Want to submit your work? Request an invite
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
Pain or pleasure?
A poison picked,
A moment missed.

Until you're sick.

Every measure,
Enticed so quick.

Brick by brick.

Hugs of concrete.
Todd Witherell
Genuine gratitude, emptiness, pain
     Emotional flailing again
B Lee
Broken flesh, infected in dissolute.
We tend to dispute our vision of the world seeing only black and white.
Our eyes decieve us blatantly concealing the harmonic view of a one race with different shades.
Philia filling my heart with philosophies of what love actually is.

Conforming to the emotions of our soul drifting towards carnality.
Seduced by the luring sweet scent that our desires tend to offer often leading to our spirits fatality.

A promise is yet to come. A sacrifice made for us with the Annointed One hanging under inri. We forget our mistakes are not irreversible and He gave us the chance to live with Him for eternity.

Agape. The love so beautiful its tangability pushes us towards Him even when our lifes are resisting. His love being the cure to my absence and His peace being the sustainter of my life...so who am i to barricade you from His real love.
Valsa George
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep

Above  me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy

In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past

I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon

From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?

      With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
Edmund black
                          ­    Cannot
When I’m in , I’m in .... No two ways about it, true love never complicated..... The unfaithful People Are ... There are no shortcuts to love , but so many too often turn a blind eye!
Maegan deme
Hey, I saw you today.
We used to have that joke when we'd say that we were gay
Hey, I remember then.
Back when we we're cool, and still talking again.
I'm sorry,
Because it came back to that.
Because I remember when you still worried about all my black.
Hey, I saw your art today.
I felt the days when we we wereyoung and hid out under the pines.
It felt fine,
And sad.
I'm blaming you for always getting laughed at.
I felt, already what you did to me was nice.
But what I did to us was rat.
It sucked
But I was fine.
All though inside was pounding, bleeding, and
And I knew by then that our end was nigh.
Well this isn't my best but it's, well it's what I felt
Deavan Pappas
People always pray to me

Just so they can follow blindlessly,

Always asking for forgiveness

just because the manners that they missed,

Now all they pray for is a crisis,

All I do is look down on my creation

Hoping for a better nation

That people can relate in

With the higher population

From all this baby maken

I see all the souls that are faken

From all the bodies that are taken

New faces are awakened

Put 2 and two together realizing I am Satan that you have forsaken,

The devil that you have unraveled

To follow behind to travel,

But now he’s upset and graveled

Because all theses souls that I have tackled are chained up and shackled
Joshua Downing
The seasons change, the trees lose color, limbs feel empty.
yet they will grow others.
leaves take advantage of the fall ground
beautiful, quiet, barely make a sound.
hearts combine like salt in the ocean
we dance around in this rain in such soft motion
this is what we dream of as we gaze the sky
this is what i believe when i look into your eyes
I want to write about anything else,
describe the features of
this planet,
It's not that I'm empty of phrases or lost for words
But when I try to shift my focus from you
(and you and you and you)
my brain doesn't allow it.
The thing is
I have a stencil of a random boy
and my instincts have
traced ,shaded, blended, and perfected
Im physically wondering back to my pretty little start frame;
Ive been let down by reality so many times though that
I'd rather just forget him.
Bruise my neck,
Open my legs,
Feed me your soul
and I'll dine for two,
But whatever is done , don't wake me from my dreams
Because it takes too much effort to face the
real you.
Mike Hauser
Sometimes I sit and wonder
At the joy and plunder in this life
While some are dragged down under
Others are lifted to new heights

It's not like we're even given a choice
The powers that be have their own voice
On the verge of life and death
As time runs out its course

It's hard for you to grasp a clue
When you're being thrown for a loop
Out of nothing that you say
And certainly, nothing that you do

Sometimes it gets hard to count
The reasons aren't important now
On the verge of life and death
There's no way to figure out

Who's to say the time we make
Won't change today from yesterday
Is it circumstance or is it fate
That some stay while others fade away

I've seen them come I've seen them go
Whose next I guess soon enough we'll know
On the verge of life and death
With no way to know who will or won't
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.
Calloused hands.

