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coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.

yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
I am too old for this reckoning,
I am too old NOT to reckon
     with past promises,
     Of life outside myself-
The shadows call me home,
yet where exactly do I land ?

Only words define the substance
   of Art, Growth, Humanity itself;
I dare to tell tales of which I know
    very little,
But imagining them is how
   I conquer fears,
   create escapes,
Follow my own footsteps through
a tunnel of RECKONING--and REPOSE.
Dedicated to the Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman who recited her piece, "Call Us What We Carry" at Pres. Joe Biden's Inaugural Ceremony. I tried to write as if it were Amanda herself speaking to us, in her own unique voice.
 Mar 2 Caroline Shank
take me to that shadowed place
past all the songs and tales untold
for none can ever see a trace
in domains dark where souls are sold

chill thoughts in solemn darkness tread
outside the sun’s beguiling spell
through barrens deep in mortal dread
of endless night and frozen hell

my voice lies mute in lifeless cold
where twilit lands may hide my face
beyond my youth and dreams of gold
conceal my wretched fall from grace

with stone and star I now will dwell
and grieve alone for words unsaid
leave bone and dust my fate to tell
weep silent tears that must be shed
 Mar 2 Caroline Shank
I once heard someone say
when discussing life’s troubles

“Don’t worry, God is flipping
the big pancakes”

I thought
“It’s a good thing somebody is”

even the little silver dollar ones
come out burned on one side
gooey on the other
and stuck to the wall
when I try
Mesmerized by your appearance
I can’t take my eyes off of you
Like another planet full of light
You come close,  give color to the night
You see everything that’s happening on this Earth
So much darkness so much pain
Want to swing to bring me closer to you
You’re the eye of God, watching
Everyone that do harm, who is to blame.
All I want is whisper to you,
you’re my Moon.
Tell you all my secrets and my name too.

Shell ✨🐚
Hello everyone at HP,

Starting this month, we hope to bring something new to Hello Poetry: a spotlight on our fellow poets here in this community.

Each month we will highlight one poet by posting an interview with them complete with a little background, how long they have been writing, what inspires them, etc. We will also highlight a few of their best or favorite poems (with a link to each one).

If you have any thoughts or questions you would like us to include in these interviews or would like to participate, please feel free to let us know via the comments section or direct messaging.

We hope this will be well received and provide a way of getting to know one another better.

Thank you,
Mr. & Mrs. Timetable
I feel the weight of nearly a hundred moons upon this suggestive flight deck, overtaken by transfusion in a high formation rhythmic way. Fluorescent headphones—neon red, rotate around neutral zones. Push in, pull out. Swim under the pink, towards some aerobatic link to mother earth. And still, we're not in orbit yet. Your dawning glow you blow into my lungs. Will you catch me if I blast away?
How did we settle for so little?
When did we migrate back
to the sea floor?

At one point I saw
our last days as children,
at one point I saw starfish
shored against the ruins,
drowning in ten directions.

In the empty space
we used to breathe,
something other than remaining:
a life in tides less current.
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