cheyennechenoa - Hello Poetry

I get the feeling man But did you really have to go You left a hole so empty I wish you would evoke A feeling of denial But I know you're really gone The wind whistles a goodbye As it carries you along I'll miss the side-swung punches In that little dojo place Or the cards you gave to me That filled my heart with grace We never really ended things Till 2024 That sidechick was unhappy huh? I guess I meant a little more

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May 19

May 19, 2026 at 6:42 PM UTC

To The Red Head Boy Who Killed Himself

I get the feeling man But did you really have to go You left a hole so empty I wish you would evoke A feeling of denial But I know you're really gone The wind whistles a goodbye As it carries you along I'll miss the side-swung punches In that little dojo place Or the cards you gave to me That filled my heart with grace We never really ended things Till 2024 That sidechick was unhappy huh? I guess I meant a little more

16

Bliss becomes an extraction of the soul when promiscuous filth binds in a flesh grip Siphoning- Jagged as rusty razor's edge Upheaval of wonderous blue skies Leave me ponderous Spiritual death plunders deep within the fall Snapping jaws with eerie cracks Cavities carved in an obsolete wall No ponder nor soul in those eyes At all

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May 13

May 13, 2026 at 10:25 PM UTC

Ponderous

Bliss becomes an extraction of the soul when promiscuous filth binds in a flesh grip Siphoning- Jagged as rusty razor's edge Upheaval of wonderous blue skies Leave me ponderous Spiritual death plunders deep within the fall Snapping jaws with eerie cracks Cavities carved in an obsolete wall No ponder nor soul in those eyes At all

11

The film was coming to an end As the speckling camera panned Across oceans and birds Blades blowing in the wind Vera Lynn singing over The man that wasn't there Kissed my cheek and whispered gently "Is that what you have always wished for?" I glanced into his eyes Which also weren't there "Some people were only meant to dream" And as the instrumental began The screen faded to black

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May 10

May 10, 2026 at 12:28 AM UTC

Illusive Daydreaming

The film was coming to an end As the speckling camera panned Across oceans and birds Blades blowing in the wind Vera Lynn singing over The man that wasn't there Kissed my cheek and whispered gently "Is that what you have always wished for?" I glanced into his eyes Which also weren't there "Some people were only meant to dream" And as the instrumental began The screen faded to black

13

I sit and watch It hanging still Above the curtain And windowsill If I hung Would I watch the birds Or the people walking by Or the biker nerds Would I be gone in a second Would I break that quick Or would the curtain rod fall And make the attempt A load of ******** Would life come full circle Hanging from the sunflower noose Or would it just be proof That I'd always lose

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Mar 1

Mar 1, 2026 at 2:43 PM UTC

Sunflower Noose

I sit and watch It hanging still Above the curtain And windowsill If I hung Would I watch the birds Or the people walking by Or the biker nerds Would I be gone in a second Would I break that quick Or would the curtain rod fall And make the attempt A load of ******** Would life come full circle Hanging from the sunflower noose Or would it just be proof That I'd always lose

17

You looked like a poem, And a poet at once. Why don't I start writing again? Your big blue eyes, Framed like the dome- And your hair, it's fairly, Just placed all over. A brushstroke and a cup of coffee, I smelled as you walked by. That was about two years ago. I swear you might be a crackhead, Cheekbones perfectly sunken Like trees in old ponds as they melt Into the earth-y, ethereal moss. But at what cost? A swoon of many, they tripped their step. None of them greatly regret, I bet. Your taste in a counterpart, Aligns like the sun. Her hair perfectly held, Like your own welcoming home. Each curl so curled to be beautifully seen, So to hold it's place so magically. I wish I were her.

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Dec 24, 2025

Dec 24, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC

That One Mysterious Musician, Son Of A Painter, Guy From The Hallway

You looked like a poem, And a poet at once. Why don't I start writing again? Your big blue eyes, Framed like the dome- And your hair, it's fairly, Just placed all over. A brushstroke and a cup of coffee, I smelled as you walked by. That was about two years ago. I swear you might be a crackhead, Cheekbones perfectly sunken Like trees in old ponds as they melt Into the earth-y, ethereal moss. But at what cost? A swoon of many, they tripped their step. None of them greatly regret, I bet. Your taste in a counterpart, Aligns like the sun. Her hair perfectly held, Like your own welcoming home. Each curl so curled to be beautifully seen, So to hold it's place so magically. I wish I were her.

24

The ethereals of this world Those angels in disguise Would you be his bride Take love home tonight If the bows are done Surrender fallen for May that held chariot rock Rock him down the road When you reach his door Kiss today tonight tommorow That love taken home Shall reveal no sorrow Be his bride his right hand His oil for his door If you are there oh there Shall he weep no more

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Nov 15, 2025

Nov 15, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC

Breathing Dream

The ethereals of this world Those angels in disguise Would you be his bride Take love home tonight If the bows are done Surrender fallen for May that held chariot rock Rock him down the road When you reach his door Kiss today tonight tommorow That love taken home Shall reveal no sorrow Be his bride his right hand His oil for his door If you are there oh there Shall he weep no more

16

You must be art, To create art. To be art- Is to simply be. Exist as a subnormal, Visionary. Like a patterned Windowsheild- With raindrops Running wildly in its field. Or a New York sidewalk- Hustled, ***** Almost killed. What is art- If not a state of being? If not created nor defined Nor existing free.

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Nov 8, 2025

Nov 8, 2025 at 9:17 PM UTC

Art

You must be art, To create art. To be art- Is to simply be. Exist as a subnormal, Visionary. Like a patterned Windowsheild- With raindrops Running wildly in its field. Or a New York sidewalk- Hustled, ***** Almost killed. What is art- If not a state of being? If not created nor defined Nor existing free.

17

The child runs Bristles, whistles To wish upon the same clue Praying Believing it will open Revealing sudden wisdom Of all they do not know Climbing steep daggers, gently, As if they were morning pillows In freedom spring Clay forms the potter As the potter forms the clay Either both nor none In dismay Disarray

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Oct 24, 2025

Oct 24, 2025 at 8:30 AM UTC

Hope Road

The child runs Bristles, whistles To wish upon the same clue Praying Believing it will open Revealing sudden wisdom Of all they do not know Climbing steep daggers, gently, As if they were morning pillows In freedom spring Clay forms the potter As the potter forms the clay Either both nor none In dismay Disarray

15

Crimson stares Round' the gentle stream American leaves Nordic melodies Everything, every dream

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Aug 27, 2025

Aug 27, 2025 at 11:25 AM UTC

A Crane Bird

Crimson stares Round' the gentle stream American leaves Nordic melodies Everything, every dream

5

Sheep daunted Gracefully the wind hums, Darkened clouds- The warmth overbears us. Trees, oh mighty- They tremble in the haze, A blue and green fury. Stilling like- Some dying machine, unmade. Branches whip The gentle lake turns, churns Bell shaped lanterns flicker Before the man shaped name Feelings of wet cold grass Like woven fleshy cod I feel- I feel- Has the man left the room? I think it might be June

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Aug 27, 2025

Aug 27, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC

Stature Of Dissociative Minds

Sheep daunted Gracefully the wind hums, Darkened clouds- The warmth overbears us. Trees, oh mighty- They tremble in the haze, A blue and green fury. Stilling like- Some dying machine, unmade. Branches whip The gentle lake turns, churns Bell shaped lanterns flicker Before the man shaped name Feelings of wet cold grass Like woven fleshy cod I feel- I feel- Has the man left the room? I think it might be June

19