Here is a list of Last Liked 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.
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?
online today!YOUR QUEST
gold hidden 'neath the rugged earth
upon which lay your quest
yet murky and turbid is the dew
that is harvested in a cup of sand
your weakness never sets
over the parched and scorching heat
nor will your strength
ever laid to rest
until you will run out
of your sweats
you will want to know
deep within your heart
why all this land
is covered with blood
and as the world lay witness
and yet mightily unconcerned
to its naked plight
your mind will never fathom
why the rift is burning strong
so you will keep on digging
until you reach the bottom
hoping it will lay bare
all the reasons,
that this blood covered land
is a conflict no more
in the mighty difference
of white and black color
but the gap of those
who have and who don't
the question is...will man ever learn
how to vanish indifference?
give to those that have not
and even out the earth's wealth
so revolt will not explode?
perhaps nobody really cares...
you are alone, abandoned
on this quest..
buried
in a drifting sand
stained with ruthlessness
by the greed of human hand
glued forever
in human blood.
upon which lay your quest
yet murky and turbid is the dew
that is harvested in a cup of sand
your weakness never sets
over the parched and scorching heat
nor will your strength
ever laid to rest
until you will run out
of your sweats
you will want to know
deep within your heart
why all this land
is covered with blood
and as the world lay witness
and yet mightily unconcerned
to its naked plight
your mind will never fathom
why the rift is burning strong
so you will keep on digging
until you reach the bottom
hoping it will lay bare
all the reasons,
that this blood covered land
is a conflict no more
in the mighty difference
of white and black color
but the gap of those
who have and who don't
the question is...will man ever learn
how to vanish indifference?
give to those that have not
and even out the earth's wealth
so revolt will not explode?
perhaps nobody really cares...
you are alone, abandoned
on this quest..
buried
in a drifting sand
stained with ruthlessness
by the greed of human hand
glued forever
in human blood.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2014
About this poem:
when life beats us with socio economic inequities and cruelty and sadness cripple our very soul...we just can't seem to have the courage to wade more but yet keeps the flicker of hope alive...
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
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!
FOLLOW
FOLLOW YOUR HEART, IN TIME THE REST OF YOU WILL FOLLOW.
TAKE MY HAND IF I'M YOUR PERSON.
WALK WITH ME, THRU THIS THING CALLED LIFE.
IF YOU EVER HAVE DOUBT, I WILL EASE YOUR MIND.
IF YOU EVER GET SCARED, I WILL HOLD YOU TIGHT.
IF YOU EVER CRY, MY HANDS WILL DRY YOUR EYES.
IF YOU STUMBLE, I WILL CATCH YOUR FALL.
AS FOR ME I FOLLOWED MY HEART AND IT LEAD ME TO YOU...
TAKE MY HAND IF I'M YOUR PERSON.
WALK WITH ME, THRU THIS THING CALLED LIFE.
IF YOU EVER HAVE DOUBT, I WILL EASE YOUR MIND.
IF YOU EVER GET SCARED, I WILL HOLD YOU TIGHT.
IF YOU EVER CRY, MY HANDS WILL DRY YOUR EYES.
IF YOU STUMBLE, I WILL CATCH YOUR FALL.
AS FOR ME I FOLLOWED MY HEART AND IT LEAD ME TO YOU...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
FINDING MY PERSON.....WHAT'S A KISS
I HEARD THERE'S 5 WAYS TO DEFINE A KISS. 1. TEASING 2. WANT 3. DESIRE 4. FEELS GOOD 5. LOVE
A KISS IS A KISS, BUT ATTACHED IS ONE OF THE DEFINES. IF YOU KEEP THINKING ABOUT IT. THEN IT'S LOVE.
A KISS IS A KISS, BUT ATTACHED IS ONE OF THE DEFINES. IF YOU KEEP THINKING ABOUT IT. THEN IT'S LOVE.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
LOVE IN THE TRUEST FORM. WHEN ALL YOU THINK OF THE MOMENT YOU HAD KISS THE ONE...Dance! Dance Dance!
