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That's the thing we sign on a poet's grave
That is the symbol of death we know in our language
Every dash etched with the weight of an iron cuff
Have they lived long enough?
No I'm afraid they never got their time to shine
Before their art's demise.
---
Everyday there's one more.
404
.
.
I can do anything,
I have the most powerful tool,
If the black sea won't budge,
I'll make it move,
I could shape the world,
With the implement of destruction,
Hidden in my back pocket.
What's the probability of probably?
Is the square root of attraction,
You and is the variable me?
You're wicking me out,
All my facts start to feel like fiction,
And 2+2 is starting to look more like you.
Haven't written anything new in a hot minute. Been focusing on her.
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 private message it to me. 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. 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.
500 poems,
I'm proud of myself,
I'm proud of this community,
I'm proud so many people are willing to show support.
I'm happy I found my way here,
But I might take a break,
Don't want to ruin a good thing.
It still feels like I joined yesterday.
73 drafts,
73 finished poems,
73 pieces I can't post,
73 plus instances of 502,
Bad Gateway.
502 is now my least favorite number.
I sit, heart still, not beating,
A lone soul amongst my own memories,
Which plaster the walls, a putrid stain.
Through the fog of night,
I hear her cries, silent tears of crystal,
Falling to the padded floors, shattering.
Through the crackle of the fire,
I hear her laughter,
A once pretty sound, gone sharp and raw.
Staring aimlessly into my own palms,
Her voice haunts me, has haunted for so long,
So I reach but a single hand to the fire.
Watching the tongues of the flame,
Lick my open flesh,
I smile when the searing begins.
Then fall from my chair,
Crawling to their sound, their loud cackle driving her memory away.
From the flames I rob a charcoaled log,
That which I toss, and another,
Though when the smoke and flame surrounds I know,
I must've been missed when they came to lock her up.
Inspired by the Requiem pieces from Mozart.
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.
I had a dream,
That all love was true,
That was the reason I found you.

It was on the frozen ocean,
I was in a white suit,
You were in a black dress.

We kissed patiently,
As the orchestra played it's lovely tune,
My mind began to stir,
Fading from the thought of you.
My alarm always wrecks the best part
H. In darkness,
R. shadows weave their silent threads,
H. whispers dance where moonlight dreads.

H. In light,
R. golden rays embrace the dawn,
R. hope reborn, the night withdrawn.

H. If I’m still broken,
R. let the wind collect my sighs,
H. stitch my soul where sorrow lies.

H. Laying despairingly in this life,
R. like a leaf in winter’s hand,
R. drifting lost through barren land.

R. Yet even roots in frozen ground,
hear the call of spring’s soft sound.
H. Through the cracks where teardrops fell,
hope still blooms, a quiet spell.
A duet written with ChatGPT as my partner. This is extremely experimental and will not be a running theme in my posts. Let me know how you think the AI did each line is marked with H for human or R for robot.
If I could teach you one thing,
It would be how to keep pushing.
Because when the world is looking,
They're looking at the one still going.

You can be great,
If you can wake up and tell yourself,
'I am greatness, I am here for a reason, I am the next big thing.'
The world is in need of confident people, who knows, you could be the next modern idol.
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. :)
Gaze on me now,
I'm not well known,
With my pen taps and frown.

Well the truth is,
I'm real well known,
This just ain't my town.
Finally made it to the weekend, hope everybody is having a great day!
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'm gonna get me a record player,
So I can throw on jazz vinyls,
Classical symphonies, modernistic musics, raptastic tracks-ish.

So I can hear those low notes blow,
Those high notes reach, whistle, then pop,
So I can listen to all 'em tunes,
That got me thinking about you non-stop.
https://youtu.be/sAn8WHYDk6o?si=tnuIhbXaQo75jIcj
(Some peaceful vintage music)
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!
To my dearest monsters,

  I hope this letter finds you on the brink of your doom, rotting away in your sinister cave. Because it's what evil like you deserves. To rot and woe, to know the pain of fading, before you fade away. Because your longevity is short lived, for most of you will die come first daylight.
  I hope you know, there is no home for you here. But if you try and build one, It will be burnt down. Every scrapped cinder and discarded log crushed to black dust. The substance of your soul, you're made of cinders, burning away at the human you once were. And if no one else will stand against you, know I will. Don't mess with fresh fire, lest you get burn away too.

                                                                                    Sincerely, I.
I refuse to be fooled by one of these again, I call to the writers of HP, let us make this a safe space for all writers.
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.
Last night my poem hit 10,000 degrees,
Does that mean I burned myself a place in HP?
Or am I still on the path of becoming,
Hoping to get a lucky stroke and blow up?
Almost everything I post gets a reaction now,
I'm a name people know,
But does that make me somebody though?
What if I'm an actor,
Just playing his part,
I'll disappear when the director yells, 'Scene!'
If my art is recognized,
I've accomplished something real,
While living a dream.
But I am author enough,
That I could have a career in this?
Or will I start this journey,
But hear them yell, 'Dismissed!'
I don't know
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.
The night is born prematurely,
Becoming one in blistering winds,
The dark crawls,

And the snow falls.

