Poems about title



No Title Necessary

This is my syringe,
Hold it for me as i cringe,
A lifeless death soon will come to pass,
As i'm wishing my hearts last.
I'm dying slowly now,
But no one does it wow,
For i've never really been alive,
Not since suicide first was tried.
It doesn't matter anymore,
I've finally robbed my life poor,
Why does this fill me with glee?
As for my life i do not plea.
I wish for this to be the last time,
That i will ever write this rhyme,
To be finished and forgotten,
Not giving a damn about my sin.
To be withe the one that i have always loved,
To hold him until he can no longer be hugged-
The room does spin and i hear her cry,
My best friend that is watching as i die.
She came to save me from myself,
She was to late, an inconvience only for herself,
I knew she'd be coming so i hit it strong,
Knowing the purist wouldn't take too long-
To hit my heart to stop it's beat,
To finally feel cold from head to feet.
I left her one last kiss,
On a note that read simply this;
Do not resuscitate is all i wish,
Don't feel guilty for i did this,
I'll always love you but he means more,
You want me to be happy-this is that score.
The one thing i've wanted, now i do have,
If you feel guilty, my soul it will stab.
All of my poetry take and publish,
If they don't want it, seal with a kiss-
And lock it away, 'til you meat someone like me,
Who won't let thoughts of suicide let them be.


Author: Kerissa Lynn Rose
Date: 07/04/2020


No title

If I hate her why do I stare?
If I think about all shes done, why do I care?


Author: Tal Haynes
Date: 06/04/2020


Untitled (feedback and possible title needed please??)

The way that our midnight candles
Illuminate your face is equivalent
To the way that I burn
With passion for you.

And the sound of your breathing
Is more soothing than any lullaby
A mother would sing to her
Teary-eyed child after a horrible nightmare.

Happiness used to be a fairy tale,
Unreal and dream-like,
Until I met you and realized
What true happiness was.

Waking up to your brilliant brown
Eyes and dimpled smile warms my
Body, and I fall in love with you
Over and over again.

A light touch from you is enough
To ignite my soul and melt my
Heart in the process. But, it's also
Strong enough to piece it back together.

I watch you and I envy you.
How could one person be so perfect?
How could he belong to me?
Oh, how I admire you.

Your creativity has no end; you're
Talented beyond belief. Please don't
Ever change because the you that I
Fell in love with is the you that I need.

All of the things that I have are
Completely worthless except for you.
You're my precious stone; my sturdy rock.
I wouldn't trade you for the world.

However, I would sell my soul to
Any devil, or devote my life to
Any God just to fall asleep next
To you for the rest of my life.

feedback,  needed,  title,  untitled.

Author: Phasma de Oceanus
Date: 06/04/2020


No title.

I don't know how to write poems

I've never washed clothes so I don't fold them

Good times? I hold them.

The urge to speak? I told them

I don't want to be better than no one.

This is the race of one man.

We are human.

You consider yourself white, while she on the other hand claims black.

Im the PROFFITT of truth.



Date: 06/04/2020



There must always be a title,

€Title your paper...”,
€Find a title for your story”,
€Don't forget to think of a title”,
€(Insert Title Here)”,
There must always be a title for your work.

€She's taken”,
€I'm single”,
€We're dating”,
€They're talking”
There must always be a title for your relationship.

There must always be a title for your sexual preference.

There must always be a title for your appearance.

There must always be a title for your group.

There must always be a title for your associations.

Must there always be a title?


Author: Alexis D
Date: 05/04/2020


Poem Title


This will be the smallest, most insignificant, most trivial,
And most forgettable poetic parable anyone has ever written
Because for once I've been wrung of all my deep evocations
I've been whittled of my angular description of the commonplace
Of verbose, grandiose trajectories mapped out
By minds I will never exist alongside but I will sure emulate

I have sat down and asked myself, innumerable times,
€Okay, so how will I describe the sunrise now? ”
And more importantly, perhaps more existentially:
€What about the sunset? ”
What colors haven't I used, what other comparable thing
Haven't I eluded those colors to,
And what kind of uncharted, beautiful, spiritually-boggling human emotion
Hasn't been tapped by this setting star until right now,
Right as I string together letters like they've
Never been strung before?

There's the endless wellspring of my poetic—
Oh, look, there I go, visualizing thoughts and feelings
As a mystical, water-associated apparatus
(It's my go-to)
For a time more innumerable than the sunrise.

I'm getting tired of it,
And I can't imagine how mind-blowingly dull it must be for you
So I'm going to try it like this:
I see the sunset again, and tonight it's very pretty.

But, poet, this kind of routine, boring description
Doesn't do much for me.
I know what a sunset is, I've seen it
My three year old can probably
Get a pretty accurate crayon drawing penned out in a few seconds
And that will hardly distinguish itself from
What you've made the sunset out to be

But, poet, from all across the world, from their unique angles
All the aspiring poets gaze toward the same sun,
Whether in setting, whether rising, or hung there in the sky
And describe it as a tantalizing metaphor

And then relate that sun
To a deep, embedding, defining emotion or craving for human connection
As if to say,
I see the sun that way too
I feel that way too

And then those poets submit their poems to publishing
And watch the sunset as any normal person would
Once they're out of the mode.
In fact, what's on television? / Shut the blinds, Dylan,
There's a glare on the screen.


This poem hasn't brought itself out there, out to you
As a grand accomplishment of absolute detachment
As a way to try to break the barrier of poetry once again,
To define itself as a new genre, or an edgy statement the author
Very desperately intends his audience ‘gets'
Or even to prove an angle nobody has ever seen or attempted before
Because how I am supposed to know how you think?
Or what you see, and how you see it?

This poem is a message of the ordinary,
That it's okay, it's absolutely fine, to remove the mysticism from the mundane
And understand the world as a beauty in itself,
One that doesn't need the aloof, grand, mystical verbosity of poetry
To be felt as something poetic

In fact, I won't even leave you to ponder the greater meaning of it,
Of this line, or that line. I will say it here,
At the end, at the climactic and awesome point of emotional delivery
That all poetry intends:
I see the sunset again, and tonight it's very pretty.


poem,  title.

Author: Dylan D
Date: 05/04/2020


Let Me Put Trump In The Title For Foreshadowing 3/3/17

Every word is a brick
Fortifying the border
I cannot afford but alas
It'll help keep order

Everything in me is screaming
"Don't block us out, fix us instead"
Not realizing this is directed at me
I drain thoughts from my head

These ideas need controlling
Not roped in like a bull
Don't piss it off and leave
Grab the horns and fight the pull

Then maybe this wall
Will crumble and fall

And I might actually be ok

foreshadowing,  title,  trump.

Author: Justin Douglas Banks
Date: 05/04/2020



IT'S time to decorate the xmas tree
SO much fun for you and me-
OUR cats love our ornaments and such-
They play with them so much-
The cats like to tear up the gifts galore-
Whenever we place them on the floor-
Every year the cats attack the tree-
Giving more work for you and me-
This year no doubt will be the same-
AS we kind of play our game-
Yelling at our cats by their name-
Someday this will all be in the past-
And we will have a tree that will last-

decorate,  time,  title,  tree.

Date: 04/04/2020