Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Reach the light
Look at stars,
They are so far
I catch a shooting star
to burn fire
in my heart.

I know what I want
In me, someone
tryna be number 1 #
be the only one
great as the sun.
I know it's so hard
a pillar wish to fly,
the winds wants to find
where it belongs.
Nothing will be wrong
to follow what we love
And I'll be strong
to reach the light.
I haven't written a poem for long time
in life there're a lot of things to carry and I was kinda confused.
It was an ugly face you turned on me
It was a heartbreak in secrecy...
Smothered Divine
I feel like my soul is looking at me,
Tutting and shaking its head.
I’ve worn funeral black every day
since the last time we spoke.
Don’t know what it was we broke.
There is a mourning happening.
A sunless grey. This vinyl
plays and plays
your face on some
unforetold replay.
I think to call you and
my tongue is scalded down with
atlas stones of pride. Thick with tar
no words arise. I put the phone away
and lock you back in
endless alleys of my mind.
It’s a battle to look forward
when footsteps know
what's left behind.
Engineering change through creativity,
Is like giving a fragrance its own flower to go by,
A vessel for the intangible emotion.
Whit Howland
did he
or did he not

write his great American novel
on a roll of toilet paper

so many questions so
many conversations

so little well

is what you make
of it

you and i had time
and then we didn't

whit howland © 2021
An abstract word painting. An original.
j a connor
D  eliver

E  ach

S  oul

T  hrough

I  nevitable

N  atural

Y  earning
Seven Nielsen
Sincerity listens
but does not hear
when arguments lie
in hate and fear
I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.

Tod Howard Hawks
What scares me the most
Is to love someone so much
That in losing them
You lose yourself
And yet
still end up
mourning not
your crippled soul
But them
Only them
Always them
Divine Santiago
Heart is sinking
Skin is crawling
That old feeling is back
And im afraid of falling

Pain brings strength
Heartache brings new Hope
But the sinking feeling never gets old
He Wanted To

He wanted to
                       lose himself
                               lose himself
                                      lose himself
        in her eyes,
and she wanted
        and she wanted
                and she wanted the same;
with someone else.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021
I cleansed the knife
you stabbed in my back
and cauterized
my bleeding wounds
with it.
I'm dumb
for feeling lonely, ever

If I have friends
then I might have the world
Mr Shankley
I kissed a girl with a broken smile;
nothing could come near.
She carved it with a pocket knife;
slit from ear to ear.
And she wears it like her favourite scarf;
it keeps her from the cold.
So I told her its only woven by
her enemies of old.
I need more intimacy,
Wanna feel someone else's flesh and skin and hairs under my hands
Look into their eyes and know their body trusts me,
Nnow every single inch of ugly scars and hidden acnea, protruding bones and round stomach,
Wanna kiss, grab, tear apart and let the soft animals we are take over for once,
Be worshipped,
Trust and be trusted,
Need to be pinned down like a ragdoll,
Be touched like a craving man i
want it all,
And maybe i do want it
with you.
Thomas W Case
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.

When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.

He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries, here comes
the plow.

He began to see
the pattern of life.
There are monsters
that walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
I am not able to get the system to publish a lot of my writing. It seems other people aren't having that problem. Perhaps they DONATE MORE? I am not able to donate much because I'm on Social Security disability and I have a fixed income. Recently I donated more than I could afford. I'm still having this problem. I have many friends on Facebook. Perhaps they would like to know about this problem and find other poetry sites rather than hello poetry. I don't want to do this, because I used to like this site a lot and there are some excellent poets here. I have tried twice to inbox you, Elliott. You have not responded. Perhaps you're trying to force me off the site. You are not succeeding. Instead I shall take this to a higher authority. God. I pray for you. That your heart will be changed. That you will be blessed with everything I want for myself. But I will take this to Facebook also. I don't want my friends to be hurt by a site that does this to people. Thank you for reading.

Catherine Jarvis
If anyone else is having this problem please inbox me. Thanks.
Was any of it even real?
Does it really matter?
I dont know, it was
atleast for me it did.
Wanting to be anywhere but here
With eyes filled with fear
Live by believing not by seeing
Where are you, where did you go???
Jon York
Inside you

is where I want to



within the folds

of your mind


the sweet softness

of your soul,


as I release my love

deep within you.
                                     Jon York   2019.
Jared Eli
Open-window beauty
           I see through
Your windows
           I see you
Let me in on all
          The stories
Let me see you
c. 2019
Dear me,
Don't just sit
Rise, and pursue greatness.

