Hey everyone! Here is a new short poem after being away for over a month. Life gets busy – you all know this! I’m a little rusty – please be patient as I get back up to speed. 🙂


Witness the wake, the return and rise
of the wise and wilful, fulfilled from a journey
that jogged the mind and justly mustered the suprise
arising in the reinvention of aspiring rediscovery.
Priorities have restored their primacy
in guiding the growth of one towards their objectives
and pushed fortunes from poor to plenty,
guiding the gallant reborn through a new perspective.

Ashes become ashes, and are ashes once again,
until the final form forces the masses in shape.
Seven cycles of failiure do not a failiure maintain
if the eighth finds success, and shatters its’ fate.
The Phoenix forms from the fires of pain,
and fills the being from a vacuum of nothing.
From the void, the being has but much to gain
if it breaks the chains of struggle and lacking.

Seeing Red

Unfortunately, I have to do a little bit of cross-posting as I don’t have anything original ready for you. But I hope you enjoy this poem I wrote on Wednesday for WWP!



(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète)
Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts on June 14th.


Hate. The heat of hurt.
Feel it force through to the heart,
feel it coarse and clog the veins,
feel the fury force on darkened sight.
Without a notion of reason or ration,
the rush so wild and wholly provocating,
it’s the kind of moment so brutally binding,
an experience sure to be regretting.

Unmastered are the minute’s motions
where mystery has mutilated the moment.
Mind is no master of the body’s motions
when murderous impulses have mustered.
The callous purity of this precipitous pounding
pushes the line restraining light from night,
absorbing the belligerents of the arena
in the event to smother them in embarrassment.

Seeing red is the demon in us all,
the drowning feeling that darkens the soul.
Deepen the anger, and you deepen the whole
you dig for yourself at the end of the barrel.
Breathe, let the air take up it’s minute,
your anger isn’t worth the pain unmerited. 
The darkness isn’t worth the moment
soon, when you’ll live to regret it.

Cut the hollow flow to the heart,
let the veins cleanse the clogging,
let the calm mind clear the fury
and for reason to return your sanity.
Moments of rage never make the masters
of the most miserable of men.
Let the fear fade from the system,
repatriating love so natural within.

Change & Identity

I was looking through some of my old written poems and found one that I really wanted to share. I’ve made a few edits to the original, however.

I hope you enjoy it!


CR: Advanced Life Skills


It’s hard to see the world
in a positive light,
when you’ve been standing still
while everyone around
is moving non-stop around you.
When you take a moment
to pause, and consider
the direction and execution
in the lives of others,
you start to compare yourself
to them and wonder:
“Am I normal?”

But really, what is normal?
In all truth,
it does not exist.
Everyone misrepresents it
as something most are
which others are not.
Yet now still,
we continue comparing ourselves
to these others,
and measure up our lives
to their impossible standards
and we wonder
“Am I worth this life?”

If we say no
to this question we’ve raised,
we begin to doubt
the core of what we are
and what we’ll become
in our evolution to something
greater than our sum.
We set the bar too low
for our achievement
or we would rather
be like the others
than be ourselves simply.

It hardly suffices
to look in the mirror
and say to ourselves
“I’m fine as I am”,
and there, still
it is not enough.
The deeds of others hallowed
are a slow poison
to the one
when they are unsure
of what they’ll become.
As others blast by
in their own speeds,
the one needs to take
their own path slow
and follow the rhythm
of their own pace.

The path to personality
is a solitary one.
In humility, we find
how much more
we can give to others
without ever asking
for something in return.
For only within, through
the confidence we build
and the faith we foster
in ourselves that grows
can we expect
to strengthen ourselves
and all those around us.

“Normal” is but
the imposition of a society
of regular people
that are anything but.
“Normal” is but in
the minds of these
who feel the need
to compare themselves
to those others.
They are compelled
to be the same
and never strive for better.
Everyone is unique,
so finding the inner strength
and letting it flow
is what sets you apart.

CDP’s announcement: Weekly Writing Prompts

I’ve got some exciting news regarding our sister blog!

Ladies and gents, how are you?

I’m happy to announce that “The Writer’s Corner”‘s sister blog, “Weekly Writing Prompts”, is back up and running. My friend The Orange Marker and I have been busy with our own things but are now back and ready to go. I will continue to do some poetry for both blogs and do some cross-posting on occasion, but I will do my best to ensure both blogs have their own distinct identities.

I appreciate your continued support of TWC and hope you’ll be able to follow Weekly Writing Prompts (WWP) as well! And, as always, if you’re interested in guest posting for either blog, please don’t hesitate to contact me!


– C’DP himself!

One Nation under Man

What always bothers me is the saying “One Nation under God”. What about us? One Nation under Man?

Here is a poem on that dream – the dream of the rule of men and our laws.

