Most Commented Beat Poems (92)

A pure raw emotion
Shared a shabby shed
With a grumpy lad
And got fed up
With that

She looked for answer
In her quest
Whether she was happy
Or depressed
A funny thought
One day came by
Why not to fly?

And off she went
Into the ceiling -
And left a dent
The sea of boiling soup
Beneath
Was not to miss
She dived
Deep into the pot
And boiled and splashed…
Now fully cooked
Depressed she looked
And smelled like soup..

In her disturbed elated state
She opted to evaporate,
Precipitate,
And start anew..

That time when a naked soul
Aches in the cold of the late fall
For all the orange yellow and red
Snatched from the trees
Raked in piles
Scorched on the ground dead

When dragging days of solid grey
Are drenched in gusts of wind and rain
Another reason to complain
About life that slips in vain
When all far-out funky thoughts
Have fled in flocks
Away from North
To some place South
Nice and warm
Deserting winter marathon

Who to blame
When mind goes borderline insane
All wrapped in what has never worked
With chains of patterns and restraints
Set to recycle same old same

Unless you shake away the past
Hit the reset
And give yourself a chance
To break away and
Go looking for your path

Together will be the day
When clouds fall apart
When the sunrise will stay
Burning with its morning glory

Laughter will guide the way
Down this journey we start
Gently seas will sway
Dancing in and out of our story

A season will let us play
Till earth will fill our heart
The scents of love will stay
Joining roses and pot pourri

Together we will pray
That love will always chart
A voyage getting underway
Rowing away in our dory

A man walks into a local cafe hungry as can be,
While pondering upon the menu a sudden mystery!
Stationed all around him twas young and old alike,
Each awaiting their opportunity to dominate a mic.

Attention now at full arrest, his ears well tuned in,
He turned to a lady sitting near wearing a sheepish grin.
To her he says 'I'm new to this place, what's a goin on?'
'New indeed!' 'Tis our day for readin or recitin a poem!'

An hour or so passes by as poetry fills the room,
Poems of Wonder, Love and Lust, Poems of Joy and Gloom.
The stranger thinks he knows a poem he'd gladly like to share,
A chance for him to have his voice poured into poetic air.

The mic at last to him is passed & he proudly takes a stand,
and begins to recite from memory a poem he wrote at ten.
The audience is noticeably hushed in nearly traumatic form
When 'Roses are Red - Violets are Blue..' from his lips are born.

The quietness of the crowd, to him was awe, wonder then respect
Until a neighbor grabbed the mic while groaning with regret.
To his grinning lady friend he turned for a word of advise,
'Some can melt a heart with words but you've turned ours to ice!'

Don't be hurt that your words have failed to spark passion or fire,
Just make a note and have it with you the next time you desire...
to share your thoughts in poetic form to those more seasoned than you,
Don't start a poetic rhyme with 'Roses are Red, Violets are Blue..'!

I cannot
Fall asleep,
Who can teach me
To stop time?
Please give me
A sign
The minutes are ticking
So quickly
But I still cannot
Fall asleep,

I cannot sail away
On a frigate of my fantasies,
I cannot stay
By the shores of my illusions,
I can not extinguish
Lanterns
My thoughts are like
Pedestrians
Walking in darkness
Without rules

Can you help me?
My solo friend
Will you sing me?
A song
To attract
Morpheus ?
Do not be afraid,
Be an angel to me
I will not dare
To offend you,
I'm quiet when
I cannot fall asleep

Exactly at midnight
a drummer begins
Wound up.
He jumps
Down and up
Hitting my sleepless brain

I cannot fall asleep.
Here you are my sweet Ankou
In white clothes
I’ve stolen
Your years
And
Left you only my tears
And youth

I still cannot fall asleep...

To reach a goal that no one knows, To think the unthinkable but watch it grow, To reach a level unimaginable to the naked eye, But what is pleasurable to the natural mind. To strive to be alive oh what a time to be alive all I want to do is Strive!

How can I write the beauty
Of Nature? It is really scanty
In my mind; supplies nothing.
How the ideas will be soothing?
In the horizon the earth
Kisses the sky that gives me mirth.
The cornfields and the buildings nearby
Bring forth a question who makes these for why?
To cross the ground shrubbery and the road with vehicles
Is to pass through a land of dreams and miracles.

...It was one of those parties with
red silk-lined windows and
blonde people draped all over the
furniture. Someone called my
name. "Sherman," they said. It
wasn't my name, but

I'm used to that by now of
course. It was Wanda. She had
fangs and resembled
a Japanese ceremonial
teapot. "Good God Wanda what
happened to you?" I asked.

She gobbled my drink
and ate my nuts. Later

I was listening to the trains and
smoking a cigarette. This time she
was more honest. "Joe," she whispered
softly. "Oh, Joe." "You're learning," I
said and took another drag.

This lost evening i shelter all unborn The fruits of all innocence I not scorn, for they be your core to your love sweetness, Now take thee hand as you i bless, All the wealth on this Flowered earth, For i do submit you to this birth, and from the Womb into the Tomb you entwine, The blissful birth of all Mankind,,,,,,,,,,you do ,

Within my dreams of tortured screams
and memories of long ago
I watched the act
denied as fact
and pursued her through the snow.

And in this dream
to me it seems
as though im almost dead
when Im ripped apart
and fed my heart
to awake upon my bed.

The dreams of night
with fists clenched tight
had followed me once again
and all my fears
wet my pillow with tears
as I expect the end.

Never before was I so bold
as when I tell you this.
The fear of death and the reapers breath
are as comforting as a lovers kiss.

I wipe at my eye
not willing to cry
must keep my sanity intact
little did I know
it was because of the snow
that kept me from attack.

I stand and scream
shattering all things
that happen to be in the room
the voice in my head
starts whispering instead
the end is coming soon.

I stand at the window
feeling the wind blow
through the broken glass
I cut my feet
climbing into the street
to fulfill my morbid task.

I land in the lawn
hours before dawn
listening to the voices
the demons around
retreat from my sound
so I stop to consider my choices.

I head for the trees
scraping my knees
because of the briers around
my rage intact
as a matter of fact
cruel suggestions
and self doubt abound.

A clearing in the forest
filled with chorus
by the evil thats out tonight
a circle of Satan
strengthened through hating
is witnessed under crisp moonlight.

In the middle of the night
Im turned on by the sight
at the scene taking place before me
levitating in air
with blood streaked hair
is an angelic symbol of mercy.

Raped and beaten
at this occultic meeting
she begs for sudden death
but the seed shes received
guarantees shell conceive
for the righteous theres never rest.


David M. Hill