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Poems that mean something to you

Dangerous Mind
United States 17awards
Joined 8th Mar 2016
Forum Posts: 266

The Invitation

It doesnít interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heartís longing.

It doesnít interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesnít interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by lifeís betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesnít interest me if the story you are telling me is true

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ĎYes.í

It doesnít interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesnít interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesnít interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Strange Creature
United States
Joined 23rd Nov 2023
Forum Posts: 4

When Daniel Harris stepped out of his car
the policeman was waiting. Gun raised.

I use the past tense though this is irrelevant
in Daniel's language, which is sign.

Sign has no future or past; it is a present language.
You are never more present than when a gun

is pointed at you. What language says this
if not sign? But the police officer saw hands

waving in the air, fired and Daniel dropped
his hands, his chest bleeding out onto concrete

metres from his home. I am in Breukelen Coffee House
in New York, reading this news on my phone,

when a black policewoman walks in, two guns
on her hips, my friend next to me reading

the comments section: Black Lives Matter.
Now what could we sign or say out loud

when the last word I learned in ASL was alive?
Alive ó both thumbs pointing at your lower abdominal,

index fingers pointing up like two guns in the sky.

Two Guns in the Sky for Daniel Harris by Raymond Antrobus

Beau Sconce
Strange Creature
Joined 22nd Dec 2023
Forum Posts: 2

good poems

Amy D Patterson
Strange Creature
United States
Joined 5th Nov 2023
Forum Posts: 10

Yeseninís poems mean a lot to me, there is a lot of meaning in these poems

Tyrant of Words
England 33awards
Joined 10th Jan 2021
Forum Posts: 5941

Definitely this one.

Strange Creature
Joined 7th Apr 2024
Forum Posts: 1

The poem is really amazing!

Strange Creature
United States
Joined 13th Apr 2024
Forum Posts: 2

Tides of Love

I am the raging riverís flow,
You are the tranquil oceanís glow.
No matter where I twist and turn,
Your waters with mine forever churn.
Together, we sculpt the earthís embrace,
Through valleys deep and peaks of grace.
Our dance forms landscapes, lifeís grand stage,
A testament to our eternal bond, age-by-age.
My love, itís true,
One day, under the relentless sunís hue,
Iíll dry, barren, our legacy etched in sand,
Reminding us of our journey,

- Cruz

poet Anonymous

Autumn Dusk

I saw above a sea of hills
A solitary planet shine,
And there was no one, near or far,
To keep the world from being mine.

(Sara Teasdale)

Tyrant of Words
Kiribati 21awards
Joined 13th Nov 2009
Forum Posts: 2771

Leisure by W.H.Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Welsh born Davies (1871-1940) was the original supertramp who lost a leg jumping box cars in the States, eventually returning to England where he became the toast of high society. His autobiography "Diary of a Supertramp" is a tale well told.

Strange Creature
United States
Joined 13th Apr 2024
Forum Posts: 2

No title yet

I should've stayed home that fateful night,
But instead, I ventured out for a ride.
To clear my mind, I sought the road's respite,
Alone, with darkness as my guide.

- Cruz

poet Anonymous


Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

(A. E. Housman)

Fire of Insight
United States 2awards
Joined 10th Apr 2020
Forum Posts: 74

Brilliant. Topical. Writing down the author's name right now.


Tyrant of Words
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 16319

Robert Frost
A personal favourite 👍

Tyrant of Words
Palestine 20awards
Joined 14th June 2017
Forum Posts: 5389

Black Orchid

In the darkest forest
the black orchid blooms.
With petals of never ending
sorrow, for no light it consumes.
Itís sepals are wilting,
by no hands itís been touched ,
choked by the shadows,
longing to be clutched.
It muses in silence,
that it could be a rose,
but alone in this darkness
the black orchid grows.
Oh, to have lips that could
speak, or eyes that could cry.
For then it would weep,
and let out a sigh,
but in this dark forest
the black orchid blooms,
amongst these dead trees,
Itís death so soon looms.
Written by Haunted_Lunacy (Haunted Lunacy)
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poet Anonymous


Yon flakes that fret the eastern sky
Lead back my day of birth;
The far, wide-wandered hour when I
Came crying upon earth.

Then came I crying, and to-day,
With heavier cause to plain,
Depart I into death away,
Not to be born again.

(A. E. Housman.)

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