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So, this isn't really a poem,
More of just a post.
I'm looking for 300 poets,
New or old,
To write a line.
For a 300 poet poem.
I have one so far,
I'm in need of 299 more.
I don't know if people read my edits to these, but I just wanted to you you all know, you're in such harmony with fellow poets, you're rhyming. :)
Also, feel free to submit more than one line!
I think it'd be a cool thing to try out. Let me know if you guys are interested.
If you would like to participate, write up a line for the poem and email it to me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com. Make sure to include your name or pen name in the email that way I can credit you. I will arrange the lines in a way that makes sense to read.
Thanks guys.
Name of the poem is pending if you guys have ideas let me know, please forward this to anyone who you'd think would be interested, I want to make this a real thing.
It's been a minute,
Time has been short,
And hard to come by.

But don't think I'm giving up,
On all the work you gave me,
And all the dreams we're making.
Life has been crazy lately, but I haven't forgotten about this project. I don't know just how much I'll be able to work on this still, but if you're interested in submitting a line please do. You can reach me through private message on here or email me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com. I can answer any questions you may have. I'm also considering pushing this project out to other places online to try and gather some more poets. Thank you for everybody who has already participated, and to everyone who follows!
Everything,
Is going great,
So many beautiful poets,
This poem is forming fine.

But there is a lot to go through,
So, please, don't worry if I don't get back to you right away.
I ensure that all submissions will be included,
And that my "thank you" is coming soon.
Thank you so much to everyone doing this, I cannot express my gratitude enough. :)
As per usual if you would like to participate please send me your submission through email at hardisonabbott@gmail.com or through private message on this website, it would really help out if you do not comment your submission. Please include the name you would like me to include in the credits. Thank you!
If you would like to submit more than one line, you may. (Though I can not ensure I will be able to use more than one of your lines. I will try my best.)
I haven't had any problems with this yet, but please do not include any adult language. I want all users to be able to view this work of art.
We still need 284 poets.
That's all for now, and again, I am so thankful for all your hard work guys. The fact that this is actually happening makes my heart swell.
Thank you,
For your hard work,
But please, to make it easier for me, I'd like all submissions in private message,
Or email.
It would really help out guys, I'm beyond happy so many people are making submissions. But it does really keep me on my toes!
If you would like to participate, write up a line for the poem and email it to me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com. Make sure to include your name or pen name in the email that way I can credit you. I will arrange the lines in a way that makes sense to read.
Feel free to submit more than one line as well! (I cannot guarantee the use of any more than one line though. I'll try my best)
Thank you all again, this is making me beyond happy
Everything is great!
Working a little slow,
As it is the holidays.
Just letting you know,
Everything is working out.
Thank you all for your work, this is a dream come true. The poem is already so beautiful, I love the way all of your work melds together into this. As always, if you would like to join this effort, please write one to five lines and either email them to me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com or private message me on here. If you chose to submit more than one line, I cannot guarantee that all of them will be used aside from one. Please keep all submissions free of x rated language or references as I want all of this site's users to be able to read this. The same goes for any instances of, racism, sexism, religious discrimination, extreme violence, or any other derogatory statements or references. You may write anything about coping with/fighting against these things though. I haven't had a problem with this yet, but I want to keep it that way. Please include your name/pen name in your submission that way I can credit you. Do not copy lines from other works such as other poems that are not yours, books that are not yours, or movies that are not yours. Unless of course, you have consent from the author. I do not want anyone getting upset that their work was used without consultation. Steer free from AI generated content, I won't check for it, but please keep it original. I want to hear your voice, not chat GPT's. This is all for now, if you have any questions please email me or private message me, thank you all for your support! <3
Love will write poems,
Long cold fall, poet days.
Remember publisher?
Find things, turn music,
Work years, empty morning, keep winter Christmas light(s).
Poets' song told,
Tonight, bed black walk(s) poetry.
Sea winds missing,
Men hurt, dark hold, coming hand(s).
Someday stopped walking, "Friends mind Mexico,"
Listen, staring, wonder, wait.
Silent waves, "Guess sad friend," asked Boy,
"Sand Lake."
"Save ocean sing?"
"Sing, slip, wishing diamonds shine! Silver Green tells, "Care   forever, pretty face."
Alas wind fingers,
Salty message!
Memories spite,
"Learn, Angel, young children fade."

