ivyrose - Hello Poetry

The dainty names in which he paints. There they’re kept— folded and whatnot in his pocket they rot. The cries never fold To these names that he holds. Anyplace he walks, he’s always full of daunt. When will he ever tackle those lost hearts, and soothe the tortured wards.

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 12:53 PM UTC

Investigator

The dainty names in which he paints. There they’re kept— folded and whatnot in his pocket they rot. The cries never fold To these names that he holds. Anyplace he walks, he’s always full of daunt. When will he ever tackle those lost hearts, and soothe the tortured wards.

11

Why, why There was a time— When Hearts used to fly. When I rip those roots That was to be mine. I rip them all— line by line. Wondering where’d you bury those ties?

0

Feb 26, 2025

Feb 26, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC

Disguise

Why, why There was a time— When Hearts used to fly. When I rip those roots That was to be mine. I rip them all— line by line. Wondering where’d you bury those ties?

9

why’d hurt come from birth, why’s it bound to the barrel of north. dashing in and out of the blue— where was your heart then, what is it to you. speedways, speedways— all I ever chased, but I never met that one pace.

0

Feb 25, 2025

Feb 25, 2025 at 5:21 PM UTC

Wallows

why’d hurt come from birth, why’s it bound to the barrel of north. dashing in and out of the blue— where was your heart then, what is it to you. speedways, speedways— all I ever chased, but I never met that one pace.

8

we’d mangle some hearts and butter the rest we’d sneak into bars just for the jest all these woven cards seem to rest when we wore buddy holly amidst— all the fest.

0

Feb 21, 2025

Feb 21, 2025 at 6:04 PM UTC

Buddy Holly

we’d mangle some hearts and butter the rest we’d sneak into bars just for the jest all these woven cards seem to rest when we wore buddy holly amidst— all the fest.

9

I had lost myself in heaven that I had started to unravel where I was once from it was peaking dull— super unfun it’s too stunning in here to believe any of it is ever real So I’m by the lava walking a flimsy plank waiting for the halt when it all starts to fall then I’m in to think that it’s really worth it all for all the fun i’ve rolled oh, so back when I was young, but not so wild and free but now i’d twirl finally— I’m so wild and free when I’m not supposed to be Oh, what lava dipped rods The world had built on odds They’d grit upon their walls Then roll them onto salt When stars would demise I had to once too— It was all full of lies and very little truths Then I got hoisted on stars Then you’d tune your voice To the world, that I was once a mere student of yours. But after, and whatnot all i ever was to you was just bitter noise these are— were, things and a few bits I’d never thought I’d reminisce about before. Not even when I ran foot through the very first door. But that’s how I dream and live— blues seem to stealth upon every bit— of my widowed soul it always guards me. except when I happen to stick to sad I never feel sad at all—how odd these all are.

0

Feb 21, 2025

Feb 21, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC

A Few Bits

I had lost myself in heaven that I had started to unravel where I was once from it was peaking dull— super unfun it’s too stunning in here to believe any of it is ever real So I’m by the lava walking a flimsy plank waiting for the halt when it all starts to fall then I’m in to think that it’s really worth it all for all the fun i’ve rolled oh, so back when I was young, but not so wild and free but now i’d twirl finally— I’m so wild and free when I’m not supposed to be Oh, what lava dipped rods The world had built on odds They’d grit upon their walls Then roll them onto salt When stars would demise I had to once too— It was all full of lies and very little truths Then I got hoisted on stars Then you’d tune your voice To the world, that I was once a mere student of yours. But after, and whatnot all i ever was to you was just bitter noise these are— were, things and a few bits I’d never thought I’d reminisce about before. Not even when I ran foot through the very first door. But that’s how I dream and live— blues seem to stealth upon every bit— of my widowed soul it always guards me. except when I happen to stick to sad I never feel sad at all—how odd these all are.

45

Act I Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses. Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea! Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection. Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up) Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds! Dover:what even caused such a commotion? Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes! Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore. Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours? Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems. Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs! Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting. Awfully surprised Dover reads. Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord! Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains. Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes! swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs! It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills! Dover shakes his head exasperated. Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones! End act 1

0

Jan 30, 2025

Jan 30, 2025 at 12:05 AM UTC

Sugarlime

Act I Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses. Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea! Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection. Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up) Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds! Dover:what even caused such a commotion? Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes! Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore. Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours? Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems. Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs! Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting. Awfully surprised Dover reads. Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord! Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains. Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes! swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs! It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills! Dover shakes his head exasperated. Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones! End act 1

23

The more the clouds drift In swirling passages and shifts She sought her past afflicts Dreaming of what if’s

0

Nov 3, 2024

Nov 3, 2024 at 8:13 AM UTC

Slowdive

The more the clouds drift In swirling passages and shifts She sought her past afflicts Dreaming of what if’s

4

if you’re not here it’s like the clouds are thick, but not with mist in fact, the light will be missed

0

Oct 20, 2024

Oct 20, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC

Boon

if you’re not here it’s like the clouds are thick, but not with mist in fact, the light will be missed

5

My garden had grown quite low With not many colours nor vows Will you water down my tones Embed the bristles and bones Wither the missing notes Bring the dead some words

0

Oct 20, 2024

Oct 20, 2024 at 7:47 AM UTC

Forever Lived

My garden had grown quite low With not many colours nor vows Will you water down my tones Embed the bristles and bones Wither the missing notes Bring the dead some words

6

my heart’s roots are tangled up with yours, the more you try to cut them the better it grows

0

Oct 16, 2024

Oct 16, 2024 at 3:20 PM UTC

dawned

my heart’s roots are tangled up with yours, the more you try to cut them the better it grows

1