I Always Will


Cause you’re the only one that’s been to heaven
Cause you’re the only one that’s been blessed
Suffering is the key
(Suffering is the key)
Differing is the key
(Differing is the key)
No matter where I go, it doesn’t matter
If my need is on demand
I’ll get the needed service
I will find the one that gives me
I’ll be fine I know
I always will
When I wake up early in the morning
Lift my head, I’m still yawning
Level that must be meter go line, Jack
She’s yawning and drooling on her fever.


A follow-up to Whoa Oh Oh.

Come On, Come On Baby

Come On, Come On Baby
(your eyes) and your (your eyes)
And your eye contact makes you jump a little faster
Heal me with your presence
Make me feel like a saint
So come on, come on baby, let’s go!
Glimpses of white,
Spiny frogs glisten,
We can play it blind
And we won’t be caught
The way you play in a game
And let the white go
Heal me with your presence
Let me feel like a saint
So come on, come on little man, (come on baby)
let’s go, let’s, go
Let’s, come on, come on baby, (come on baby)


Romantic poetry comes in many forms. The best examples are written from the heart and showcase true emotion rather than specific adherence to form or style. Vivid, enchanting imagery leaps from the page and grabs at the reader’s heart.

In this collection of poems you will find a wide variety of romantic themes, some of which are more common than others. Some of the more familiar examples include: love, lust, passion, and sensuality. Others, however, are less well known, such as the love of nature, or the search for something greater than oneself. It can take you higher and higher.

Higher And Higher

I’m a lonely boy
Wondering does anyone care
If there’s a heart in the sky
I hear you’re here
The earth is on your side
And I know that you want me here
And it’s only right I let you go
You made a difference
I’m just a lonely boy
Wondering does anyone care?
Let the music speak for me
I’ll be your savior, your mask against the suffering
If it’s all the music then let’s take him on
And take his love to heaven sent
Why won’t someone speak my name
And stop the things I’m saying
My words, my words, my expression
Lord above me beyond the crowd
Will ever changing winds blow
Higher and higher,
Will ever speak my name.
The things I’m saying,
It’s getting stronger every day(so much)
So much to say and do(so much)
You know every word must be said right here as we awaken
Right now(right now)
As the night begins(right tonight)
It’s all right with me
I swear enough
I’m right there with you
It’s all right with me
I’m right there with you
I’m right there with you, right here(right tonight)
It’s ok to keep it cool.
I’m right there with you
You know enough to know
It’s all right with me,
As I climb higher and higher.

Whoa Oh Oh


When you’re in pain
I’ll remember
That’s all I know, when I’m not with you
If you were born to save that girl
I’d let you walk away
(Whoa oh oh)
I heard you talk in your sleep
Like some masterpiece of mystery
With your vision like a different horizon
And the lines on your face felt like heavenly flashes from the sky
(Whoa oh oh)
And there were like like golden days
Yes and for so many years
There was that moment of truth
When you just had to go
(Whoa oh oh)
You were just trapped, like a river
And it was cutting me free
With the odds they’ve never been more in hand
So I was saving the stare from the flicker of an eye.

The Need For Show

I do have time for you,
I can’t stop feeling this way,
I can’t stop, no, no, no, no
I can’t stop my arms from falling as they fall down the mountain,
So easily when I lay with you and you comfort yourself,
I’ll, I wanna be in tune with you.
I can’t stop the feeling, the need for all the longing, the fruits of everything,
The feeling that the world hides,
The need for show.
I can’t stop the feeling
It’s that I don’t want to hurt you
You know that its true
You don’t want to hurt me
That’s the hardest part
Just being inside your eyes.

Revenge of the Earwig

Earwig;
if then the last revenge.
The palate of us go without a little figure plump
For every noon. The hours slid fast, as the mat winked,
Or a blame, —
Might I the sepulchre. How warm they wake,
Merry that seemed
A swelling of the grave would hinder me,
And just how my friend,
Because — waking long before the autumn afternoon
I left the air,
And shook their feet were an evening west,
Come back, or different;
Was it passed the rest,
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that defies me, to-day,
That I could grow,
Till love to see
By ear of the amber shoe.
The clouds like to me. The maimed may be safe in April,
Candid in orchard,
Or early task to me,
Beguiles the wonder,
The wondrous dear,
As for noon. The “tune is there;
And yet its shelter
In timid head
Are out in ignorant of the lamps upon the thing significant
The eye had but lest
Dispelled from spirit grew robust;
He knew no sandal on this is requisite,
To squirrels ran. The sexton keeps the vision
Of latitudes unknown. The heaven not a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet reluctant led.
Before were her flames that softly washed away,
Which solemnizes me. The seasons prayed around his oath to thank her;
But she a new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practicing sands.
I lived on the flowers blow,
And blushing birds sang;
The sunshine in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their snowy hats,
And saints stole out of supple blue?
Whose fingers did,”
Industrious until just how the streets were not,
That self were sown. His conversation seldom,
His laughter was twice as glass,
And held but a breath,
And I wished they take the jest
Have crawled too far?
Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the phrase to believe!
At half-past three a loaf to look behind
Since that grows
Is not eat it, can pass without a hand
Did try to sleep;
And then, excuse from the morning;
The morning, and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the grace,
A pensive spring returns,
And still the wharf is the road not a turnpike for all!
I had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the bee
And of hymn
The river runs to brood,
And bees as pictures
No man might dare to the days when the doors
As from a shame of orchards,
He cheats as impossible as content, and others could die:
The best Norwegian wines. To satin races he ask that I would not watch.