Single sentences happen.
A new story, made of words I already said.
An electric connection,
Between my mind,
And my fingers.

I moved to wash my hands,
As the water froze fresh from the faucet,
My hands began to spark and fry.

Now I have frost burn,
In my electric skin,
From washing my hands in Michael's kitchen.

Now I'm wishing,
I never needed to make solid soup,
I could've stayed wet,
Contrary enough for my body's technology.
Inspired by the music of MF Doom, a recounting of when I made soup in Michael's kitchen. Wicked dream.
It's a nice day in Paris,
A chilly afternoon.
At a tourist cafe,
With an Italian Painter,
Chatting about the French language.
"Why would you write about Dan's Amour?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well it's Dan's thing, seems personal to him."
"No, no, I wrote about dans amour."
"Yes that's what I said, Dan's Amour!"
Sigh
Another poem painting onto the world of, "The Gray Man Of Paris," I like these little light hearted ones.
Finally it's over,
This year is gone, snow falling,
Covers the trees again.
Goodbye 2024, I can't say I'm going to miss you, but I'm glad you came. :)
Have you considered,
AI might not be outpacing us,
We as a people,
Might just be slowing down.

Becoming more reliant,
On robotics,
That we've made so many,
Our mistakes are catching up to us.
This goes out to the kid who spent twenty minutes trying to show me the weakness of human work.
I have an American diner kind of life,
Like a menu full of cheap food,
That's the best you've ever had.

A big stack of pancakes,
A slice of cherry pie,
All for $10.99.

That's how I'll keep living,
With the holes in my pockets,
And my cheap diner food.
I let my friend read this and they told me I write with the soul of a grown man. Hope everybody had a great day today!
I sat on the rock,
With the statue of Robert Frost,
And thought.

I laid on the stone,
With the metal cutout of Emily Dickenson,
And cried.
If you go to Amherst Massachusetts, there is a town where my father grew up. Within that town there is a rock and a stone with two silhouettes of famous poets, Robert Frost and Emily Dickenson, having a conversation. I sat in on their talk, and while they said nothing, I feel wiser because of it.
You're losing out again,
Young nephew dying on a hospital bed.
Your whole earth,
Rocked to pieces,
In minutes, just like that.

It scares me,
Just how fast this frail thing,
Life, can fall apart.
For the minute it starts beating,
There's a dagger at the heart.

I've never seen a devil cry,
But even Satan would shed a tear for this.
Free this earth,
From the clutches,
Of undeserving punishment.

Why, what could explain,
Make up for this?
I'm doubting you,
Great Creator,
How could you let this happen?
It seems now more than ever there is more suffering than light. We are slowly dipping below the sun, turning into an abyss of the world we once knew. Alas, even though times are tough, we are humans. A race defined by our uncanny ability to bounce back. We are strong enough to see through the inky pitch of today! I know that there will come a time where we drag ourselves from the trench, but for now the least we can do is keep pushing. Because if we lose faith in a brighter future, we will be victims of our own defeat subject to a world akin to your worst nightmare. I think I speak for all of us today when I say that things could be better. But I am confident they will be soon. Never lose hope, for we are only as good as we let ourselves be. Times will change but it is up to us to make them change and not be blinded by the disastrous things that have been sent our way. Be human, have courage, and don't lose sight of that perfect place. Have a great night everyone, I hope for the sake of all of us that we as a people may rise from the ashes and spread a new wing. Become the Phoenixes of modern Earth, and never back down.
The hands on the clock are slender,
Like her fingers,
Who used to weave through mine.