Human Unity

(Cr: Shutterstock)

(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète)
Foster the future of the populations of people
who live and breathe on the bureaucracy
of the political structures that were promoted
once before, on the promise of once proud nations.
One nation, under man, not a meaningless God
who neither helps nor nurtures those in distress,
or debating against destructive, reasonless demonstrations
that blindly follow the bindings made by repressive men
without regard for the rule of the righteous man
as their regard of righteousness remains in religion
but the separation of church and state is systematically
the only sober future that will sustain our existence.

One nation under God? No, I prefer my fellow man,
who is unmoved by unrealistic moralistic laws,
that does not discriminate or differ between men,
that sees all genders and loves as human extensions.
One nation under man, the notion of new knowledge,
inquiry under the liberty of our innate intelligence,
that gives a chance to the mysteries and masteries of man
and where answers are nor forsaken, nor forbidden.
Unwarranted are these wars that wedge gaps between us
when we wear the same form of water and bone,
when all that widens gaps are varying faiths in a god
too insecure and absent to warrant continued want.

One nation under man, finally self-fulfilling
that abandoned their fictions and freely adulted,
that became rational, rising to the fore of the front
in science, systems, and the symbols of society.
Grasping destiny, desiring to develop more
of the demonstrative, developing inquirer within,
this one nation under man can begin
when the gods of children are lost and forgotten.

Battlegrounds of the Mind

Feels good to be back! Here is a poem about mental health. Discussion on this topic is important. Make sure you ask for help if you need it!

(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète)

Temper, temper, dear child,
don’t let your feelings simmer at the surface.
Tell all, or tell none
about the battles of the mind lost or won.
Speak of what you’ve become
and the broken being within.
Repression is regression in her purest form
when touted by the chantings of sin.
You struggle within to find clarity
and precision of purpose,
to fight these feelings that bubble at the surface
and hollow the dreams little more than shallow.

Battles of the mind leave barren souls
bereft of direction or destination,
that dutifully struggle in their desperation
to find the premises of their promised land.
Destiny is a fickle damsel,
drowning the sorrows of the damaged,
but dutifully favouring the fortunate
whose fortune fails to suffice.
Herein lies both the hopeful and deceitful
who have neither health nor hope,
yet all yearn to be more deserving
and in disappointment, are rewarded with nothing.


When I’m not writing poetry, one of my favourite things to do is to play Softball. This is a short poem (fittingly) that details the quickest and most thrilling moment in a game, in my opinion.

Slow Pitch.jpeg

(Cr: City of Hot Springs)


An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.


This is the moment
of bountiful anticipation,
that split-second event,
of a momentous decision.
Standing there, bat in hand,
expecting the ball to twirl in reach,
there I stand, in longful demand
of the glory that suceeds the contact pitch.

This split-second holds hope eternal
in a game full of stats and averages.
In this split-second, I can be lethal
and score some serious carnage.
This is the hope within the moment
that fosters my slow pitch ambitions.
Within a split-second, I either make a dent
or simply scratch the surface of expectation.


Feed The Right Wolf

Hey everybody! Here is a short poem to finish off the day. For those of you suffering from addiction, or for those of you dealing with other kinds of difficult times, this one’s for you.

Two Wolves CNN


Foster the day, that inner light
or feed the darkness, that which denigrates.
This is the eternal struggle of those on the thread
between a life of plenitude and one of dread.

It is as the old Cherokee told his grandson:
the one that wins is the one you feed.
Herein lies the path where growth is begun:
foster the feeding that good feelings need.

Feeble are the minds overcome with failure,
living by the whims of their every temptation.
But free are the souls who are their own saviour,
free to pursue prospects of chosen ambition.

Feed that right wolf that wins you your freedom,
not the one that chains you to your doom.
Cater not to the festering needs of your demons,
but rather, to your own, to your life free of gloom.

Mother’s Day

It is Mother’s Day here in Canada. To celebrate this occasion, here is a poem celebrating one half (or the entirety, for you same-sex couples out there!) of the parenting duo! Enjoy :)!


CR: Cross Cards


(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)


She is the cradle of life,
the bastion of our hopes.
She overcomes her strife
and shows us how to cope.
She is the first teacher,
our main life’s mentor.
All we have is indebted to her
her lessons put her front and center.
She is there when we walk,
and when we start to run.
She knows when we first talk
and remembers all our fun.
She is the first friend,
our first confidante.
She is the first to attend
and the voice of a motivating rant.

Without her warm embrace,
life would be cold and wantless.
The testament of our joyous successes
is owed to mothers’ sacrifices.
They are the shoulders we lean on
more powerful and patient then all
for they value brains, rather than brawn
and pick us up whenever we fall.
This is her day, the day of the mother,
when all is stopped to be thankful to her.
This the day for cards, gifts and pamper
to ensure her day is that much brighter.
For nothing could replace her loving care
that made sure we were loved and nurtured.
Thank you, mothers, for all of your care,
and for being you; it has always mattered.