Most Commented Poems (34,318)

She held the curtain to
her cheek not yet ready
for a tear
It would take alot to sadden
that face for she had never
known a fear
But I drove away just the same
with a regret or two of my own
She just didn't know how many
nights she'd be sobbing by the
phone
'What was that spirit he brought
she pondered on a tear stained
pillow..?'
'With him I felt alive again like
a bluejay singing to a weeping
willow..'
How does she count the days when
her silver pot no longer has it's shine?
She counts all as death in the terrible
truth she'd lost one of a kind

visions through misty streams of fog
sometimes espied then in a blink gone
what was it that briefly appeared
was it even ever really there?

a shifting shape a puzzling glimpse
do my eyes deceive me as I peer
trying to see if its real or not
my eyes oft do perceive an illusion

for such creatures can't really exist
they are the things of legends
yet my soul says they are really there
which should I believe I ask myself?

of all the things that come to us
in dreams or awake are they just hocus pocus

A romantic thought of death is to believe their the ones alive
Although we embrace the living perhaps we are the ones with covered eyes
I pondered on this notion during my peaceful walks through hell
Aligned with rusting treasures thrown from foolish wishing wells
Considerately it comforts me with a temporary escape
Deep within meditation I elevate my mind beyond my grave
Giving a life unto the ghost inside of this hollow shell
While the living say to cast the dead to rot amongst themselves
But I believe death has the potential to become one with perfect light
Slowly removing darkness until we ascend into new heights
Although at times it may be difficult and sometimes filled with pain
Those who have endured will prevail eternally inside of grace
So as life is like dirty water and within the depth of all its murk
I am the lotus flower reborn, cleansed, and free of dirt
While the world around me is muddy, dismal, harsh, and filled with gloom
I will achieve enlightenment and beneath the sun my soul shall forever bloom

~ JJF ~

You know a man can sometimes speak
a strange and mysterious language
Yet, I believe it is the woman who dots
his 'I's and crosses his 'T's..
And for my part, I like this mystic
symbiosis
Yet, woman is much more than a proof
reader and an old haggard english
teacher who helps him 'make the grade'
She breathes into him the soul of her love
And man would do well to pay heed to the
vitality of her spirit
Put his hand to the plow and from across
the field her bakery lures him back to
the cabin
Though the sun beat down on his back
Her hands will sooth the aching
toil from his dusty flesh
She listens to his stories with bright eyed
interest
She believes in him and the wise man
peers ever deeper into the mystery of
her love
He honors her when the day is long and
when he sees the test of her faith in her
down cast eyes
She needs his strength too
His validation comes in so much more
than the warm fur he has wrapped around
her shoulders
She needs to feel his strong hands cupping
her face to be sure
But she needs him
The essence of him
Her man
I have found this
in..a few good women

On a pillar of clouds, supporting my weight...
I stand and I stare at the nacreous gates...
With reverent patience, I wait to partake...
In an aeolian state of the wind and its wake...

As the crier of time, oh the visions I've seen...
Half asleep, in my dreams, ataraxia seems...
Seems to be, dreamed by me, scenes of starlings...
Queens and Kings crumble.... psithurism cleans...

A solar storm of misery in a cosmogyral place...
A space reminiscence of your beautiful face...
Your strands do command a fine gossamer foundation...
It is within your piercing stare that I have found my destination....

Hail to you, Sir Cafe, most gallant knight
Defending the castle Poetry Corner
Protecting all the maidens day and night
While all the other knights you inspire

With your poems you wove a magic spell
Oftentimes taking us on a journey
Captivating with wondrous tales you tell
Fascinating us with their imagery

Your replies to comments on your poetry
Were always warm, cheerful and refreshing
They showed your pleasant personality
For all of us they were most endearing

We thank you noble knight with heart of gold
And may heaven bless your beautiful soul

WINTER ROSE
a/k/a Christmas Rose (Helleborus)

Trees of the forest tall and proud
Standing bare in winter’s white shroud
Angel wings made of diamond frost
Until covered by a new blanket and lost

The forest quiet in long winter’s sleep
Only echoing once in a while a bird’s peep
Peace and tranquility here is abound
For the beautiful white blanket covers all sound

All inhabitants are sound asleep
As the moon shines down the white deep
Showing endless sparkling diamond dust
Of the cold frozen forest white crust

Suddenly a moon beam appeared to kiss
A lonely Winter Rose peeking through a drift
It’s creamy pink face the only color in sight
On this very cold crisp winter’s night

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Sullen leaves fall steadily
Whispering good-bye
As though in a trance...
They seem to know,
The time has come to die.
Wafting drearily,
And weightlessly,
Across a crimson sky...
Even strong old Mr. Willow,
Seems to hang his head and cry.
Cotton candy clouds, seem to wave,
And then to frown...
As summer reluctantly relinqueshes
Her sunny vibrant crown.
The scent of mothballs overpowers me
As I wipe away a single tear,
My heart is heavy even as I sigh,
Till we meet again next year.

THE RAIN HAD CEASED ITS FALLING,
A WATERY SUN SHONE THROUGH,
THE GRAVEYARD SEEMED SO PEACEFUL,
WITH THE MOUNTAINS, WASHED ANEW.

WE WALKED DOWN THE ANCIENT BOHREEN,
TO THE GRAVEYARD AT 'KNOCKBOY',
AS THE BLACK HEARSE, MADE ITS FINAL STOP,
WE COULD HEAR THE CURLEWS CRY,

OLD WOMEN FOUGHT TO HIDE THERE TEARS,
THE MEN, TRIED TO BE STRONG,
AND AS THE PADRE, SAID A ROSARY,
A BLACKBIRD, CHIRPED IN SONG,

AND WAS IT DISTANT THUNDER,
OR DID WE HEAR THE ANGELS CRY,
THE DAY WE LOWERED, AULD MARY HALLAHAN,
TO HER GRAVE, IN OLD 'KNOCKBOY'.

BEN999

TWILIGHT


I LOVE BEST, NOT THE YELLOW SUN
OR LIGHT OF THE SILVER MOON,
NOR GREY, THAT SEEPS ACROSS THE SKY,
TO WHISPER, DAWN COMES SOON

FOR MY LOVE IS OF TWILIGHT,
WHEN THE DAY IS ALMOST DONE,
THE BIRDS, HAVE CEASED THERE SINGING,
GOD'S HAND, HAS ALL BUT QUENCHED THE SUN

TIS THEN I LOVE THAT STILLNESS
IN THE LAST BREATH OF THE DAY,
THE AULD WANS, ALWAYS SAID THAT TWAS
THE ANGELS, HOUR TO PRAY,

TIS THEN I PAUSE, TO STAND AND LOOK
FAR AWAY, OUT O'ER THE GLEN,
ASK GOD, TO LET ME LIVE TO SEE,
THE TWILIGHT, ONCE AGAIN.


BEN GUIRY { EXCERPT, FROM THE BOOK, FOOTPRINTS OF THE HEART }