poems

I have a rendezvous with death... I will not fail that rendezvous

Roses are red Violets are blueI don't go on this accountSo go away SHOO!

The gray sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low: And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow,And quench its speed i_ the slushy sand.

Good folk, I have no coin,To take were to purloin:I have no copper in my purse,I have no silver either,And all my gold is on the furzeThat shakes in windy weatherAbove the rusy heather.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

He pulled me close and said, "Katie, don't leave me, you're my breath, I refuse to live without you."It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, but I still walked away, because my name is Anne Marie.

I've been writing poems since I was sixteen. Back then, poems were an obvious release for all the frustrations and anxieties associated with adolescence. Mostly, they were a way for me to impress girls, even though I never remember any girls being impressed.

A Paradise for you and meTrust, true love to guide us freeLoneliness shall not fill the dayI will forever be with youOur Love is beautiful like the sunshine lighting the wayYour gentle feelYour caring handsThere is no doubt in your soulNo eerie place in your heart to express this feelingOur compassion flows in the waves just to save and brighten my day My heart has no hoes Awaiting your paceto touch this placeOur love, withstanding all odds Diminishing hate, in our thoughts There is no place I rather be til eternity... Than in your soul, life and in your dreams... I am here to stay with you forever.

nothing's news.it's the same old thing indisguise.only one thing comes without adisguise and you only see itonce, ormaybe never.like getting hit by a freighttrain.makes us realize that all ourmoaning about long lost girlsin gingham dressesis not so importantafterall.

I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

Most Like an Arch This MarriageMost like an arch__n entrance which upholds and shores the stone-crush up the air like lace. Mass made idea, and idea held in place. A lock in time. Inside half-heaven unfolds.Most like an arch__wo weaknesses that lean into a strength. Two fallings become firm. Two joined abeyances become a term naming the fact that teaches fact to mean.Not quite that? Not much less. World as it is, what__ strong and separate falters. All I do at piling stone on stone apart from you is roofless around nothing. Till we kissI am no more than upright and unset. It is by falling in and in we makethe all-bearing point, for one another__ sake, in faultless failing, raised by our own weight.

It made me happy that poems are referred to in the present tense even when the poet is in the past tense.

How would you start to write a poem? How would you put together a series of words for its first line__ow would you know which words to choose? When you read a poem, every word seemed so perfect that it had to have been predestined__ell, a good poem.

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

The first time I saw your face, my lips said, "hello" and my heart said, "that's your wife.

No poet can stay alive solely in his/her poetry etched in papers, it is the reader audience in whom the poets breath forever.......

No baby, you didn't hurt me. You wrecked me. Know the difference.