Title Toss Voting

Please read the following poems, and then PM me with the poem you want to win.

Well done to all who submitted a poem, and thank you to all those who vote.

Good luck!

I will post for voting Sunday night, if I have enough votes! PLEASE VOTE!

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#1
Choices that we made

I have never known
the life, as time had gone.
If ever you had been there,
Would you have known?
I lay awake all night,
and think of it, we might
have made our own ways,
through the choices we made.
If ever I knew all this,
was ever right for us-
the life we live here,
Is it a fake or a dream?
If it's all a fake,
then I would want to dream,
for I never want us,
to pull apart from each other,
for all the choices we made.
But then, when I wake up,
I face the reality and realize,
that the time had really gone,
and life has become a tyranny-
a filthy truth, that reflects
yourself in me,
for all the choices that we made.
Now I know better,
the life we chose for us,
was nothing but,
just an ugly truth.
Even then I wish,
it to be a dream,
for all the choices, we haven't made.

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#2
Travelling Through Tears

Ah I found you,
in a sea of salts; in the tears of your eyes!
I found you.
There was a tiny drop, a dew of hope
that I kissed good bye;
A good bye to remain on my lips
when I kissed your cheek,
And now, you are mine.

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#3
Something is Missing

Something is missing in this room,
the windows are open - with curtains
that slide to the presence of the sun.
My day starts. My bed is made.
I am dressed. I'm soon to walk away.
Into the kitchen, I have breakfast.
Every one else had left.
I do dishes. I clean the house.
I prepare dinner.
Every one else comes back.
I'm soon to walk away.
Into my room, I write. Then I read :
"Something is missing in this room,
the windows are open - with curtains
that slide to the presence of the sun.
My day starts. My bed is made.
I am dressed. I'm soon to walk away.
Into the kitchen, I have breakfast.
Every one else had left.
I do dishes. I clean the house.
I prepare dinner.
Every one else comes back.
I'm soon to walk away.
Into my room, I write. Then I read :
Something is missing in this room,

Is it you?"

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#4
Home sick

Does the dog miss
the stick or the caster,
or could it be this
longing to return
to the master?
Have you ever
had the blues
When you finally
had to choose
to leave your home
to go out and roam,
and get home sick.
You just could not kick
that lonesome feeling
that had you reeling.

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#5
Daylight

Daylight is a gift
that often comes
to give us a lift
after our darkest
hours

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#6
I See that Thing in your Eyes

I wonder why. I wonder why.
Is that I see that thing in your eyes?
It's something bright. Oh bright,
like a child that studies in kindergarden.
And the bell rings. And the child sings,
while a mother taps her feet in a hurry.
Look at the street. Look at her hips.
Is it the way her skirt swirls?
Is it the way she walks with a swing?
Or perhaps, is it the way she smiles
when her child hugs her back?

Oh I wonder why. I wonder why.
Is that I see that thing in your eyes?
It's something bright. Oh bright,
like a lamppost in the night, like the light
in the cars when people drive. When people arrive
Home. And they laugh. And they dance.
Hear the music. Hear the conversations.
Is it the pitch in their voice?
Is it the way their mouth moves?
Or perhaps, is it the way they hug
when they arrive, when they say goodbye?

Oh I wonder why. I wonder why.
Is that I see that thing in your eyes?
It's something bright. Oh bright.
Is it the beauty of life?

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#7
Basket of Muffins

A basket of muffins
good enough to eat
in my hungry mind
does not seem complete.
Though full of maple
and honey so sweet,
not the kind of staple
that can really compete
with togetherness
which is concrete.
I honestly confess.

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#8
Love's Enduring Promise

Love's Enduring Promise
an entity does care.
Even when it seems
no one is there.
The anchor will hold.
The spirit is in the air.
Love need not be bold.
Love need not be rare.
In order to receive
Love must give.
in order to relieve
that spirit must live.

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#9
Murder by Midnight

Murder by Midnight
acquitted by dawn.
All common sense
seems to have gone
Many victims take
their last breath
while often hearts ache
in this culture of death

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#10

In search of the past - I came across something
wicked, a secret passageway to empty void of
my heart that yearns to be filled and distracted
from the harshness of reality.

