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.
Oh,you are my goddess A golden angel in the sky I gave traveled For eons and eons To see your face And take your hand And thrill At the touch of your skin Heart to heart And kiss to kiss I shall follow you Into eternity For I have known you For eternities past And shall know you For eternity to come And forever Our loving embrace Shall forever live.
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.
El no el no inóvulo el no nonato el noo el no poslodocosmos de impuros ceros noes que noan noan noan y nooan y plurimono noan al morbo amorfo noo no démono no deo sin son sin **** ni órbita el yerto inóseo noo en unisolo amódulo sin poros ya sin nódulo ni yo ni fosa ni hoyo el macro no ni polvo el no más nada todo el puro no sin no
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.
There is a commitment to an act of resilience A sense of peace that every act will be as it stands Like the ever evolving stage door Closing behind the end of a line that has been said off hand by a player In his complexity
They know The end is nothing more Then a beginning near
I don’t claim to pretend I know The safety of that harbor It will come to me One day I shall Keep you close to home Even when uncertainty feels like its wrapping me up In protection wear Aviators block the feedback glare
Blankets of snowy days Endless And timeless months Replay Out of nowhere
As The bloom comes
Because all the men and women merely players: have their exits and their entrances One man in his time plays many parts As his acts become all of his ages
Where have you gone, little child —my little child You told me all your secrets but never told me your plans and was it nothing to you? —all those golden weeds we plucked and laughs that bloomed I should’ve built you a castle out of it all—
I should’ve covered the windows with dry leaves and letters I know well of the temptation, but what was ever so promising in that hazy night? My little bird, didn’t I teach you how to fly didn’t I adorn your feathers with petals —and poems I wrote tales for your wings and Will this be your repay?
What of the endless hills we sailed over All the gleaming waters we kissed I should’ve built you a kingdom out of it all— We could’ve been queens of a starry land yet here we are
I sit with the weeds, they chew away our lilies you have long run away with the dark and the world is dry— the world is dry without you.
Nothing drastic Nothing pure Noble stains Distinct liquid drinking Slipping and seeping Coming calm in the world Knowing nothing Calling into air Surviving Discovery Certain and uncertain motion Always motion Interior rivers pulse Ancient wisdom Reawakening Slowly Irresistably stretching Infinitely entwined Endlessly on
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 . P.s 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.
Hay No matter who you are You have my deepest respect!
Vanity 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
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 Anyway. 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.
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.