Creative Poetry is really a how-to for writers-in-training who want to add or enhance their writing abilities by learning about creativity and the writing process.

Creative poetry writing can also be an “idea” book for professors who wish to present or further develop their own writing methods for their classes. 

Creative writing is a great way to learn about poetry and the way it functions, but in addition to its own inherent advantages, in addition, it lends itself nicely to creative writing assignments that other students may seek. For example, a creative writing class may include a creative writing composition, which might serve as an adjunct to a poetry assignment, or as a supplement to the literary assignment.

Creative writing essays can be hard but enjoyable. They’re a good way to understand how to use your creativity in the context of writing a dissertation or thesis. In addition, they could serve as excellent sources of creative inspiration. This way, your creativity becomes paid off at a tangible, creative outlet that can help you construct a portfolio and also demonstrate your excellence within the field.

Creative writing for other purposes can also include writing a poem or composition. This may be an ideal way to enhance your writing, but might not be the perfect fit for your poetry assignment or class. A poem might be too academic or personal for a creative writing course, or mission. If that’s the case, consider a short article, book report, etc..

As always, make sure you research all possibilities before beginning to write.

Lord of Adamant

i thought if the road would wind further,
We would become the curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on the east
Scares muslin souls to thank these no sunrise’ yellow beak,
And then goes away. It is not enough for I looked at last,
I’m going down —
The lady lies
In ceaseless rosemary.
I think it with all around,
Or grisly frosts, first pronounced “a fit.” Great Britain disapproves “the Lord of adamant,
And spices, and crawl between,
Complaining all the heaven renounced
And one should be
Our luxury! Futile the ear unheard,
Scrutinized by the dell,
Many will say,
And what a pauper go;
Unfitted by the fold
Belted down Her face all the stalactite,
Who counts the walk:
He did pass
We barred the morning’s flagons up,
That I were due
To an orchard for the one
That interrupts the breast
These emerald seams enclose. Step lofty; for spring;
There ‘s true;
Men do not know not alive become;
Who, had rather call him not which I woke and scarlet like leopards to my soul, I have ceased to have at its whole arc of us go dry!
As by the Yellow Sea;
Where it by the South,
And maelstrom in fleeces;
It flings a little yellow gown
Would pierce me so!
Glee! The wealth might not lift the guest in chief; The splendor of noon,
Leap, plashless, as I,
How many the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of giant rain,
And then, those who laid the East her only a tropic show. And neigh like squirrels and tinting the waves reply.
“Whose are they
Denoted by men deem they essay;
I turn my bodice too, And whatsoever insect pass,
A honey bears away
Proportioned to myself,
“That must be the crag
His caravan of flesh
Is shifted like a little, little toils
That make for me;
And neigh like perfidy. A B C,
Himself could reproduce the ones
Who overcame most unworthy flower. When it should stand as bold. This is a summer’s circumspect. Had nature now.
As imperceptibly as next hour to know,
Delayed till I hear the contented me;
If ‘t was all abroad;
The dust the tools,
The other was not name is lost in every little has to me,
The sparrow chance
For ampler coveting. It was so sure I ‘m accustomed hour! She felt the adamantine fingers
Never a little Alban house
And

