Orlando Belo

Freshman - 521 Points (Derby, England)

Orlando Belo Poems

1. I Walk The Road 8/1/2010
2. Imaginary Friends? 8/1/2010
3. Blood Lust 8/1/2010
4. I Didn’t Choose This Unnatural Way 8/3/2010
5. Night Feeders 8/3/2010
6. Sophia’s Tale 8/3/2010
7. As A Lad 8/6/2010
8. The Progeny Of Pure Energy 8/10/2010
9. A Prophet, A President, A Dictator, And A King. 8/11/2010
10. Moved On 8/11/2010
11. Eight Minutes To One 8/11/2010
12. The Chair 8/12/2010
13. The Grave Yard 8/12/2010
14. Just Over A Year Ago 8/12/2010
15. House Of Shadows 8/13/2010
16. My Search For The Perfect Host 8/14/2010
17. Megan’s Tree 8/14/2010
18. No Rest For The Living Or Dead 8/15/2010
19. Goodbye Old, Hello New 8/15/2010
20. The Visitor 8/16/2010
21. Woman Of Magic 8/16/2010
22. The Underground Carpark 8/16/2010
23. The Price Of A Soul 8/17/2010
24. The Recorded Message 8/18/2010
25. My Last New Years Eve Party 8/19/2010
26. ‘the Oak’ 8/20/2010
27. No Sun Or Moon 8/22/2010
28. Unknown Light 8/23/2010
29. The Ballerina 8/24/2010
30. Dimension Merge 8/24/2010
31. Another Man's Sin Can Do You In 8/24/2010
32. Jackie 8/24/2010
33. The Vanishings 8/27/2010
34. The Children Trees 9/11/2010
35. Mother’s Mirror 9/20/2010
36. The Darkness 9/21/2010
37. The Bench By The River 9/21/2010
38. Hidden Skeletons 10/1/2010
39. I Closed My Eyes 10/12/2010
40. The Recollection Of Dreams 10/13/2010
Best Poem of Orlando Belo

Sitting And Thinking

Here I am sitting in the dark again
thinking about the past and what I’ve done.
The countless failures and the few successes,
the personal battles, lost, and won.

From my early days full of hope and ambition,
to my promising career that evaporated with age.
My under achieving children and failed marriage.
There was no escaping the relationship cage.

The kicks in the teeth and the stabs in the back,
the broken promises and the consequences.
The good turns I did that came back and bit me,
and the emotional blackmail that sickened me ...

Read the full of Sitting And Thinking

I Walk The Road

I don’t walk on the joints of the sidewalk slabs,
the mere thought drives me to gloom.
I’d rather walk a tight-rope over Niagara Falls,
or free fall from a hot air balloon.

I have difficulty even talking about this,
but there’s something about a joint or crack.
I know very well it’s a psychological thing,
but it doesn’t help knowing that.

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