Last Viewed Free Verse Poems (29,539)

Boom! a tower on fire! Boom boom, plane hits another! Looking in shock and disbelief, anger sadness anguish grief. Loss of so many souls, thousands the death toll. But who caused such pain? Egos enflamed for political gains. Religious and political ideology, middle/east rhetoric western democracy. Wars with unknown directions, propaganda fed to nations. Talk of missiles of mass/distruction. America with it's burning bush, bin laden fighting from ancient cush. But does this really matter; to the man in the street? Issues of bread and butter, hungry souls, no food to eat. We are now so weiry, we need a long break. God lend us a hand, no more, we can't take!

Played a fool
Cried enough tears to fill a pool
I thought you were my missing jewel
I was never anything more then a toy
Used by you, a baby boy
Took away all of my joy
You knocked me down
Give me a week
I'll be back on my feet
I'm glad I saw you for who you are
Time to get in my car
Drive away far
There has to be somebody who will love me
Now to dust off my knees
dry my eyes
Hear no more lies
Say my good byes

Listen closely and you will hear
The most important message of all
A key to the dreams you hold so dear
An escape from the sweltering thrall

The subtle signs you’ve been missing
Processing your thoughts to no ends
All along what you’ve been dismissing
Living alone in a world just pretends

Before saying anything come to a stop
Explore the depths of your feelings
For in an instant an idea might pop
A new approach for healthy healings

Discover first what you need so clearly
What anyone else truly needs to know
What any of us really want so dearly
To become the star in our own show

'Tis the week before Christmas
and all through the house
not a creature was stirring
but one bespectacled mouse
who came down from the attic
proclaiming himself free, and
now sits atop the Frasier Fir tree.

Stockings, draped over wing-backed chair
not yet hung on the white mantle with care.
Few days remain as the holiday draws near
questioning if St. Nicholas will ever get here.
Now-grown child no longer in the nest, snug
with visions of sugar-plums cutting a rug.
Though I wear no 'kerchief, he does don a cap.
For each, it is rare to get a long winter's nap.

Suddenly, from the nightstand
there arises such a clatter
Tearing open the covers
(but leaving down the sash)
I stumble out of bed
clearly knowing what‘s the matter.
Away to the snooze button
my fingers fly in a flash.

Its fullness coming, eight more days to go
the waxing moon over no new-fallen snow
gives little lustre to gray objects below.
So, down the steep stairs, I slowly descend
with still-sleepy eyes, praying not to end up on end.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
but the white-lighted tree decorated with
a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
It could be no other than beloved St. Nick.

I sit by the still fireplace, with chimney intact
ponder how Santa makes it down with his pack.
Then, from my computer I hear a loud ping.
With eye-light twinkle, I ignore the rude thing
brew myself a warm cup of Earl Grey tea.
Take a few minutes more, especially for me.
Heart, in delight, starts to fill up with glee
all the while, sadly, both heart and mind know
’t’will be yet another year of wasted mistletoe.

More rapid than coursers, nay, eagles the work-day, it came
So, I grumble and shout, and call out a few names.
The bags that I’m getting, not filled up with toys,
come from long hours at work frequently toiled.
They don’t sit quietly under the tree but inhabit my face
and act as if they owned the whole visage place
eliciting shouts to the top of the porch, the wall
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
I rush back upstairs, wash face, brush teeth
and prepare for this new day and people to me.
knowing another long day over work will spread
I speak not a word, but head straight there, instead.

Then, you can hear me exclaim, ere I drive away,
"Blessed Season to all, and to all a good-day."

In spring the wind will rustle
And old leaves will tussle
Over the still bare ground
The smell of decay all around
Once when things started to thaw
Then the smell of apple blossoms is raw
Filling the air, swirling around as one
Tinges of pinks and whites are spun
Where new leaves and light begun
To sparkle like jades and jewels
I wait for those first orioles
And their short little chortles
Chirps and quick eyes as they hop
From branch to branch would plop
Pecking away at some unseen pray
Flying so effortlessly for awhile
Makes me marvel in triumphant style

Spring in my step
So soft to the touch
Hug me and squeeze me
You love me as much

I love to be tickled
I find it so funny
But gently my master

I'm just a wee-little-Bunny...

Slipping on the journey
I crept and held my ticket

where was I going?
no bags upon my back

Ed Gein
One of the most famous people from Wisconsin
I went to visit his grave on my vacation from work
It's a drive that takes you through Madison
Then you go straight up on Interstate 39 from there
All together it's about 160 miles
I find the grave yard right away
So I see a guy mowing the grass
I ask him where Ed Gein is buried
He tells me Ed used to babysit him when he was a kid
Ed was a good guy, hard worker
But when his mom did he went off the rails
So he tells me his son would know where he is buried
I ask his son if he knows where Ed is buried
He says, yes I know where he is buried, but I'm not gonna tell ya
I'm getting tired of people coming here
And disturbing his mom's rest, she needs to be left alone in peace
So I didn't want to upset the man
And decided it would be best if I left
I go back to his dad and he tells me how to find Ed Gein's property
As his house was burned down shortly after his arrest
I look for it, but I can't remember how exactly to find it
So I stop at a few businesses, got a Reese's pumpkin
A Badger tshirt, as they didn't have any Plainfield shirts
I also discovered a new snack at a wayside on the way there
Herr's Deep Dish Pizza Curls

God won't ask in court
What sizes there was your house.
Whether he will ask many people
You are ready to shelter were in it.

It won't ask you a question
About what vehicle.
He will ask how many he in it brought
You in winter day and in the summer hot.

Won't ask what God of color
Your eyes and skin were.
He will ask how many to people of light
You gave when they longed.

He won't ask where you worked,
What position I held.
He will ask how many you care
And I filled with the honesty.

It doesn't need no wealth,
Our "mountains" behind a shoulder.
He for us cooks the Kingdom,
In which there is no need in anything

A man who reads the Word
Not under the Lords auspices
But under the auspices of his own intelligence
Thinks himself a lynx
And better sighted than Argus

And yet he inwardly
Sees not a shred of truth But only what is false
And under self persuasion
This falsity seems to him
Like a polar star
Towards which he directs
All the sails of his thought
And then he no more sees truth
Than a mole.