what poetry means to me
Learn more about other poetry terms
I.
The thin, paperback covers of the children's anthologies were cool to the touch
Under my fingers, still chubby and child-like.
They were pleasing to the eye,
Lined up so neatly on the shelf.
Painfully shy, an introvert, without many friends
A child of divorce, found salvation with a pen
Black and blue world, smudged ink on her hands
Wrote herself a ticket to faraway dreamlands
Compulsions undescribed
No outlet for emotions
A cage of my own making
But I forgot the door
Tick tock
Goes the clock
Ticking my thoughts away
Deeper and deeper inside my cage
Poetry, For when I'm tongue tied or afraid of being criticized for the controversial thoughts lingering in my mind.
Poetry, For when I feel like no one can hear what I say so I release it on a page to free my knowledge from its cage.
Poetry is my sunshine
My gateway to heaven
I couldn't go a day without it
Not ever cooncerned about if it rhymes
My poetry speaks values
It gives me a sense of importance
Like I never have to wait
I don’t write for myself
Or to impress anyone
I write just to get the thoughts out of my head
The things I am dying to say
But can never speak
Poetry is cruel
Just as all words are
But they say the best are written by fools
Smearing the truth, concealed by blue jewels
It is a chance for the barren to have a strong son
Music was a part of me and with that they called me poetry,no one understood what it meant to me,simply cause they were never next to me.To see my ups to see my downs,to see the light to see the dark.Everyday seemed to be a new test but still,I sa
Meet Poetry
she is not bound by the chains of prose
she grasps ideas and traps them in the poet's hands like butterflies
then releases them into the atomosphere of thought
to be absorbed by hungry minds
life.the feeling of being alive and not just living of living and not just being alive.every word; a heartbeat in rhythm set to the cadenceof every inhale and every exhale.
Like a stream flowing to an ocean,
An eagle flying over the mountains,
The sun peeking through the trees,
A vision comes to me.
The smell a warm aroma,
When I shut my eyes tight letters flow; ink spilled from a bottle.
I am patient for I know words do not like to be coddled.
I let the letters connect, making words, words into sentences.
Poetry?
What does it mean to me?
In every way I write it,
It must be
Is poetry an acronym?
Or a word with a synonym?
Could I just make up the meaning?
Thus having a whim.
The words fill the blank page
while tears and sweat leave me
while the sorrow and pain is no longer physical
it falls onto the paper below
memories are brought with each word written
Cold water on the body of the slide,
dripping from a storm..the sound of children screaming...
recess alone with a pad and pen.
My own world made of ink and devotion,
Without poetry, life would be very bland
I express my thoughts and feelings
through words written down,
through rhyme
its something that helps me get my thoughts
written coherently across a blank page
This is for you—
you who cannot escape,
who wishes that dragons existed
if only to heat your existence
and give you reason
to live and to breathe.