Soft was her voice,
It could grace you like an ocean breeze,
Or it could work like a hurricane,
Make you wish you never left shore.

This new winter snow,
The color of her skin.
Thin as her kiss,
Leaving me warmer than I was before.
These days I find myself missing it more and more.

But she didn't leave,
It was I,
I had to return home,
She didn't beg me to stay, she knew I couldn't.

But I know,
Someday we will find each other again,
And in time, I will remember her kiss.
If you've ever stared at the page in the dictionary where love is defined and thought, "this can't be right," this poem is for you. Love is not definable with words, it's defined by the actions you take to get back to it.
I want to be something great,
But according to everyone else,
That's well beyond my years.

Why is it only my youth they comment on?
Are they admitting I'd be better off than them,
If I was aging on 41?

A poet is somebody who writes poem,
Not someone, old, who writes a poem.
So call me a poet, or that is what you are not.

Back in school I submitted my poem for an English assignment.
I got bad marks, so I vowed never to use my poems again.
But now all I want to do, is shove my poems in front of you.

Have your opinions about whom a poet should be,
Just don't use them to disrespect me,
And my stupid poem about olivine.
This is based of a comment I received from a man at the library, who asked to read my poetry. Also, does anyone know what the proper use of "whom" is?
We now have
An army of
Poets with single
Sentences and I
Only need 290
More poets' sentences.
This is going great guys! Thank you for all of your support.
If you would like to participate, write up a line for the poem and email it to me at hardisonabbott@gmail.com. Make sure to include your name or pen name in the email that way I can credit you. I will arrange the lines in a way that makes sense to read.
You may upload more than one line, though I cannot ensure you I will be able to use all of what you submit, I will always use at least one of your submissions.
Please repost and/or share this with anyone you think would enjoy participating in this. I'd appreciate the help spreading the word.
Thanks everybody! :)
My friend found another website,
That they want to try out.
They told me I should sign up,
I did it only to write with them.
I took me an hour just to post a poem.

First, read the terms and conditions,
48 bullet points of rules to follow,
Though I still don't know what's going on.
Second, check your email,
Find what Kevin sent you,
And set your password up.
Third, post a poem on your profile,
If you don't it doesn't work,
And you can't view other profiles.
Fourth, try and post a second poem,
Oops! You need to comment,
On at least two other poems.
Fifth, Your comment must be,
At least, 50 characters,
They won't even accept 49.

I'm good here,
It's less confusing.
Wanted to sign up to all poetry with my friend. It was the longest process ever to just post one poem. I still don't understand how it works.
A poem,
Is a little story,
You write on little paper.
Sometimes it rhymes,
Sometimes it doesn't.

A poem,
Is a song,
That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud.
Sometimes it's mortal and sad,
Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty.

A poem,
Is a prayer,
One that the author begs you to hear.
Sometimes it will save your soul,
Sometimes it will save another's.

A poem,
Is a gift,
So you should treat it as one.
Sometimes you will receive one,
Sometimes you won't.

A poem,
Is a curse,
So be warry if you steal one.
Sometimes it will come back to bite you,
Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would.

A poem,
Is a poet,
And those who are poets, are poetry.
Sometimes they strive for fame,
Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names.

A poem,
Is a call in the night,
That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting.
Sometimes it heals them,
Sometimes it guides them to healing.

A poem,
Is optional,
But those who read them won't regret.
Sometimes we can't bear to read poems,
Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.
A little longer, but it's hard to capture beauty in few words. Hope you enjoy!
You!?.*

WanT
        o         P
                   a   My
                   i                                          Well two bad,
                   n   Portrait                         I'm not real,
                   t                                           I am a Chemical
                                                        ­                    a
                                           ­                                 o        Fee(l) you seem
                                                            ­                t         To like to Get
                                                             ­               i                           o  
                                                                ­            c                          ThoUght
                  ­                                                                 ­                            p
im nobody who is you im a piece of glass in the ocean an unexpected regret you didnt want but now you have im the kind of thing you get in a goodie bag from a party you didnt want to go to but you still did an embodiment of every reason you doubt yourself on a daily basses im the one whom sits behind the screen not watching but watchin you thats the scary part of me that you arent quite ready to leave because who will watch you if im gone
Writing this was so fun. While reading this throw on some MF Doom and you'll see where my inspiration came from.
Today,
I talked to you.
For the first time in what seems,
To be forever.
You were pretty as always,
Quiet as always. . .

