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  • Rookie - 111 Points Roger Horsch (5/17/2013 11:07:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    Wisdom is Her Name
    by Roger Horsch

    Does not wisdom call out her name
    On our paths along the way?
    That's why we should listen really hard
    For she has things of worth to say.

    And, at the point where our paths should meet
    Is where she'll take her stand
    She can lead us into the city of gold
    If we would only take her hand.

    Her voice speaks of understanding
    And her mouth speaks of what is true
    That if we listen to the knowledge she gives
    We will know just what to do.

    She was there when He set the heavens in place
    And the foundations of the earth
    For all the words of her mouth were just
    From the day of mankind's birth.

    So, if you seek you'll find her
    And your life won't be the same
    For you'll always find favor from the Lord
    'Cause, Wisdom is her name.

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  • Rookie - 111 Points Roger Horsch (5/17/2013 12:29:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    I Miss

    I miss the way you would comfort me
    When I was just a child
    I miss the way you scolded me
    When I was young and wild.

    I miss the days you would tell me
    That everything would be alright
    I miss the way you worried for me
    When I was no longer in your sight.

    I miss the days we would share together
    But those days I know I took
    I miss the days when I did something wrong
    And you gave me that special look.

    I miss your love and compassion
    God's gift He gave to you
    For no matter what would happen in life
    You would always pull right through.

    You kept our family together
    You were there through thick or thin
    You would fight the toughest battles
    And you would always seem to win.

    I love you mom with all my heart
    So please never close that door
    For I hope there's days we can share together
    ‘cause I hope to miss no more.

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    • Rookie - 111 Points Donnaj York (5/25/2013 11:33:00 AM) Post reply

      I disagree with Mr. Dalvean. I read and loved this poem. It brought to mind my own mother now gone six years. As to rating and scoring, not everyone does it, and of those who do, some may not do it ... more

    • Rookie - 111 Points Michael Dalvean (5/24/2013 2:20:00 AM) Post reply

      I'm afraid this is not a good poem. It scored -0.5 on the Poetry Assessor (

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  • Rookie - 111 Points Roger Horsch (5/17/2013 12:21:00 AM) Post reply

    Deer Hunters' Camp

    It's another year of Deer Hunters' Camp
    Where my friend Tom caught fire while igniting his lamp.
    He screamed, 'Put me out! ' as he ran out of sight.
    I yelled, 'Stop, drop and Roll... and you'll be alright! '
    Then there was Greg, who loved to get drunk.
    He passed out in his tent, while hugging a skunk.
    Him stinking so bad, it must have been hell.
    So, we kept him down wind because of the smell.
    Now here comes Bill, who brought us a treat.
    He fed us all jerky that smelled just like feet.
    We about beat him to death with a bag full of rocks
    ‘Cause, it wasn't deer jerky, it was hard crusty socks.
    We hunted all week without any luck
    Then what came into camp was the world's largest buck.
    We looked at each other, beaten and tired
    Then pointed our guns, but nobody fired.
    We seemed to go through this year after year
    And I'm never amazed why we haven't got deer.
    When we all get together, the deer is the champ
    But, there's always next year at Deer Hunters' Camp.

  • Rookie - 111 Points Roger Horsch (5/17/2013 12:19:00 AM) Post reply

    Flying Raisins
    By Roger Horsch

    Flying raisins are in the air, there are flying raisins everywhere
    I see them flying all around, I see them landing on the ground
    I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
    I see them flying in the sky, I see them getting in my pie
    I see them walking on my cake, I see them in everything I make
    I wish they would just go away, but they’ll just come back another day
    I find them in my cookie dough, I don’t know why they just won’t go
    I do not like them can’t you see, flying raisins are all over me
    I don’t know where they come from, I just want them to leave
    There’s three or four more on my shirt, and two more on my sleeve
    Then I saw the open box, sitting high upon the rack
    I pulled it down then turned it around, it said “ CAUTION “ on the back
    It said not for use in cooking, such as cookies, cakes or pies
    For I thought I bought a box of raisins, but they were laboratory flies

  • Rookie - 19 Points Savannah Oakes (5/12/2013 3:14:00 PM) Post reply

    If I Had Ten More Minutes

    If I had ten more minutes
    and my voice was not faint
    nor my face so devoid
    or my mind so blank,
    I would profess—

    But I'm afraid of words
    which might betray lips,
    For what is kept
    is of my eyes—
    that impulsive organ
    I've attempted to stray;
    hooded, hazed.

