inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Dre Too
Deep Blood… Why is he so red? How could one so beautiful always be so mad? Anger penetrates his soul permeating his being. Why am I so attracted to his red? Longing for him to realize that all is connected. I am he and he is I. Want his awareness to rise. I am safe in his red. Secure in his love. I am one with my true self – a mirror image of him. Grounded in his love. I am grateful that we met. Whole and complete in his love.
By Ajulena Barnes5 years ago in Poets
Pretty Yellow Dress
They dressed me in yellow from my head to my toenails. They said it was beautiful, like sunshine, rainbows, and flowers on Sunday morning. The dress was frilly, my hair pressed smooth. And the tips of my ears sizzled and burned from the heat of the hot comb--my edges had to be straight. Hush now, don't you want to be pretty?
By Stacy A Johnson5 years ago in Poets
The Color of Soul
It's how I feel when I move. I was trained in ballet. Focused and calculated. Rigid and strick. Still deep inside me, beyond all the training, is my true essence, my soul, so very soft and loose. It bends and moves with my emotions, my thoughts and actions. Every experience expressed into an interpretive dance I call life. Because deeply within my heart, I know I am the spring. I am the yellow field of flowers where only green stood before. Changing in subtle hues as I follow the sun instinctually toward my introspection. I am also the smell of the cedar forest , full of deep greens and the warm shades of brown, so very ancient and so very wise. And I am the hawk soaring high in the wind, my red wings and tail spread wide open against the sky. My song is a screech, echoing across the canyons magically layered in time. In search of all that is precious to me amongst the vast beauty of living. Praise my vison, crystal clear, deep as the deepest blue waters shimmering with iridescence, catching the light. And though I can never truly know what is around the bend, I keep rolling foward, laughing, sometimes crashing on the shore. And when the light hits me, I am a rainbow. Illuminated. Come after a storm so bright and hopeful. Destined to reflect desert sunsets of peach and lavender. Vastly indigo when the sky turns night. Often coated in white with snowflakes softly falling.... When my soul is quiet and I can sit, contemplating all that I am. It's all I can do to remember, I was trained in ballet.
By Susan Kulkowitz5 years ago in Poets
Blood Red, Upside Down Pain as red as blood, who has belittled you that you drop so pale as if dried up by rejection and spotted by the onset of youth forlorn maturing with no peace? Where is the luster of youth days? Little girl grieving in pain, as if aged before fully grown? Laughter in winds, no experience but darkness. Alas! When did scarlet become magnificent hues of door shut and emptied hollow dancing in rain of blissful tears...red then turned to bright pretty pink? No longer paled by hurt and shattered by wounds of dreadful tales. Is it the same you, as you were? The darkness no longer shed the blood of fear, suffering and regret. No longer care for what they think or for what they say. Pretty pink of mind, heart pink and bright with delight sprinkled with soft wonder and tender petals. Bold tickled pink rose without thorns, no longer afraid. Exuberance today looking through panes of bright hope and not through windows of dark red pain...no longer. She rises as wet and velvety and unyielding as tower splendid and washed clean overlooking mountains, everglades and vast beauty, stepping out potent pink lips kissing sun and moon with confidence, poised, grace-filled with love, light and life. Pink feet that flutters and dances, pink hands that glides and opens as Giver. Watch her turn the red upside down, like the world she is destined to turn from dark red to bright beautiful pink...watch and you'll see magnificence bloom from red to pink with magic...
Blood Red, Upside Pain as red as blood, who has belittled you that you drop so pale as if dried up by rejection and spotted by the onset of youth forlorn maturing with no peace?
By Edith Flowers5 years ago in Poets
