hwilliams - Hello Poetry

Some people's love is like a punishment. You do something wrong almost every day, to deserve it. You say something wrong, or leave something out... they're put out by something everyday day. It's your presence. It's your absence. You're intelligence, or your stupidity. For one reason or another, they're always screaming your name.

0

Apr 30, 2015

Apr 30, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC

hwilliams

Untitled

Some people's love is like a punishment. You do something wrong almost every day, to deserve it. You say something wrong, or leave something out... they're put out by something everyday day. It's your presence. It's your absence. You're intelligence, or your stupidity. For one reason or another, they're always screaming your name.

9

The loss of you is like a pulse, I feel it beat somewhere everyday, heavy on the chest, aching at the neck, It ticks like time, but time doesn't take it away. I drag the loss of you like a tail. You are gone, and the lack of you became an actual living thing, attached, like a new part, and also the old, missing piece. I'm detached, dangling, like a broken missing wing. It said, "Report what's lost or stolen," so I wrote down 'love' followed by your name.

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Nov 19, 2014

Nov 19, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC

hwilliams

Ping Pain

The loss of you is like a pulse, I feel it beat somewhere everyday, heavy on the chest, aching at the neck, It ticks like time, but time doesn't take it away. I drag the loss of you like a tail. You are gone, and the lack of you became an actual living thing, attached, like a new part, and also the old, missing piece. I'm detached, dangling, like a broken missing wing. It said, "Report what's lost or stolen," so I wrote down 'love' followed by your name.

11

Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back. Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back. A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back. Detroit, I think we've got something in common, maybe I'll come back. In the gut of the city, see spots gutted, yeah I know the feeling. rough and tough, been through enough but there's still bigger-badders threatening. They say they'll huff, and then they'll puff, and blow your house down again. This just got hairy, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. In the aftermath of perfect disasters in a domino series, all eyes glue on the ruins, scanning for signs of life & death amid debris, it's prime-time on Tragedy Channel for train wreck week, strollin' out of the dirt with a smirk...hey D ---look we're on TV. Wearing hurt like a shirt, Detroit you're my remedy. That heartbeat, that house drum, that low, growling energy. Many think this city is dwindling, Detroit lights are dimming lately. But listen for that low hum, under the pavement, feel the rumble under your Nikes. An army survivors, are-me's telling stories in different ways. Listen to my movement, see me be the music, throttle always open, Motor-City made. Watch feet jittin' and go cross-eyed, 3000 RPMs in one take. Music-macguyvers throwing backspins into air-flares, on the snow or in the rain. Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back. Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back. A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back. In this city I see myself, we're both about to make a come-back.

0

Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC

hwilliams

I See This City In Myself

Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back. Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back. A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back. Detroit, I think we've got something in common, maybe I'll come back. In the gut of the city, see spots gutted, yeah I know the feeling. rough and tough, been through enough but there's still bigger-badders threatening. They say they'll huff, and then they'll puff, and blow your house down again. This just got hairy, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin. In the aftermath of perfect disasters in a domino series, all eyes glue on the ruins, scanning for signs of life & death amid debris, it's prime-time on Tragedy Channel for train wreck week, strollin' out of the dirt with a smirk...hey D ---look we're on TV. Wearing hurt like a shirt, Detroit you're my remedy. That heartbeat, that house drum, that low, growling energy. Many think this city is dwindling, Detroit lights are dimming lately. But listen for that low hum, under the pavement, feel the rumble under your Nikes. An army survivors, are-me's telling stories in different ways. Listen to my movement, see me be the music, throttle always open, Motor-City made. Watch feet jittin' and go cross-eyed, 3000 RPMs in one take. Music-macguyvers throwing backspins into air-flares, on the snow or in the rain. Maybe family roots are calling, so I'll sing back. Maybe the "streets is watching" -- so I'll wink back. A city, teeth-deep in tragedy that still talks back. In this city I see myself, we're both about to make a come-back.

24

HWilliams 12/12 We wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us... to take notice. I notice. And I'm wayward in this sea search, drowning around seaweeds, dizzy with the thought that these seeds, over the course of these years, soaked by my rain puddle of Alice tears grew to an ocean, now home to schools of strengthened species who will never ever ever have to cry, to breathe through weakness or to bleed through pain, instead-- We dance-- tread in slow motion sound thread through the song I am, we are, slave to the drown. We weep with the waves of sound, they sweep us away, way down then up, a shift of weight while weightless, we wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us... to take notice to become to live through to live through fully to feel the weight of being carried by the sound on waves of sound we seek to astound all who see, all who hear to make them see what we hear, to make them feel what we feel who we are what we can be. I weave through this sea of weeds, is seas of sound, and I think I start to see me.

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Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC

hwilliams

In Seas of Sound See Sound

HWilliams 12/12 We wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us... to take notice. I notice. And I'm wayward in this sea search, drowning around seaweeds, dizzy with the thought that these seeds, over the course of these years, soaked by my rain puddle of Alice tears grew to an ocean, now home to schools of strengthened species who will never ever ever have to cry, to breathe through weakness or to bleed through pain, instead-- We dance-- tread in slow motion sound thread through the song I am, we are, slave to the drown. We weep with the waves of sound, they sweep us away, way down then up, a shift of weight while weightless, we wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us... to take notice to become to live through to live through fully to feel the weight of being carried by the sound on waves of sound we seek to astound all who see, all who hear to make them see what we hear, to make them feel what we feel who we are what we can be. I weave through this sea of weeds, is seas of sound, and I think I start to see me.

