Damaged

I love the short, sharp sentences in this poem to highlight the writer’s message.

Caffeinated Lynne. A Poet with A Pen.

berry

I hate arguments.
The way I’m always wrong.
How you raise your voice.
Incessant swearing.
I do everything.
I am Super-“You-Name-It.”
You say it’s My “Job” —
because you work “all day.”
So you are a slob?
You have no respect.
I am human. I get tired.
Wouldn’t you? Trade me.
The kids. My mom. Bills.
School. Laundry. The house. Tired yet?
You wouldn’t last here.
We are so different.
I love my family. You don’t.
You hate visiting.
You are on your cell —
if you go. But that is you.
“Winding-down” is it?
I love spending time
with my kids. You become bored.
Shhh! You fell asleep!
Eleven years now.
We don’t cuddle, hug, kiss– touch.
Sleep in the same room–
Anymore.
And you try– now. You
want to make it work. Like  the
times before– But it
never lasts. We are
damaged from the inside. Your
words.. they…

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The wall flower

Great poetry

Withering Ambience

Arrayed themselves in sheer spice
these Blossoms of her paradise
greeted her charm that remains
no more driven by hurricanes

There with a vessel of colours
entreated the anodyne flowers
spattered to her heart’s content
that dissolved all crafty torment

required neither precision
nor any easing fusion
her bossom then unhands balking
thus divulges any crackling

she twirled and twirled around
overwhelmed with novel astound
succumbed so buried beneath
this fetching garth o’er heath

her kirtle swelled free
towards a long-awaited flee
as to reach the barriers subtend
stood high and stiff to forfend

A new demesne she loved
under dreams this wall gloved
walked steadfast to a corner
uttering, “I’m not a loner!”

returned to her yard having solace and will power
adorning her crumpet with a gentle wall flower

~f.h.

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Writing Tip: Detox by Writing

A great writing tip! Writing is something that I believe more people should use to work out their negative feelings – it’s an excellent form of therapy.

Creative Talents Unleashed

photo-13Writing has always been a form of therapy for me. It helped in my youth while living with an abusive father and to this day, I can use writing to exert those negative emotions rather than taking my frustrations out on another person. Over the years, I have learned to use my poetry to target specific topics, causes and be a little more positive, but there’s no better form of detoxing than writing.

Life can get chaotic, and more and more people have a habit of keeping their feelings bottled up and eventually explode with regrets of harsh words said. You can be a single mom with no time or anyone to talk to, a teenager with peer pressure issues or even a veteran who is coping with PTSD. If you can’t afford a therapist, then writing is definitely the next best thing. Even if you are not a skilled…

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Empty Lament

You can feel the loneliness and grief deep within this poem.

Step Into The Nightmare

I take myself off in an empty lament,

a solace I sing through the unanswered pain,

the words may be tired but they’re sung with intent,

there’s no-one to hear so my song is in vain.

I sing for lost youth and for love unfulfilled,

I sing for the sweetness I held but let go,

I sing for the castles my hands couldn’t build,

I sing for the peace that my mind couldn’t know.

My song is a thread through the story of me,

I splice a new length when there’s pain in my heart,

it helps me recall how it all came to be,

a bundle of yarn I trace back to the start.

When hearts once so gullible harden and break,

when lacklustre lullabies don’t hit their mark,

you sing your lament for your sanity’s sake,

a map to help find your way out of the dark.

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111.

Curious – a wonderfully vivid poem.

february stationery

I run my tongue around the back of my teeth
pushing the perceived space underneath my gums
and being surprised when my teeth hold fast

I’ve had a repeated nightmare, intrusive thoughts
about my teeth coming out; since this started
and I know that in a list of most common dreams
your teeth falling out would come right under nudity

But hear me out as I pretend again that I am special

Do you remember the jagged edge of your teeth
as they dangled, held in only by nerves and roots?
I do. I remember pushing, prodding, twisting
cutting my tongue open on the edge only to
give up at the last second


But I would do it, constantly, until I fell asleep

and perhaps in the night too, as I woke with
a pillow full of blood, scrabbling to find the tooth

And it isn’t that I want my…

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Maybe It’s Time

Great poetry with a really important message

The Fabricated

globes

Time and time again
We say we’re going to
make this world a better place.
We say this, we say that.
We do this, we do that.
But maybe it’s time,
And maybe this time
We’ll put our minds together,
Storm through this weather,
And figure out what matters.

We talk and we talk
debate and debate,
while these creatures are
dying at an alarming rate.
No action is an action,
which causes a chain reaction
to things not getting done.
We the people have the power,
we can make this our finest hour

So, let us not cower in
the face of adversity.
We have the opportunity
to build a strong community
and bring everlasting unity.
This is the way it should be,
We should see eye to eye.
Looks like it’s time
To see the bigger picture.
For us to fix these things,
and put the pieces back…

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Sacrificial Hiccups

Fantastic imagery in this poem, great writing.

Dunstan Carter : Poetry

From the unmarked graves
On the cusps of dusty hills,

To the messages on fallen walls
In the hearts of war torn towns,

There is a need to just
Pause and take breaths

Now there’s nothing left
But the icy sheened eyes

Of the puppets
And the infamous thieves,

The blood on the chins
Of the ruthless,

And the stains that shouted loudest
Through rectified dark skies.

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Little Lamp

A really fun little story, very enjoyable!

Flash 365

This time when I turned on the lamp in the den it said “Hello”.

Imagine my surprise.

“Hello?” it said.

“Hello?” I called.

“Over here.” Said the lamp. I walked over and peaked under the white fringed shade.

“Do you mind removing this thing on my head?” asked the lamp.

I am losing my mind, I thought. Yet, obeyed.

“Ah, much better. What is your name?” the lamp asked in a lyrical little voice.

“John?” I said.

“You sound unsure.”

“I’m not sure what I’m sure about right this second.” I muttered. The lamp laughed and shined a little brighter.

“I understand. I am not being terribly fair. I know light cannot speak here. I came here from another place. I had to leave, you see.”

I looked around the room to see if anyone was watching before turning back to the lamp.

“Why did you have to leave?” I…

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With Pen In Hand

Fantastic poetry

Max Meunier

Pensively, with pen in hand
I seek to speak this heart’s demand
In verses vetting no avail
Dispersed through endless paper trails
The flames of amorous subdue
Proclaimed in clamor since imbrued
In rumination brewing long
From luminescent springtide song
Frustrations thrust upon this mind
Soon turn to dust all in due time
As lost laments gather to die
‘Til one day come a weather eye
In search of words to mend the wound
Unearths the tome that tends this tomb
These tales eternal then retold
In vales of vernal life once known
For all things past must yet return
As falling glass from stardust spurned

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