PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Mind bending tending to the spirit

Many reach a point staring through a misty bowl

Growing old while being re-born 

Depending on mind state

Fluid actions 

Like putting on slippers

Comfort found in reaching beyond

What can we reach from where

Backflipping into conformity

Seeing from a perspective unusual deformity

It seemed like a great idea at the time. On 07-24-17 365 poems that did not exist a year ago now are snuggly housed at postpoems.org/. Some days I was either tired, angry, fed up, lost, pissed off imperially, sleepy, busy, unpoetically inclined, or just lazy - but, I rallied. I had to look up a few, actually more than a few.

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Some of the poems reflected my mood perfectly - those are the ones that are pretty hokey, indecipherable, or flighty. Several are passionate, some are about kids or love or poetry writing. It offered an opportunity to go anywhere and on occasion anywhere is the locale of the poem.

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During holidays and vacations I got behind, but caught up when I got back. Still, the task was there every time I called up the poetry site. A few of them are not too shabby, most of them are dashed of prosaic humor or the feeling from items in my field of vision, a dream, a recent memory. A few are pretty good, as poems go. I have a few favorites. It would not make a bad book of verse - ha! 365 poems - most anthologies are not THAT long!

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While I'm glad to be done, it is kind of sad that there are no more words or phrases to look up each day and write about. So, if you have a favorite word and don't know what to do with it, send it to me and I'll write a poem about it. I've gotten really good at it. (Tee hee hee).  :D

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YOURS IN WRITING,

ALLETS

07-24-17

626P

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Move over One Step Beyond, take a huge step backward Thriller, there's a new scary story teller in the the house on haunted hill. Even fog is jealous of this mist! Great write  ~ allets ~

I hide my scars from the world 

I've hidden it all

None knows I still would rather cut then feel hurt from another broken heart

I've got so many scars I can't begin to say where each and everyone came from

I've been broken beaten till I couldn't handle them anymore..

I've died inside how can I breath again....

So ill give in tell you what they are from

A broken heart from losing people I loved...

I've got them from cutting

I've got them from being abused 

I've got them from hurting myself..

I've got them from falling down...

I've got them from losing all my pregnancies due to three tubal pregnancies...

I've got them from having piercings...

I've got so much I could go on for weeks.

I've finally got the power to ask god to help heal my scars to help take them from me...

Backspace backspace backspace

It's not too late

Do it

Another copy was just born

It was an upgrade

Erase yourself

Delusion of that choice will make me feel

I sway back and forth

balancing the life of others

watching over the ones that need it

I'm a libra and I'm a balance

I weigh the good in people

the bad in people

and the kindness of all

I have created a folder for the 365 day Poetry Challenge.

a.griffiths57

I already wrote this poem in the past, but I saw this word on here, and I had a poem named Nightmare.

Please enjoy. And look at my other works if you like it! 

Blood drips in an abyss of despair

Alone he sits in the darkness of his nightmare

The corpses of his greed lay beneath his stare

His demented mind swallowed in a cage of fear

Within the raging sea lies his mind

Storms of hatred, keep him confined

His madness slowly becoming part of his design

More victims pile as he becomes more refined

As the crimson stains an ocean of pain

He becomes part of this world lost in chains

As the blood spills his lust is sustained

He falls victim to infinite shame

The mental binds of resentment hold him fast

Beneath his agony, a pain impossibly vast

He crawls beneath a burden of infinite mass

He trembles and shakes, shatters like glass

Broken and beaten, his hollow heart still beats

He opens his eyes, as he lies upon his sheets

His nightmare consumed him, it made him weak

Until a blade of mercy left a red streak

The bones that make me

They break me

They make me want to fall

Cry like a baby

But...

They make me want to grow strong

They make me feel good

They make me who I am

My bones can break me or strengthen me

One blink one second

another blink... two

and another... Three

blinking and time... four

goes side by side... five

knowing that sometime... six

we won't blink anymore... seven

and time wont go on... eight

keep blinking... nine

keep thinking... ten

I have heard the tales of demons living within,

The tales of superstition 

And bad fortune

Yet, I saw none

As I gazed at my reflection in the 

Infamous looking glass in the store window

It probed and pricked at my imperfections,

While I stood in silent agreement,

Waiting for her to tell me I was good enough.

She never did.

I returned years later,

Yet, she offered the same judgment 

I turned,

Only to see a crack in her exterior,

Yet, she remained shiny and flawless

I decided then,

I WAS GOOD ENOUGH.

My life's boundaries are to restictive.

The more my body let's me down.

So the boundaries of my restraint diminish, with time.

How? I hear you call.

These limitations of boundaries I hope are to learn something constructive.

Maybe even restorative.

Boundaries to expel or excel.

Boundaries to restrain or rampaige.

By Anita Griffiths.

Are you sure it's Gray?

Or do you mean Grey?

What's the difference any way?

There's a lot of difference, I say.

Gray a name!

Grey a colour!

However, you spell it the word describes; colourless, cold, dull, emptiness.

Gray/Grey yes! a void.

By Anita Griffiths

Eternity is such a long time.

Except when eternity arrives.

So ends eternity in the blink of an eye, maybe mine.

For "here in the blink of an eye"; has arrived I tell no lies.

Did I or "here in the blink of an eye" die; as I closed my eyes.

For "roaming for all time", did enclose and embrace the world.

