Free Verse Poems (29,541)

I fear if I run out of ink
my thoughts will cease to flow,
No longer free to roam around
where they desire to go.

Caught up in a stasis as my
mind begins to congeal,
Severed from my senses I find
I can no longer feel.

The proof of my existence is
my words upon the page,
Without this free expression I
feel my world is a cage.

How could I ever tell you what
my writing means to me,
Dear children born within my mind
and then I set them free.

I love my thought's many offspring
they're so dear to my heart,
I give them freedom to grow and
with my blessing depart.

I let them go to make their own
way in the world so wide,
My heart nearly bursts they are the
source of my greatest pride.

Your eyes know that I have waited so long, as I have waited for summer for a bird, and slept like the sleep of a migrant.

"The beginning of a novel is a time of
awful when you're dealing with a lot
of dead pieces and you have to wait and wait for
some sort of animation" ~Iris Murdoch

Poet,
The blank page
is terror.
The blank
screen is too.
How do I dare
to impose
my prejudices upon it?
~
How do I dare
to assume that
what I have to say matters to anyone--even me?
~

It's that mysterious
leap that distinguishes
the dreamer from the doer.
I myself always trick myself into starting.
"No one will ever read this," I say.
"Moreover, no one will understand it."
Sometimes I make as many
as a dozen starts.
Later I realize they
were all different ways of
sneaking up on the same material.

~

I was stalking my poem
from many different angles
--but I don't see that until
I am well and truly launched.


"The last thing we decide
about a poem is what to put first"
This has always been my experience.
If only I could relax and remember
that this game of hide
and seek with my poem
is the only way I know of refinding
the playfulness that making up requires.

(pause)


Candlelight
flickering
beautifully
this morning, dancing
on the walls
like thoughts
dancing
beautifully
inside
a poet's mind.

Yes, sweet poet, we must
let go. We must
take leave, pass on.

Words
are our way
of polishing
the rough stone surface
of existence.

Words
are our way
of pounding nails
into walls,
and mounting
our pictures
in the hallways.

~

Regardless
of our efforts regardless
of our thoughts, and our prayers, and our ideas existence
does
exactly
as it pleases.

and we are here
to please it.

Act only in ways
that will please existence.

Act only
in ways
that will move existence forward.



like tumblers
falls
behind the wall
of a safe,
our words
turn
the keys
to the puzzle the keys
that swing open
the doors the keys
that will keep
the image
safe,
and release it, too, into the winds of eternity where it belongs /
where we
eventually
will travel.

~

We
are the ones
who weren't intended
to be here

We
are the ones
who were intended
to be gone



We
are the ones
you see starving
at dawn.

We
are the ones
who are lonely, and alone.

We
are the ones
who drink coffee
at coffee shops
at the edge of the universe
while peering
at the abyss



Dance
with us
only
if you dare.

Close
your eyes
and help us seduce
the night

We are safe
in the city

We are safe
in ourselves

We are safe
in the workshop
of our talent

~

Aspire
to greatness
by doing
what must
be done
and leaving the rest
for the universe
to take care of.

~

I better close.

I will write again soon.

SAS

_____________________

Sometimes I felt like a waterfall
Where water never stops to fall
There are times I want to cry
But I don't know why

The pain hurts so bad
Small things makes me feel mad
Pain relievers are the best
I hold it all in my valuable chest

They say hydrogen peroxide is the key
But it is absolutely not a guarantee
I don't want to stain my dress
Because that causes me a lot of stress

I can't believe I'm writing this
I just want to say my piece
I experience monthly hell
That it is hard for others to tell

The coffee has cooled in the cup upon the counter
so silent it rest since you last set it down

so silent
so damned silent

I did not know that in closing the door you
had packed the life that once was my home

so empty
so damned empty

Words and expressions once flowed with ease
pen upon the paper reveals naught
are there words to express this vacuous life

the poet dies
the damned poet dies

Thunder Crashing

she opens her eyes, slowly...
he is still there,
fine, proud, erect.

outside, thunder crashes in the sky,
she can feel it's calling,
& is not afraid to reach out and take his hand
guiding him to soft corners laying abundance
& drenched in satin sheets.

the storm swiftly picks up
he continues to make her tremble.
she feels it's intensity as his body strives for position,
she brushes his face telling him it's all right,
while arching her enthusiasm,
making it easier for him to meet such demands of passion.

he knows and loves her so well,
techniques, pleasure, and the fire that dwells in
his heart for her.

all eyes are on the shadows writhing on the wall
such beautiful, exciting silhouettes.

more thunder
her nails pierce his flesh as she whimpers
and a thousand sighs were finally set free.

SAS

in age difference
Here I am lost between this and that. The first tells me about the age difference, and the second tells me about the distance of the place and the difference between here and there. Is there not a title in the heart of a title that tells us what to do and a heart that directs us here and there, so why fanaticism for a place and an address?

In ur eyes..i see the stars
The beautiful shine iluminates my darkness
And the moon.. smiled at me
As if understand what i felt

I m not looking for a perfection
I m not asking for the wealth
I need love and the sincerity
Not anything else..

Thousand miles separated us
But i feel we r close..very close
Even i can't touch u
But u smile always melts me

Ur face teasing me
Come to my dream every night
Disappeared after stealing my heart
Ah..u r mysterious man


Lonely night
May,26.2020

They come in not sure of their welcome
post their words with trepidation
scared maybe of being ignored or mocked
not sure even if they can write at all.

You all know this feeling
once too you were new
if lucky someone held out a hand
gathered you under their wing.

Gave you lots of encouragement
by reading and commenting kindly
Happily you replied and learnt
and you too now welcome the new poets.

Carrying on the tradition
for to greet and comment
brings hope to faint hearted
so as you post remember this.

You were once new and unsure
so hold out your hand in friendship
comment on other's poems
and they in turn will respond.

I am like the tarot card fool,
shoulder carrying, creative potential,
and all,
my talents in a knapsack.
flower in hand,
free from constraints,
without care.

Barking dog frolics by odd shod feet,
at the cliff edge,
maybe I’ll fall,
having faith in the future,
for journeys unknown,
bound for adventure,
outcome never told.

Shedding old habits,
create myself with new methods,
fearless of consequences,
forever the fool.

Searching out a kindred soul,
in life’s river to go with the flow,
tired of swimming solo.

River meets river
flowing to the same ocean,
best of life,
lying on the horizon.
The I, you, us, we,
are as invitation.

It ‘s this moment that counts
on quests of self-realisation.

Dreams should not live alone.