Who here has noticwed that when you're mad you seem to have good poems? I don't think it's just me. It's not great, nor is it worked out, but anyway here's one of mine:
When I'm with you I feel the blackest of hate
My insides feel like
They're about to explode
I just feel hate
So very much hate
I want you to leave
Just never come back
For the better it is
Leave and never come back
Thanks for reading!
it can go the other way, too . . . sometimes i just can't write about the thing i'm upset with until i stop being upset. and by then, all my wonderful and insight-filled words about it are gone. [sigh]
i think that you can both write when you have the blues or when you are real happy, but it always helps you writing, if you have strong feelings...
Friends, i´d like to say hello.
The best times for me to write, is when i´m feeling sad.
Then the deeps of my broken heart are opening their gates,
the pain comes to the light of awareness.
And when I wash the pain in the ocean of boundlessness,
the wounds are healing while the Sun of His Mercy shines on me,
holding my face in His hand..
if you hold back the emotion, it builds and builds and becomes like a nasty cancer. you have to be able to let that emotion out in a positive way, rather than hitting and smashing.
there are many ways to be able to release some people put their time into training or physical hard activity the pain creates a focus.
The focus of I do not want this, this is not where I want to be. And the mind works to make sense of it all. and that's what hurts.
This is something I wrote after my ex-wife left whom I still love deeply. And she loves me deeply as well just our lives can never be together as it once was. We have learnt and grown from each other.
I know happiness. I know deep sadness.
And life goes on, and in that is hope.
Is it what is said, or is it what is missing.
to hear your voice is a sweet music that fills my very being soaring to new heights.
I see bubbles, I see splashing of water, as the steam arising and the bubbles floating. Splashing here, splashing their.
A gentle touch, a firm stroke. Full and strong.
As a wolf silhouetted in the moonlight lets fourth his cry for his mate.
The cry of I am here, I am here. Come here my love, I am here. To howl she is a part of me, as their cries mingle.
the very essence of the universe is folded.
Folds to the passing of time.
Incredibly sweet is the essence that is the scent, in the throes of intoxicating ecstasy
first one was too sad and cold but the second on in all it's detail is a very simplistic wonder that is actually work publishing somewhere someday.
So think about submitting it to be published in one of those poetry books that have muti authors.
Oh and don't submit to poetry.com because they don't give you any rights to your work, as they aposely say in their agreement
close this ample heart
let it shy away from all tenderness
shun this godless world
for all that exists
is merely an echo
that will soon break
into a thin mirror image of itself
over and over again