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POETRY IS THE ART OF EXPRESSING YOUR THOUGHTS IN WORDS. POETRY IS ALL AROUND US AND HAS BEEN LONG BEFORE WORDS WERE PUT ON PAPER... POEMS WERE SHARED BY VOICE ALONE... SO COME AND ENJOY AND EXPRESS YOURSELF WITH YOUR TALENT AND IF YOUR JUST COMING TO READ YOUR ALSO WELCOME...WE HAVE MONTHLY CONTEST AND WINNER WILL RECIEVE A GIFT CARD OF THEIR CHOICE COME JOIN US @ LYRICALLYSPOKEN.NING.COM

Visit FOR THE ART OF POETRY

A PRECIOUS STORY Author: KEITH R. WILLIAMS

Have you ever made love to a beautiful woman under a weeping willow tree three days later you find her dead with a bullet in her head yeah that's exactly what i said you haven't well neither have i but i have seen the innocent die this story i'm about to tell is as gruesome as hell it's about a little girl who yelled while she was tortured, and raped beaten, and stabbed with her hands, and mouth taped thrown into the Anacostia river doesn't it make your poor heart shiver it made her mama's they prosecuted her father a kind of unheard justice somebody had to pay for this Precious was well loved unconditionally is what i'm speaking of i can't believe how this story turns her daddy in his cell burns nobody knows how the story gets deep now 13 years later new evidence reveals a cop arrested while picking up his next victim at a bus stop the same officer who investigated this case if only you could have seen the smile on his face when questioned about that little girl it would have destroyed your world a sick, and twisted bastard who like her daddy died in his cell after later her mama said to me 3 people dead none of this makes sense to me my precious my man that killer is this for real sir as the tv, and newspapers cameras flashed she looked at me and asked tell my Precious story tell it well i cried all night wrote till i got it right then cried again Precious was my best friend BY: KEITH                                                                                                                                            

WHEN YOU DECIDE TO PLAY DADDY    & nbsp;    & nbsp;

   Your feelings changed with the seasons, Though I never thought I gave you a reason, You just up and left, But my heart you kept.... I could'nt help but hold on to the promises you broke, Hoped you'd realize I was worth more than a dime sack of dope, Boat sack, ounce, pound.....whatever, Thought it was you, me and her forever.... The dope game was more important than me and ya child, Now its been 2 years and she hasnt seen you in a while, I dont understand why she loves you so much, When im here with her all the time yet she cries for your touch... Im sure she just wants a hug or maybe a kiss, I cant believe your missing out on this, The sad thing is your only four miles away, And you cant even come get her just for the day.... I dont ask you for nothing I dont bother you at all, But you cant even pick up the phone and give her a call, She asks questions about you even though she is only three, You can answer them for her when you decide to "play" daddy.... BY:POETIKA      

  SPECIAL YOU  ARE                                                                                                                                                                  

To yourself; only you owe Reverence to how special you are What makes you special not by me to be defined But from within; you will find how special you are It's there where your uniqueness resides To separate you from the rest; besides Special you are; but what uniqueness you posses To be desired by all; pursued by the rest Like all things created; it state of the mind How special you are; there it is defined It resides not in me or any of the rest that think you special; else so dies your specialness when they cease to exist or even think so You should still; never loose your special glow So keep in mind Those opinions that change with time Can never truly define How special you are; a love truly divine. BY: JELACO

                                                                   THE RETURN                                                 

After hiatus and hibernations The mirror that was stuck to floor looks like it's changed positions My eyes seemed borrowed from another i see things diffrent The sun seems brighter over here then when i was there The winds whisper sweet nothings in my ear The ride through my town shows i haven't been around The same old guys walking the town The look in their faces scared me The return of mine may be temporary If they've been counting the days they know i've been gone since february. Back like spines once broken twisted In returns of backs once broken now repaired Moving time is my enemy Pushing the pen once again no stress of tests To sit up in my chair and return to my frame of mind that has me capture mental pictures The running picture in my mind in the flash of white light Blinking twice i can't believe my eyes The running mind in the still motions in paradise That return is me as i come back to me I see myself in the mirror of my eyes As the sun beats down like i know it to Homecoming through my home when i come through BY: ZACCARDO                              

