More Poems

Hey, guys! I hope you had a great Thanksgiving if you live in the U. S. I sure did! Each of our three celebrations was delicious, and it was fun getting together with family. 🙂

Anyway, today I decided to share a few more of my poems, since you guys seemed to enjoy seeing the last ones and I seem to enjoy writing them. 😛 Again, they’re unrhymed poetry because number one, I am NOT very good at putting my thoughts into the boundaries of rhyme, and number two, I like the free, flowing feel of unrhymed poetry. Don’t get me wrong, rhyming poetry is amazing too, I’m just not good at it. XD

Ahem. I shall begin.


sky soup

the sky is

a bright bowl turned over,

set upon the earth,

filled with clear blue broth

and floating mashed potato clouds,

peppered with black birds.

Both faces tell such a story.

{picture via Pinterest}

old one

skin crinkled and wrinkled

like a brown paper bag,

crumpled and creased

year after year,

until it is smoothed out,

soft and mellow from

the crush of Time’s hand,

lined with the paths

that the smiles and tears

left behind.



Photo by Gansforever Osman #culturainquieta

{picture via Pinterest}


my eyes are galaxies

with a star for every time

they didn’t come back

and I was left again –

one star among millions

and yet alone in space.

but each time they left,

I stood up again

and swallowed my tears,

adding more stars

to my galaxies,

hoping that my eyes

would shine bright enough

next time,

that they would see this light

in the darkness

and come back for me again.







fast free falling.

sticking without glue

to everything they touch,

but only for a time and then

moving on again,

sliding sadly downwards.


to leave everything behind.

wavering, shivering,

quavering, quivering,

collecting, reflecting,

greens and grays together.

a drop reaches

the edge of the window






talking rocks

what if

there is a rock somewhere

that watched as the world was made;

that saw its perfect beauty break

into a thousand sharp thorns;

that carried the footstep

of the first fallen humans –

and the only perfect one –

on its back;

that felt the first drop of blood shed

and will feel the last;

that was thrown at martyrs

and held by kings

look closer at the next pebble

you kick down the road,

and wonder what stories

are locked inside its silent heart.

abandoned house

blank eyes,

a dusty soul,

a cobwebbed heart.

broken teeth,

a dry mouth,

a creaking voice.

but when the breeze passes by

and lifts the tangled weeds

from the old mat in front,

you can hear the old house

still whispering, “welcome.”



what would it be like

to recline among the stars,

held together with twinkling joints,

drinking big dipperfuls of the Milky Way

and conversing with

the man in the moon?


Ahh, that was fun. 🙂 I hope you enjoyed reading those, dears – I’d love to hear which one was your favorite!

Which do you prefer, writing poems or stories? Poems are easier for me (mostly because they don’t have a plot, heh), but stories are fun too. 🙂


Photo by Gansforever Osman #culturainquieta

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