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Submit your poem and get a chance to be chosen for featured poetry section. It's a page here in my site where there are poems written by people everywhere.

can't get enough of beautiful poetry? Check out timeless poetry that are already featured some time ago.

check out the current featured poetry HERE

Be Yourself
by Bruce B. Wilmer

The world would like to change you;
There are pressures all around.
You must decide just who you are,
Then firmly hold your ground.
You have an image of yourself,
An ideal sense of you;
And to this vision you must always
Struggle to be true.
You know what you are good at,
And you know where talents lie;
But if you're ruled by others,
Your uniqueness could pass by.
Remember, there is much to learn;
But all new things aren't good.
Wisdom lies in what we learned,
And what we have withstood.
So, be yourself and don't allow
The world to take control.
Preserving your identity,
Is life's most precious goal.

Who'll Cry For Me?
by Darin

When I was born, the world was new,
There were many things to see.
But now my life is near it's end,
I wonder.... "Who'll cry for me?"

Friends had come, and some had gone,
They filled my heart with glee.
But when this heart beats no more,
I wonder.... "Who'll cry for me?"

I found romance and took a spouse,
To start our family tree
But when my roots get pulled from dirt.
I wonder.... "Who'll cry for me?"

We had a birth and shared our joy
Taught lessons upon my knee
But when the time to teach no more
I wonder.. . "Who'll cry for me?"

Bound to Earth in human form,
My soul will soon be free.
But until that fateful day is here
I wonder..."Who'll cry for me?"

The Day is here, I drift away,
My mortal life is through.
When a gentle voice rings in my head
"Sweet child I'll cry for you"

this poem was from Tapatee's midnight kiss, written by Darin . This poem is under the author's (c) therefore needs his/her approval for other use.

When I Die
anonymous

The moment I die, here I wonder
What will die with me?
The twist of my wrist, the hope in my eyes
Will there be you to miss me?
As the tongues of flame of passion burns
My heart waits and wastes away
Knowing not what it waits for
Will you turn to me, when the game ends?
As a new day would arrive, I'd know
The world holds a thousand keys to knowledge
What then, of I, who know nothing?
As a new tear would fall, I'd ask
You hold the key to my heart
Yet you choose to throw it away
What then, of I, who know not how to move on?
Days arrive and days depart
I don't know when you will see
What is hidden in your heart
When I die, what will die with me?
A part of you, maybe?

this poem was dedicated to the poet himself.

The Break Up
by anonymous

Near to the door
He paused to stand
As he took his class ring
Off her hand
All who were watching
Did not speak
As a silent tear
Ran down his cheek
And through his mind
The memories ran
Of the moments they walked
And ran in the sand hand and hand
But now her eyes were so terrible cold
For he would never again
Have her to hold
They watched in silence
As he bent near
And whispered the words......
"I LOVE YOU" in her ear
He touched her face and started to cry
As he put on his ring and wanted to die
And just then the wind began to blow
As they lowered her casket
Into the snow....
This is what happens
To man alive.....
When friends let friends....
Drink and drive.

this poem was a submitted forward in forwardgarden.

A Friend Far Away
by Dianne

Yesterday I dispersed flower seeds with my very own breath,
Some clung on, not destined to be spread.
I’m now at the brink of our friendship’s path,
Imagine my feelings for you all left unsaid.

Last night I counted every star in the sky,
I stopped when I reached a billion and two.
But my wish is more than the stars heaven could supply,
I want to spend every second of my real life with you.

Today I counted every walk taken in the beach,
They’re worth more than a precious hundred thousand.
And if I were given a chance to fulfill every step each,
I would be standing right next to where you are this second.

I tried to dry off each raindrop before they touch the ground,
Like how I tried to stop my tears from falling through.
But like all impossible things they could not be done,
It’ll take a miracle to erase the memory of you.

Through all the lies and hope I’ve shoved,
It’s a remedy no one could simply heal.
You’re a soul through a screen I have simply loved,
Help me convince myself that you’re not real.

this poem is by Diane from lovingyou.com . this content shouldn't be redistributed without the author's consent. this poem is under the category of love despite the distance or internet love.

The Invitation
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become
shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!
I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy
fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful,
to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul;
if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even
when it's not pretty, every day,
and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or
how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up,
after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone,
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you, from the inside,
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

This poem is by Oriah Mountain Dreamer copyright © 1999 by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. It shouldn't be redistributed without the author's consent.
"While I am pleased that this piece, The Invitation, has spoken to many others and happy that it is being shared, I would ask that you honour the original by sharing it as it was written. - Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Shutting Doors
by Phoenix P.

Shutting doors and
Stopped lives ;
Did you ever stop
To realize?
The doors you shut
Are not just yours.
There are others around you
Searching for doors.

Looking for ways
To set themselves free.
You closed your door
But shut it on me.

All I ever wanted
Was to Love and share
And show you that I
Really did care.
To help you open
Doors from the past.
To show you that all doors
Aren't meant to hold fast.

Someday, a keyword,
your doors will swing wide
and confront you with feelings
That you tried to hide.

Don't shut them so quickly
That you fail to see,
Behind one of those doors
Will always be me...

I got this poem from my collection when I was a sophie. I like this poem because of how it reminds us of those things in life that aren't just mere chances but big opportunities. This poem is about doors that we have neglected but could be a dream for others. Be sure to stop in our lives and just feel that "life is a dream, so why dream some more?"

