I wonder if you remember, sitting on your porch smoking a cigarette while I sat on mine

I am looking at him
He is looking at me
We are both wondering
What the outcome will be

I think that he is wrong
He thinks the error's mine
Both of us can't be right
The ending won't be fine

there is no clear transition,
not one i noticed anyway
triggers caused at eighteen are not the same
as the triggers at twenty four
I don’t know if that’s better

when will I get over the need to make something of myself?

what i want is only a collection
of what reflects back to me
as i find my purpose in being alive.
you can only do so much with the resources
you are born into

I do not have enough to be free

Tornado

   In an instant life can change
It can happen in the blink of an eye
Sometimes you just can’t explain it
There’s no reason to try

Her love was like a whirlwind
She swept me off of my feet
I couldn’t believe this was happening
To me, her love was so sweet

But it was like I was Adam taking a bite
Of the Apple from the forbidden tree
Was this a contract with the Devil, trapped
In loves chains never breaking free

And as quickly as I fell in the grasp
Of love with the power of just one KISS
Knowing it for just a moment in time
That overwhelming feeling of its bliss

I found myself a drifter in the wind, circling
In the air as the strong winds blow
My heart torn to pieces as if it were
Destroyed by an F5 Tornado

Written By: Charles Kean
Copyright 01/25/2021
All rights reserved

"I don't even feel the caffeine anymore,"
said Claudio, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth.
"Maybe you should take a break. Then, after the break, you'll feel the rush."
He took a long, slow drag.
"No point. I've felt it already."

Watching the snowfall,
Dressed in a gown of white,
I catch the snowflakes on my tongue,
They disappear all day long,
I wish you would stay,
I miss you when you are gone,
The brightness of your days,
And the fun I have when it's this time,
Watching the snowtop hills grow,

Sometimes you can be harsh,
Times a few you have left me in a rush
Taking with you the good times we've had,
Headaches from the fall you let me take,

Kind and mild,
When i walk in the wild
You guide my mind,
You see me through the nights I spend alone,
This is winter,
Cold to the touch,
Warm to the heart.

some say she was born with a broken heart,
unmendable by word or deed, and now armed
with a quiver full of witticisms and deft vertical
palm, friends, lovers, the world, all held at bay,
lest they discover her sorrow

It was an ugly face you turned on me
It was a heartbreak in secrecy...

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.

We were just friends
But how did your lust become love?
You even said you wouldn't fall
Now I'm staring at your corpse
I'm sorry for leading you on
I don't trust myself
Especially with you
But it's too late

The ache for pain
Is real
Numb needs to
Reaffirm
It still can live and burn

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;
up
down
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.

Inside you

is where I want to

be,

thrusting

within the folds

of your mind

penetrating

the sweet softness

of your soul,

throbbing

as I release my love

deep within you.
                                     Jon York   2019.

Sincerity listens
but does not hear
when arguments lie
in hate and fear

Engineering change through creativity,
Is like giving a fragrance its own flower to go by,
A vessel for the intangible emotion.

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
time

is what you make
of it

you and i had time
and then we didn't

whit howland © 2021

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.

Its actually Monday
8am on a monday.
Tired and caught up on a Monday
Empty mind filled with depression on a monday
Nothing special about monday.
Just happens to be like every
Other
Day.

D  eliver

E  ach

S  oul

T  hrough

I  nevitable

N  atural

Y  earning

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

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.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
1/24/2021

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.

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.

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

I'm dumb
for feeling lonely, ever

If I have friends
then I might have the world

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.  
-L.R

I cleansed the knife
you stabbed in my back
and cauterized
my bleeding wounds
with it.

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
stubborn.

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.

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.

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