Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2015 Grizzo
Paul Hardwick
Now when I call it the Village
well thats what
my mom calls it
but really its urban space
so today I walked around it
the first road
I came to has speed bumps
according to signs they are twined with towns in France
it called Hob Moat
and a moat it has
known to me as the woods
spent many happy hour riding up and down those hills
but the way it got built up
it's not a village
walk through the woods you get shops
which have change over time
there are two churches
one new bit like a carbuncle
a blot on the landscape built in the 60s
man they where so on drugs
what was in there heads
the other old
I got baptised there so did my brother
went to sunday school
they gave out stamps each time you attended
but within 20 mins you can walk
into countryside
but now I find that is changing to
MAN
why do we **** every thing up?
True Story just today         P@ul
 Apr 2015 Grizzo
DC raw love
A Shame
 Apr 2015 Grizzo
DC raw love
It is a shame to have hate in one's heart
Where life's meaning can play no part

It is a shame to have fear in one's life
To hide and to never stare into one's eyes

It is a shame to hold hurt inside
To crumble in pain with nothing to hide

It is a shame to never know feelings
To distance yourself from the like of others

It is a shame to never care
Where you only have a life of despair

It is a shame to never love
To hold another and share their love
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
 Apr 2015 Grizzo
Laurent
If the flight of the butterfly is the magic quintessence of the life,
The caterpillar will know only by its own sacrifice...
 Apr 2015 Grizzo
Brittle Bird
the beautiful
simplicity
of swirling skies
and pretty tea
,
the unparalleled
complexity
of human minds
and what they dream
,
the dizzying
infinity
of both in time
and history
Day 5 of NaPoWriMo.
Next page