Writer Poems
A Prodigal Soldier of Words
by Hébert Logerie
I am a prodigal son of a gun
Who fears nothing under the sun
I am a brave and defiant soldier
I am a peaceful gladiator
My pencil is my sword
My pen is my deadly weapon
I write one word at a time, one word
Which can destroy their plan
My pen is like a machine gun
An M16, which spits with a lot of fun
......
The dancing pencil in my room
by Garima Patel
The dancing pencil in my room,
Wobbling around the lines it goes,
Ups and downs, it plans my doom,
The lyrics of my life it composes.
The dancing pencil in my room,
Ticking off friends adds to my list of woes,
Shades gray my world of gloom,
Hoping seeds of success, it sows.
......
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
Young-Old
by V B Eudaimonia
While I was young,
I cared about hero, more than the villain
And, now I'm old,
I care about villain, more than the hero.
......
only his insanity
by Bogdan Dragos
the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back
not even after the
alcohol left
his blood
he keeps writing to this day
......
Reprieve
by Jen Wright
Heal, my heart!
Heal, my darling.
The scars are rough,
The tissue’s raw,
But pain
It has subsided,
So, heal some more!
See, my sombre mind!
See brightly,
......
Writers' Fate
by Oluwatosin Thomas
Writer of the present era,
Conceived and raised in the illumination of the gods.
Literary path they showed me,
Never to be them but to seek what they sought.
Winter and summer, i lay my lines.
Explicit and abstract, still in my lines of ancestors.
Lines of creatity i wished, and end to it i prayed not.
Papyrus and cuneiform, all i grew with.
......
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
A Prodigal Soldier of Words
by Hébert Logerie
I am a prodigal son of a gun
Who fears nothing under the sun
I am a brave and defiant soldier
I am a peaceful gladiator
My pencil is my sword
My pen is my deadly weapon
I write one word at a time, one word
Which can destroy their plan
My pen is like a machine gun
An M16, which spits with a lot of fun
......
The Greats
by Tyler Morello
All artists strive to be like the Greats.
No shame in vying to be someone's Van Gogh,
Going, going, gone, Homer
with his Odysseys and Iliads
and to all, a million ears lent.
Just as Romans did to Antony in Caesar.
Shakespeare's sonnets sold out theatres,
but I grasp at the same words as he.
I pin them to the walls.
I paint them on the mirror.
......
