Random poems
Our House With The Rotary Phone
I sit in a room that no longer exists
On a chair long since splintered and gone
While I pick at a meal I once would devour
in our house with the rotary phone.
I sit in the room that doesn’t exist
Enjoying my choice of ice creams
Recalling the window in Tiffany glass
Forgive an old man his daydreams
A simple “A” frame with three beds and a bath,
obsolete, yes, but our home.
It stood with its’ sisters on Queens borough Hill,
where the L.I.E. jams are well known.
I had known for some time that her best days were gone
A plywood fence circled our home
Title had passed to a contractor’s hands
Neglected, our house looked forlorn
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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“passion”
Examine the word “passion”
Defined, ardor: zeal, desire
7 letter word, still in fashion
Word that sets a heart afire
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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A Dot On White Sheet!
Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!
Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!
Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Burning Pain
Pain and helplessness.
Burns and simmers away.
It all buns inside.
I cant rember a pain free day!
Pain burns away.
Reminding me
I can never be free.
The burning pain.
The sensation I feel.
Like my head will explode.
Pain burns like fire.
With the amber flames.
Not to crumble to ash.
Always smoking
And smouldering away.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Death
the shadow lurking
just outside my window;
faintly smelling like spring rain
remembered in the fall.
the first lips you kissed,
the first time you tasted
your own blood.
a good cigar, and
a shot of french brandy.
the film of time
covering the eyes.
taking away sharpness,
finding form in the vague
and near forgotten!
a Bible that smells
like damp newspapers;
shovelfuls of earth,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Crazy Lady of Jiao Ba Lu
Jiao Ba Lu is an ancient street,
The cobbles are overgrown,
A few mean dwellings still bar their doors
The others are falling down;
They say a woman who lives down there
Is three parts gone to the moon,
While children mutter a curse, or pray
When she stumbles out in the gloom.
For Gao Fang Fang has pure white hair
That blows like a ghost in the breeze,
Her eyes are wild, and she never smiles,
And she often falls to her knees;
She falls to her knees with a cry of pain
At visions she only sees,
And wails at night when the moon is bright,
Or shadows form through the trees.
Over the hearth of her meagre home
Is a picture of Mao Zedong,
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Ripest Peach
The ripest peach is highest on the tree --
And so her love, beyond the reach of me,
Is dearest in my sight. Sweet breezes, bow
Her heart down to me where I worship now!
She looms aloft where every eye may see
The ripest peach is highest on the tree.
Such fruitage as her love I know, alas!
I may not reach here from the orchard grass.
I drink the sunshine showered past her lips
As roses drain the dewdrop as it drips.
The ripest peach is highest on the tree,
And so mine eyes gaze upward eagerly.
Why -- why do I not turn away in wrath
And pluck some heart here hanging in my path? --
Love's lower boughs bend with them -- but, ah me!
The ripest peach is highest on the tree!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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In Our Own Limitations To Write
in our own limitations
we dream what to write and we try hard to write
them all this morning in the most direct and candid manner
understandable
to get the message through each reader also looking for the cure
of their emptiness
this madness that never stops until the words have no meaning anymore
until there is no more purpose in every syllable
do not wait, just keep on going, there is this train that runs to nowhere
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Defination of Love
My life was the night sky.It was dark, except for a few stars.Those stars were points of reason.Then suddnely, you shot across my sky, like a meator.And the sky was bright full of brillancy, beautiful, and reasons to live.But then, you left, and the meator was gone.My sky had gone black.No stars, and no reason to live.You're the reason I live and I love you and will always love you.I'll love you no matter how much miles are between us, and I'll live even if you don't know.
poem by Isabella Swan
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Antagonism vs epigonism
It's more interesting to watch two strong spirits in antagonism that a multitude of them in epigonism.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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