Here is a list of Newest Free Verse Poems written by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
SCARED
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN SCARED.
TO SPEAK YOUR VOICE.
TO TOUCH SOMEONES HEART.
TO OPEN YOUR MIND.
TO GIVE YOUR TIME.
TO HAVE HOPE.
TO SHARE YOUR LOVE.
TO FEEL DESIRE.
TO GO WITH THE MOMENT.
TO ACCEPT THE HAND THAT'S BEING OFFERED.
TO WALK INTO THE EMBRACE OF LOVE.
IF SO BE SCARED TO LET THEM MOMENTS AND THE PERSON GO.
TO SPEAK YOUR VOICE.
TO TOUCH SOMEONES HEART.
TO OPEN YOUR MIND.
TO GIVE YOUR TIME.
TO HAVE HOPE.
TO SHARE YOUR LOVE.
TO FEEL DESIRE.
TO GO WITH THE MOMENT.
TO ACCEPT THE HAND THAT'S BEING OFFERED.
TO WALK INTO THE EMBRACE OF LOVE.
IF SO BE SCARED TO LET THEM MOMENTS AND THE PERSON GO.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
LOVEAWAKE
I NEVER DREAMED OF YOU.
NOT EVEN IN A NIGHTMARE.
I HAVE ERASED YOU FROM MIND.
I SCRUBBED YOUR TOUCH OFF MY BODY.
YOUR HARSH WORDS PIERCED HEART LIKE A SHARP SWORD.
I CAME TO REALIZE THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN, I HAVE TO DIE TO GET THERE.
I DRINK TO GET RID OF THE PAIN OF YOU.
HOPING THE SADNESS AND LOVE FADE AWAY.
PEOPLE SAY THE 1ST DRINK GOES TO THE ELDERS. THE LAST DRINK IS FOR THE ONE WE LOVE.
THE EMPTY BOTTLE IS FOR THE ONE WE WANT TO FORGET.
NOT EVEN IN A NIGHTMARE.
I HAVE ERASED YOU FROM MIND.
I SCRUBBED YOUR TOUCH OFF MY BODY.
YOUR HARSH WORDS PIERCED HEART LIKE A SHARP SWORD.
I CAME TO REALIZE THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN, I HAVE TO DIE TO GET THERE.
I DRINK TO GET RID OF THE PAIN OF YOU.
HOPING THE SADNESS AND LOVE FADE AWAY.
PEOPLE SAY THE 1ST DRINK GOES TO THE ELDERS. THE LAST DRINK IS FOR THE ONE WE LOVE.
THE EMPTY BOTTLE IS FOR THE ONE WE WANT TO FORGET.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
SOMEONE I CAN'T FORGETLIFE
ARE YOU HAPPY ? I'M JUST DEALING.
DEALING WITH WHAT ? LIFE, EMOTIONAL, JUST UNSURE.
LIFE ? WHAT'S GOING ON ? WHY YOU EMOTIONAL ? HOW DO YOU FEEL ? UMM LIKE A ROLLER COASTER UP AND DOWN.
UNSURE ? OF WHAT ? THE PATH I'M TRAVELING ON.
TRY TO CHANGE YOUR PATH ? I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE ANYONE BEHIND.
WHO HOLDS YOUR HAND ON THIS PATH ? NO ONE IM GUIDED BY THE LORD.
DEALING WITH WHAT ? LIFE, EMOTIONAL, JUST UNSURE.
LIFE ? WHAT'S GOING ON ? WHY YOU EMOTIONAL ? HOW DO YOU FEEL ? UMM LIKE A ROLLER COASTER UP AND DOWN.
UNSURE ? OF WHAT ? THE PATH I'M TRAVELING ON.
TRY TO CHANGE YOUR PATH ? I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE ANYONE BEHIND.
WHO HOLDS YOUR HAND ON THIS PATH ? NO ONE IM GUIDED BY THE LORD.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
LIFE, UPS & DOWNSMY FAVORITE
I WANT TO LIVE IN A WORLD, WHERE COMMON SENSE TRUMPS OVER SENSELESS.
FOLLOWING THE LAW TRUMPS CHEATING.
CO-EXISTENCE TRUMPS OVER SURVIVAL INSTINCT.
WHAT IS LIVING WELL, TEACH SO WE CAN ALL LIVE WELL.
RESENTMENT LEADS TO MISERY, SO LEARN TO LIKE OR LOVE EACH OTHER.
IS LIFE BEATING YOU DOWN, GRAB A HAND.
