Is a diary entry 'poetry' per se?
What if it touches engaging the soul
peeling back layers of raw hidden emotion?
What if it bares sharing innermost secrets ~
what if it articulates heart to heart?
Sometimes we'll just blurt out our feelings
avoiding the fancy frivolous packaging
spilling the beans it's not always pretty.
We just say it like it is
black on white unfiltered uncensored
words spewing out without grace or flair
just getting the load off our chest.
So... are diary entries 'poetry'?
Yes if you want them to be
Yes when they go beyond the mundane
Yes when they pull at your heartstrings
in any way you choose ~
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines ~ every line either 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Diary of a mad man
Sending out a message through
Somber words I write
Help me find the reason
For this horrid plight
Locate all the answers I can not seem to find
Interpret the true meanings
Before I lose my mind
Look into the chapters of my very soul
Turn each page and tell me
Where I’m bound to go
Hold my scriptures sacred
For no other eyes to see
For you alone intruder
Have discovered the true me
Tell no one you know me
Never speak my name
Stealing memoirs from a crazy
Can make you go insane
Inside
Dark side
My plight
My fight
Monster
Dark star
Meadow
Shadow
Mother
Further
Battle
Startle
Thankful
Restful
August 22, 2025.
To fully imbibe God’s grace,
is to transcend time and space,
feeling within bliss beats spike,
shape shifting form as we like.
As eternal living light
and having garnered clear sight,
of our Self fully aware,
we behold God everywhere.
Though our soul is free from stains,
an earth challenge yet remains,
to do God’s will as bidden,
even when our light’s hidden.
With this impulse we descend,
that in time we may ascend,
first incomplete and then whole,
while playing our ordained role.
It’s not all laughter and fun,
as we slowly come undone,
indulging and releasing,
lust on earth we find pleasing.
Finally awake in form,
with God’s laws we then conform,
extending our helping hand,
to help the fallen to stand.
Every story with words of their own
Poet perspective
Defined commitment with a desire to fulfill
Through the mind having will
Agonizing struggle propelling igniting power
Like a cake in the oven ready to rise
The thought of thinking only imagining
Every Poet having their own theory
Emotions like moving oceans and rivers
Flowing
Like morning dew that comes in the sunrise
It becomes pursue where journey begins
The Need, Desire, Construct all come to mine
Poets are often seen as deep and complex
Inner soul behind the behold at their grasp
Uplifting inspiration in Poets to be
People Poets seen through the eyes of humanitarian in write and confront
The gift being a perk
The structure being the Creativity and Collaboration of Poets behind the idea of words as escorts
One jolt of words letter by letter through moment in time
All genuine
A world that won’t always be kind
Poets confess
Being their test
Into the atmosphere of Poets everywhere
Clear glass of reflection
Needing the reader’s attention
Behind the indication
The diary of divine
Elegance like refreshing wine
Poet’s words warm and kind
Nothing else compares
Poets are about sincere in share.
March, 2025
She walked past me today.
Her gaze hollow, her pace a ghost.
I can see crimson threads
weaving down her arms—
not gloves, no.
I think she’s going to the Cliff.
I wonder if she’ll return.
Most never did.
April, 2025
She sat at the bank all day
and stared at my ripples—
It is what I’m proud of the most.
I tried to sing for her,
shame that she can’t hear.
So I cried with her instead,
until her tears dried—
Wish I could stop my streams,
but I’m a sentimental River.
May, 2025
I heard the Cliff complaining—
sea wind scratched his face.
She ran past, breathless—
Chased by what I can’t drown.
Hope she made it home tonight.
June, 2025
Nobody saw her.
A daisy bloomed beside me today.
I’ll keep it fresh for her.
July, 2025
August, 2025
She passed by again.
In that flowy silk dress,
and her eyes shimmer.
She was humming,
with a voice low but heavenly—
Oh, and she found my daisy!
I’ve seen that light before—
She’s going to the Cliff.
My hasty steps echo
on the cracked stone tile,
before the bus door hisses
shut—Late again.
"It's a wonderful life," the clouds sing in chorus.
Their church choir harmony almost offensive,
if I didn't know,
they truly believe
life is lullabies and steaming apple tea.
Swear-soaked hair clings to my neck.
