WhitneyJ - Hello Poetry

By day, wondrous miracles seem to fade... though be it more light to betray. By night, the stars and moon intently portray a better view of the world around us.

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Sep 1, 2015

Sep 1, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC

Starry Eyed

By day, wondrous miracles seem to fade... though be it more light to betray. By night, the stars and moon intently portray a better view of the world around us.

17

Tick, tick, tick. The clock mercilessly never stops, Trudging along the face of forever lost - time Never allowing for a single, revered pause - for life To be more than just an hourglass Running out of sand, or a compass With no direction that may last. Tick, tick, tick. The clock is running. It never stops.

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Aug 31, 2015

Aug 31, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC

Tick

Tick, tick, tick. The clock mercilessly never stops, Trudging along the face of forever lost - time Never allowing for a single, revered pause - for life To be more than just an hourglass Running out of sand, or a compass With no direction that may last. Tick, tick, tick. The clock is running. It never stops.

9

The place of a red, roadside wild flower Nestled indistinctly between the blades of grass; Winter in the rear view, and Spring within the hour The flower attempts to grow just as fast, But to no avail -- the winds are too cold still. The flower eagerly awaits it's blossoming chance When the winds are no longer chilled. The time has not yet come for a flower dance. Neglected, beaten down, and ungrown, The flower lost its will to live. No nurturing spirit that could have sown The damaged seed in that flower's ribs... Consider the garden that you may have. One day, one flower, might be in the past.

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Aug 31, 2015

Aug 31, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC

Red, Roadside Wild Flower

The place of a red, roadside wild flower Nestled indistinctly between the blades of grass; Winter in the rear view, and Spring within the hour The flower attempts to grow just as fast, But to no avail -- the winds are too cold still. The flower eagerly awaits it's blossoming chance When the winds are no longer chilled. The time has not yet come for a flower dance. Neglected, beaten down, and ungrown, The flower lost its will to live. No nurturing spirit that could have sown The damaged seed in that flower's ribs... Consider the garden that you may have. One day, one flower, might be in the past.

14

Curls. Lengthened, stretching Auburn curls. Winding around the delicacies Of profound life. Growing incandescently In a newfound, unsound method. Vibrant with innovation, Yet in the same instance, arid. Questionable. Irresistible. Undefinable. Desirable. Allegorical. Many are awe-struck by this oracle -- She loathes her curls.

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Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC

Curls

Curls. Lengthened, stretching Auburn curls. Winding around the delicacies Of profound life. Growing incandescently In a newfound, unsound method. Vibrant with innovation, Yet in the same instance, arid. Questionable. Irresistible. Undefinable. Desirable. Allegorical. Many are awe-struck by this oracle -- She loathes her curls.