I'M LIVING MY LIFE AS A SHADOW, DO I HAVE TO DISAPPEAR LIKE A SHADOW.
WHAT SHOULD I DO TO MAKE YOU LOOK FOR ME ?
I'M DONE WITH JUST WATCHING YOU, I WILL MAKE YOU MINES.
THE POWER OF LOVE IS TRULY AMAZING.
FOLLOWING THE LAW TRUMPS CHEATING.
CO-EXISTENCE TRUMPS OVER SURVIVAL INSTINCT.
WHAT IS LIVING WELL, TEACH SO WE CAN ALL LIVE WELL.
RESENTMENT LEADS TO MISERY, SO LEARN TO LIKE OR LOVE EACH OTHER.
IS LIFE BEATING YOU DOWN, GRAB A HAND.
I'M LIVING MY LIFE AS A SHADOW, DO I HAVE TO DISAPPEAR LIKE A SHADOW.
WHAT SHOULD I DO TO MAKE YOU LOOK FOR ME ?
I'M DONE WITH JUST WATCHING YOU, I WILL MAKE YOU MINES.
THE POWER OF LOVE IS TRULY AMAZING.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
JUST RANDOM THOUGHT AS WE MOVE THRU LIFE. SOME I HAVE HEARD AND PUT THEM IN MY OWN WORDS.
online today!Loneliness Up For Sale
Life has loneliness up for sale
All washed up on the shores
Like bones lying on the shale
Bleached by a sun that soars
A discarded shell of a snail
Restless and consuming wars
Life has loneliness up for sale
A midnight walk to nowhere
Dreams of scented pines inhale
Where spirits dance and dare
And silence and sighs exhale
Where the tired soul is left bare
Life has loneliness up for sale
Nothing left to give away for free
More than beauty of our youth prevail
Countless days with no great fee
Followed by those tears that trail
The memories that we let go free
All washed up on the shores
Like bones lying on the shale
Bleached by a sun that soars
A discarded shell of a snail
Restless and consuming wars
Life has loneliness up for sale
A midnight walk to nowhere
Dreams of scented pines inhale
Where spirits dance and dare
And silence and sighs exhale
Where the tired soul is left bare
Life has loneliness up for sale
Nothing left to give away for free
More than beauty of our youth prevail
Countless days with no great fee
Followed by those tears that trail
The memories that we let go free
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
Poetry is more about feelings than words that convey them as much as nostalgia works in our inner minds,
During a Ceasefire
Should I drop you this note
I drew up waiting for a bowl of gumbo?
I was dining alone
cause naturally, again, you're a no-show.
You thought I didn't know
about dirty dancing in the shadows,
doing your two stepping two-timing tango
at the by-the-hour worn seedy bungalow,
with your three undercover maestros—
Larry, Curly, and Moe!?
Welcome to Dante's Inferno!
Yet I do recall the good days of old.
You are playing the blues on the bongos.
Does it make sense? Maybe so,
since locked in the hollows
sits a dusty jazz piano.
Lockjaw deny your solos
blowing the piccolo
but one still can always grow
popping pimple faced souls
until the end of tomorrow.
Sorry to lash out, I'm just feeling my sorrow.
I‘m losing you, my Piedmont pillow.
Anyway, do you recall it started as a joke
writing "Ode to the Fallen Angel, Billie Joe”
starring in the Twilight Zone.
The ode unfolds
before fleeing on rails like a hobo
down Mt. Kilimanjaro,
it starts to snow.
During which she had an episode
losing her halo
slipping from her dome
when dipping her bent toe
into the dark cosmos
when suddenly she sinks into a forbidden doze.
Like banging one's funny bone,
It provokes an overgrown
Purple one eyed one horn fire breathing hippo
slurping down a school of translucent minnows.
Flops herself onto a rising manifesting moonstone
after the beast's deep bellow,
She escapes by the skin of her nose
sneaking out in stealth mode,
beneath a timely magic downy robe
but still, her loss was a dire load.
Yet, the halo plunged like an oscillating gizmo.
Topping light (What did Einstein smoke?),
when heading for ground zero.
Somehow catching in slow-mo
a swooping sparrow
snatching it up by coming in low
but dropping it like a dirty hoe
on seeing a dancing scarecrow
doing the mambo
with a Hispanic hallucinating gringo.
Never scare off the black feather fellows—
each of them having a mind of their own.
Scavengers are at home
grilling up some squirming lizard toads
on the torched summer back roads,
down like US 95 thru Moscow
of course, not in Russia but Idaho.
Yet the halo continued to roll,
for years through, God only knows
till it finally landed in Chicago
on the Antiques Roadshow.
