Shot by Cupid

There are things that can turn ordinary people into giants. They are curiosity, wisdom and humility.

Arnold Westcott


I’ve been shot by the straight arrow of cupid,
So now I’m in love and acting all stupid.
Following after you like a horny little boy
Who won’t let anyone, touch his pretty little toy.

I’ve been shot by the straight arrow of cupid,
Now I’m madly in love and can’t think lucid.
All I think of now, are your soft and luscious lips.
As well as your seductive, constantly swaying hips.


I’ve been shot.

By the arrow of cupid that pierced my bleeding heart,
Inflicting sweet pain that made it start to faster dart.
So that I cry whenever you are not around,
Or when your voice i can’t hear, with its lovely sound.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Poets Practice

The key is to keep company only with people who uplift you, whose presence calls forth your best.

Image by John Hain from Pixabay
practice, practice, practice

poets practice

penning poems
at the park
and at the parking lot.

they practice, practice, practice

painting pictures poetically
by producing poems aplenty
in everyday of their poetic life.

practice, practice, practice

poets practice

by putting pen to paper
in order to produce
pretty potent poetry.

they practice, practice, practice

penning page after page
of playfully put together poems
that when packed together
produce piles of poetic pieces.

poets practice

by putting pen to paper
and penning page after page
of prose possessing the power
to pack a poetic punch!

practice, practice, practice

poets practice

by playfully picking apart
bits of prose
and packing them into poems
that point to peace
as the present people state.

they practice, practice, practice.

by painting pictures poetically.
potent poets personify poetry.

they practice, practice, practice

by pretending to perform
pensive pieces in poetic form
till they're panting from painting plenty--
pictures poetically!

© 2020 The Poets Peace

The Poets Prayer

It’s not about how hard you can hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.

Rocky Balboa, Rocky

Our father
Who art in craft
Grand be thy power
To transcend time
In mind
As in canvas.

Grant us today
Our creative skill
And wash away the will
Of our writers block
So that we may make metaphors
That do not against us trespass.

Lead us into
The realms of imagination
So that to the masses
We may deliver inspiration.

For thine is the word
That personifies our verse
Forever and ever,

This content , ‘ The Poets Prayer ‘ is under copyright of The Poets Peace.
Lazarus Shatipamba
© 2019 The Poets Peace

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Image by Couleur from Pixabay

do angels fall?

I fell in love with this poem from the moment i set sight on it. Simply amazing.

A Writer's Soul

What happens to the Angels who aren’t so pure?
When their wings become tainted,
Dipped in the darkness of sin,
Or, something a bit more intoxicating,
That really pulls them in,
Making them question everything they once believed,
Just like that first hesitation to follow the crowd,

Angels aren’t met to float forever,
Or are they?
But, even they must have their limits,
Everyone has limits,
Even the almighty,
Couldn’t handle the disappointment of his first two creations,
Casting them out in an attempt to teach them,
Only for them to adapt and learn that every story had two sides…

He must be lonely,
That angel who fell,
No one to confide in and no one to lean against,
But that’s the price of pride,
So while you cling to yours,
Remember it’s what keeps you questioning,
Maybe even sane,
But who’s to say you’ll retain it when you fall?

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