Stream of Consciousness
Summer Bliss
What does summer feel like? It feels like the heat of the sun beating down on your head, warming your skin as the day stretches endlessly ahead. It feels like the refreshing touch of lake water flowing through your hair as you dip beneath the surface, surrounded by the gentle movement of waves created by passing boats and the rhythmic crashes against the shore.
By Adrianna M. Braun3 months ago in Poets
Tricube Poems
Here are the rules of tricubes: Each line contains three syllables. Each stanza contains three lines. Each poem contains three stanzas. So we're talking cubes in mathematical terms (to the third power). No rules for rhymes, meter, etc. Just three, three, and three.
By Denise E Lindquist3 months ago in Poets
Bring Him Home
The sun abandons and I sleep a good while, until daisies alert me. I snooze on wafts of clover, wake again! I can’t contain the kettle boiling. Startles me as if it’s a new passing. I open to Whitman and stop this night with me, which possesses all poems, the valve of your voice. What is a man? What am I? What are You? Lulled again into the underworld, I wear the cap of my invisibility. Where I find my Self in lavender fields, trying to ambush them because they are too good for God! The ocean never abates or stops producing olfactory portent that smells like an angry leather belt tonight and wakes me again! How the chimera dies underneath my dysmorphic body, above the roof of this stained house. What is a man? What am I? What are You? Until all simmers and glimmers a revised hope that my husband will return from sailing with his wish on board. That a simple nod will bring up the sun again. And bring him home! What is a man? What am I? What are You?
By Paul Aaron Domenick3 months ago in Poets
A GHOST IN THE VEIN (6-14-2018)
A GHOST IN THE VEIN (6-14-2018) I was listening to Johnny Cash's version of HURT. When the Lyric "the needle tears a hole" came up, I remembered this poem. Addiction has a cost. The addicted don't care but it is not intentional. It is a type of 'don't care' that is forced on one by addiction. The biggest HURT is those that love the addict. There is no escape-even when you disown or erase that person from your life. It doesn't happen. I just don't know how to explain that kind of pain. Writing a poem was the only way I could try.
By Victor Mendez3 months ago in Poets