Shown off by an ancient crone
or was it the halo-less Billie Joe,
who is in incognito
sadly, needing some extra dough,
who lived by her lone,
making a cameo?
After snorting too much ginkgo
she began drooling over its host,
a fat sweaty Longfellow,
who smelled like pork roast.
By sampling his ear lobe
on buttered milk toast
she outdid her hero
the flaming Vincent Van Gogh!
Anyway, back to the poor bloke,
During a ceasefire and seeing nothing that doesn't show.
Was bemoaning a logjam love flow
When caught dangling at the end of his rope
swinging low to the tune of Desperado
oozing in and out from solid-state radio.
Horribly, giving up the ghost,
wearing a black necktie yoke
(An unforgiving dress code).
starting with Edison's first hello,
a silent telephone
freshly landmines, another crushed mofo.
I drew up waiting for a bowl of gumbo?
I was dining alone
cause naturally, again, you're a no-show.
You thought I didn't know
about dirty dancing in the shadows,
doing your two stepping two-timing tango
at the by-the-hour worn seedy bungalow,
with your three undercover maestros—
Larry, Curly, and Moe!?
Welcome to Dante's Inferno!
Yet I do recall the good days of old.
You are playing the blues on the bongos.
Does it make sense? Maybe so,
since locked in the hollows
sits a dusty jazz piano.
Lockjaw deny your solos
blowing the piccolo
but one still can always grow
popping pimple faced souls
until the end of tomorrow.
Sorry to lash out, I'm just feeling my sorrow.
I‘m losing you, my Piedmont pillow.
Anyway, do you recall it started as a joke
writing "Ode to the Fallen Angel, Billie Joe”
starring in the Twilight Zone.
The ode unfolds
before fleeing on rails like a hobo
down Mt. Kilimanjaro,
it starts to snow.
During which she had an episode
losing her halo
slipping from her dome
when dipping her bent toe
into the dark cosmos
when suddenly she sinks into a forbidden doze.
Like banging one's funny bone,
It provokes an overgrown
Purple one eyed one horn fire breathing hippo
slurping down a school of translucent minnows.
Flops herself onto a rising manifesting moonstone
after the beast's deep bellow,
She escapes by the skin of her nose
sneaking out in stealth mode,
beneath a timely magic downy robe
but still, her loss was a dire load.
Yet, the halo plunged like an oscillating gizmo.
Topping light (What did Einstein smoke?),
when heading for ground zero.
Somehow catching in slow-mo
a swooping sparrow
snatching it up by coming in low
but dropping it like a dirty hoe
on seeing a dancing scarecrow
doing the mambo
with a Hispanic hallucinating gringo.
Never scare off the black feather fellows—
each of them having a mind of their own.
Scavengers are at home
grilling up some squirming lizard toads
on the torched summer back roads,
down like US 95 thru Moscow
of course, not in Russia but Idaho.
Yet the halo continued to roll,
for years through, God only knows
till it finally landed in Chicago
on the Antiques Roadshow.
Shown off by an ancient crone
or was it the halo-less Billie Joe,
who is in incognito
sadly, needing some extra dough,
who lived by her lone,
making a cameo?
After snorting too much ginkgo
she began drooling over its host,
a fat sweaty Longfellow,
who smelled like pork roast.
By sampling his ear lobe
on buttered milk toast
she outdid her hero
the flaming Vincent Van Gogh!
Anyway, back to the poor bloke,
During a ceasefire and seeing nothing that doesn't show.
Was bemoaning a logjam love flow
When caught dangling at the end of his rope
swinging low to the tune of Desperado
oozing in and out from solid-state radio.
Horribly, giving up the ghost,
wearing a black necktie yoke
(An unforgiving dress code).
starting with Edison's first hello,
a silent telephone
freshly landmines, another crushed mofo.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
STOP MAKING SENSE!!
Love-Precarious
Love-Precarious
by Odin Roark aka Kent Bateman
For some
passion’s garden is of carnivorous plants,
saccharine seedlets once resting,
becoming precarious flirtation,
artificial tears destined to betray.
For others,
even accepting the navigation of thorny defenses,
the garden is of edible rapture,
a discovery of that which nurtures love's growth,
the harvesting of passion's nourishment,
the tranquil celebration of emotion's singularity.
How innocently we hoe the rows,
cultivating anticipation
while the pistil's epicurean appetite
patiently welcomes nightfall
and the restful closing of its portals.
And yes,
the garden also knows of dust storms
laying flat once vigorous adventure,
placing thirst upon parched hearts,
leaving only hope for the quench
that an honest teardrop of joy can give.