16

A dramatic pause. Some dramatic irony. A dramatic tone, a dramatic dress; A dramatic thought process. Set the dramatic setting! Picture a place... A place where the mountains are too tall, The oceans are too deep, The rivers are too long; a place Where only dramatic blood will seep. I am an artist, therefore I am dramatic. I paint with vibrant colors to Catch the eye in a most surprising way, I clench my fist with such severity When I preach that the knuckles Not only turn white, but are Purely translucent. I will pound my fist in the air, A mighty pound against the air molecules That have done nothing to me But give me life, And I will add insult to injury As I raise my fist higher and higher, I will TAKE a breath, Inhaling deeply and I will say with a jump: "What, dad? It's called a fist bump. It's all the rage. You should try it sometime... Might diminish your old age." Like the game of chess, I am best known for the way I may test The cold, human mind And the way it rests Glory upon the heads of the best of the best. If you're only the best of the best, Are you better than all the rest? You're submerged into only a handful Of contestants at that point in time, I am having a hard time seeing where You could say you have skills above mine. Because I did not try out to be a "best". Oh, no. I simply tried out to be a P O E T: A person of words and of worldly flow. Yes, I am clean! But I have soap in my eyes, And I can hardly see. I cannot see the gorgeousness of the greens, The beauty of the blues, The raucousness of the reds... Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm merely color-blind, I thought that went without being said? Don't! Look at me in that tone of voice. I am not to be looked at! Unless, of course, I'm lookin' Pretty fly today. Then you can Look all you want because I am not afraid To show off every once in awhile, To boast, To be audacious! ... I often wonder why I never got to a "Ready, set, action!" Or a "People! places, places!" But then I remember why; The persons on stage? They are only acting. They are actors. In that moment, they do not really feel! They are acting, don't you see? Simply put, artists just the same. Only, their art is also simply feigned. People always ask me, "Why are you so excited?" "Why are you so loud?" "Why do you say things of that might?" "Why would you ever act so proud?" And of course the reoccurring question of, "Who are you again?" But that's irrelevant. I don't know why you brought that up. And I always answer these questions The same way. I am an artist. Therefore, I am dramatic. People rush through life without Paying respects to the little things. Artists are humans too, They are no exception to this rule. We have faults, we have flaws, We all have things That need to be improved. However, an artist can rush Through life with such grace, That it is no longer rushing. Somehow through the blinding speeds, they can see. They can see what you can't. Rushing, rushing, rushing. I was hurrying out of class And down the stairs the other day. I rounded that corner And began to descend only to knock A poor female down unto her Gluteus Maximus. The situation was intense, But I walked right past it. I kept going, down those stairs, To enter the bottom hallway... And from up above I heard a soft, sarcastic voice, "Um, excuse you?" I couldn't help myself. I had to turn around. I told her, "Now you're just overreacting."

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Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC

A Dramatic Scheme

A dramatic pause. Some dramatic irony. A dramatic tone, a dramatic dress; A dramatic thought process. Set the dramatic setting! Picture a place... A place where the mountains are too tall, The oceans are too deep, The rivers are too long; a place Where only dramatic blood will seep. I am an artist, therefore I am dramatic. I paint with vibrant colors to Catch the eye in a most surprising way, I clench my fist with such severity When I preach that the knuckles Not only turn white, but are Purely translucent. I will pound my fist in the air, A mighty pound against the air molecules That have done nothing to me But give me life, And I will add insult to injury As I raise my fist higher and higher, I will TAKE a breath, Inhaling deeply and I will say with a jump: "What, dad? It's called a fist bump. It's all the rage. You should try it sometime... Might diminish your old age." Like the game of chess, I am best known for the way I may test The cold, human mind And the way it rests Glory upon the heads of the best of the best. If you're only the best of the best, Are you better than all the rest? You're submerged into only a handful Of contestants at that point in time, I am having a hard time seeing where You could say you have skills above mine. Because I did not try out to be a "best". Oh, no. I simply tried out to be a P O E T: A person of words and of worldly flow. Yes, I am clean! But I have soap in my eyes, And I can hardly see. I cannot see the gorgeousness of the greens, The beauty of the blues, The raucousness of the reds... Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm merely color-blind, I thought that went without being said? Don't! Look at me in that tone of voice. I am not to be looked at! Unless, of course, I'm lookin' Pretty fly today. Then you can Look all you want because I am not afraid To show off every once in awhile, To boast, To be audacious! ... I often wonder why I never got to a "Ready, set, action!" Or a "People! places, places!" But then I remember why; The persons on stage? They are only acting. They are actors. In that moment, they do not really feel! They are acting, don't you see? Simply put, artists just the same. Only, their art is also simply feigned. People always ask me, "Why are you so excited?" "Why are you so loud?" "Why do you say things of that might?" "Why would you ever act so proud?" And of course the reoccurring question of, "Who are you again?" But that's irrelevant. I don't know why you brought that up. And I always answer these questions The same way. I am an artist. Therefore, I am dramatic. People rush through life without Paying respects to the little things. Artists are humans too, They are no exception to this rule. We have faults, we have flaws, We all have things That need to be improved. However, an artist can rush Through life with such grace, That it is no longer rushing. Somehow through the blinding speeds, they can see. They can see what you can't. Rushing, rushing, rushing. I was hurrying out of class And down the stairs the other day. I rounded that corner And began to descend only to knock A poor female down unto her Gluteus Maximus. The situation was intense, But I walked right past it. I kept going, down those stairs, To enter the bottom hallway... And from up above I heard a soft, sarcastic voice, "Um, excuse you?" I couldn't help myself. I had to turn around. I told her, "Now you're just overreacting."