"I hurt you and I can see that,"
How did you not see it before.
I can't stop myself,
From writing,
"She broke my heart,"
All over my face.

But,
At least you know what you did to me.
I'll heal eventaully,
Baby steps.
It's hard to be happy with a heart that's split in two.
That’s a reminder,
Of who I used to be.
Scars on my body,
Tell me to save my words.

“You’re too young and brash.”

It’s that big mouth of mine,
That gets me hurt.
I don’t think people,
Can take the truth today.

“You’re a bad man, you can’t save yourself.”

I chose silence,
In spite of the aggressor inside of me.
There’s nothing peaceful,
About the pacification of a fighter.
I’m sick and weary, just going through old poems and memories.
Have you ever seen,
White light shine,
Through black diamonds?
Seen the reflection of moonlight,
Off of gold?
Do you walk around parties,
In black suits and dress attire.
How great it feels,
To keep time on gold watches.
Black diamonds,
Silver seas.
I'd give you riches,
If you'd love me.
Trying to capture elegance is not an easy task. Happy Monday everyone!
It frustrates me that I’m sitting here,
Staring at a blank page.
For I feel so much.
And I have so much to write,
On this empty page.
I have seen enough to write an endless novel.
So why is my page empty?
Not full of wooded trails.
Or life's many tales.
Not even the sympathies,
Of my many brothers,
And many sisters.
My page is empty,
Alas, the poet’s dying shame.
Poets, we all know this feeling. Unfortunately I haven't found a solution for it yet, but I've tried living life to the fullest I can, and that seems to help.
Another night I'm wasting,
According to the billionaire news letter,
Bowling with CL and JR.
A sleek new bowler's cap,
A broken in pair of bowling shoes,
I found while thrifting.
JR made a joke,
"They look like Al Capone's lost shoes."
And I guess they do,
So whether I dress like an English bartender,
Or an Italian mob boss.
That's up to you to judge,
Because I'm wearing my new bowler's cap,
My all American pool shirt,
And Al Capone's lost shoes.
Some of my best nights, cheers to my fellow bowling fans!
Don't cage me,
Don't chain me,
Don't try and change me,
I am the river,
I am free.

So you can't control me,
You can know me,
But you'll never own me.
Freedom is a human instinct, how come people think they can go without it.
Here comes the camera girl,
Clumsy American beauty!
With a French hat placed upon her head lazily,
And her camera hanging from her neck.
Looking around the streets,
Photographing Paris, a way to live through scenes.

But she'll never be happy,
Just watching the people,
Who dance by the Eiffel Tower.
No, she must dance!
But alas, she has no man with which to dance,
How sad.
Adventures in Paris are the best.
Blank canvas,
Is still creative.
Because the fact is,
You can only paint an original blank painting,
Once.
Abstract art either confuses me, or elates me.
Soft snow falling,
Kissing the white tops of the trees.
It'll be a white Christmas this year,
First one my baby cousin will ever see.
His sleepy eyes and rosy nose,
Does he know that his joy will simply grow,
When Saint Nickolas completes his flight?
No I doubt he'd know that tonight is the night,
Of the birth of Jesus Christ.

No, but he will learn,
All in time as bed hours turn.
A yawn catches me drifting off,
As I sip my spiced cider and listen to the Christian hymns.
Staring into the golden lights of Grandmother's "Angel Tree,"
I often wonder, did baby Jesus know, he was sent by God,
To save our souls?
Or did he find his light along the way?

