alycet - Hello Poetry

Stubborn rays -- the sunlight stays on the bridge of your nose, and the apples of your cheeks. I could count them for days but I’d rather stay, in the morning, lay beside you and look up at them like they’re constellations.

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC

freckles

Stubborn rays -- the sunlight stays on the bridge of your nose, and the apples of your cheeks. I could count them for days but I’d rather stay, in the morning, lay beside you and look up at them like they’re constellations.

8

Man Started as a baby who watched killing on TV. Whose childhood was Uncle Sam and the ROTC. Took turns being cowboy and Indian, finger guns Hunting with dad, rifles and handguns But nothing could prepare him for the way that blood runs From the lips of a friend He left at 18 Couldn’t seem to grow a beard. Didn’t matter when he was covered in jungle mud from ear to ear. Kool Aid and biscuits It sounded like a dream Living indoors. Working on machines. But what the cargo brought back Demanded to be seen Bags upon bags hoisted on backs Swung around like jump ropes Among the soldier’s jumping jacks Every beating moment a guilt-filled flashback The blood from the lips of an enemy or friend Reddening the mud, trickled to no end A gun on his side Who was fighting who? The roles were unclear Muddied and hazy, orange and dark blue No need for TV. The war’s in his mind. Engraved in his eyelids. Pace, panic, grind Is he a man? Can he ever grow old? If his life is just one story that keeps getting told Child. Man. Nam. - Vietnam

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC

to the vietnam vet.

Man Started as a baby who watched killing on TV. Whose childhood was Uncle Sam and the ROTC. Took turns being cowboy and Indian, finger guns Hunting with dad, rifles and handguns But nothing could prepare him for the way that blood runs From the lips of a friend He left at 18 Couldn’t seem to grow a beard. Didn’t matter when he was covered in jungle mud from ear to ear. Kool Aid and biscuits It sounded like a dream Living indoors. Working on machines. But what the cargo brought back Demanded to be seen Bags upon bags hoisted on backs Swung around like jump ropes Among the soldier’s jumping jacks Every beating moment a guilt-filled flashback The blood from the lips of an enemy or friend Reddening the mud, trickled to no end A gun on his side Who was fighting who? The roles were unclear Muddied and hazy, orange and dark blue No need for TV. The war’s in his mind. Engraved in his eyelids. Pace, panic, grind Is he a man? Can he ever grow old? If his life is just one story that keeps getting told Child. Man. Nam. - Vietnam

35

self-love How can I love mine The curves, the lines, The rolls, the wrinkles, When she and her and them Can never love theirs?

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC

self love.

self-love How can I love mine The curves, the lines, The rolls, the wrinkles, When she and her and them Can never love theirs?

6

fill your pockets with warmth and take a deep breath of air I’ll be waiting with my nose pressed ‘gainst the window trying to feel all I can through the thick glass. Wiping the smudges with my frayed, worn sleeve And thinking myself outside When you come home, I’ll open the lock from the inside and jump up and down, up and down Embracing you to feel the sunshine And feeling wind as you kiss my cheek. - outside

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC

outside

fill your pockets with warmth and take a deep breath of air I’ll be waiting with my nose pressed ‘gainst the window trying to feel all I can through the thick glass. Wiping the smudges with my frayed, worn sleeve And thinking myself outside When you come home, I’ll open the lock from the inside and jump up and down, up and down Embracing you to feel the sunshine And feeling wind as you kiss my cheek. - outside

11

I wish I could say your words bounced right off My back as I walked past That the fear and humiliation Barely even lasts I wish I could say I wasn’t fazed at all. And that my own pride made me tall But alas, I was small When you whistled, I froze. When you threatened to grab me, My heart raced My stride did not deepen My steps were fast-paced I pulled my jacket across my chest Ducked into a store and hoped for the best And when I got home I could not rest. Because your words did not bounce back They sunk into my skin They filled my ears and blurred my sight And made my whole world spin I didn’t say anything. But not because I felt strong. I didn’t say anything Because I was scared of you being strong Grabbing me like you said. Becoming Hurt, Traumatized, Dead. And I may not have bruises but I feel it in my head A lingering sense of dread Keeping me awake in bed I feel it when I dress in the morning And am careful about what I wear Where I go Wearing me down slowly Your words are not the first. But they hit me the worst. I could feel your eyes ********** me As you leaned against the wall Sexualizing a little girl Who was barely 5 feet tall Your words mean nothing to them and everything to me.