The air we breathe was once filled the pain of grief;
you were once looking for love in the midst of daylight
- homesick from the chilling world of empty ghosts of
wanderlust.

and that's when I first set eyes upon you
(whether it was a choice or an act of god,
I lost control of my emotions and fell
for you).

Like a basket of muffins - my heart was
ready for easy pickings.

You were like a volcano in New York -
the hearts of many you captivated but they
were accompanied with the thoughts of
survival (you had a tendency of burning
everyone that braved the boundaries and
waited for you to come around).

I was naive - a child at heart to think that
love's enduring promise would satisfy
my whims. It was only after a drunken
fight that I realized while justice sleeps
that you were seeking murder by midnight.

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Only by travelling through tears had I been able
to pen the expressions that lingers in my heart so
please excuse my writing.

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#11
Labyrinth

Please excuse my writing, I'm so home sick and
tired of traveling through tears in this world
of empty ghosts in search of the past;
we're all looking for love, or at least
love's enduring promise: its cornucopia,
blessings handed out with a basket of muffins
as we ignore the pain of grief - love's heartburn.

It's our choice, our own free will;
it's in our control, and I won't blame it
on an act of god, like something wicked,
like a seething volcano in New York,
covering the desperate lovers in Central Park
stumbling in drunken fights of who loves most,
setting fire to the air we breathe - God's murder
of all worthy sinners by midnight flows of lava
while justice sleeps through the daylight hours.

But you! You can show me the secret passageway
through which we can escape our past
without straying too far into a future
preconceived without our present consent.

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#12
Please excuse my Writing

Please excuse my Writing
The oxymoron I'm citing
is the poet in a box
afraid of the paradox
of escaping, the run
of the mill for one,
secondly individuality,
thirdly a formality
of a fourth dimension
I often dare to mention.

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#13
The pain of grief

In search of the past;
Daylight, traveling through tears
While justice sleeps

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#14
Home sick

please Excuse my Writing,
the air We breathe
was murder by midnight!

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#15
Looking for Love

Looking for Love
in a fair face,
I have looked above
praying for grace,
Angels were sent
some passed me by.
Where have they went,
up in the sky,
on a high cloud
where I'd be proud,
to look for love?

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#16
Travelling Through Tears

In journeys through the years,
we have shed a few tears
on the echo of fears
the silent night hears.
Thoughts on destination
we have shed a few tears,
praying for salvation.
Did some of us take time
to see reasons for rain
or search for the sublime
in the midst of our pain?
Did some of us take time
In journeys through the years,
to make it not in vain
in journeys through the years?

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#17
While Justice Sleeps

While Justice Sleeps mothers weep,
praying for the violence to cease
Their sons and daughters seem to sleep
as loved ones also long the rest in peace.
Something wicked in the air we breathe
laced with smoke from a fire
may cause anger to seethe.
What does divine justice require?
I rest my case with a sad face
as cowards stand their ground
While Justice Sleeps mothers weep,
where harmony can't be found
will the violence ever cease?

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#18

Murder by Midnight with a Basket of muffins

She stood under a light
within a dingy city,
she called home,
holding a basket of muffins
as the moon kissed her softly.

The sapphire specs of her iris's
were enhanced by the waiting,
anticipation is a killer of love
within the deep, depths of
midnight.

He whispered muffins were his favorite
a year or so ago, and soon they would
embrace over food and her loving eyes
would seal the kiss they both had longed for.

Her tattered stockings had warn during the light of day,
for alzheimers alters her thinking and concept of time,
but she waited every year-

Under the moon, at midnight, with muffins-
and the forgotten memory of the murder that took
place before their meeting and greeting of a love
never to be born.

A womb of sacred thoughts comes alive when the heart is lost in a world of confusion.

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Great poems all!

Nice job!

Voting!

Good works!

Only 6 votes in?? I need more please. You know you want to... please xxxxxxx

Will leave this open until tomorrow night. xx

If you don't vote, you won't matter!

^ whoever said that.... does it apply in this thread?

If there are 18 poems in there ought to be at least 18 votes.
Come on people, even if you vote for yourself, someone will win (cause I did not vote for mine).

Remember Pirates III?

8 votes in, but we have a tie.

I am definitely closing this tonight, so if no one else votes, we will just have a draw win.

Remember, you can vote even if you didn't write a poem for it. xx