I'd ask the pastor,
But tonight the church is quiet.
Waiting for Christmas Mass tomorrow,
While young children are tucked into bed,
Drifting dreams of presents fighting the will to wait up for Saint Nick.

And as the candles fade,
I figure it is my time as well.
To turn to bed,
And await the sleigh of Santa Claus.
This Christmas though,
He will not be able to bring me what I want.
Unless, I could catch a ride,
On his magic flight.
Visit the ocean,
And sing "White Christmas," with you one more time.

But matter not what I long for,
I will slip away to sleep eventually.
'Merry Christmas to all,
And to all, a good night.'
Merry Christmas everyone. I hope we all will find everything we want under the tree tomorrow morning! And a happy birthday to Erin's mum, Jesus Christ, and anyone else who has a birthday as magic as tonight. <3
I'm a big target,
I don't fit the mold.

Does the fact I'm self contempt,
Scare you and your self admired stature?

Just because you will give confidence for popularity,
Doesn't mean I have to.

So move on,
I won't grieve myself due to you.
Don't give up on yourself because they want you to. You're better off that way.
Je suis dans amour.
Mon amoureuse est brillant,
C’est juste nous.
Tout ce que je sais c’est elle.
C’est gentil,
Tu m’as apporté des fleurs!
J’ai juré,
Mais j’ai glissé,
Maintenant je tombe à nouveau.
Je suis amoureux.
Happy Frenching everyone! I was feeling a little exotic, so I decided to write this. I'm not perfectly fluent in French so there might be a few mistakes.
I didn't make the cut again,
I guess that makes sense.
I don't look like the characters from the original film,
I'm not blond a skinny like the prince,
I'm not built and burly like the craftsman.
I'm not pudgy like the shopkeeper,
Nor am I silent like the king

But I can act,
I know I can.
Because everyday I act happy,
Wake up and do it again.
I act confident when I'm up on stage,
But maybe they couldn't see it,
After all, I hide it so well.
This ones kind of iffy don't know if I like it. Have a great Monday everyone.
A fact is a non-arguable statement,
But a statement is defined fact,
Through observations and experimentation.

Today a fact was patented,
By the college of my love for you,
The fact is; You are beautiful, that is it.
This goes out to my beautiful fan from the seemingly invisible areas of the internet. An anonymous figure that I see shine brighter than the sun.
I waited for hours in an office lobby,
Just for them to tell me there was no cure for what I was suffering.
I walked a mile,
In another man’s shoes.
So I walked to  another,
To the next doctor,
Just to be told again, that there was no cure.

Wendy; My shadow is too heavy, can you fix it?
Doctor; Shadows don’t weigh anything.
Wendy; Mine does.
And it’s getting bigger.

I waited again,
Yet still the answer was the same.
That there was no cure,
For the sad music I hear in my ear,
That makes me age hundreds of years.
It makes it seem like my mind is run by rusted gears,
It must be from storing the salt for my tears.

Mother; I thought you were sleeping.
Wendy: I was being sad.

Wendy; I’m not always sad.

I didn’t go to another office,
I ran out of ones to walk to.
Running is a concept I never understood,
Why are you always running from, or to?
Why can’t I just run,
Away from nothing, for I have nothing to run from.
To nothing, because I have no more things to run to.

Detective; Can you fly?
Wendy; I could,
I don’t think I can anymore.
Detective; That sounds dangerous.
Wendy; It is.
Was
Detective; What can you tell me about him?

Why can’t they make a medicine,
That makes you forget?
I don’t mean alcohol,
I just asked to forget, not to destroy the place in my mind where the memory was.
Why can’t they make a syrup,
It could taste like peppermint.
That you take at night,
And wake up and forget.