I call these ember days:
when smoldering urban air chokes—
Yet the clouds drift,
marshmallow white—
Like porcelain swans on azure water.
I watch the bus hustle
away, breath too ragged
to properly curse.
The clouds grin,
like they're genuinely satisfied—
—just being.
Wouldn't that be something.
OHH DEAR DIARY,
I lost another friend
It's an another end
Maybe it has now become a trend!
They come and they go,
like a turbulent flow
Fast is the time, the bond became slow
Let me be unknown, now I don't wanna know
If this is adulthood, I don't wanna grow
OHH DEAR DIARY,
I know it's not always better to show,
what you feel when you're on your low
But do answer me then!
Are emotions here, just to throw?
OHH DEAR DIARY,
Will you also vanish some day?
But I've heard that, "PAPER HAS MORE PATIENCE THAN PEOPLE"
So, Are you going to stay??
But I barely even trust myself
then you are just a notebook on that dusty shelf!
OHH DEAR DIARY,
When I was in need, at my worst
I approached none, but you at first
Don't treat me like a clown, please don't let me down
I'm all here,
Because for them, now,
I'm unavailable, maybe I'm unstable
No more the same cable, connecting odds and even
Was never forgiven!
The world is mess all around, and so
I don't wanna be found
I don't wanna enhance the wound.
Ohh dear diary, please be around.
the pages of my diary hold the memories-
memories of you being cold and warm,
memories of that mysterious smirk,
and the day you deserted me
i unfurled the white flag
and surrendered on my knees
you started this war
and kept on stabbing me
this war is our love affair
illicit from the moment it began
yet, i believed in you and 'this love'
still questioning, whether i regret you or not
Scent of tea arose
knowledge is my obsession
sealed like a locket.
Thursday, 2025.1.16
Happy birthday to my sister.
She turns a mile stone at the new corner.
Now she earns the title of being a senior.
Congratulations to you, my sister.
Congratulations to me too.
Today, I was introduced the Poetry's world.
I started to post my poems,
Few days later, my first piece of work,
Was listed in "This Week's Featured poems".
It was read by many viewers.
I was overwhelmed and flattered.
Initially, the poems were written,
To serve as my diary keeper.
Eventually, the writing got easy and easier.
I was glad, I met this poet,
Who I named "Mr Author",
He introduced me to the poetry's world,
Hopefully, I can continue on writing,
Post them all on the internet.
Thank you "Mr Author"
Thank you all the viewers.
It was all my pleasure.
Why worry after life
Worry what you do today
Yesterday was a lesson
For today is the action
Tomorrow is uncertain
Live life one day at a time
Do the right thing
You will be praise the same
Our life is but a fleeting
Care what you have right now
Let God wrote your diary
See to it that it's nicely written
Your story is well portrayed
And ending is nicely done.
Beneath a Tree - Diary Entry Winter Equinox 1670
upon the twelfth hour of Winter's gail, for a moment a glorious splashed painting appear.... as the sullin clouds run...run onward toward the east.. in a misty breath of distant dreams, I remember Basho an old friend of mine. Fugi lying silent....a summit to be reached
A wind blown memory, so long ago
Atop Fugi (The Winter Snow)Cherry Blossoms of Spring (below) Trees of Autumn (wind blown) days passing by oh so quick....each season now a memorable story of the time we spent..
Beneath a tree
For a moment
I hear basho
Society sure has a lot to say
on how middle-aged women should behave.
Who dares to sanction that fire still alive inside?
In this her fiftieth year, she curses her sex-drive.
For she has prayed for years for someone to love,
Imposed voluntary abstinence to honour the Man above.
Perhaps, she shall marry at sixty-five
Until then, the fight continues for she must thrive.
So on behalf of all hot-blooded women, she scribes.
Dear Diary words
When I first started being a Poet, I always wondered how my words sound?
Was I meant to be a Poet?
Do I have the need and purpose to write?
It was a life learning situation
Finding my own observation
The courage within
Determined then
Knowing writing wasn’t a sin
Inspiration always in doing words transform
That’s the norm
It took a little longer from the very beginning
I thought I would never compose in transcribe
I was scare beyond compare
As a Poet, one must measure individually up
Through strength from my Grandfather’s wisdom
I became the Poet you see today
Improved ways
Being a Poet ok
Diary reminder, “A Poet who can, there’s a shall.
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