1. Dua Lipa I use to like your dance
but the Hindi Men had stolen my heart,
I fell in love with their dance.
2. I've seen many different kinds of dance styles
from different nations of men all over the world
but this dance had stolen the hearts of all
the British Women.
3. In all my life I had never seen women so happy
and joyful in the dance their being shown,
and later on in the movie his friend
teaches the women their dance style.
4. At one clip in the movie the British Women
go out of their way rejecting their own nations
of men's dance style.
The British Men try to kick the Hindi Men
out and their women got mad and had kicked
their own men backwards,
just so these women could view
and take part in that brings happiness and joy
to a woman's dance heart.
5. One of the few vital things that women love in life
before they go their grave is dance,
I could see these women fell in love with their dance style.
Women after leaving the dance floor
they should leave more happy and joyful
Then before they had first started to dance.
and that's what had happened.
6. Even in dance these Hindi Men know how
to bring joy and happiness to a woman's dance.
I had never had seen so many women so joyful
and happy in all my life especially in one of their favorite fields,
"DANCE."
I to love their dance.
These Hindi Men had stolen my heart in the dance field.
7. The name of the movie if you want to buy it:
RRR Hindi 2022
but the Hindi Men had stolen my heart,
I fell in love with their dance.
2. I've seen many different kinds of dance styles
from different nations of men all over the world
but this dance had stolen the hearts of all
the British Women.
3. In all my life I had never seen women so happy
and joyful in the dance their being shown,
and later on in the movie his friend
teaches the women their dance style.
4. At one clip in the movie the British Women
go out of their way rejecting their own nations
of men's dance style.
The British Men try to kick the Hindi Men
out and their women got mad and had kicked
their own men backwards,
just so these women could view
and take part in that brings happiness and joy
to a woman's dance heart.
5. One of the few vital things that women love in life
before they go their grave is dance,
I could see these women fell in love with their dance style.
Women after leaving the dance floor
they should leave more happy and joyful
Then before they had first started to dance.
and that's what had happened.
6. Even in dance these Hindi Men know how
to bring joy and happiness to a woman's dance.
I had never had seen so many women so joyful
and happy in all my life especially in one of their favorite fields,
"DANCE."
I to love their dance.
These Hindi Men had stolen my heart in the dance field.
7. The name of the movie if you want to buy it:
RRR Hindi 2022
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2022
About this poem:
1. I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID TO DUA LIPA,"IF YOU GO HIM TORTURE HIM!"
TRUTH IS: HER OWN MOM & DAD
WOULDN'T SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO HER,
YOU MALE DEVIL'S!
2. ONE OF THESE DAYS IN SOME OTHER YEAR
IF YOU TRY THIS AGAIN IT WILL BACK FIRE ON YOU.
THE MAN WILL BE AN IMPORTANT POLITICAL FIGURE
IN HIS GOVERNMENT.
WHEN HE FINDS OUT WHAT YOU HAD FORCED ON HER WHAT TO DO,
HE WILL TELL HIS FOREIGN-GOVERNMENT WHAT YOU SAID
HAVING THE GALL TO MESS WITH WHO SHE CHOSE TO DATE.
IT MIGHT CAUSE A WAR AFTER THEY HEAR ABOUT YOUR DIRTY SECRET.
WHEN THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES FINDS OUT
WHO WAS THE ROOT CAUSE, HE MIGHT HAVE YOU MEN TOSSED AWAY
FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES.
3. HER OWN MOM AND DAD WON'T MESS WITH WHO SHE WANTS TO DATE,
BUT YOU MALE DEVIL'S LOVE TO TAKE WRONG ADVANTAGE OF MOM AND DAD'S GROWN-UP KIDS,
AS SOON AS THEY GET OUT OF REACH OF MOM AND DAD,
YOU COWARDS!
WHY DON'T YOU GO TO HER MOM AND DAD
AND TELL THEM TO THEIR FACE WHAT YOU HAD FORCED HER TO DO,
YOU COWARDS!
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