappeared
by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

He went from smiles in the morning
To tears and anger in the night
One moment he felt as if he was soaring
Then his own heart he would fight

Full of light while the sun was out
Clouded with darkness when he saw the moon
Like his emotions were wandering about
Lost and ready to collapse soon

Tonight the moon was full
And the darkness was heavy
He would fight and pull
Until death asked if he was ready

He refused to cry
But the light wouldn’t appear
Made this his last goodbye
And finally he would disappear

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LOVE’S REALITY, Poetry by Jonell Kirby Cash

My Love wrote me a poem:

“I’ve had you in my life…

Five thousand days and more,

You’ve been a loving wife”

Genre: Love, Rhyme, Relationship

LOVE’S REALITY
by Jonell Kirby Cash

My Love wrote me a poem:

“I’ve had you in my life…

Five thousand days and more,

You’ve been a loving wife”

What more can I wish for…

Five thousand days with you;

“You made my life joyful;

The happy times I knew”

***

Those days flew by—I didn’t know—

I’d be alone –I never knew;

Five thousand days –were not enough

“Our time was short…our days too few”

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Baby come home, Poetry by Mike Hill

In bed i wait for darling to come home

Wondering if he is alright or alone

I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes

Wondering if i could make alone another night

My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice

Genre: Love, Rhyme

Baby come home
by Mike Hill

Baby come home

In bed i wait for darling to come home

Wondering if he is alright or alone

I stare at the cling with tears in my eyes

Wondering if i could make alone another night

My darling is still gone and i want to here his voice

Its been a long time since we both made a choice.

He left in the morning and never came home

I waited and watched and stared at the door

Hoping to here his foot steps once more.

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Infatuation, Poetry by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.

Genre: Dark, Horror

Infatuation
by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.
One my way home
from work,
the grocery store,
running errands,
I drive by,
slowly.
I wonder
what the neighbors think
about my constant presence
on this quiet side-street.

This object of my desire,
this house,
is mine.
Mine in an unexplainable,
not of this world,
kind of way.
It’s perched up on a hill,
surrounded by trees,
vacant for years,
slowly succumbing to decay and neglect.
I peek in the windows,
see that a remodeling project
has been left unfinished,
building materials long untouched.
The pull this house has on me
is palpable.
I feel,
wholeheartedly feel,
like I should walk up those steps
and through the front door.
It’s my house.
The house makes me believe
the padlocks on the doors,
the deed in someone’s else’s name,
are irrelevant.
I want to,
I need to,
step foot in that house
feel its energy.

I’ve found out everything
I could possibly research.
Built in 1910,
changed hands 19 times
in 40 years,
owned by a company
in Bakersfield, CA
that has no business
owning a house in these parts,
a company
who hasn’t paid the taxes
on my house
in two years.
I imagine,
writing them,
offering to pay the back taxes,
take the house off their hands.
If only I had the means,
to restore it
to the way it deserves to exist,
I would.

I have asked around,
learned all the local history.
People are afraid
of my house.
The land around it,
encircled by many known
Native American burial mounds.
People wonder
if any other burial mounds
were disrespected
in the building of that home,
wonder if there is some curse,
some bad energy
for what might have been done
to a sacred resting place.
Local urban legends
revolve around this house,
the woods around it.

I am undeterred.
I pace the woods behind my house,
pondering a way
I could get inside.
I feel uneasy
the closer I get
to my house.
Maybe it’s that I’m a rule-follower,
I know, from a legal standpoint,
I’m trespassing.
Surely the uneasy feeling
couldn’t be that something is wrong,
off about the property.
I don’t understand
how something so right
could be out of my grasp.
I can’t accept that.
The house
pulls me in.
I don’t know how,
but I can make this happen.
It will be mine.

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