~Rainbow Connection~

I write with all my heart

And every time that I do it

I feel all day long

Like smiling and laughing a bit

Writing poetry for me

Is such a powerful tool you see,

It’s more like a way of life for me

It's more like a "Rainbow connection" too.

It is such a mighty God giving gift

So, if you happen to have it

Just toss it like magic powder

To all the four winds, and release it!

Writing poetry keeps me happy

And it keeps me from getting bored and sappy

It keeps my head and my nerves, and some

Of my own sanity in place,intact, somehow

From my mind one of these days just cracking

But the only thing I hate is all that reviewing

And all that editing and scanning that I do

After all that hard work and that thinking

Dozen of times I find myself alone

Changing some of the words’ positions I see

And a few more of those verses’ lines that I dislike

Then there all those crazy times that I just go back and delete those too

Words and more words, and more of my poetry

Writing when they seem my name just to call

Poetry make me feel fine all the time

Like I am more than ten feet tall

Everyday words and more words

Inside my heart and head keep coming

And all these sentences and words are to me

More like a rainbow connection just humming

Everyday I love learning more and more words

As I have the time to do it for you and me too

I love the idea to use them as the Good Lord

Wants me to, and all in the divine plan He has for me

Writing in general is so much fun

And it can give you along the way a lot of healing too

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Poetry Denied

Ink-dipped and waiting,

my muse bathes in an ebony river

as tresses dripping with dark inspiration

spatter the canvas of my thoughts.

I turn my back to face the sun,

as crimson rays bleed upon my cheeks,

and temptation burns a scarlet tattoo

of poetry denied.

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That shifting noise, cannot describe it.

A sort of sliding, ear drums subside it.

Listen close, and try to focus,

What is that noise, that will provoke us.

Scratch, must be the noise I hear,

Where are you, you sound so clear.

It starts and stops, when I try to admire,

That little noise, that stops when I tire.

Oh gentle sound, I long to capture,

No one will compete with your gentle stature.

Oh gentle sound, I long to catch,

That godforsaken pencil scratch.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem, on June 10, 2009, to signify how much I love the noise of my pencil, when I write words.

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within a blank page,

the words swim

to and fro,

swirling their fins

in invisible ink.

I think I need a bigger net.

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Flea Circus

Scribbles on Life

Metaphors and similes

hop around like fleas

on my living room carpet;

Swept them into a Tupperware container

and stuck a reminder on my fridge:

They are for Show and Tell nights...

serve hot over cold nouns and verbs.

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If Ali Used a Pen

I’m verbally pugilistic.

And tho’ you may not dig me at first, I grow on you like something cystic.

I’m not being narcissistic,

But for you to try and outword me, that’s like a mortal tryna battle a mystic.

This ain’t gon’ go 12 rounds of 3 . . . you’d just end up paying defeat a visit.

For you to keep comin’ at me is just painful and sadistic

Even a step beyond that, it’s sadomasochistic.

How can I draw this analogy out—put it in terms you won’t find so cryptic?

If you don’t wanna keep kissin’ the mat and seein’ your phrases smeared like lipstick,

Then you need to go back to your corner, throw in the towel or maybe try a bit more training—that might help you fix it.

But until then, you just can’t compete; you just stand there lookin’ like “what is it?”

This brutal honesty is for your own good—you been outclassed—and it’s time for the literary welterweights to give it up and be realistic.

Kyla G. Bingham


Author's Notes/Comments: 

I was in a wedding this past Saturday (05/09/2009). . .maybe m mind was wandering a little bit. When the minister was talking about not using words in marriage to hurt others, this picture of a boxes popped in my head; the first line followed.  And this is the finished product.

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My Confidante

My confidante, poetic pen;

The friend I often turn to when

my crowded mind screams to be free

of life's mundane reality.

In verse, I find I soar aloft...

to places where the words fall soft.

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Sweet (acrostic poem)

Sweet inspiration falls like rain;

Wet rivulets on a dusty window pane.

Etching trails of thought...

Enticing words to flow...

Trickling pathways... to poetry.

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A a a awesome! Welcome to My Portfolio :o)

A a a awesome! Welcome to My Portfolio :o)

Clark Steven Lupton

April 24, 2009

This is my first poem

It will never change

It’s first alphabetically

Is that a little strange?

Welcome to my poems

They’re meant to express my thoughts

My brain keeps them simple

Because I don’t have lots

I’ll write all my life

Up until I’m dead

My brains may be small

But I have a gigantic head

These poems that you read

Are written with love and care

I don’t put a lot of thought in them

So I put in a lot of air

Enjoy reading them

Have a bit of fun

Don’t worry about finishing this one

Congratulations! Now you’re done :o)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The first poem listed on porfolios always look like they were either the first ever written or it's first because it's the best. But it's alphabetical. My previous first poem looked like it was the premier poem in the spotlight just because it starts with 'a'. So I posted this one to put some order. The accent is pronounced on the third 'a'.

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