Don't just watch
Go after what you want.

Don't just exist
Strive and start living.

Don't just dream
Work hard and aim for success.

Don't get tired
Keep hiking until you get to the peak.
Sam Lawrence
Snow arrived,
quite suddenly.
The city fell
to silence:
softness flurried,
whiteness spread.
Our footsteps
punched a rhythm:
crisp heel, crisp toe.
Steaming cars slid past
in slush, peeling back
the long black road.
The trees drooped:
tears splattered on
the streets, but
still my heart
lay cold.
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
Strange, the Hellopoetry computer demanded I put two stars on this poem to repost it to the front page... But it was worth it, it’s been on here for over a year now, I appreciate it Elliot.

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
We had it so good
So what happened to us
Well in came the flood
And we drifted away
On an ocean of disarray
This short poem creates a scene between two people in love who have drifted apart as their love slowly dies written from the perspective of their love being an ocean
I am the deep, the sky in reverse
I have what you seek, for better or worse

I am the blue of infinite depth
I've swallowed the crews and cleared the decks

You are afraid or maybe intrigued
Of the place where you played and also was freed

Kiss me now like you did before
Give me your vow and the ocean is yours.
I know you.
Sometimes you say things, expecting that I won’t understand, and I think it’s strange because
I know you.
That’s what this is. I know you,
And I want you,
And I care about you
Don’t want no one else.
You might not know me,
The stanchions you use to prop yourself up eating all that I have fed you,
In the darkness,
In the night,
But I know you.
And I want you anyway.
They’d waited too long to say

“I love you”.

3 words. 3 syllables.

Yet they held millions of emotions unspoken.

and now that they’d done it, they wouldn’t,
couldn’t, stop

they told each other all the time. In the end of the argument and before the good news.

In the middle of the storm, even though it was hard to see, and after, when the raging winds had settled on a breeze

before the rising sun turned the sky pretty colors and after it flickered out and faded away into the dark

Underneath the stars that their love had been etched into

There was no love until death for them. Because it would never stop. Their love was beyond. It rose above any border that would dare to try and stop it. There was no finish line

because they were each other’s end game.  
rig f laurel
when i died the first time
inhaling an ocean
they said
this was not the plan
turn back.

and when i did
i tried to fly with no lessons
nor wings
and they called me

but i came round
and sought a chainsaw
and then a mermaid
and then death herself
i think she was

and each time
they said the same thing
over and over and over and over:
wrong destiny. wrong destiny.
go again.

the instructions are in a language i do not possess.
Ellie Sutton
I want to pound at
The closed door you stand behind
But my hands are bruised
Crystal Freda
Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.
crocus mist
jump on snow pulps
for early zebras
Vansh kapoor
She is beautiful.
She sounds pretty.
Her smile is addictive.
That mutual eye gaze
is a terminator.
Ian Dunn
I made this for you
It's not much
Just a paper flower
Folded with care

I could've gone to the store
Picked one out
Found the most beautiful flower
And bought it just for you

But this one has something special
It has my heart and soul in it
A piece of me
that's just for you

This is more than just a flower
This is my gift to you
I want you to have it
So a piece of me will always be with you
I poured myself
inside your cup
pretended to be tea
your lips pursed to the rim
burning kiss
bile churns
you forgot
I'm made of sins
A Howell
your lips remind me of the bottle of rosé
we shared on a cold November night,
full-bodied and lush
when i kiss you, i taste hints of citrus.

my lips on yours, full of passion, burning,
it reminds me of the cigarette you smoked
during the intermission of the play we watched last January,
as bright red embers, burn bright, keeping you warm.

you are my addictions,
my nicotine and wine.
euphoric jinx
i'm so sorry if anyone has ever made you feel like its hard to love you
i love you
Maciej Cacha
My head can solve equations.
My heart can make them come true.
But you're this little problem,
Resulting in something new.
Some people die every second
A day.
still live  even after their death.
Their life has no end.
I feel out of breath.
Luna Maria
are the ink
for the pen
a poet uses
to write
- L.M.
Next page