Free verse Poems
"the process of removing toxic substances"
by Soulayma A.
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
Memories of a While Back
by Mai ✿
O memories of long ago
I never thought I'd miss you
I still remember those times
Never thought they'd be the best of times
Oh, how I long for those days
Hard as they were, painful even
They are the loveliest, nonetheless
Younger me would've been perplexed
If she knew I want those days back!
But perhaps that's how life is
......
Altar
by Marilyn Chin
Why cry over dried flowers?
They're meant to be straw.
Why cry over miniature roses?
They're meant to be small.
Why cry over Buddha's hand citron?
Why cry over the hidden flower?
Why cry over Mother's burnt forehead?
Her votive deathglow, her finest hour.
In The Darkness
by Marcus Malkowicz
As I lay in the darkness
Wide awake
Trapped in my thinking
As I feel unwanted
Selfish thinking I know
Desiring the embrace
Though what I lack
The pain it brings
......
The Gray Days
by Marcus Malkowicz
I know it’s the afternoon
I know the sun exists
Though what I see
Only lives a lack of color
A lack of color
That’s so unappealing
Yet so striking
It screams without a soul
......
Memories of a While Back
by Mai ✿
O memories of long ago
I never thought I'd miss you
I still remember those times
Never thought they'd be the best of times
Oh, how I long for those days
Hard as they were, painful even
They are the loveliest, nonetheless
Younger me would've been perplexed
If she knew I want those days back!
But perhaps that's how life is
......
A Dreamy Night
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Black onyx night, of the pearlescent moon,
diamond dew kissed, musk rose red.
Deep purple and white passion!
Phantoms dance in lilac dreams;
around the corner of blooms,
with memories of sunshine.
Comparing lovely costumes,
in fields, beds and flowerpots,
just steps away from moonlight.
A polka dot rainbow flared.
......
"the process of removing toxic substances"
by Soulayma A.
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
Brick-Wall
by Lokenath Roy
Cascades of love,
I kept putting bricks around
how long shall I surround?
Whatever was left;
of it all—
I stood with ballistas' protruding
upon stinking patches of blood-mud;
the gates to my paradise
banished forever.
......
Life´s destiny
by Mario Odekerken
In the stillness of dawn,
dreams awaken,
whispers of purpose,
carry on the breeze.
Each heartbeat,a reminder
of the fragile thread,
that weaves us together,
a tapestry of moments.
......
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Eliza Connolly (1 poem about Free verse)
I teach English and history to high school kids and enjoy writing. -
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