Audrey's Fire

by Joe P. Darin

There is a fire that burns inside you,
delivering me from my Icy mind.
It melts my Frosty shell , built to hide me.
It seems I no longer feel the need to hide.
If I take you into my hands, I'll Burn,
but I would hold you for a million years.
Though the Sparks do freshen old wounds,
it is necessary for them to heal.
You have Rekindled a new life in me,
and for that, I commend to you my soul.
I'd feed your Flame to make it eternal,
for I have the highest respect for you.
The closer you are the brighter you Burn,
like the Fire God's placed over our heads.
For better or worse, Singe or Frost, I'm yours.
We compliment one another in heart.
If your Spark is trusting, then this I ask:
Would you share with me alone your Fire?

If I Could Give My Mom the World

by anonymous

If I could give my mom the world
Or anything she wanted,
I'd give her my own heart and soul
And leave my own heart haunted.

I'd take upon myself her life
With all its strife and pain,
And let her ease into some space
Where she could live again.

The pain for me would not be pain,
At least not for a while;
For I'd be doing it for her,
And I would see her smile.

I wish that I could take her heart
And cleanse it with my tears,
And make her sorrow go away,
And answer all her fears.

I wish, I wish, but then I can't,
As I watch helplessly,
And take her in my arms and say
I wish that it were me.

But loving is a hard, hard way,
With all the pain it brings.
And yet there is no other way
To touch the heart of things.

Thanks for the person who gave me an idea to feature a Mother's Day Poem, here's a real beautiful one. It's just so beautiful when you can offer all the love in the world into something worth all of it. And this poem just expresses it all well.

Stone by Stone
by Rachel Bentley

I have a wall you cannot see
Because it's deep inside of me
It blocks my heart on every side
And helps emotions there to hide.
You can't reach in,
I can't reach out,
You wonder what it's all about.

The wall I built that you can't see
Results from insecurity.
Each time my tender heart was hurt
The scars within grew worse and worse.
So stone by stone,
I built a wall,
That's now so thick it will not fall.

Please understand that it's not you-
Continue trying to break through.
I want so much to show myself
And love from you will really help.
So bit by bit,
Chip at my wall,
Till stone by stone it starts to fall.

I know the process will be slow-
It's never easy to let go
Of hurts and failures long ingrained,
Upon one's heart from years of pain.
I'm so afraid
To let you in;
I know I might get hurt again.

I try so hard to break the wall,
But seem to get nowhere at all.
For stone upon stone I've stacked,
And left between them not a crack.
The only way
To make it fall is imperfections in the wall.

I did the best I could to build
A perfect wall, but there are still
A few small flaws, which are the key
To breaking through the wall to me.
Please use each flaw
To cause a crack
To knock a stone off of the stack.

For just as stone by stone was laid
With every hurt and every pain,
So stone by stone the wall will break
As love replaces every ache.
Please be the one
Who cares enough
To find the flaws, no matter what.

I like this poem because of how non pretentious it is, of how love could be found by breaking all the walls, accepting imperfections and loving a person no matter what.

Invisible
by a guy

Invisible persons can fall in love, ,can they not?
Though unseen, we think and write-
Of things like love, grace and light;
And if they write, they then love and care
We do our best to give warmth in our stare-
You can get it, can you not?
That I am invisible and unseen to you
But even if to me you're blind,
I won't notice or pretend not to mind
Cause I know I love you and I'm sure that in someday
You will find the heart to see me anyway-
Even if you don't want, I'm here
I whisper loving rhythms in your ear
As you carelessly bumb me in passing by,
I try to catch your beauty with my eye
And there are many, many more things that I do-
To pretend that I'm visible to you
But it's sad that even though how hard I strive
You can't even sense I'm here alive..

This poem is written by a guy that we met in a rev class. He was one of the guys that my friends and I considered a gent, nice and earned a nickname "Poet" because of his power with words.

What is the Sound of a Heart Breaking ?
by anonymous

What is the sound of a heart breaking?

It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night,
the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin,
it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring,
the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat,
it's the whispers of the toy animals he gave you.

It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you,
the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word
"goodbye",
it's the soundtrack of memories torturing you,
it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time,
it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath,
the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink,
it's the unrelenting plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an
ignoring door.

It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop,
the sound of all the doors shutting and closing in your face at the same time,
of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you,
the sound of your voice at it screams back at you,
the echo of "I love yous" burning holes inside you,
the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you
will ever do will matter without love.

The sound of the waves of the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the
shore and crashes inside your mind,
of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "S0S-to-the-world",
the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he
gave,
the sound of the music he used to make going to your gut.

The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor,
the caress of kitchen knives on skin,
the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.
It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there,
of dying birds getting splattered on a city pavement,
of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a
vacuum of forgetfulness,
it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company,
it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding.
Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the
floor of a Zen monastery.
No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.

That's one of my favorite poems. "The Sound of a Breaking Heart" amazed me. You can really hear the heart break.

Remember
by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Georgina Rossetti was born in London, England in 1830. She was the youngest of four children; two girls and two boys. She came from one of the most interesting families in Victorian England. Her father, Gabriele Rossetti, was a poet who had to flee Italy for political reasons. He fled to London where he eventually became Professor of Italian at Kings College, London University. Her mother was a Polidori, one of her brothers became Lord Byron's physician. Her brother was the poet and artist, Dante Rossetti

Sonnets from the Portuguese
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese" was originally published in 1850 in a two volume publication entitled _Poems_.

Put your name to history, submit your poem through mail in this format:

1 TITLE
2. poem
3. author