Submissions by anvinvil (Anvillan)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Observer of life, the mind and dreams... what’s real?
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Apr 2020 8:36pm
12th Apr 2020 8:36pm
The Voice...
Fallen, crushed by fears
my tears soak the earth,
my cries unheard,
my pleads ignored, then a voice
from the bowels of history
covers me with a blanket
of calm. My tears rise from
the earth like flowers. They
cover me with the song of life,
the smell of youth, the hope
of a new beginning. all from
the sound of his voice...
Thank you Andrea B.
my tears soak the earth,
my cries unheard,
my pleads ignored, then a voice
from the bowels of history
covers me with a blanket
of calm. My tears rise from
the earth like flowers. They
cover me with the song of life,
the smell of youth, the hope
of a new beginning. all from
the sound of his voice...
Thank you Andrea B.
#rebirth
296 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
12th Apr 2020 3:32am
12th Apr 2020 3:32am
Lesson from the Inside...
Lesson from the Inside...
Wandering open spaces
seeking solitude or peace
or both.
My heart beats fast
I feel the blood coursing
I panic at the surge
I scream at the sky
I stomp on the earth
I vomit the truth
It spills to the ground
in a jumble of words
What does it mean
Is it poetry from the
heart's bottom
I arrange the words
they speak to me
Peace and solitude
are inside not outside
I pick up my lesson
and walk home like a
kid on the first day of school.
Wandering open spaces
seeking solitude or peace
or both.
My heart beats fast
I feel the blood coursing
I panic at the surge
I scream at the sky
I stomp on the earth
I vomit the truth
It spills to the ground
in a jumble of words
What does it mean
Is it poetry from the
heart's bottom
I arrange the words
they speak to me
Peace and solitude
are inside not outside
I pick up my lesson
and walk home like a
kid on the first day of school.
#rebirth
270 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Apr 2020 4:46pm
11th Apr 2020 4:46pm
Poetic Intent...
Why do we write poetry?
A need burns within us.
The conflict rages between
self gratification and
desire to relate to all.
Cryptic verses gratify self but
plain language verses
stimulate the emotions of others.
The choice comes down to impact,
interpretation, and ultimate feelings.
Cryptic is very effective with the
very sophisticated poets
and those that can glean
meaning from terms seemingly unrelated.
Inspiration is a gift but communication is
an art to be judged by the observer.
Whatever the format,...
A need burns within us.
The conflict rages between
self gratification and
desire to relate to all.
Cryptic verses gratify self but
plain language verses
stimulate the emotions of others.
The choice comes down to impact,
interpretation, and ultimate feelings.
Cryptic is very effective with the
very sophisticated poets
and those that can glean
meaning from terms seemingly unrelated.
Inspiration is a gift but communication is
an art to be judged by the observer.
Whatever the format,...
#kindness
282 reads
7 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
11th Apr 2020 12:46pm
11th Apr 2020 12:46pm
In the Fog...
Am I awake or just aware? Am I moving or just imagining?
I’m in the mist, the fog of uncertainty. This is the
world of inspiration. Inspiration, like a thief, comes
in the nighttime and abducts your thoughts to another world,
vague yet vivid, where ideas appear in the thinning mist.
Nondescript outlines at first, gradually clearing to
disclose the tools and elements of a poem. I record
my thoughts, describing what my minds eye see’s.
Sadly, the fog rolls in again. The vivid world becomes
vague once again, outlines fade and I am alone once ...
I’m in the mist, the fog of uncertainty. This is the
world of inspiration. Inspiration, like a thief, comes
in the nighttime and abducts your thoughts to another world,
vague yet vivid, where ideas appear in the thinning mist.
Nondescript outlines at first, gradually clearing to
disclose the tools and elements of a poem. I record
my thoughts, describing what my minds eye see’s.
Sadly, the fog rolls in again. The vivid world becomes
vague once again, outlines fade and I am alone once ...
#inspirational
291 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Apr 2020 1:51am
10th Apr 2020 1:51am
The Name...