35

H.W. Tornado red as a tango swivel tip-toe it can touch the piano and still simulate the sound cyclone of siren the most serious of sounds in a series of sounds.

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Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC

hwilliams

Siren Sound

H.W. Tornado red as a tango swivel tip-toe it can touch the piano and still simulate the sound cyclone of siren the most serious of sounds in a series of sounds.

10

H.Williams It's strange that we mark out our lives by the decades we live through by the mile markers we weave through by the wins and fails we cling to. On windy days my sails have slumped then anchored me in storms. Don't roof the rain, I'll stay shake fist at sky and scream for more. These moments that **** will someday matter more than lists and numbers generic facts assigned to goals that mattered more to other people. I'll pay, take, make more money and less, same words apply to people. But moments made, kept, felt in chest mean so much more than all the labels.

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Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC

hwilliams

Mile Marks

H.Williams It's strange that we mark out our lives by the decades we live through by the mile markers we weave through by the wins and fails we cling to. On windy days my sails have slumped then anchored me in storms. Don't roof the rain, I'll stay shake fist at sky and scream for more. These moments that **** will someday matter more than lists and numbers generic facts assigned to goals that mattered more to other people. I'll pay, take, make more money and less, same words apply to people. But moments made, kept, felt in chest mean so much more than all the labels.

17

H.Williams Red thoughts slide passed filters underneath avoid sink. Sometimes sinking leaks through tough skin. See red.

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Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC

hwilliams

Red Brain Cinquain

H.Williams Red thoughts slide passed filters underneath avoid sink. Sometimes sinking leaks through tough skin. See red.

6

H.Williams Vitamins lost in the hours of being still awake, in the hours of feeling left behind. These seconds are all memorized, since I’d forgotten –purposely—how this feels. But here I am, and there you are, and what we don’t know is in the space between when there is space between.

0

Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC

hwilliams

Vitamins Lost

H.Williams Vitamins lost in the hours of being still awake, in the hours of feeling left behind. These seconds are all memorized, since I’d forgotten –purposely—how this feels. But here I am, and there you are, and what we don’t know is in the space between when there is space between.

10

h.williams In black letters and sometimes red, it says there's time for everything, time for love, hope, and grief... but there's rarely time to breathe. I love too easy, and laugh if it's funny, but I'll hope till I'm blue in the face. Grief and I are friends, we each take turns crying making holes in the walls with our fists. Life and death, opposites attract and reunite. Everyone lives, everyone dies, but we're only invited to their deaths. Funerals find us, despite our crazed attempts to hide. If you've been born, you already died before you ever heard a white coat say why. Death's my pal too, though we've not officially met. He calls my moms now and then, leaving messages and empty threats. He diagnosed her long before I even left the nest, which maybe means he did the same to me but I'm not buying that yet. But still I get a little miffed when people talk up their borrowed time. It's fine for them, but I know better than to blow hot air in mine. I'll make it up to you, like they say they'll make it up to me but time's a cheater at every game, and time cheats every time, I'm afraid. But I'm not. Afraid, that is.

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Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC

hwilliams

Time Smirk

h.williams In black letters and sometimes red, it says there's time for everything, time for love, hope, and grief... but there's rarely time to breathe. I love too easy, and laugh if it's funny, but I'll hope till I'm blue in the face. Grief and I are friends, we each take turns crying making holes in the walls with our fists. Life and death, opposites attract and reunite. Everyone lives, everyone dies, but we're only invited to their deaths. Funerals find us, despite our crazed attempts to hide. If you've been born, you already died before you ever heard a white coat say why. Death's my pal too, though we've not officially met. He calls my moms now and then, leaving messages and empty threats. He diagnosed her long before I even left the nest, which maybe means he did the same to me but I'm not buying that yet. But still I get a little miffed when people talk up their borrowed time. It's fine for them, but I know better than to blow hot air in mine. I'll make it up to you, like they say they'll make it up to me but time's a cheater at every game, and time cheats every time, I'm afraid. But I'm not. Afraid, that is.

31

h.williams Inside the rib cage circles around the red, beating center rhyme with love, rake in blood, shove out anger, inside the outline of the writer who sits, sighing on paper, staccato finger tips drum rhythms with letters inside the window square, clear glass painted white by ice solid form of water, formally cold by nature, inside the city dragged to slow motion by snowflakes set in motion inside the wind that winds around building sides and slides across powdered roads, inside the state, state of panic, state of being, state of Michigan, state of mind.

0

Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC

hwilliams

Inside State

h.williams Inside the rib cage circles around the red, beating center rhyme with love, rake in blood, shove out anger, inside the outline of the writer who sits, sighing on paper, staccato finger tips drum rhythms with letters inside the window square, clear glass painted white by ice solid form of water, formally cold by nature, inside the city dragged to slow motion by snowflakes set in motion inside the wind that winds around building sides and slides across powdered roads, inside the state, state of panic, state of being, state of Michigan, state of mind.

19