EthanPJones - Hello Poetry

Life holds you under water Happiness is learning to enjoy The brief moments of air Before it you pulls you back under I’m a merchant vagabond Selling more of myself each day To people who don’t respect me For trying Drape me in kerosene Strike me to set a blaze The sun began humiliated

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Nov 21, 2024

Nov 21, 2024 at 2:04 AM UTC

Under Water

Life holds you under water Happiness is learning to enjoy The brief moments of air Before it you pulls you back under I’m a merchant vagabond Selling more of myself each day To people who don’t respect me For trying Drape me in kerosene Strike me to set a blaze The sun began humiliated

11

Finding love is like Halloween Roaming the street in your best costume Knocking on strangers doors Asking them trick or treat Until you find the one you feel comfortable Taking the mask off with

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Oct 16, 2024

Oct 16, 2024 at 12:40 PM UTC

Halloween

Finding love is like Halloween Roaming the street in your best costume Knocking on strangers doors Asking them trick or treat Until you find the one you feel comfortable Taking the mask off with

6

My mind is a swamp. Sometimes there is daylight. The Sun illuminates the murky green water. The color glows like a neon ember. An almost steam lifts off the bog, as if the water is ablaze. You may see all of nature then and admire each blade of sawgrass. And then there are nights. Moonlight bathing insects who scream far in the distance but seemingly all around you. Some tiny being you can’t see plunges into the water with a plop. The eyes of a crocodile peaks above the waterline. Is it looking at you? Fear, you can’t tell. The pungent smells are animalistic. You don’t belong here. Or do you? Only another native of the swampland could stay here. You wade into the dark waters. Unsure how deep it goes. What creatures slither beneath. To see if you’ll float among the cattails. Lily pads cover your face and moss decorates your body. You’ll float here forever. Or sink, to lie at the bottom in permanence. A mummified vessel where algae and minnows call home.

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Oct 6, 2024

Oct 6, 2024 at 1:25 AM UTC

The Swamp Of My Mind

My mind is a swamp. Sometimes there is daylight. The Sun illuminates the murky green water. The color glows like a neon ember. An almost steam lifts off the bog, as if the water is ablaze. You may see all of nature then and admire each blade of sawgrass. And then there are nights. Moonlight bathing insects who scream far in the distance but seemingly all around you. Some tiny being you can’t see plunges into the water with a plop. The eyes of a crocodile peaks above the waterline. Is it looking at you? Fear, you can’t tell. The pungent smells are animalistic. You don’t belong here. Or do you? Only another native of the swampland could stay here. You wade into the dark waters. Unsure how deep it goes. What creatures slither beneath. To see if you’ll float among the cattails. Lily pads cover your face and moss decorates your body. You’ll float here forever. Or sink, to lie at the bottom in permanence. A mummified vessel where algae and minnows call home.

8

Gray hairs sprouting up like testimonies The smoke from burning bridges makes it hard to see If I can walk back across to the other side Just to tell you I always cared, affectionately Leaves never fall the same way twice To see them drop again, a kaleidoscope in descent Pieces that come together to make a new puzzle Under the tree, between the jigsaw creases are we both in?

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Oct 4, 2024

Oct 4, 2024 at 12:36 AM UTC

Burning Bridges

Gray hairs sprouting up like testimonies The smoke from burning bridges makes it hard to see If I can walk back across to the other side Just to tell you I always cared, affectionately Leaves never fall the same way twice To see them drop again, a kaleidoscope in descent Pieces that come together to make a new puzzle Under the tree, between the jigsaw creases are we both in?

8

Miss hoodoo mother bake me a pecan pie I’ve been gone for too many Christmases Blood soaked magnolias splayed before white linens Smell of a fire just stifled out, stifled out by blood Cheeks still glistening when I came in the kitchen “Are you searching for something or running from it?” Fields crowned in white, soil fertilized with sweat With heartbreak You’re fertile, the warmth envelopes me The birthplace of something blue, something used I can’t say when I’ll be back again, the road is long I’ll keep your song with me, chords of pain and comfort Your scars are visible at the supermarket, whispered about Billboards of turmoil everyone drives by Lips ache for a taste of your lemonade nonetheless I think about my time in that home, in my home If I should have boarded that casino boat What number would those dice land on The one thing that I did wrong

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Oct 3, 2024

Oct 3, 2024 at 8:48 AM UTC

Letter Home

Miss hoodoo mother bake me a pecan pie I’ve been gone for too many Christmases Blood soaked magnolias splayed before white linens Smell of a fire just stifled out, stifled out by blood Cheeks still glistening when I came in the kitchen “Are you searching for something or running from it?” Fields crowned in white, soil fertilized with sweat With heartbreak You’re fertile, the warmth envelopes me The birthplace of something blue, something used I can’t say when I’ll be back again, the road is long I’ll keep your song with me, chords of pain and comfort Your scars are visible at the supermarket, whispered about Billboards of turmoil everyone drives by Lips ache for a taste of your lemonade nonetheless I think about my time in that home, in my home If I should have boarded that casino boat What number would those dice land on The one thing that I did wrong

19