117

My paradise... Little perfection. Work of art -- My reflection. The dream, The image, The thought... Gone. I grimace. He was taken away from me Before I even had a chance to hold him. Behind the tears that are shed today Is a young girl that thought she could be a woman.

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Aug 29, 2015

Aug 29, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC

Acario

My paradise... Little perfection. Work of art -- My reflection. The dream, The image, The thought... Gone. I grimace. He was taken away from me Before I even had a chance to hold him. Behind the tears that are shed today Is a young girl that thought she could be a woman.

13

... -; And here I stand, Utterless, emotionless, Simply struck At the thought of being P o e m l e s s Well, I mean, homeless As we all know A poem is a home For the mind and soul Take that lesson and rewind it Time it Rhyme it Place it on that paper that's L I NE ' D yes, I did that. As a poet, I exempt that. Re-vamping your language to meet MY DESIRES is where I make impact.

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC

Impact

... -; And here I stand, Utterless, emotionless, Simply struck At the thought of being P o e m l e s s Well, I mean, homeless As we all know A poem is a home For the mind and soul Take that lesson and rewind it Time it Rhyme it Place it on that paper that's L I NE ' D yes, I did that. As a poet, I exempt that. Re-vamping your language to meet MY DESIRES is where I make impact.

22

"I thought you said that you hated your childhood?" "I did... But what I realize as an adult is that you are more equipped to handle despair as a child. What do you do when your parents are arguing, kid?" "I cover my ears." "Exactly. How difficult do you imagine it would be to cover your ears... If, say, you were the adult initiating the argument? You simply cannot even realize that you WANT to cover your ears."

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC

Dialogue of Two Grown Children

"I thought you said that you hated your childhood?" "I did... But what I realize as an adult is that you are more equipped to handle despair as a child. What do you do when your parents are arguing, kid?" "I cover my ears." "Exactly. How difficult do you imagine it would be to cover your ears... If, say, you were the adult initiating the argument? You simply cannot even realize that you WANT to cover your ears."

4

Candlelight shadows dance Across this darkened room Searching for any chance To leap at something new Yet, nothing new is ever found.

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC

Abstinence

Candlelight shadows dance Across this darkened room Searching for any chance To leap at something new Yet, nothing new is ever found.

5

Shadows tickle my feet Thunderous sounds Scratch and screech Along the hardened walls of my beat, beat, beating heart. From the start, I've been quiet and set apart I take solace in the silence But with this art -- With this pen! I begin to make amends To my wounded sins. I find strength in words And courage in rhymes I can spit it in an instant Or write it out in time. One, two, three times I scratch out and Re-scribble every line Until it's perfectly aligned A beautiful design By a beautiful mind Nothing more, Nothing less. One of a kind.

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Aug 26, 2015

Aug 26, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC

Imagery

Shadows tickle my feet Thunderous sounds Scratch and screech Along the hardened walls of my beat, beat, beating heart. From the start, I've been quiet and set apart I take solace in the silence But with this art -- With this pen! I begin to make amends To my wounded sins. I find strength in words And courage in rhymes I can spit it in an instant Or write it out in time. One, two, three times I scratch out and Re-scribble every line Until it's perfectly aligned A beautiful design By a beautiful mind Nothing more, Nothing less. One of a kind.

27