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  • Rookie - 52 Points Anish Chouhan (1/8/2014 4:49:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    Title: My Wife

    When I felt I had won,
    I lost something to her,

    It was a battle of love,
    Where I luckily got her,

    She defeated me with her lively smile,
    Entangled me in my lonely heart by mile,

    Her eyes when engulfed my soul,
    I stood entwined to my heart as a whole,

    Myself was not me anymore,
    Looking for her in mirror for the days of sore,

    Her lips could say very little to me,
    It showed her love is undefined in words for me,

    Sometimes I wonder but could just only smile,
    It was all happening and everything was mine,

    Stubborn and subconscious was the state of mind,
    Moving ahead I felt her behind,

    She woke up a lovely person in me,
    Her memories were so embedded in me,

    God gave me a chance though distant but nothing,
    I forgot my past and remember one thing,

    Her love was a need for me in my life,
    I can just breathe only for my wife.

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  • Rookie Abhishek Sharma (1/6/2014 5:28:00 AM) Post reply

    read my poem heer ranjha.. thankss

  • Rookie Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon (1/6/2014 5:14:00 AM) Post reply

    A hundred years
    On the road
    Crooked and bend
    within the severe cold
    On a journey for a new trend

    On the road
    where we crest- quest for freedom
    and left battered by the storm
    of persecution and staggered.

    On the road
    Where life hits so bad
    And we live so hard
    On a journey for freedom
    In our own kingdom

    A hundred years
    Where we lived crippled
    by the menacles of segregation
    and the chains of discrimination

    A hundred years
    we live on a lonely island of poverty
    in the midst
    of vast ocean material prosperity

    A hundred years
    On the road
    with no heart of symphathy
    for our daily weeping

    For a hundred years
    Our mouth
    sing the song of our groan
    of freedom at last
    until justice rolls like river
    and rigteousness like a mighty stream
    from every mountains side
    to our inner heart

    we shall continue to ring
    and solemly sing
    for peace within our midst
    with no segregation of races
    For an hundred years to come.

    @ copyright 2013
    Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon.

  • Rookie - 145 Points Terrance Tracy (1/5/2014 4:42:00 PM) Post reply

    Writing Poetry

    A poem is born of the inspiration
    and filled with perspiration
    and sometimes precipitation.

    Those who don't understand
    precipitation in the poem I am
    referring to tears that comes
    from writing from ones heart.

    Those who don't understand perspiration
    It is the hard work that's put into verse.

    You have brought nothing new to the table; if you
    keep writing these verses, they are rehearsed
    and won't contribute to your purse.

    I thought it best to get it off my chest,
    before I am put to rest with repeated rhymes
    used too many times.

    Writing poetry is like painting a picture
    using words instead of charcoal, oil, water color,
    or pastel.

    It seems that they prefer words used by muse,
    divine inspiration has no room they may have met
    their fate. It is a supernatural discourse
    that is preferred.

    I don't care if it rhymes too much or has
    been well rehearsed; either you like it
    are you dislike it, it really doesn't matter,
    we all have our own style that will be with
    us for a while.

    I do not mind constructive criticism
    so let's not call for a poetical exorcism.
    I think it's fair to say it appears poets
    have no sense of humor when you try
    to amuse a muse.

    If you are still reading this poem
    and it does not meet your expectations,
    or qualifications I apologize for
    using the wrong media to relay the frustrations.

    I have read beautiful poems in this forum
    however some of the poems are downright weird,
    such as this one.
    Terrence Tracy

  • Rookie Shirin Kaul (1/5/2014 10:56:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    a poem written by me about gender inequality in India:

    When I was inside my mother,
    I heard my parents talk to one another.

    They thought I was a baby boy
    And gifted my mother fruits and a toy.
    For me to use when I would come out;
    Where I could play and I could shout.

    But when they came to know the pearl,
    Was actually a little girl.
    My father became sad;
    And after a few minutes, mad.

    He beat my mother very much
    But I was inside her safer clutch.

    As I came out I looked around,
    My mother was silent I found.

    As I grew up my parents hated me more.
    What my brother got, I never bore.
    Where he went I could never see;
    This was the world for me.

    And I thought about it too much.
    I could neither sleep nor have my lunch.

    Why don’t you realize:
    Even I feel hurt, I sleep, I cry
    I am also a living being, tender and mild.
    What if a girl I am also a child?

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  • Rookie - 0 Points Stephen Mateus (1/5/2014 12:34:00 AM) Post reply

    Everybody check out my poems they're not bad I'm very young and need a different view on things

  • Rookie Melissa Robinson (1/1/2014 4:16:00 AM) Post reply


    I stare into your eyes and I'm in a trance,
    lets let go of innocence.
    I am unable to hold myself back any longer,
    I press myself against your lips.

    Body to body, raging in lust;
    Nothing feels more intense than your trembling touch.
    Embrace your desire, manhandle me love;
    Seductive by nature~ sharp and clean cut.

  • Rookie - 1 Points Doris Cornago (12/29/2013 3:20:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hello, Poets. I just want to repeat a warning by my publisher that once I post a poem in PoemHunter, I cannot publish the same in amazon.com or any other publisher on account of SELF-PLAGIARISM. Would anybody care to confirm or refute this?I will be grateful for any authoritative view on this matter and I feel, most will be grateful for guidance. Anybody can comment from PoemHunter?

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 1 Points Fiona Powell (1/2/2014 10:28:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      First of all, the term 'self-plagiarism' is an oxymoron. How can you plagiarise yourself?However, after much googling on this worrying proposition, it seems to boil down to the individual circumstance ... more

  • Rookie Mala Shukla (12/29/2013 1:22:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Settings and Fora
    Open source
    Thoughts and Feelings
    Opened resource
    Whence they form
    What need reinforce
    Questions the quietetude
    Of longings or remorse
    An oppurtunity to define
    Or even to realize
    The recesses and depths
    Of buried recourse

    Replies for this message:
  • Rookie Mala Shukla (12/29/2013 1:16:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Settings and Fora
    Open source
    Thoughts and Feelings
    Opened resource
    Whence they form
    What need reinforce
    Questions the quietetude
    Of longings or remorse
    An oppurtunity to define
    Or even to realize
    The recesses and depths
    Of buried recourse

    Replies for this message:
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