Free verse Poems
Dressed to Chill
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
A huge yellow moon is glimmering, and a chill wind's in ghostly trees.
This night was made for magic, so we'll get dressed in our very best!
Sable black lipstick for me, and a smoky gray for my brooding eyes,
And lovely rosy red makeup for you, crowned by a silky, orange wig.
The obsidian night is still very young, and we will be gone for hours,
Like juicy fruit patiently ripening, in locations of sunshine and green.
My sleek, midnight black dress, and matching pointy hat, will be a hit,
And your red nose and bright polka dots, will be the height of fashion!
Crows are cawing, the cats are screeching, and bats are flying north-
The luxurious party is waiting, and will be filled with the best dressed.
......
A Golden Spell
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Ebony shadows on the ground, a torrid afternoon,
Butterflies in the luscious roses, pinks on orange,
Swift flight of clamorous crows, black on sapphire,
Off toward hued sunset, that sets the world on fire,
Mystical mountain meadows, wildflowers in mists,
With the bright future ahead, of still, golden spells,
Clouds on lustrous dawn skies, in sunrise lavender,
Varying the vibrant color by the hours, in summer.
Beautiful Chaos
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Cruising along on a rolling highway,
Petals blowing in a passing breeze,
Bejeweled distant blue skies above,
And a ruby redbird crowd goes past.
The sun is in jade, luxuriant grasses,
And the hills are among ivory clouds,
Colored leaves make pretty scenery,
And russet apples fall from the trees.
Autumn breeze in my hair disheveled,
So common where wind has reveled,
......
Dancing for the Flame
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Have you ever been a ballerina,
Dancing with passion flame?
Have you ever been a ballerina,
Who set hearts aflame?
Have you been a ballerina,
Dancing for a name?
Have you been a ballerina,
Dancing for the fame?
Have you ever been a ballerina,
Dancing to triumph gain?
......
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.
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.
......
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
Eliza Connolly (1 poem about Free verse)
I teach English and history to high school kids and enjoy writing. -
-
-