Only Once A Year

Meaningful passages Stolen glances Flirty suggestions Realized passions Sexy fashions Promised connection Evening rondevous No one else Just me and you Candlelight dinner Moonlight dances Ribbon wrapped boxes Flowered perfection Chocolate delights Happy tonight Midnight confessions Clothing trails Bubble baths Sensuous laughs Warm thighs Passionate sighs Satisfied moans Trembling highs Holding you near Smiling ear to ear Only once a year M E Wilson

WHEN I  BECAME A POET

AS A YOUNG GIRL I WAS A VICTIM OF DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES FROM THE BEGINING OF MY JOURNEY OF CIRVUMSTANTIAL EVENTS WASNT ENOUGH FOR ME TO PICK UP A PEN ALL I HEARD WAS THE TAPPN AS I GOT OLDER LIFE GOT HARDER DEALING WITH CERTAIN THINGS SURPRESSING OTHER THINGS NEVER DEALING WITH THE SITUATION AT HAND AFRAID TO BE ALONE SO I ALWAYS HAD A MAN BUT THAT STILL WASNT ENOUGH FOR ME TO PICK UP A PAD AND PEN BUT I DID HEARD THE RHYTHM AS I HIT MY MID TEENS THINGS STARTED TO HAPPEN TO ME I STARTED EXPERIENCING THINGS THAT YOU WOULDNT BELIEVE IT WAS THEN I STARTED TO SWAY MY HIPS TO THE RHYTHM OF THE BEAT AND IT WAS THEN I FOUND POETRY WITHOUT THE PEN I T WAS HARD FOR ME TO LET PEOPLE IN SO BY PICKIN UP A PEN AND WRITING DOWN MY FEELNS HELPED ME SURVIVE BUT I STILL WASNT A POET BECAUSE MY WRITINGS DIDNT RHYM IT WAS MORE LIKE JOURNAL ENTRIES THAT I WROTE FROM TIME TO TIME AND I KNOW YOU ALL ARE THINKIN ALL POETRY DONT HAVE TO RHYM BUT WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN PREFERENCES AND THATS HOW I WANTED MINES I TRIED TO FORCE IT I DIDNT KNOW IN DUE TIME MY TIME WILL COME I JUST NEED SOME INSPIRATION THEN OUT OF KNOW WHERE IT CAME I HAD A DREAM THAT A FRIEND OF MINES WAS KILLED AT A PARTY AND THE DAY BEFORE SHE INVITED ME I REJECTED HER INVITATION BECAUSE PARTYN WASNT ME SHE GOT IN A SCUFFLE WITH A COUPLE OF FEMALES WHO WAS JELOUSE CUZ THEIR MEN WAS WATCHN HER SHAKE HER TAIL NOT TO GIVE TO MUCH DETAILS BUT AT THE END OF THE NIGHT SHE WAS DEAD I WOKE UP FROM NIGHT SWEATS CALLED MY FRIEND AND TOLD HER NOT TO GO SHE LAUGHED AND CALLED ME SILLY JUNE 21ST 2003 IS WHEN I BECAME A POET I GOT A CALL SAYN MY BEST FRIEND WAS DEAD ME AND MY PEN BECAME ONE I INTRODUCED MY PEN TO PAD AND AT THAT MOMENT I DEALT WITH THE SITUATION AT HAND AND I WROTE AND I WROTE AND I WROTE UNTIL ACHES BUILT UP IN MY HAND I WAS FEELN DIFFERENT TYPES OF EMOTIONS FROM THE PAST UNTIL THEN AND I BEGAN TO WRITE AGAIN MY PEN AND PAD BECAME MY NEW BESTFRIEND I WASNT THE PERFECT POET THEN AND IM NOT THE PERFECT POET NOW BUT I AM THE PERFECT POEM AND THIS IS HOW AND WHEN I BECAME A POET R.I.P J.C. WRITTEN AND FELT BY ANNA WILSON 01.10.09