Most Viewed Free Verse Poems (29,539)

The young aspiring poet waited patiently outside the prison cell, and listened to the muffled voice of the Roman guard making the quiet reguest to the aged apostle. Moments later, the guard stepped outside the cell and remarked to the young poet, 'Paul will see you now.' Eager, yet nervous, the poet stepped and stood at the entrance of the cell, and beheld the mighty man of God. The cell was dank and cold, and Paul was chained. Only the flickering light of candle illuminated the half hunched body of this mighty warrior, and Paul turned from his writing and looked directly at the young man. A moment of silence, then Paul smiled at the young man, and speaking with such tenderness, Paul softly asks, 'How may I help you?' The young poet feeling embarrassment, clears his throat, and says,' Sir, I know of your great preaching and writing, and I am a writer myself. Other poets in my circle asked if I might seek you and learn from your mastery of words that we too might write such great things.' Again, the great apostle smiled and motioned for the young man to sit closer. Paul laid his gentle hand on the young mans shoulder, and inquired, 'What great things do you wish to write my friend?' The poet smiled, and said, 'We wish to write of truth and justice, and the true meaning of love, and how we might become known in the world as you have.' Paul looked intently into the young mans eyes, and exclaimed, 'You must be willing to live the the words that you write. 'If you will stay a while with me I will write you something.' Then Paul ajusted the half burned candle pulling it closer to the parchment he unrolled on a flat of stone slab. Paul dipped his pen in the vial of ink, and this time looking deeply into the young mans eyes Paul softly but with a certain sternness says, 'You must take this to heart. Then Paul writes these words: " Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tingling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains,and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profits me nothing. Love suffers long, and is kind; love envys not; love vaunts not itself, is not puffed up. Does not behave itself unseemly, seeks not her own, is not easily provoked; thinks no evil; rejoices not in iniquity, but rejoices in truth; Bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things..." I Corinthians 13

Aan you skryf ek n briefie
in die hoop dat jy dit sal kry.
Ek sal nie vir jou soek nie
jys nie meer gelukkig by my.

Die briefie se nie veel nie
klein om in jou sak te dra.
in die hoop dat jy eendag sal terug kom
en dit self vir my kan vra.

Sonder tierlanteintjies
geskryf op geel papier.
Die hoekies effens om gekril
onderaan met trane versier.

Ek wou maar net se ek mis jou
verewig aan my gebind.
My deure staan altyd oop vir jou
ek wag vir jou my wegloop kind.

Ek wens jy kan my vergewe
ek wou jou graag net hier he.
Ek is ook nie foutloos
as ek maar net kon jammer se.

Onthou ek is lief vir jou
waar ook al jy mag bly.
In my hart is daar geen kwaad vir jou
alle liefies....

van my.

The sun shown on the lone grave
As she stood gazing at the stone
Distance memories flowing in waves
Lapping at her mind like foam

How yellow was Mom's favorite color
Especially little flowers like buttercups
Continued memories of her Mother
Starting to cry until she hiccuped

Suddenly a yellow butterfly gently flew by
Right to the stone briefly touching it
Like saying to the stone a brief hi
On to the shoulder of the woman it lit

Staying only briefly there as though to say
Do not cry for your Mom for she is not here
She is looking down and not far away
Watching over you she will always be near

Away the yellow butterfly gently flew
In the graveyard to another stone
Looking to spread comfort to those too
Reminiscing their memories and feeling alone

Falling


through time
and space

stars
and sky

everything
in between

I fell

for days
weeks

lifetime
after lifetime

until I realized
I was falling

in love

with you...

Advent season has begun
It is more than just calendar fun
Opening each new day to see
What the surprise underneath will be

Imagine the world without the candle Hope
Without it how could we ever cope
Hope gives us a light in the dark
Even though it may be only a small spark

The World without Hope would be
Without light anywhere we could see
A place of nothing but despair and fear
With Darkness ruling over everywhere

This Hope came to us in the form of a newborn
Lighting His way into the world in human form
The human body died on the cross that past day
But the Holy Spirit and Hope are still alive today

You the animated pyre
forging a lustful fire
I flee from the darkness
that freezes my life
embracing this moment of death desire...

I am endlessly drawn
to you like a moth to a flame
you the object of my spiraling flight
your bright sun pulls me closer
I burn to speak your name...

Adrift in small sea of light
see dark path to your remains
this funereal night sum of all fears
kindles as you ship like unfurl your mane
flickering flaring as I draw near...

Mesmerized by such blazing beauty
in path of sacrifice I am caught
powerless to resist calescent sexuality
I immolate in the very fire that is sought
burning in your flame with futile delight...

Mi amor the beacon to my demise
with doom the most certain end
gliding towards your banshee cries
my spirit will never turn craven
intoxicated with love into your flame I descend...

Frozen in past, this land and I lie so bleak
The wilderness of history, yet unable to speak
From the mother’s womb, both born of maternity
My life has been short, not of your eternity
Yet I can compare, for my time now lies in the past
Where age has left us with memories so vast
Cold we are, but neither chooses to be heartless
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless
But as I look upon you I can see my own soul
A swirling cold emptiness with a long forgotten goal

Bitter winds sweep across lacking care and affection
Where both our futures seem devoid of direction
Are the ghosts that haunt us such differing strangers?
For in the end do we both not court our own dangers?
Barren, barren, we would cry in our bitter solitude
Yet does our richness not deserve one single platitude
Loneliness, loneliness, can ever be our only true friend
But I will pass as you continue until the final end
Siberia, Siberia, I would embrace your cold arms
For in both our histories none has grasped our charms


Neither of us blooms, we are the forgotten spiraea
I find myself continuing to languish with Siberia

Yesterday is always gone
Tomorrow never never comes
All we have is today
So why wish it away

Yesterday is gone to never return
That day no longer holds any fear
What is done is done and cannot be changed
Nothing about it can ever be rearranged

Tomorrow is a vague shadowy day
No sense in worrying today away
About possibilities of dreadful events
No sense in wasting time in torment

Enjoy this moment for that is all we have
Live it in joy, peace and happiness
In a blink of an eye it could be gone
And tomorrow really will never come

I wonder what she is doing at this hour
my Andean and sweet Rita
of needs and wild cherry trees
Now that this weariness chokes me, and blood dozes off,
like lazy brandy inside me.
I wonder what she is she doing with those hands
that in attitude of penitence
used to iron starchy whiteness,
in the afternoons.
Now that this rain is taking away my desire to go on.

I wonder what has become of her skirt with lace;
of her toils; of her walk;
of her scent of spring sugar cane from that place.

She must be at the door,
gazing at a fast moving cloud.
A wild bird on the tile roof will let out a call;
and shivering she will say at last, "Jesus, it's cold!"

Fragile and hollow encased in an invisible glass case,
she sits, legs crossed and hands placed perfectly on her knees, her hair falling in waves of perfect curls, even the straps of her dress ironed and without a wrinkle.

Foundation spread over her face making her skin look like porcelain, her make up almost looked like an artist had painted it on too perfectly.

And from this doll, dull lifeless eyes stared ahead, her skin was warm but her heart was like ice, it had frozen long ago when she became nothing more then a show piece of beauty to be displayed for all to see.

Then one day he pushed her just a little to much and she crashed to the floor, her body and face splintered and cracked
and she lay there feeling nothing at all.

Thats where he found her, and with tender hands and strong arms he picked up the pieces and gently began to glue the bits together, she began to take shape once more, but he did not stop at the outer shell, he breathed warmth into her and slowly the fire began to warm her and the life in her eyes shone bright, the fine cracks left behind were more beautiful because she was unique, they showed how she had healed.