Fingers wrapped tightly
Around the pen.
And dark.
Marks throughout.

A girl?

How he wishes to imagine
The girl.
In her home,

Would she be reading?

How he wishes to draw this girl.
Impossible dreams.
That are yet to be answered.

Will they be answered?
Anish Saurav
        Well, I have none,
I think I will stab you in the back;
                           When I think i’m done.

                         Kindness makes me weak
               I’ve seen too much sorrow
       They say you have no future
You have no tomorrow

               Guilty as my thoughts can be
                                   But I don’t fear no one
                   Regret is the only thing missing
When my killing is done

      You come rushing from all the sides
                   when i make any mistake
             But hold on I don’t need your grace
I have got more lust to fulfill more innocent  souls to take.
The story of a murderer in a few lines, who was thrown into this world and has seen much sorrow when he was young, he knows he’s got no tomorrow and goes on a rampage killing innocent people without any reason.
And by any means he’s Stopped and shown kindness , he kills that person too.
A caw-
ing of birds
with blunt
-ed beaks
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
ing inside
a chest
-full of
ing Blue
felt art
songs in-
of sing
-ing along
ing they
know better
-   the rest?
This in response to the deletion of a great and true HP Poet’s account tonight as a result of constant harassment by at last count 13 dumbass, iealous, couldn’t write a decent poem if the male har-ass-ers tripped over their stupid pricks and the idiotic wagging female tongues who all took part in this. You know who you are. This harassment was reported to HP and to Eliot directly without the courtesy of a reaponse, and without action to curb it. The creation of monitors was a total waste of time. Many of you know her as Vicki. I’m sick of this kind of shit done by supposed adults, and sickened most of all by HP’s allowing this to continue even after multiple messages. As far as I’m concerned, the Guidelines and the so-called monitors aren’t worth a fucking dime. Which is exactly 10 cents more than I’ll ever again contribute to HP.  Go ahead and lock me ip, put me in the corner for awhile, or expel me. I don’t care. Maybe  we will see if the monitors are paying attention at all, or just another silly myth. If you’re a monitor and reading this, I would like to hear your thoughts after you wake the fuck up.
Most Sincerely,
Rachna Pattnaik
Pissed off, Frustrated
Still can't get you out of my mind.
Caught in the snap of a wing
With a flap and a clap
And a sting.

Down to the ground like a stone
What a sound with a pound
All alone.

Watched by the flight up above
From that height what a sight
Of the dove.

Twists from the pain to the bone
Quite a sprain such a strain
Tragic tone.

Scooped by yet a net unknown
Panicked fret foreign threat
Worry grown.

Hope’s deceased from those eyes
Now a feast for some beast
No more skies.

Dress the break hurry fast
Half awake crushing ache
Make a cast.

Days soar by seeds so sweet
Seems so spry can you fly
Hoppy Feet?

Day has come grand depart
Slightly numb flutter hum
Flitting art.

To the blue build your nest
Cry your coo for you flew
Before rest.

Rainfall dream endlessly
Silent scream to the stream
You may read it differently than I do, but this is quite possibly the most depressing thing I've ever written.
Lets fall under the leaves
as we dream of the green feathers
strokes of heart-shaken ooze
erupting a canvas in brightness

We loved from the first
as our hands stroked on a subway
a sweep, that grab of disbelief
the brush of the beginning

The train engaged the rails
as tails of wagons disjointed
in a somber summery promise
at the foot of dreary station

