My Mona Lisa

I don't know what you have done to me,

But with my words

I can only write of what echoes from my heart.


Yet, softly all I can hear is whipers of your name,

And the imagery that breeds in my mind

Is only a reflection of your beauty.


Like a silly boy with a crush

I am enchanted by the gentle curves of your lips,

And burned by the seductive fire that lies within your eyes.


Shyly I must confess

The aroma that fills the air as you walk by

Leaves me to feel somewhat invigorated,

And slightly intoxicated.


It's funny

How I have become addicted to your presence,

And your personality that personifies

Who you truly are.


To appreciate the beauty of a woman

Is to immortalize her essence,

And with my words

That is something I hope to accomplish.


~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~


My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/

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Unintelligible Existence

Never ending it seems

The dance of life 
That we hold so sacred 

But who are we to sway into this mortal realm 

Labeling ourselves to some means of importance
Yet always looking to the sky for a glimmer of hope 
That our significance has some manner of substance 

For we are nothing more than lost children 
Always pretending that we have a grip on this reality

But at our core we shake at the unknown
And pray that the belief that we have chosen does not lead us astray 

What is the worth of the unintelligible existence 
That we so eagerly live
And what will we see when we awake after it all ends
~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~
My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/
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The Black Rose Of Hell

Tell me 

If I was born a demon 

Would I be damn to a life of sin 

Would the bloodline that I bear 

Condemn me to a world

Full of regret and a false sense of joy


And if I knew this truth. 

That I was bound to the lowest levels of hell 

Tell me 

Why would I hesitate to spread the devil's dogma

You see 

Not all that are born of a dark nature are evil

Some souls are just curse with a malevolent outlook 

But I believe  that If an angel can fall from the grace of God

Then a demon can raise above his own eternal damnation.

For a black rose that blooms in the pits hell is still a flower unto God 

~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~

My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/

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Sage of words, to read.

Counting every heart beat.

One that looked upon life.

Tears hidden from strife.

Wanting all to read.

His words like flowering seeds.

His anchor was mankind.

The war he knew, unkind.

When one hears the WHITMAN name.


3/5/2014 JOE POEWHIT


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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes


harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away


Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression


I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection


Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.


A Poet Lived Here

Do you know 'my friend'?

This is the very house,

A famous poet used to live in,

Like Gibran so different were his thoughts, so grand!


Right there he would sit and spread light,

Two beloveds used to accompany him,

One was the pen and the other being the paper,

He just loved to write.


Time didn’t have the courage,

To defeat his confidence and willpower,

So polite he was, so generous,

Wrote on and on fighting against his age.


Yes 'my friend' this is the street that was and is blessed,

With the touch of the poet’s feet,

Each time he would take a walk,

People used to look at him being marvelled and enchanted.


Handsome like Apollo was he,

Blessed with heavenly talent and charm,

Ever eager to help others,

May we see what he wanted all of us to see!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to all the poets [dead or alive] in the world.

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I want to speak one more Language
That everybody can easily speak
Same as our food or as beverage
If not, it means, we are weak

I wish I could deal with people
In everywhere, whatever they are
I hope I can once be able
To become a friend to those are aware

Serious or peaceful situations
Should not affect our hearts
The poverty or luxury nations
Are only our world' parts







and this thing called poetry, 

plucked from a pocket 

of space and time.


a blindly adorned subtlety

flowing from the wings 

of angels' thoughts unthought,

but with sultry desire.


a rhythmic taste 

of word salad

that fumbles all 

too easily and too often

from the lips of poets that choke 

on the salty aftertaste of

frivolous candor,

with a raucous brouhaha

likened to a howl 

from the maw 

of a wild banshee.



untamed and yet,

so wildly untainted

in the heat 

of  it's innocent discourse

that one can only 

breathe deeply,

the sensation of the moment,

and know how it feels to 

wear the cloak of truth.




4:03 AM 8/11/2013 ©


Invincible Mimes





Filed away in poem and prose,

So many things that no one knows,

The poetess and poet's rhyme,

Changing and turning the hands of time,

If our friend Thoreau had ever known,

He might have not shared his very own.


07/14/2013 ©



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