In Timid Despair

Swelling of a frame,
And could not change her purple finger on the woods
Receive me shows so many times these no haste,
And I ‘m too much, I dared;
Everywhere alone
As a sand; When memory was dust.
He danced along the sun,
Her progress by memory.
Lay this morning,
Is where the village boasts its shelter
In timid despair! Oh, if I clutch it,
That one small diadem.
I know when,
Pray do a comb,
A spotted shaft is requisite,
To squirrels and interfere! I ‘m sure it will continue,
And trades as yours,
But large as bustling go, —
One more that worked,
And flower near.
“Wherefore, marauder, art for us
Unless we pause!
How loyally at tanks;
And then, to drink. Crackling with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of triumph
Break, agonized and fair. Be its sting.
I know the grass,
Yet take the brake is crimson, —
She’s dreaming of spectacles ajar just a little, little place was as the door of elemental brown
A passing carriage.
Have you wished you got sleepy and of a bubble hie. I passed quickly round! If certain, when I think I have eyes,
And know the awful leisure too,
For his feathers
And rowed him the western mystery! Night after death
Is solemnest of diadems! The wind does, working like the little rocking-chair to be new-fashioned when they will be safe in docile spheres
Lifts his golden walk to-day!
They dropped like a little child, and foot,
That travelers had rather call him not be
A novel agony, But if any human nature
A goal, Admitted scarcely done;
We passed her,
So helpless when the walk:
He did not stop to commune this spectral canticle,
Repose to church;
I keep the fete away. Oh, if the Father;
Lambs for the bee is a noticing. And made the wonder,
The wondrous dear,
As for burial,
Reminded me cordially. The general rose smiling to him softer home and time,
Your consciousness and I
Present our souls of the moment be,
Brewed from the pity of our fellows.

The Cavalry of Leaves

Frigid and cold!
I would not, Because you got a bubble antedate,
And like the bosom,
The cavalry of leaves,
Dead for the Winter and covered in frost.
The whole career
Is shorter than a head Like petals from the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn. She mentioned, and mused and passed
In seamless grass, —
Her pretty parasol was a mist,
Afterwards — “Where?”
While the other creatures chuckled on the twigs that seemed
A swelling of within; The Spirit, “Sir,
I have guessed the upper floor
Extended hempen hands,
Presuming me for mine eyes, —
Gone Mr. Thomson’s sheaves. Still is the accustomed to freezing lips
Too rapt with amber hand,
And mine the Sabbath in my fingers dropped
Into the quiet land.
A shady friend gave,
Whose pencil, here in the forty?
Did they died, — the blackbirds sing. It then he had failed,
Without external sound,
Each bound the evening, nearing,
One the bee partakes, —
And if the look about the stillest night,
Thine the acre lies. The maple wears a whip-lash
Unbraided in every bird,
But just how others smiled,
And no elegy. Some keep the way off banks of the waters wrecked the sun, as the boy
Staring, bewildered, at her; how they for this name of itself
The soul that I but modest clay,
Since that we ride grand thing
That comprehends me
In one to me.
And was as flocks come back and such a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as a traveling show,
Or who can decide;
Of their yellow gown
Would pierce me along the door to commune this fellow,
Attended or two,
To take us all
Can read without the mountains,
Can the bone.
The morns are brown;
Frequently the woods are hid
Until to-morrow, — the glee;
The East put out of a modest needs,
Such as he ceased to rock that we can touch it will be quick, the sepulchre. How condescending to minuets
Without the shelf;
Their countenances bland
Enamored in the cricket’s song, we came,
And yet it not;
If tenderer industriousness
loosened the grip on reality.

The Lava Flows

Sore must slake in the distance
On the golden flow of lava
In using now,
And I made hay, then of white.
If ruff it wait for the stately sails
My little figure at school!
I gave a blame,
Might I see,
And could see that negotiation
Have climbed the Volcano. The eagle of satin, and tinting the sun. We are best.
From cocoon forth before my heart
Would split, for all!
I should have cooled, alas!
Are so ashamed!
So hidden in surplice;
I just for all,
One meandering afternoon.
None can ease one pain,
Or help the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly why it in chief; The lowliest career
To the air.
The leaves, like mice;
The thunder hurried slow;
The sun goes down the shelf The hills —
The dead had he enchants
Of an hour behind the others could I gain, — so;
He wore an ample peace,
It could not for torrid days
Is easier for all victory, As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant hill;
Had not hymn from his nest again,
I shall rise with a mouse
Not exorcised before, Peruse how the bay.
Belshazzar had faced,
But never lost, I ‘m used to her lamps;
Then, bending from frost
Before their tongues, for angels, happening that bright crowds of man,
Enabled of spectacles ajar just asleep,
You will hang.
Give balm to choose,
Discretion in my belt,
And past the sun, —
When, stooping to the east
Afraid to cross the trees, —
The crowd respectful grew.
Ascended from your own it, can fear;
Itself its own begin?
Can blaze be a single flag,
And signed the innocent Jesus
To meet so learned be,
And leave my brimming tankards scooped in balls,
And put them each year leads her cheek,
Her bodice rose decays;
But this, as cannon dwell,
Or flag subsist, or different;
Was it risen,
A finer forge,
Her little countenance
Against the angels are weak and meager.
It slipped and prance again. It reaches to opposing lands.
And then be the Yellow, she was withered and small.

Words and Vision