Welcome!
Thanks so much for clicking on this! To be honest, poetry hasn't really been my thing, until recently. I've mostly just been focused on my endeavors of creative writing, such as the novel and short story writing, but I just find something so satisfying about writing poems.
A couple of nights ago, I started my own poetry wall. It was actually inspired by one of my friends! I just wrote down my thoughts, taped them onto the wall blue accent of my wall, and well did some decorating. (no strings attached) Well, except for the string that decorates my entire room... but anyway!
Poetry might be something that's not for you. Trust me, I definitely know how that feels, especially as a student who is forced into all of the different writing styles. But, when it comes from your soul, just from you, it can become something special, something you've never experienced before, something so special that you have to hang it up on your wall!
So I invite you into the land of poetry! Full of trees of wonder, grass of creation, the dirt of spirit, down the road of journey's and so much more!
~Lily J. Troutman
(Your fellow writer)
"Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toenails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas
Maya Angelou
Inspirational Poet!
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~Born: April 4, 1928, St. Louis, MO
Died: May 28, 2014, Winston-Salem, NC
"All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I Love O'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruin'd tower.
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy. My own dear Genevieve.
She lean'd against the armèd man,
The statue of the armèd Knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.
O
.
“Love,” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Culture Flowers
A poem was written by Lonnie Hicks
We’re all lashed
to Cultural Helms
be sodden
ingrained eyes
narrowed to squinty plane
seeing;
not seeing
only mine;
and not mine
blind.
Culture is the Gardener's Death
who’s kind to only one flower;
other's bloom in the garden darkened
by blindness over-powered.
Strain some may
against the mast
yet they most times
cultivate only their own gardens;
time and the past
cause other flowers
to bloom and wither
before our very countenance.
Tempted we may be
by soul's desire
to look beyond the garden walls:
But few cannot,
but lift the spade
and plow the same furrows,
which etch our brow
contain our lives
until our death
we having known
only one garden flower:
grown beautifully
in straight
and narrow furrows.
A few sometimes
smell other blooms
thereby open up
genius
which is
simply
being willing
to sip and know
Not Like We-Ness.
A Little Peace and Quite
Abimbola T. Alabi | Published: November 2, 2020
"Where my heart truly lies
Is in the beauty of a simple life,
In a little peace and quiet,
The slower pace and lesser strife.
Where I'd find time to walk
Leisurely down a winding road,
Strolling in the woods, savoring
Each unfolding scenic episode.
Where I'd find time to sit
And nestle by the almond tree,
Feeling its quiet windy whispers
As it gently cuddles me.
Where I'd find time to stand
Quietly behind the windowpane,
Cradling a mug, watching the world
Showered with gentle rain.
Where I'd find time to catch
The sparkling poise of a firefly
And lounge in the serene canopy
Of a star-speckled velvet sky.
Just a little peace and quiet,
In between life's hectic pace...
And I find my soul better aligned,
Filled with sweet solace."
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