But still,
imagination offers limited resistance to voracious winds,
a tempest determined to reveal chameleon-like weeds
sprouting upward into the gale
from cauldron-rich soils
invading passion's tenuous resistance,
seducing the trusting gardener in us all.
Inevitably…
One’s need will succumb
at least once to amour’s sleight of hand,
reducing blooms of flowered seduction
to but gathering mulch,
leaving passion reaching up,
asking the unanswerable…
the why of drought,
the way for magic,
the overcoming of love-precarious.
by Odin Roark aka Kent Bateman
For some
passion’s garden is of carnivorous plants,
saccharine seedlets once resting,
becoming precarious flirtation,
artificial tears destined to betray.
For others,
even accepting the navigation of thorny defenses,
the garden is of edible rapture,
a discovery of that which nurtures love's growth,
the harvesting of passion's nourishment,
the tranquil celebration of emotion's singularity.
How innocently we hoe the rows,
cultivating anticipation
while the pistil's epicurean appetite
patiently welcomes nightfall
and the restful closing of its portals.
And yes,
the garden also knows of dust storms
laying flat once vigorous adventure,
placing thirst upon parched hearts,
leaving only hope for the quench
that an honest teardrop of joy can give.
But still,
imagination offers limited resistance to voracious winds,
a tempest determined to reveal chameleon-like weeds
sprouting upward into the gale
from cauldron-rich soils
invading passion's tenuous resistance,
seducing the trusting gardener in us all.
Inevitably…
One’s need will succumb
at least once to amour’s sleight of hand,
reducing blooms of flowered seduction
to but gathering mulch,
leaving passion reaching up,
asking the unanswerable…
the why of drought,
the way for magic,
the overcoming of love-precarious.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
Once romanticized that “Love Is A Many Splendored Thing,” many chose to dwell on the fantasy of it all, rather than the work needed to overcome its precarious nature. Some of us have been more fortunate than others in the pursuit.
Should I…?
How should I know, after I’m gone,
If I was mourned
By anyone I loved; by anyone at all
Who knew me whilst here?
Should I bother, to spend another
Moment, wasting time in torment
Because I doubt that I’d
Still want to linger near?
Should I take time to say goodbye,
(Before I die
And leave this world behind)
To those I thought most dear?
Should I fear, when Death’s light hovers
And I’m finally free?
Free of my flaws and sins;
Free from the pain and tears.
Why…should I?
If I was mourned
By anyone I loved; by anyone at all
Who knew me whilst here?
Should I bother, to spend another
Moment, wasting time in torment
Because I doubt that I’d
Still want to linger near?
Should I take time to say goodbye,
(Before I die
And leave this world behind)
To those I thought most dear?
Should I fear, when Death’s light hovers
And I’m finally free?
Free of my flaws and sins;
Free from the pain and tears.
Why…should I?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
I wonder..after death, would we want to remember our old life?Time
It's time to laugh and not to cry .it's time to live .and not to die. It's time to think of the world we live in .it's time to give and not to take. It's time to love and be loved. It's time to stop to stop the killing and start giving. It's time to .please add anything you ?? thanks.m .Dillon..
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
Post Comment
online today!For the love of Goats
A goat or two is good for you;
They're better than Ayn Rand;
The Lord (you say) made all these goats;-
When he made the sand.
Well, your beliefs, are your beliefs;
And my beliefs are mine;
All I say, is love these goats;-
Until the end of time.
Whether one believes or not;
(It is a tricky thing);
Though, if one loves a goat enough;-
Your heart will truly sing!
© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved
They're better than Ayn Rand;
The Lord (you say) made all these goats;-
When he made the sand.
Well, your beliefs, are your beliefs;
And my beliefs are mine;
All I say, is love these goats;-
Until the end of time.
Whether one believes or not;
(It is a tricky thing);
Though, if one loves a goat enough;-
Your heart will truly sing!
© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
Goats!Poems entered on these pages are copyrighted by the authors who entered them. They cannot be reproduced without the author's written consent. © Copyright 2001-2024. All rights reserved.
This is a list of poems submitted by CS members. Click 'Details' tab to see all poems, or click on a poem title to view and comment on individual poems. Click headings to sort by comments or views.
Would YOU like to post a poem in the Poet's Corner? Have you written poetry that you'd like to share with other members? Posting your poetry shows your skill and creativity and helps members get to know you better. Your poem will appear on the Connecting Singles Poetry page and also in a link on your profile page.
Click here to publish your poetry »