PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I sow the words in the paper,

Almost everyday,

I know that like the real tree,

The words shall bear fruits later!

Maybe shortly, maybe thousands of years after that,

If history does evoke my ardour,

If history does bestow me with special nobility,

In the next world, celestial peace my soul shall get.

Extremely beholden I am to my brain as well,

Without which I could hardly write and tell!

Eyes staring through me,

humans with strange hearts

Love hangs in the air,

filling balloons on a string

Doors locked shut,

a hallway of tears,

I’m drowning and running

and getting nowhere

Spirits fill one half of me,

half dead,

eyes half closed

and humans with strange hearts

haunt my sleep

My heart is full

but my fingers are stiff from

going too long without

holding a pen

Words

finally open my eyes,

banish the spirits

and hang love in the air.

"Kill your darlings." I read in a book

Behind my glowing keypad, I shook.

Kill my darlings, you say?

Just pick up a rag and wipe it away?

Backspace, backspace, backspace, I press.

Making my paragraph noticeably less.

But I don't think I'm fooling anyone, I guess,

I really must start fresh.

 To me,

Writing is a therapy,

 It does reduce strain,

 Like a tablet lessening pain.

Written pieces are like assets,

 As soon as each writing gets,

 Visible on the paper,

 As a celestial gift the sense of joy does appear.

I want to spread the alphabets on the paper,

 The way seeds are spread by the farmer.

Do you -- do you know the reason they moan? 

Like abled creatures and beings, 
or the pullings tides, 
our watchful trees with too to move. 

They wish to enjoy the harvest, to dance in their fallen leaves. 
They long to sway and sing with the times of change, 
and to see the miracles of seed. 

But their roots are buried deep, 
and to be removed is defeat. 

So they sing their lonely songs 
with weathered bark and 
branches that reach for more. 

These are the reasons they moan.  

The things we write, some good some bad.

Depends on the day, whether happy or sad..

Some things we write are misunderstood,

The critiques weigh in, if it's bad or good.

I wear Snoopy bandaids to lighten the blow..

From pretentious poets who think they know.

I bounce words that rhyme from one to the other,

Most having meaning the synapse will cover.

I write for grins to help pass my day,

In hopes a smile will come your way.

Not everyone comments , so, I may never know it...

I guess in the end, I'm just a rubber poet' 

by Barry Anderson

People are people, they either write like they know everything...or know nothing..

Depends what you read at the time... In the end, all words run on and disappear...

Pages and thoughts stuck together, Titles smeared from coffee rings and time.

Your mind stained from perceived notions or useless banter. Trying to forage

a useable thought... Head shakes, jaws flap, trying to eliminate brain overload...

I need a "System Restore button!"

Sometimes appears like the cloud a doubt,

If must I write, what to write about?

At times certain first-rate topics spring up,

As the smoke from the coffee-cup.

At times think I to write about anything,

Irrespective of something vital or trifling,

Writing on and on should matter,

Writing on and on is the motto ‘my dear’.

Now I know what to write about,

Now I know how not to give in to any doubt!

Could you write "A Painted Pony", could you coin a lucid phrase?

Would your words be true, or misconscrewed, like reading through a maze?

When you enter conversation, does it start with Thee and Thou?

Do you shovel it so deeply, they wear boots and use a plow?

Sometimes it's good to throw in words like,"the" and "that" and "and",

"Easily not, may words come forth" when written in the sand!

Many things were written, "twisted verse" back in the day,

But the way they wrote was understood, cause' they even talked that way.

Now, this isn't the 1500's with a "Brooke or Painter" delight...

(Where Shakesphere "borrowed" most of his words)..To become a famous playwright!

So, choose your words for all to read, let your conscience be your guide...

"May all who attempt your assemblage of text, decipher far and wide!"