Did it swallow all and the world?

Or merely regain focus in the sensors of mine eye.

And therefore, the magnificance of eternity destroyed for all time.

It may even be you who captures it with your eye.

By Anita Griffiths

I was contemplating

writing a poem

about a scar,

but I couldn't 

decide 

which one

was worth

the effort.

The funny thing is

Everything is one thing

Although it is not

Some things are spcieal

Every little thing

Emily's feelings toward her lover was an enraged cold embrace.

How could he be unfaithfull to her?

Never questioning her own infidelity!

"I have heard how you have betrayed me, with another lover".

Emily's frosty glaze and perfunctionary icy attention to her lover:

Made him stare and start; brought an abrupt end to his affectionate attentions, towards Emily.

Not knowing how to explain his duplicity and embarrased by his own clumsy efforts of loving affection.

He looked on as her rage errupted, whilst his quick retreat was accompanied by a valuable, but breaking vase.

Emily felt so much better at the traitorous lover's exit and the broken vase.

Anita Griffiths

We rarely meet.

It's best that way.

Then I can accept who I am.

If only not looking could improve things.

Then we could meet more often;

Mirror, mirror on the wall ............. .

by Anita Griffiths

There are many reasons why I have a tear in my eye.

Tomorrow I hope to have no tears in my eyes on the "morrow".

The birth of my two sons brought tears of joy to live by.

Many happy memories and a tear conjured up of love, engagement, marriage and christenings I recall.

Tears course down my face from my eyes:

To say farewell brings longing and "missing you tears" in a haze.

As we fell apart my joy was displaced by rage; as the tears fell.

Into an abyss of dispair I descended as you left, my tears, overflowed.

Sometime later tears brimming as I make the grade for and by myself and no more tears.

Replaced by self-purpose, achievement, self-reliance and tears of happiness.

Anita Griffiths

It sat in my chest

the bullet of my death

the first touch of darkness

as I hold my chest on my knees

the dirt and blood on my hand 

from the trench I sit in

I think of my family

and all the friends I had

I served my country

and now the bullet

serves my heart

Some say I'm tilting,

no lance, no foe - illusions;

but I know...I know...

Frost is pretend snow; slowly my soft tread leaves a crisp and satisfying scrunch in the Frost.

Looking back where I had walked, my footprints I can pick out, in the glistening, frosty trail.

Frost can occur throughout the year: and makes fingers and toes extremley cold.

If you've ever left your washing out when; along came the frost and froze every garment rigid.

Fallen leaves in Autumn sprinkled with frost are a crisp, rustling delight.

Beware of frost too, for it causes one to slip and slide.

There's a lot to be said about frost!

By Anita Griffiths

I close my eyes to aid my listening.

Carried on the warm breeze I hear: an electric symphony of lawn mowers, strimmers, hedge cutting.

Nearer still I hear the water sprinkler and the melancholy calls of many birds.

As happily they bathed and watered there.

Closer the humming of the honey bee and the butterflies wings.

So to the soft call - the dove brings.

The sun's strong rays; an echo makes.

Of snoozing dog and purring cat, that are mates.

Gentler sounds yet are the shimmering plants, when the winds blow.

And then my slumbering breath, did rise so and exhale so slow.

Gentler than all other sounds a charming melodic wind chime.

By Anita Griffiths

These are all wonderful writings, and makes me so very happy to see people getting involved, and that you are all enjoying yourselves. I'm trying to comment as much as I am able, but if you have a particular one you want me to read, Private message me and I will get to it. I don't want to miss out on anything, or you can PM me the link to the 365 folder so that I will have them and easy access to get to them instead of searching, with all the poems posted daily, they're hard for me to find. (^.-) Keep up the great work guys! <3333333333

Vague, shrouded, blurred, etheral images are conjured up.

I thought I'd find my way home; but in this "pea souppa", all couldn't be vaguer.

Shrouded by wisps of rent and clinging swirling mist shapes, cloying to the person.

Everywhere so blurred and disorentated "couldn't find anything".

Ghostly and etheral like; the mist permeating all, " other wordly" and "oddly travelled indoors too".

All perception of self image lost in the mist's languid, unforgiving grip.

There to conjure up the most ghastly mist monsters that ever existed: waiting just for you.

By Anita Griffiths

a.griffiths57

365 Day Poetry Challenge folder

Where do I begin?

I never look for the joke.

I look for beauty and a smile.

Jokes are so bad taste or cruel; they could make you choke.

I've probably missed the point by a mile.

But at least I can smile at my rhyming joke!

"There was this .........................

I'll let you all complete the poem, probably with chisle and file.

by Anita Griffiths

12/08/16

I've given up reading newspaper.

I now read the news online.

My carbon footprint must be lighter.

So the earth can not detect my line.

Or else the earth will be angered at such a miuser.

With a lighter carbon print everything will be fine.

Recycling schemes are good for the reader.

But are much work and can be oversubscribed, like mine.

by Anita Griffiths

This morning I painted a dandilion I'd seen.

Already to be blown by the wind;

and taken airbourne ready to seed.

Even its etheral quality amongst the green.

For all colours and etheral flatters green reed.

Tick tock, as time and the elements sweep by; so dandilion is dispersed;

till it is elsewhere seen.

Creations wonder, however, can they call them weeds, their healing powers we need.

By Anita Griffiths

11/08/16