Wendy; I asked you to stay.
Peter; Did you?
There's a play by Kimberly Bellflower called "Lost Girl." It follows the story of Wendy Darling as she recovers from her time spent in neverland and how she learns to cope with the loss of Peter Pan. It's a beautiful play, and I suggest going to see it if you can.
Well I c-n't
Type with the letter "-"
My puppy fell -sleep on it
So it might t-ke me
- minute to s-y I luv you too
Bec-use his n-se is n-w -n the "-"
I -ctu-lly c-n't use the "-" I need him to w-ke up
I sweat through nightmares,
Clenching the sheets.
In between reality,
And bitter dreams.
How much longer can I fall?
When will I wake up?
I'm giving it all my strength,
But that's all I've got.
No one is scared of heights,
They're scared of falling from them.
Ex. You aren't scared when you look at a tower,
But you're scared when you're at the top.
Legs shaking,
Threating to give out.
Good thing the ground,
Always comes eventually.
Plagued by nightmares, it's hard to sleep.
I feel little,
Compared to the poets whos' poems trend for days.
If they came 'hot off the press,'
They'd burn the printer's office down.
Their flow is perfect, and every poem has a clear purpose in their line up.
How can I be like them?
Traveler, Peter Garrett, Ben Noah Suresh,
All big names.
They have years of experience compared to me,
Traveler's poem trended so much it's temperature matched the year.
If I asked nicely,
Could he teach me how to make my poems great?
I learn so much from every poem on here I read,
Liana's a person, a poet, a vine.
That nobody cares about the number on the scrapbook poem,
They just care they're there.
I write because I want to show people a window into my life,
But deep down there's a part of me,
That wants to be famous more than anything.
So here I am,
Feeling little,
Feeling small.
Hope nobody's offended by the shoutouts, I love everybody's work on here, this is my favorite place on the whole wide web.
I see your eyes
They're begging me
To attend them

Not today
Go away

I'm not going
To beg for
Your attention anymore.
This poems tittle is based off of how begging for them to notice me all these years made me feel.
California is getting punished,
For something unapparent.
Because they have the breath of Hell,
Burning through their front doors.
So for the love of the west coast,
Somebody save Malibu.
It's a barrel of chaos down their, pray for the lives of those involved.
I was walking down the street,
And I saw you from afar.
Staring at me from the park bench,
On the elementary school's playground.
You waved at me,
I didn't wave back.
I don't think I'm ready to forgive you yet.
Someday I'll be ready, just not now.
I'm not going to let you push me around.
Just because I chose to walk in peace,
Does not mean I am incapable of wielding anger.
Of which shines like a silver blade,
I am not too weak,
That I will crumble to you.
I am iron and steel,
You are wood and glass.

Do not dare make me your punching bag,
Lest I punch back.
Somebody tell the sky,
That it doesn’t have to be gray,
If it doesn’t want to anyways.

It’s awfully hard,
To rain on someone’s parade,
If the sun is shining through you.