Would you like to know me?
in the beat of the slow pawns
drowned inside the silky satin
as the cocoon of love emerges
Umm just made up. Subways are not that exiting .......... just sweaty and crowded.
In life’s Fairytale,
Happily Ever After
Always hides Dragons
Orange Rose
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
the waiting room was full
people aching, coughing, dying
i lead her through the hall
hand held in mine
onwards to investigate

the corridor was dark
walls painted maroon
the carpet intricate, yet dated
footsteps coming from behind the curve
as i pushed us into a nearby closet

baited breath as we waited
heels clicking by
peeking out the narrow glass
i could almost make out a nurse

she had to hide her face and act ill
as we backtracked towards the other wing
in case of one of Them showing up
the waiting room now empty
you could hear a pin drop

we soon found out why
when we entered the next wing
people crowded into rooms
the place was alive
but just barely

nurses rushing about
each donning a dull mask
we both knew why
and we both knew why i wore mine

and when the screaming began
i knew i had to get her out

casual as rushing could be
we hurried, evidence gathered,
around the winding building
the stark walls only reminding us
of the fate that could manifest

the receptionists gaze
was surely enough
to tell us she wouldnt validate our parking

as we drove off,
the storm raging behind us now,
i was relieved
for her momentary safety
decided to write about my dreams. may be a series. not really bothering to edit this too much since its late and im tired. gotta make sure everyone knows lesbianism is implied here, as with most of my other poems. keepin it classy and gay here folks
I see you.
With your heart of stone
I see you
With your gilded mask
I see you
With your diamond tears
I see you
With your blazing tongue
I see you
With your glass smiles
I see you
With your empty eyes
I see you
With your fragile hands
I see you
With your broken lies
I see you
With your stooped shoulders
I see you.
Everything you are,
Everything you are not.
I see you
And I care.
I see you, because you are like me.
when you look beyond busyness
what is it that you see
a world endlessly searching
for what it was meant to be
a mankind desperately looking
for the answer to its ache
striving to achieve
some sort of break
from its broken heart
of pain and agony
hoping to fix this
crippled reality
when I look beyond busyness
I know what I see
a world waiting for God's return
when he destroys the enemy
a world waiting for the story to turn
to the part where Earth is set free
Written 18 August 2018
Can I be happy
Can I see myself smile without you being the reason.
Why do you have to roam around my heart.
Why do you make it seem as if life is simple
When I see you
You with her
When I want to talk to you
I fear you in her presence
Why should I fear your wrath or pretence
Why can't you just tell me
Why can't you be honest
Why should I suffer under your pretence
Why pretend you my friend
If you only seek what you want such as work
A joke.
You and I are a joke.
Unknown to all and just an atom to nothing.
Love... Love is just a wild fire in Antarctica...
She watched the flames consume her land,
She watched her castle turn to ash.
All she wanted was to be saved.
But there was no King to her salvage.

She knew she'll make it out alive,
But she looked out at her kingdom with a sigh.
She knew she built her walls too high,
Locking up everything she loved, inside.

She knew it was time to move on,
All that she'd ever known, was now gone.
Her frayed gown swayed to the wind,
As she walked away, leaving her kingdom behind.

I have no idea why I wrote this or what I was trying to convey. Probably, my worst ever poem. I'll work on a nice one today. This one's specifically inspired by Alec Benjamin.
grumpy thumb
Dainty hours
spent with her petal soft smile
lush exchanges
how her mouth makes words warm
delicate  moments
when our eyes held each other
little desolate
when hands separated
and time disconnected us
as it blindly does
without so much as an apology
Julian Delia
The one who knows;
A presence that radiates wisdom, practically glows.
Always an outcast, never welcome -
He who realises we have lost our way
Will eventually rue the day
whereupon such knowledge is gained.

He carries his knowledge
Like a doctor carries a lethal injection -
To the greats of the past, he pays homage,
Breeding a comradely type of affection.
Life is now politically correct;
He does not dare to incite or expect
Any resistance from anyone but himself.
He meets his friends,
and they warily avoid discussing
‘politics and such’ -
‘It’s too much,’ they would say
Of his ideas for a better world.