Lini Solo Altimari, a name I read once in an obit.
I have no idea who she was only that her
life ended at 25 years. Did someone love her
and now they sob alone, tormented by
what might have been? Did she have dreams
that she pursued only to have death step in?
Her name has haunted me for decades. Maybe
I knew her in another life. Maybe I loved her
and shared her dreams.
We go through life with a small circle, a small
group we think we know. All we know is
the surface, what’s deep is always a secret.
But a name in a obit captures...
I have no idea who she was only that her
life ended at 25 years. Did someone love her
and now they sob alone, tormented by
what might have been? Did she have dreams
that she pursued only to have death step in?
Her name has haunted me for decades. Maybe
I knew her in another life. Maybe I loved her
and shared her dreams.
We go through life with a small circle, a small
group we think we know. All we know is
the surface, what’s deep is always a secret.
But a name in a obit captures...
#LifeCycle
274 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 7:30pm
7th Apr 2020 7:30pm
Life, the game...
The field is vast, the rules are strict
and the players many. The periods are three
and the clock is running. Young, middle
and old, defined by time but displayed
by role. The short game is played by the young.
They move quickly, their field is small but their
time is long. The middle have the largest field.
Their speed of play determined by the clock.
They can change the rules to change the game
making it an exercise in chaos. Signals from
every direction without direction. The middle
swirls, without advancing toward the finish line. ...
and the players many. The periods are three
and the clock is running. Young, middle
and old, defined by time but displayed
by role. The short game is played by the young.
They move quickly, their field is small but their
time is long. The middle have the largest field.
Their speed of play determined by the clock.
They can change the rules to change the game
making it an exercise in chaos. Signals from
every direction without direction. The middle
swirls, without advancing toward the finish line. ...
#LifeStruggles
276 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 7:29pm
7th Apr 2020 7:29pm
Knowing...
Acquainted with many, known by none,
a trove of secrets carried like cement
through the construction of life.
So small yet so heavy. Space so limited
yet so dominate. I try to lay them down
but I can’t. They’re attached and competing
with the routine, yet apart, a burden
that isn’t shared, can’t be shared.
Telling is sharing but those that listen
will not hear. Can I be known if I have secrets?
Will I even exist if I’m not known?
Am I real or just an acquaintance
taking up space? I beg to be known,
on bended knee,...
a trove of secrets carried like cement
through the construction of life.
So small yet so heavy. Space so limited
yet so dominate. I try to lay them down
but I can’t. They’re attached and competing
with the routine, yet apart, a burden
that isn’t shared, can’t be shared.
Telling is sharing but those that listen
will not hear. Can I be known if I have secrets?
Will I even exist if I’m not known?
Am I real or just an acquaintance
taking up space? I beg to be known,
on bended knee,...
#secrets
291 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 9:51am
7th Apr 2020 9:51am
Giving in or Giving up...
Guide and friend, guest and host, family and stranger,
all different but strangely the same.
No distinction in the end or beginning. Just eternal sameness.
Death is just the beginning of the unknown.
The unknown is so vast we can’t imagine it for fear it’s
enormity might overwhelm our small minds.
A mind overwhelmed is a mind adrift on a sea of sorrow
and in a storm of regret, while the islands in the journey
tend to get lost in the fog, leaving just the pain.
Is death the end of beginnings or is it the final beginning,
the end of...
all different but strangely the same.
No distinction in the end or beginning. Just eternal sameness.
Death is just the beginning of the unknown.
The unknown is so vast we can’t imagine it for fear it’s
enormity might overwhelm our small minds.
A mind overwhelmed is a mind adrift on a sea of sorrow
and in a storm of regret, while the islands in the journey
tend to get lost in the fog, leaving just the pain.
Is death the end of beginnings or is it the final beginning,
the end of...
#redemption
290 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 9:03am
7th Apr 2020 9:03am
Quest for Understanding...
Quest to Understand...
