Poem Competition :-}

You guys are good.
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Now I need to subscribe so I can read more.
 
ThePolishPrincess and Opa those are just beautiful and thought provoking.
Here's a good night poem for all.

Title: Oh Sweet Moon!
Type of Poem: Free Verse
Your inspiration:Lack of sleep

Oh sweet moon!

Wrap me in your charm.
Take my mind to
sleep's caress.
Move me from this
weight of flesh.

Night falls,
and I am there to catch it.
And swing the subtle folds of dark,
around my shoulders once again.

Unfurl my day
in the dusk filled room,
where sleep and dreams entwine.
As your arms await,
to cradle the passage of time.
 
Title: too safe to sleep
Type of poem: macabre
Your inspiration: observing life

Where have gone the sleepless nights
and days of restless thought

where have gone the endless frights
the thoughts of death and rot

too safe and sound for thoughts of fear
the days to bright and sunny

warmth and comfort are far too near
for me to find things funny

no houses burn, the shootings cease
the gangs and murderers rest

for fear i yearn, to say the least
is safety really for the best?

but now the truth i found and know
has been revealed to me

the fear and danger, goes to show
it still exists, you see

in caverns dark and rivers deep
the danger still is there

though people hide it, out it seeps
crawling out to scare

the point i make, the message sent
is nothing more than this

safety is blind, but no harm meant
there is nothing more harmful than bliss
 
Poem For My Mother

I can remember how it used to be.
Pollywog sea monsters
in a farm pond sea.

Me and my brothers.
My brothers and me.
In a bath tub boat
we'd put out to sea.

Off we'd sail to a faraway land.
Shoe box treasure chest
buried in the sand.

Sometimes we'd land at a faraway village.
Dad's cows watched as we'd loot and we'd pillage.

Me and my brothers.
My brothers and me.
Can you remember
how it used to be.
 
Entry Form:
Title: The Girl in Tattered Jeans
Type of poem:
Your inspiration: My Sister. (Written by and credit to my mother)

Long ago, far away is a photograph
Of the six when they were small
Standing all in a row in their Sunday best
Well scrubbed and proudly tall.

In the shadows, shyly peeping out
From behind her older kin
is a brown-eyed doll with bouncing curls
and sweetly dimpled chin.

But most of all, I must recall
The year she turned 16,
When she sauntered off to school that fall
In a pair of tattered jeans.

She didn’t need new clothes at all,
for she knew my purse was lean.
Through the eyes of peers, my brown-eyed doll
Was the coolest Hippie queen.

Somewhere in space where the record’s kept
on a plaque engraved in gold
is a citation, that spells it out
in letters large and bold.

“For a lifetime of unselfish love
from the time she was a teen,
highest honors we award
to the girl in tattered jeans.”
 

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