Semmelweis; a man ruined
Over sound advice.
A brilliant career grinding to a halt,
faster than the momentum
of a fallen angel hitting the asphalt.
He carried his knowledge like a shield,
Hoping that pride would yield
In the face of reason.

Yet, not unlike the infant who wishes
But cannot fathom or understand,
Cowards and base men alike
Dealt his career the final strike.
It is the curse of the gifted and the observant
To be outnumbered by idiots, mitigated and made to be complacent.

Hubbert and Zwicky -
equally well-schooled in their different fields,
equally ridiculed by their incoherent peers.
One tried to tell us of our greed,
Of how oil dependence should not be our creed.
The other of our unwillingness to discuss the unknown,
Discovering dark matter and having our minds blown.
Both were ignored for a very long time.
And then, to truly reach a clime,
There is the one who knew the most -
the bright, shining light of Nikola Tesla.
The man who dared to dream
Of a better world for all;
Free energy, a wireless world,
A better way forward was his call.

These men could be incorrigible;
Tesla was sometimes brash and incontrovertible.
Hubbert was weak and predictable,
Semmelweiss should have shouldered the crucible,
And Zwicky could sometimes be downright detestable.

And yet, they all had one thing in common.
They wanted to know more.
Not taking anything for granted,
They wanted to go where none had gone before.
Men of vision; whereas others sought convention,
They sought the untrodden path, the next great invention.

And, for all this,
Pain and dejection lay in store.
Some died alone, like an unloved whore.
The miserable company of ignominy -
Careers swatted aside without any dignity.
For years, the visions lay wasted,
Like an expensive engagement ring
When love has evaporated.

But then, the visions were eventually revived;
Other luminaries stumbled on them,
Awareness peaks after the source’s post-mortem.
Once truly invested in by those gifted with hindsight,
The souls of the deceased became twice as bright,
Their words finally acknowledged and proven right.

But, now we shall have to live with remorse;
Definitely not as it could have been
If we’d listened to the ideas from the source.
Value each other, keep your love pristine,
For it is an ugly, gruesome scene
When we don’t listen to the ones who know.
So poetryfoundation decided to reject a submission I sent, this being the lead poem. F*ck these entities, I revised it, made it better and uploaded it here, the only community I actually like. Long live free poetry.
Melissa S
Dream of me
I am real...
I am where smiles are made
and tears fade away
Where hope springs forth
Away from the darkness
of the earth

I am the glow of the moon
and all the stars in the sky
those who seek the light
shall have me as their guide

I am the red bird or butterfly you see
Just keep your eyes open... to find me
I am where tomorrow is coming
and hope always holds on
My darling
I am never truly gone....❤
I have been dreaming of my mother lately and do not want to wake up because it feels so real and I miss her so. I wrote this from her perspective writing to me
The battle has not just begun
Been raging on for years
A constant war since I was young
They'd suddenly appear
From hiding; Demons I would run
But always felt them near
Alive and tortured for their fun
Branding, my flesh would sear
Taking no more; That time is done
Rise up and shed my fear
The war for my life I have won
Sobbing but 'happy tears'
Written: August 17, 2018

All rights reserved.
you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left
All lies diminish me ---

As a card carrying member of the human race,
I consider it a disgrace,
when truth is subverted,
truth is diverted,
puts a frown on my face,
puts me in a bad place,
when truth is perverted in any way.

Lies weaken the laws of modern man--

If it's a shell game of opinion while avoiding fact,
modern society might as well take a giant step back.
To the plague days,
to the guillotine ways,
when might was right,
carry a big stick.
I dont want to go back to that.

Each lie told damages the soul ---

Are we here on earth to be false to each other,
to con with words or sister and brother? 
 To smother or dignity,  
break it and fake it,
knowing wrong from right but go ahead and forsake it?
I think no.