The gallant wings of beauty,
Besieged by winters bellows,
Left to death as the crow calls,

And the snow falls.

The lonesome oaks tremble,
Bare in the white of creeping cold,
Creaking as they are raked by squalls,

And the snow falls.
Not a lot today.
Cold winter's eve,
A peasant man mourns in the cold,
Tears all full, falling to his child's grave.

An angel then descended from the sky,
Remorseful for the great loss of his,
While she wrapped her wings around him,
She sighed and sung.

God made the stars,
He made them so you may see the eyes of your beloved,
When they return to his graceful arms.
If you lose somebody worry not, they are bag in the arms of love watching over you.
Mental mettle,
Mettle mentally.
You just don't understand,
The way I speak.
So if you're yelling incoherently,
I'm just going to repeat the same thing,
I said before backwards.
So please use restraint my friend,
Or show some restraint to me.
Dedicated to those obsessed with personal gain. I pray the world has mercy on you.
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!
Is it worth it,
To pay straight from your wallet,
To a computer screen?

Yet not feeling,
The weight leave your pocket,
Getting a moment to think, is this worth it?
Half of the reason I can save money is that second I get to feel myself counting it out and removing it. It makes you ask if it's really worth it to buy whatever you're getting.
I wrap arms around,
The ocean widest, deepest,
A lonely spirit.
'.
    '.
>o
As we grow,
We mature.
Our ideas change,
So does our nature.
I don't want to instigate,
As much as I want to love now.
I used to want to rule an empire,
But now I'll settle for common things.
Settle down with my queen,
I'll last forever, if she lets me.

As we grow,
We lose touch.
Of each little thing we know,
Everything we loved so much.
I no longer feel aggression,
The same way I feel peace.
I may be tired,
But I'm just tuckered out,
I've learned to sleep.
Things change as we grow, I'll quote Echo here, "Thank God for digital cameras."
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.
If you come home,
You'll find me far from sleep,
Staring out the window counting sheep.

Breath stilled from stalking memories,
All of the joyous laughter we once held dear,
Now, to me, your ghost is near.

Yet, still,
If you choose to come home,
Do not wake me, let me rise from bed,
Realizing I no longer am alone.
I've written a lot of happy lately, lets throw in some sad, confused, dramatic, and maybe even some funny.
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.
In darkness he rode to the castle gate,
With armor of steel and cloak of night,
Out pacing the daylight's flight.

He stormed through the castle door,
To slay the king,
Leaving the little prince in a pool of ****** dread.

Years pass, but in the still of night,
The prince chases after his father's killer,
Vengeance in his sight.

The rouge rode swiftly as the wind,
But the prince was nimble, catching him,
Then in his father's name, he did that man in.
I love writing medieval fiction.
Oftentimes,
A poet doesn't lift their pen daily,
It's better to write nothing,
Than force something out.

As well for the fact,
Some things are best left unsaid,
This world is a rocky streambed.
Sometimes you just gotta put the pen down and try again tomorrow.
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!
They like to say,
Negativity has yellow sleeves?                                                         ­        
No, what? How does that make any sense?
I don't know, it's hard to write the way you do normally.                   
Just pick up the pen, and let out any spare thought you have.
I see how that could work,                                                            ­            
But I was under the impression you write with a villainous plot.      
   Well that's just the effect of a fun ***,
Just because I am one doesn't mean I think like one.
If I spar with my self doubt I'll be better equipped to deal with it.
You're my fault,
The product of my imagination,
Everything in life I wanted,
Everyone I wanted to live in stagnation,
I'd rather live in my anger,
Then let it live in me,
And if the meds aren't in my head,
It's all the broken images of what I wanted life to be.
I walked in the evening,
Throughout the widow's woods.
Following the rabbling brooks,
Down to the lonesome cliff spire.
On the edge I spied a man,
A ruffled suit, head in his hands.
Slowly, I approached him,
And sat by his sorrow.
'For what are you here sir,
For why have you come to shed tears over the edge,
Straight to the rocky jaws of the gorge's floor?'
He raised his head from it's rest,
Turned it to look at I.
'My friend I have come for death,
His sweet relief and eternal rest.'
Widened did my eyes,
'But friend, it is not your time,
I see a pool of youth still in this eye which you gaze with.'
He sighed, looked back to the edge,
'Your eyes lie to you my friend,
My years of youth are gone,
But before I go take this letter,
I want not my last thoughts to go o'er these falls.'
So I did, then once it laid safe in my hands, I left,
And so did the man,
But left not to his home,
But to the end.
'Ciao'
'Salve!'
'Un caffe con latte per favore.'
'Un cornetto?'
'No, un caffe con latte.'
'Ah, un gelato!'
'No! Un caffe con latte!'
'Latte con zuchero?'
'Why you idiot! I'm asking for a coffee!'
'Scusa?'
'...'
Just started out with Italian. I'm really liking it.
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