Even when your curtain is closing,
That’s no reason for you,
To not give the best finale you can.
Be your best self, because there’s no reason not to. Life’s a lot easier when you're your best self.
Bonjour Gray Man,
What is on the menu for breakfast today?
A black coffee and a plate of blueberry jam,
On plain white bread.
A blueberry, for the blue in you,
Coffee and bread, because you find it tasty.
Gray Man of Paris,
What's here that you fancy?
What led you to leave to shaded land,
Of pencil-paper men?
Was it a secret love of bright colors,
That you look so dreary against?
Well salut Gray Man,
Enjoy breakfast in the colored land.
Nobody wants to live in gray forever. :)
Sometimes poems are rough,
When you're writing when life is tough.
Often just writing isn't enough,
You have to take your feelings, make them feel pretty.
Even though most of what I'm feeling,
Is pretty gritty.
Fitting.
Someday people are gonna have to wake up,
And realize,
****'s tough, life is rough, it's already bad and I just woke up. ****.
To everyone who feels they can't be expressed in pretty words anymore. #roughpoetry
Run river, run wide,
Don't let them **** you, be free,
Run river, run long.
Haikus are fun. I'm not the best with syllables though.
Long windy winter night,
Couldn't reach my heart's flaming fight.
Screaming out to me,
"Go to her, fool, you love her."
I never thought,
I'd fall so hard.
But darling, your hair,
It's just like the rolling sand dunes of the lake.
I want to run my hands through it,
And feel what it's like to be loved.
I see it in your eyes,
Your so lonely.
But there's no world where you could be mine,
Your beautiful, I'm a freak.
But I could kindle your candle,
Keep you in the heat.
Leave me, my fear,
I won't let you ruin this moment,
Not this time.
I'll take you to the hills,
With fields of wild flowers.
I can show you love like you never had,
If you just let me in.
How am I,
Spiraling so,
Far,
Just from,
Your lovely hair?
Dedicated to the only person I'd give the world for, and the only one I'll never ask. <3
Sleep with the lights off,
Warm under sheets.
Wake to the morning sun,
And the promise of you and me.
New year's day,
New year's eve.
Can't keep away from the new year,
And the new you, the new me.
Piano, sparkling anything,
Diamond ear rings.
There is no where I'd rather be,
Than holding you.
Be the last memory of this year,
And the first of the next?
Less than twenty-four hours until 2025. It's crazy.
People ask how scientists know it’s truly fall,
And people tell them about the Fall equinox.
That we know it’s Fall when the sun dips below the horizon,
On both halves of the globe.
That the coming of fall is when the people in the southern side of the earth,
Have spring.

That is how science knows it’s fall,
But how do we know the date, the hour?
I could tell you when fall is here,
But it won't be down to the minute.
I know fall has come when the winds turn cold,
And the leaves of the oak trees are bleeding.
When the streets are empty of the children playing,
When I sit on a fallen birch log on the beach,
Staring at the water, but I’m shivering in a flannel,
And the water is frozen over.
When i come home and the tea kettle is going,
But all the summer lemon tea is put away.
Little changes in these things, they will lead me astray.

The coming of fall.

That’s how I know the fall is coming,
Not by watching the hours of my days.
Not based on when the sun rises in Iran,
But by the feel of the winds,
But by the blood of the leaves.
And by the tears that have fallen,
On these empty streets.

The Fall Of Twenty-Twenty Four.
It may be out of season to post a fall poem, but to my credit I did write it before it changed to winter.
I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.
I am born of the trees and stars, of cold winds and breezy nights.
I am a son of the red sand hills, and the lost letters to neverland.
I am the making of love and pain, of lost will and false strength.
I am the lord of memories of longing and heartbreak.

I am born of an island of stone, and seas of stories.
I am a child of hatred and spite.
I am King of a long-lost land.
I am the farmer of an ancient plant.
I am from the sea, the salty spray of the Atlantic.
This ones an oldie, but as they say, a 'goodie.' It comes from a project I did in English class a couple years ago. It's gone a long way since I first conceived it, even to the point where I read it for an audience at Nazareth college.
I can't believe I'm missing you,
After all the things you put me through.
Sleepless nights making sure you were alright,
Dreary days ensuring you were eating okay.
You never wanted to be seen in public,
So we never went on dates.
All the ways you would curse yourself,
All the compliments you gave me, that felt like insults in disguise.
When I got in trouble for the times I'd meet up with you 9th period,
And I had to talk to that counselor that I didn't like.
The way his office was so blank,
It made me uncomfortable.
The days I had to walk by the street,
Because you liked drifting too close the speeding cars.
After all the things you put me through,
I can't believe I'm missing you.
I really wish she'd get out of my head.
If it’s not love it’s poison,
If it’s not good, then it’s evil.
If you’re not warm, you’re freezing.
And if you leave you’re cruel,
And if you stay clinging on for too long, you are nothing.
So, if it’s not love, it’s poison,
And if you’re not surrounded you’re alone,
And if you're not full you're starved.
If you break you’re nothing,
You’re alone,
So if it’s not love, then it is poison.
This one is for those who love has wronged. They may be beautiful, but sometime they aren't good for you.
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