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  1. MrDunnePoetry

    Bars From Behind Bars

    "Bars From Behind Bars"All I ever wanted was a Father, to love & hold me tight/Now all I have is a cell, where it's so lonely & cold at nightEyes holding back the tears, so my peers don't think that I'm weak/So many years I've spent looking answers, so many questions to a past that runs so deepUsing poetry as my release, to escape my bleak surroundings/From the abuse I received since a youth, to under the roof of the prison landingsDeeply regretting the texts I sent, cause sending 'em sent me 2 HMP/Like my life weren't already a sentence, closing my eyes, pretending that I'm freeBut in reality I'm caged like an animal, for the crime of a cry for help/For fighting back against my misery, lyrically for the rights of my likkle girlIt's me, myself & I now, living for the hope of better days/Sweating from the eye brow, ever since I got attacked on my second dayI know there's gotta be a better way, & with the right help, I know I'll find it/Cause God blessed me with the talent of rhyme, but in time I let my anger blind itDeep in my heart I wish I could rewind it, to the time when my mind was pure like snow/But for now I'll just seek the cure, cause I've got such a long way to go.Copyright 2008 The Elusive Mr Dunne (All rights reserved) https://allpoetry.com/poem/16286127-Bars-From-Behind-Bars-by-Mr-dunne-poetry
  2. My book Poetry & Rap Banned At Crown Court (2009-2014) https://www.booksie.com/665579-poetry-rap-banned-at-crown-court-2009-2014
  3. Tinker

    I Love Rock and Roll

    I Love Rock and Roll I like my poems short and neat reading or writing I prefer to be brief. Some go on and on without relief meter goes long, I nod off to the beat. Gilgamesh, the Illiad, Canterbury Tales, to read them in full you'll hear my wails. "put another dime in the juke box baby" "condense, condense, condense" aren't those the words of Whitman, so what's up with Leaves of Grass? That goes on forever, . . . Amen. But if I could write like that . . . I'd fill the page with dynamite and stop rhyming rat-a-tat-tat. "put another dime in the juke box baby" In writing this lyric, I've broken my rule, my words keep rambling on and on. Hope you're awake to the end of my song But to my seeking brain I add a new tool. And though the haiku I will not abort, I vow to be open to both long and short. "put another dime in the juke box baby" * ~~~ Judi Van Gorder *Joan Jett's I love Rock and Roll Bop Verse
  4. Down through history, contributors of poetry, prose, or other means of written expression, have been accepted by readers to be great works of art; writers are considered great authors. I do not expect all readers to follow my reason for writing this. The following article is written to create an avenue for discussion, and I am open to be enlightened,and accept critism without prejudice This is a question I pose to all who care to reply ************************************************************************ WHO IS A POET? This may seem like a meaningless point to ponder, but for me, I can think of several reasons to do so. This essay is not meant to belittle anyone's writing abilities, or interpretive capabilities of understanding a poem or story. It is meant to encourage every writer, or reader to understand... why does a poet write? A Point To Ponder... As a rule, a poet composes sentences, structures, and phrases, using picturesque words, theory, or spiritually inspired thoughts, to please or inform a reader. A poet can write in a fashion, that will intentionally or unintentionally, confuse or aggravate a reader, of his/her true meaning, or purpose of each passage written. No matter how motivated a Poet’s intent, or how eloquent the depth of feeling in each written word, a Poet cannot completely express what is in his or her Mind’s Eye, or Aching Heart. WHY? Definition and significance of the Poet’s work, can be lost during translation. The Mind's Eye of a reader is capable of visualizing several different scenarios of a Poet's work. Each reader's mind is developed to see his, or her interpretation of written words, according to his or her age, or educated mental ability to perceive and understand. So... why is it then... writers from our distant past, who had a capability of manipulating with ease, use of expressive, eloquent words, can be misinterpreted, or misunderstood by average readers of today... yet these writers are still considered to be great Poets? Why also... are educated Tutors of today, the only one's who profess to know the answers, when educated as they are; their perception and understanding is only as deep as their educated Mind' allows them to see? A Writer's Answer to Consider... A Poet writes, because only he or she can put to words, with the best of their abilities, what actually transpires deep within themselves. Their words are meant to express... to show feelings, such as Love, Hate, Confusion, Bitterness, Sadness, and Happiness. Many writers apply words to paper or parchment, to find Solace, Friendship, or Time to work out their own problems, which they cannot explain to others by any other means. Words Can be Cathartic... (An Analogy) When individuals who cannot seem to understand why they cry... pencil and paper; pen and ink; computers and hard drives, give them the "Out" they need to purge and heal. In time, as they reread their own thoughts, life's problems may seem just a bit more clear. To understand one's self, one can learn to control their future. Conclusion: If none of the above pertains to you... I suggest to everyone... write just for the love of it. What comes from your Mind's Eye... speaks who you are. Maybe that is all great poets were attempting to explain. YarnSpinner copyright 2013
  5. bob

    Captured In My Pen

    How many writers have awakened from a dream, and declared: “My greatest work just flashed through my mind?” This writer had that experience once, and while dreaming he devised a way to capture his story. This poem is written with four words per line. Captured In My Pen© Eleventh hour softly proclaimed; Endeavoring vainly to write, Contriving, creating a draft, ‘Ere I sleep tonight. Pen slows, then ceases; My tired eyelids close. Head begins to nod... Reluctantly, I must doze. Marvelous words are coursing, Through my apprehensive mind; Conjuring pictures and fantasies Of every imaginable kind. Loves platonic drama unfolds, Words on antiquated white, Intensely powerful, intellectually profound, Overwhelming in its might. Exploring the cover thoroughly, Questing for a name, Front. . . back. . . inside out; Results forever the same. Undeniably it’s my creation. Safeguarded in my head. Beseeching my subconscious mind Demanding to be read. Ultimately. . . a magic pen; A dreamers impractical decision, Would liberate the anecdote, From this fantast’s vision. Mystical forces contained within Pointed nib of gold, Absorbed completely, liquescent words, Adventurous, fascinating, and bold. Awakened. . . clock striking two; Strangely I feel refreshed, Knowing my pen captivated Revelations only I possessed. Commit- words to paper Command- them to flow. Only spirals and dots, And pointless doodles show. What’s with this instrument? Something has gone amiss; Paragraphs I dreamed about, Didn’t look like this. One sheet I've exhausted; Ten more followed suite. Somehow my magic pen, Has deliberately gone mute. Dejected now, I capitulate. Efforts are set aside. My magic pen unrelenting, Keeps them locked inside. Plagiarism is no problem’ Time only determines when, You’ll enjoy this story Captured in my pen. YarnSpinner©
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