Writing Poetry

I see you in the sunlight
where the crimson sun will set.

Your face shines in the sunlight
so bright, so clear, so nice.
your eyes twinkle like stars
I stop and look at them twice.
Your voice is like the wind
so sweet, cool, and soothing
whenever I hear it, my heart starts moving

I see you in the sunset
where all the colors meet.
The crimson of the sun, is so very sweet

The silhouette of your body
tall, lean, and strong,
makes me wonder; have I been good to him?
All these months along?

I sit down on the grass,
beneath the crimson sun,
while you stay standing there
you are the only one

You start to walk away,
with the crimson sun behind you.
I turn my head to watch
but my mind cannot bare,
that you just have left me
sitting alone out there

My heart tore to pieces
until I felt a tap
I turned around to see,
I saw you standing there,
looking down onto me.

You sat down beside me,
under the crimson sun.
You held me in your arms and said,
“You are my only one.”

The crimson sun faded,
and the sun turned to the moon;
You said you aren’t going to leave me anytime soon.

Under the moon,
where there were stars up in the sky;
we would lye there in the grass,
as I would start to cry.

You said you wouldn’t leave me,
and I trusted that a ton;
and I’m glad you said that,
I am your only one.

Hung Ghost

Love lost, black ghost,
In the dark, sorrow and pain
Tear blood in to jealous.
Oh deaths come and take me away.
Scream with range and hopeless.
Spider's crow, suicide in tree and here no one scream.
Hell is a mirror that trapped the soul
Hung ghost death swallow in hoe.
Street can gain fear of death,
That plays Fears in the mind. Depression poisons the mind.
Hung and depressing weaken up
Black roses, those become pain
Emotion, cry and broken. Blood in my hand
Def written inspiration cliff my eyes
Blood stone to strong wife.
A tall tales that have be told about the victim.
Hung in the house to death.
Oh ghost story is told to the child.
Trapped in my own mind. Trapped in the dark I can't see the light
Love lost, black ghost. I feel like die.
Def does not understand when you can't feel you self breath,
I try to survival the loneliness.
Love lost, black ghost.
I am not afraid of death.
They say death is a window.
Suicide is all in my mind, some time I feel like kill myself.
Love lost, black ghost.

A letter sent to shazia batool, one of the profoundest figure on PH,
regarding the worth of poetic themes and purpose..........


U know the purpose of my writings is to make readers think, and start to ponder,
Unfortunately our faculty of inventive thinking is getting numb..... V r senseless, hypocrite and
We are behaving like driven cattle........
Ya u right my poems based on Green and Roman myth,
U better know how much those concepts are pregnant in meaning and erudite........
Ya sometime lil bit sensuality is not bad..... But what I see here are not worthy to praise except very few....... Most of the themes are old rotten caps everybody dying them as new(even myself)
Poetry is not just praising beauty or penning once psych.......
It a sources of inspiration, re-creation and redefining ideas and ideals.....
Its culture in re shaping,

Please, I need a general impression.

" Tribute to Writers"

Isn't it time,
To combat this growing fame
That grows and grows
The moment the earth is touched?

When the earth falls sick,
Playwrights and Novelists are mobilised;
Framing events in chapters and acts and scenes,
Read world wide.

But the Poet, oh!
With his working tools,
Carves the drama and novel
Into short memorable stanzas,
Read and read worlwide.

To: Titi Dale, you may know this already but your poem " Ascending" is the member poem of the day on the " Poems" page. Congrats.

I am a newbie in poetry. But I have always had this urge to write. Please, would you tell me how to make this poem better. And how do I know the types and styles of poem. Any book or link will be most appreciated.


Our Iroko Is Gone (A Tribute to Chinua Achebe)

I hear mournful wails from far and wide.
No! Wailing is all around me. It reverberates from everything.
Or is it echo?
Birds, dogs, fowls. Everything cries.

And the heaven?The sky is wearing a mourning garment.
The dark, glamour-lacking colour people wear on funerals.
And suddenly, the heaven starts shedding tears.
How great is the downpour.

I run across the yard to Grandma’s hut.
She always has answers to all my worries.
She too is in tears.
“Mama, What’s happening?” I inquire.
“Achebe, the great Chinua is gone”

“Who is Achebe?”
She beckons to a side-stool, I sit to learn.
“Achebe is the Iroko of Africa,
The giant who tore into shreds the Whiteman’s false depiction of our people.
He opened Africa to the world.

He shone the light of knowledge, and the world followed.
He opposed colonialism, racism, corruption and oppression.
He stood tall above his peers, while sitting on a wheelchair.
He stood on the part of truth, honesty and integrity.

He was hated, of course. Why won’t he be?
My father says, a man with no enemy, has done nothing worthy.
He was like Jesus Christ, Prophet Mohammed.
Those people who change world thinking with radical philosophies and ideas.
People whom generations offer their lives to continue their legacies”

“Oh! I’m dead”. Grandma sobs, uncontrollably.
“Grandma, I...”
And then I wake from my sleep. What a terrible dream?
But reality dawns on me. Chinua is gone.
Rest in peace, our Iroko.

Hi. I consider myself a fledgling poet and would be grateful for any tips, criticism, or opinions. Tell me what you think of this one.

Sunset at Elm Springs

The gentle contours of the hills surround me where I lie
The stillness only broken by the endless sweep and sigh
Of grasses waving in the breeze beneath the vaulted sky.

The little spring-fed creek below flows slowly on it's way
The lone tree on the hilltop catches the last light of day
And all the shadows lengthen in the sun's departing ray.

I watch the homeward flight of birds returning to their nest
My back against this weathered rock, content to stay and rest
And watch the sunset colors fade and die out in the west.

Sometimes I don't know why
By Rose Lu

Sometimes I don't know why
I just feel so sad
I wish someone could read my mind
Come and stop by my side

Sometimes I don't know why
I just feel so confined
I wish someone could share my feelings
Come and ferry me out of this island

Sometimes I don't know why
I just feel so upset
I wish someone could understand my heart
Come and give me a hand

I hope you are that someone
My sweet dream in the distant land

how do I finish this?any suggestions?


Words exhale rhythm and rhyme,
Tasting of air filled with brine,
That once carried notes from windblown chimes,
After falling from the cloudless clime.

It is odd that air travels so far,
Only consumed and exhumed from lungs and heart
Air who's element creates stars perpetual light,
And presses against skin on sultry nights.

hi guys, this is my first poem, could you give me some feedback and pointers?thanks!

My life used to fly so smoothly
You boarded and higher I flew.
But I've just hit a turbulent cloud
I cant keep my mind off you.

My brain is turning to stone, and thinking is getting hard.
The silence is hungry, and it gnaws at my heart.
But when I hear your " Goodmorning! '
When I see your smile sweet,
The sun comes out from behind that black cloud
It lightens up my dark, so
Even the night burns brightly.
The world is my lamb chop,
And I'm kinda hungry.

Now, the sun soars across the waves
When before, it was drowning.
What was once a sad night
Is now a beautiful morning.
Yet wouldn't time have still trickled?
The sun risen on its own accord?
Dawn brings the morning, yes,
But Tina

You make it Good.