To understand is to focus. Yet
how do we focus if the
norms keep changing. Do we then
understand change without focus,
just a chaotic spinning existence. Or,
is the quest to understand just a question of
how to understand? Understand what?
I hate the word understand and all it stands for.
I prefer feeling which is true understanding.
You can’t understand love but you can feel it.
We know how we feel but don’t understand why.
Maybe life is a question of why,
a constant question in the fools errand ...
To understand is to focus. Yet
how do we focus if the
norms keep changing. Do we then
understand change without focus,
just a chaotic spinning existence. Or,
is the quest to understand just a question of
how to understand? Understand what?
I hate the word understand and all it stands for.
I prefer feeling which is true understanding.
You can’t understand love but you can feel it.
We know how we feel but don’t understand why.
Maybe life is a question of why,
a constant question in the fools errand ...
#strength
278 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
7th Apr 2020 1:09am
7th Apr 2020 1:09am
What is Real...?
What is Real...?
I see but wonder if seeing is enough.
Is perceiving the same as seeing?
What about observing, is that the same s seeing?
My mind tells me that ending and beginning are the same.
How can I have a sense of regret and
a sense of joy at the same time?
I must compartmentalize. My decision to end
is based on certainty while the new beginning is based on hope.
Can I regret and hope at the same time?
I can’t regret the future, but I can’t hope in the past.
I’m confused by realities and possibilities.
My mind drifts...
I see but wonder if seeing is enough.
Is perceiving the same as seeing?
What about observing, is that the same s seeing?
My mind tells me that ending and beginning are the same.
How can I have a sense of regret and
a sense of joy at the same time?
I must compartmentalize. My decision to end
is based on certainty while the new beginning is based on hope.
Can I regret and hope at the same time?
I can’t regret the future, but I can’t hope in the past.
I’m confused by realities and possibilities.
My mind drifts...
#LifeStruggles
329 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Apr 2020 5:53pm
6th Apr 2020 5:53pm
Myth of Control...
My inspiration comes in the nighttime.
Like the tides, controlled by the moon
inspiration ebbs and flows.
But, the poet is also a victim
of that very darkness that offers
those thoughts and feelings,
then gradually obscures them
from view. I am left haunted
by the ghosts of ideas left
to torment me, love, certainty
and infinity. My heart moves on
but my hand is controlled
by that force unknown, risking
endless repetition of the
same themes. I pray for the clarity
of daylight. But daylight brings an
assault of...
Like the tides, controlled by the moon
inspiration ebbs and flows.
But, the poet is also a victim
of that very darkness that offers
those thoughts and feelings,
then gradually obscures them
from view. I am left haunted
by the ghosts of ideas left
to torment me, love, certainty
and infinity. My heart moves on
but my hand is controlled
by that force unknown, risking
endless repetition of the
same themes. I pray for the clarity
of daylight. But daylight brings an
assault of...
#WritingPoetry
419 reads
2 Comments
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
5th Apr 2020 7:19pm
5th Apr 2020 7:19pm
Lost or Never had...?
Lost or Never Had?
The poet and his lost love...
a staple in the shive of ideas to be plucked
like an apple from a barrel when hunger
urges him to write.
Can love be lost? Can something that just ”is” ever be lost?
Isn’t lost just short for something we never had?
Love in the heart endures,. Love in the world comes and goes.
Why, because endings are a reality in the finite world.
We accept that all ends eventually, even us...
Love and loss become synonymous, each a consequence of the other.
Is love lost or just transformed,...
The poet and his lost love...
a staple in the shive of ideas to be plucked
like an apple from a barrel when hunger
urges him to write.
Can love be lost? Can something that just ”is” ever be lost?
Isn’t lost just short for something we never had?
Love in the heart endures,. Love in the world comes and goes.
Why, because endings are a reality in the finite world.
We accept that all ends eventually, even us...
Love and loss become synonymous, each a consequence of the other.
Is love lost or just transformed,...
#romantic
359 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by anvinvil (Anvillan)
