Category Archives: poems I wish I had written but sadly did not…(my favorite poems on wordpress blog feature)

Poems I wish I had written but sadly did not…Part 2

 Today I thought I’d feature 4 poems.

The first poem is by A Collection, who’s gorgeous word jumbles usually culminate with a beautiful phrase, such as in this one…


I want a new face, a different

mailbox. Some other

person’s dog.

The 2nd poem, by Posed and Written, brutally sad, pays tribute to a forgotten city dweller  


He added his name to the wall.

To the back drop of a city that didn’t want him.

To back-beat, railway rhythms.

he offered his name.

Among the many, painted bearings of young hearts,

young poets, artists and old soul’s calligraphy pens,

leaving their marks.

Laying his contribution,

his only possession,

the best of him, against stone so that it would finally feel solid.


Held up, side by side with those larger than life buildings

with their skyscraping signatures.

His name with the likes of them.

Held higher than the streets would have him believe he was worthy.

His name, painted reckless across heights, waiting for someone to see,

hoping that someone would notice.

His name.

Poem #3 I found over at Reowr’s blog, where my online self can often be found loitering and gawking at the pieces this writer displays.

Hopping Mad

There once was a boy
Who went hippity hop
Everywhere that he went
With a bippity bop.
He’d hop up the stairs
One by one with a “bop”
And down stairs he would “bip”
Every step with a hop.
He loved to go
Hippity hopping along
While singing his
Bippity boppity song.
Even at school he would
Hop in his chair,
And his bips and his bops,
Though quiet, were there.
His parents would ask,
“Why must you hippity hop?
And the bipping and bopping
Must lickety stop!”
And though he was busy
With bops in his head
While hopping on one foot,
He heard what they said.
“Fine! Then I’ll take all of
My bippity bopping
Where no one can tell me
To be lickety stopping!”
And so he went
Hippity hopping away,
But where he is now, bip,
No one, bop, can say

The 4th poem is by Haiku Streak, a writer of ravishing haikus.


night comes, we start

the dishwasher—it groans,

scrubbing the day clean

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Poems I wish I had written but sadly did not… (a new blog feature)

So as far as I can tell this poet is going by the name Hessticle, which seems to be a mash-up of two words, one of which hangs off of a man. But I digress. This poem actually inspired me to write a poem, which is just about the greatest tribute one poet can give another, I think.

I don’t think I’ve ever read a piece so brutally sad, and I am not sure I ever will. So cheers to the writer over at For Lack of a Better Blog who penned the following gorgeousness…



If our reality is confirmed through experience

the more time I spend alone

the more time I can pretend

I don’t exist

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