And the outcome of lying---

When those you trusted lie,
but don't  get busted - cry.  
Consider it the day truth died. 
 And down with the ship of truth goes honesty
                    civilization will fall.  
Tears to lend, prayers to send, 
lies will be the beginning, the middle, the end.
  Lies will be the death of us all.
So there's this new fad diet
The Diet of Worms.....
Can you tell me bout it doc?
Is it good for your health?

And I don't quite understand.
Is it the worms we eat
or do we eat dirt and sand?  

In any case it sounds expensive.  
10+% of everything I earn?
And you have to commit
your entire life or
according to this pamphlet
"your soul will surely burn"?  Wow...must really work!  

But tell me has the FDA approved, found the claims
to be true?  Any side effects, complications? Could I
possibly turn blue?  

And why were no American researchers and experts on the team that concocted this diet?
OK OK doc I'll let you talk,
I'll be quiet......

"I've taken it on faith that my patients who've tried it swear that its a miracle....I have no personal experience with it ...give it a shot who knows it might work.".

Hmmmm OK.

"But I heard they have a litany of products so beware that your investment doesn't soon quadruple in size."

Thanks for the visit doc, Ill take it under advice.  I think I might do it......... especially if there's a refund if I don't like it
after I try it.
Poking fun at blind faith and especially Catholicism...I'm allowed to ..17 years of nuns, Salesians and Jesuits
Morning dew
kitchen smells of last nights stew
Sleepy eyes brew
Coffee for two
Words, many or few
We simply follow through
I touch your hand like to sew
Two hearts that are true
A soft kiss on awakening lips too
Welcome the warmth between me and you
Me and you and morning dew
Can you tell me
which way now is home
I used to know, my dear
The way was clear
There was no fear

Tying my walking shoes
I knew I needed to get clear of here
thought I'd find
all that was dear

The road though, it is narrow
The cliff it is shear
My balance is

Can you tell me my dear

which way is home
which way do I go from here,
I think I oughta know
But the hills they are wavering
The ocean is in turmoil
The mountains are slick
far too dangerous

The desert has no mercy

I know something and with this knowledge
I think I must be cursed
I think I have it
Peace & Home
goes and comes
and comes and goes.
Maybe 10 years from today,
Maybe only 1 year away,
Or even just 1 day,
I will be able to say...
Words that should be said
Depression shall not get the best of you
Between all of the colors, you chose blue
Tell me what makes you happy if I couldn’t do
All of the books and paper, i wish I could listen to you
You are cutting your wings and I am gluing  them on
With me or with out me, you are going to be strong
If my poems and I didn’t stand tall
We’ll fall with you but, surely later we will catch on
We will crush all of your sad feelings,
We will crush them all
Only sunshine baby, even if your sky was blue
And I am here for you!
I didn't choose it
I didn't wake up one day and tell myself
let's be anxious
let's be depressed
let's want to die
let's start self harming
I didn't choose to be like this

slowly my problems
my monsters
became visible
they started small
skipping lunch
making a cut or two on my hand
shaking for a while in school
but I fell

I didn't choose to be this person.
We just get handed who we are.
I didn't choose this.
I never wanted to be that

I didn't want to be riddled with anxiety and insecurities,
to wallow in self-pity and sleep for hours everyday
to stay up all night with anxiety
to steal razors
to eat one-hundred calories and then barf it back up
but that's what happened.

I didn't choose this
I didn't choose
I didn't choose to tear apart my life.
it just
I'm really good right now but in a reflective state currently oof
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
ting is
your           life
thro             ugh
a ne           edle
and         if
you sew
Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Does it bronze beneath the sun?
Or sizzle and blush
Like your cheeks
When you’re in love?
Is it soft to the touch
Like when your hand grazes
The smooth surface of water?
Or rough around the edges
Like your favorite book
And its lovingly worn corners?
Does it melt in the heat
Like sweet syrupy treats
Dripping through your fingers?
Or does it welcome the winter
With wide open arms
As if greeting a lover?
Paint me a picture
Of your skin
Next page