0

Dec 24, 2018

Dec 24, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC

CATCALL

I wish I could say your words bounced right off My back as I walked past That the fear and humiliation Barely even lasts I wish I could say I wasn’t fazed at all. And that my own pride made me tall But alas, I was small When you whistled, I froze. When you threatened to grab me, My heart raced My stride did not deepen My steps were fast-paced I pulled my jacket across my chest Ducked into a store and hoped for the best And when I got home I could not rest. Because your words did not bounce back They sunk into my skin They filled my ears and blurred my sight And made my whole world spin I didn’t say anything. But not because I felt strong. I didn’t say anything Because I was scared of you being strong Grabbing me like you said. Becoming Hurt, Traumatized, Dead. And I may not have bruises but I feel it in my head A lingering sense of dread Keeping me awake in bed I feel it when I dress in the morning And am careful about what I wear Where I go Wearing me down slowly Your words are not the first. But they hit me the worst. I could feel your eyes ********** me As you leaned against the wall Sexualizing a little girl Who was barely 5 feet tall Your words mean nothing to them and everything to me.

40

Giggles. Does this count? Slide, mix, arrange each neatly Double-letter word.

0

Jan 2, 2018

Jan 2, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC

Scrabble

Giggles. Does this count? Slide, mix, arrange each neatly Double-letter word.

3

My mother is a piano A little out of tune Dusty keys That play with ease Ivory as the moon Sometimes I’ll touch the wood And admire its antiquity Think of all the things that it Ever dreamed to be Sometimes when my fingers Fly through a song I wonder how this piano Ever got so strong. My mother is a piano, She makes music out of air, She answers each finger With an embrace, with care Her legs planted firmly in the ground How much I love to hear her deep, rich sound.

0

Jan 2, 2018

Jan 2, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC

my mother is a piano

My mother is a piano A little out of tune Dusty keys That play with ease Ivory as the moon Sometimes I’ll touch the wood And admire its antiquity Think of all the things that it Ever dreamed to be Sometimes when my fingers Fly through a song I wonder how this piano Ever got so strong. My mother is a piano, She makes music out of air, She answers each finger With an embrace, with care Her legs planted firmly in the ground How much I love to hear her deep, rich sound.

21

The music man had Sung the same tune Strummed the same guitar Since he was eleven years old. The hurried shoes changed The rusted coins clanged Still day after day, he played He was once young and bright Radiating musical light But still, no one stopped to listen Through the seasons and years He played for deaf ears And wondered if he was a ghost He got old and gray His clothes starting to fray Age had darkened his glisten Like an aging tree he bent As the people came and went And still, no one stopped to listen His heart stopped beating in his sleep As he was lying on the cold, dark street And still, no one stopped to listen When the music man arrived Tears fell from the skies As a room full of people Sang his song.

0

Jan 2, 2018

Jan 2, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC

Music Man

The music man had Sung the same tune Strummed the same guitar Since he was eleven years old. The hurried shoes changed The rusted coins clanged Still day after day, he played He was once young and bright Radiating musical light But still, no one stopped to listen Through the seasons and years He played for deaf ears And wondered if he was a ghost He got old and gray His clothes starting to fray Age had darkened his glisten Like an aging tree he bent As the people came and went And still, no one stopped to listen His heart stopped beating in his sleep As he was lying on the cold, dark street And still, no one stopped to listen When the music man arrived Tears fell from the skies As a room full of people Sang his song.

26

We change and we fall, We change when it’s fall, brown, red Crumpled and stepped on.

0

Dec 29, 2017

Dec 29, 2017 at 7:28 PM UTC

Leaf