    Construing a montage
    ever playing:
    concerns, worries
    fears, and doubts,
    Come to life
    in bursting light
    whilst straining in the dark.

    And if such creations
    could speak—
    or better
    could be heard—
    through the mist of passion
    And masks of pride,

    I would profess
    All in my heart;
    Every quaint murmur
    Forsaken night and night.

  • Rookie - 19 Points Savannah Oakes (5/12/2013 3:14:00 PM) Post reply


    I took it all to heart,
    each hasty smile and modest gesture,
    each syllable of dispassionate word,
    to a stage where even I was persuaded,
    the rays veiling your face
    in perfect symmetry,
    were by your own hand.

    I coveted you so,
    for what were you incapable?
    See, you were the rays,
    as you were the smile, the gesture,
    and the word.
    Everything created, then destroyed
    by unadulterated hand,
    but all only in my sight.

    Now I mistrust.
    There are words I thought were spoken
    and actions I thought displayed—
    In fact, illusions and trickery.
    But now I see,
    how you were a dream,
    borne of a skeptic in dangerous reverie.

    This guise I had burdened on you,
    I all the time unawares,
    For it had seemed,
    that when I said move
    —you moved.
    And when I said speak
    —you spoke.

    How does something appearing
    so concrete, so essential
    be confused with truth?
    —to savor another's words
    and have them be your own—
    Eyes blind and still
    having dreams of distant realms—
    but forget it.
    Happiness has gained on me,
    now knowing the best of truth.

    Now there is only whisperings
    of lost voices.
    No more apparitions of smiles,
    gestures, or words—
    such trivial necessities,
    conceived by a fool
    in want of an actor.

  • Rookie - 111 Points Roger Horsch (5/12/2013 12:34:00 AM) Post reply

    Hello everyone, Here is some information that could help a lot of poets
    To make your poems great you must always make sure that they have good flow. What I mean by flow is. Picture in your mind how water flows smoothly downward and over rounded obstacles. The flow seems to be uninhibited and everything flows together smoothly. But if there is an obstacle such as a sharp rock or a tree branch in the water it can cause ripples thus causing the water not to flow smoothly. The difference between good, very good or great can be nothing else but the flow of your poem. Always go over your poems over and over again changing what is necessary to make them flow. Always remember that if your poems motivate you and they are drawn from your emotions and your heart to the point that you can feel them. And they have good flow. You will always have the best.

    Keep writting and I invite all to read my poems to see what I mean about the flow of a poem. Roger Hoesch

  • Rookie Ragnys Ragna (5/10/2013 10:11:00 PM) Post reply

    Hi everyone! Im new and i wanted some critiques and opinions in the 3 poems that i posted here, if someone could help me, please!

  • Rookie - 16 Points Adegbite Adeyinka (5/4/2013 6:35:00 AM) Post reply

    Day I Told Pa A Lie

    Day I told Pa a lie
    The words reply like songs I like
    Guilt blinded me like the night
    Weakness came in mighty might;
    Tears fought back with consoling words
    Came all out in perfect chords,
    Anger, like water in me swell
    Myself I despise as though I smell;
    If I had the future seen
    I'd make a way around the scene,
    Ousted by fear I hid the truth
    Should have been loyal as Ruth;
    For lies can't live forever long
    But truth exists ever strong;
    Albeit Pa believed what I mean
    My conscience pricked hard and mean;
    Cos if the truth itself reveals,
    My face, forever, in shame conceals.

  • Rookie Matt Burton (5/3/2013 10:09:00 PM) Post reply

    this is my first poem i ever wrote i call it The Light
    Ive traveled the road less takin
    for awhile i thought it was the only one worth makin
    untill i meet you i was mistakin
    you showed me the light
    i was so far out of sight
    you guided me out and now
    i see you are the one for me
    I was alone with nothing in my heart
    you saved me from the start
    im finally in the light
    i hope the begining is in sight
    because it feels so right
    all it took was just one look to see
    youre the one for me

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