Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Little boy, listen closely
'Cause no one told me
But you deserve to know
That in this world, you are not beholden
You do not owe them
Your body and your soul

All the youth in the world will not save you from growing older
And all the truth in you is too precious to be stolen.

It's just the way it is
Maybe it's never gonna change
But you've got a mind to show your strength
And you've got a right to speak your mind
And you'll gonna pay for this
They're gonna burn you at the stake
But you've got a fire in your veins
You wasn't made to remain hidden
No, You wasn't made to remain hidden, no
Show some skin, make him want you
'Cause God forbid you
Know your own way home
And ask yourself why it matters
Who it flatters
You're more than flesh and bones
Know your own way home
And ask yourself why it matters
Who it flatters
From Christina Aguilera song, fall in line.
I don't own the lyrics. All the words and letters entirely belong to the rightful owner.
061018-19
 Jun 2018
Solaces
Without shadow she is..
Because she is the source of this light..
She is the shine, the luster, the last star in my sky..
She is without shadow..
When you find true light
 May 2018
SøułSurvivør
R.I.P. Clinton Eugene Jarvis
~My father ~

The saguaro an altar
A tree stump a pew
He knelt in the garden
His church all that grew.

Cactus and succulent
Tenderly grown
Were all in his choir
For his ears alone.

From aisles of stone walkways
Stained glass in bright clouds
The sun was his mantle
The stars are his shroud

The lakes holy water
As a child he'd haunt
Skipping stones 'cross a pond
Like a Baptismal Font

Sat he 'neath the willows
To hear their prayer's sigh
The saguaro an altar

His Cathedral the sky.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) 5/31/2018
Yesterday evening at approximately 9PM  my father passed away. He was closest to God being out in, and working with, nature. He was a Master Gardener. A member of the Cactus & Succulent Society.  I will write more about dad later on... Right now it's 5am and I've had no sleep. I'm going to try to rest. I'm handling the grief by writing... Remembering him fondly with words. Isn't that just like a poet...?
 May 2018
Alyssa Underwood
"The Struggle for Love"
"The Longing for Home"
So desperate to prove
That our hearts aren't alone

While death looms wherewith
To make dust of our flesh
We seek in a myth
Our souls to enmesh

With a hero of hope
A rescuing source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Which might silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

But it's not our mere lack
Which causes most dread
It's the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For its rank ins'bordination

We just want our own way
And to write our own story
So we plunge on astray
To seek our own glory

To play artist or muse
Or idol or chief
Any self-styled ruse
To assuage us of grief

Any measure to show
A lasting signif'cance
So that someone would know
Our unique magnif'cence

For our beauty's been marred
And we crave a redemption
Of souls twisted and scarred
By fulfillment's exemption

But, alas, we will find
That search hard as we may
There's not one of our kind
Who can carry the tray

Upon which the weight
Of our souls has been laid
For who can e'er tolerate
Its gross debts unpaid?

Such suff'cating mass
Of defects and ills
Pressed 'gainst delicate glass
Of egos and wills

Still more ghastly to bear
Is devotion unbound
For with millstone to wear
Its master is drowned

'Neath a sea of foul yeast
And becomes the enslaved
To a hungering beast
To a worship depraved

For the heart is a tiger
And must have its fill
So it raises a man higher
With a kiss before the ****

Not intentionally, of course,
Does it slaughter its idol
But of hurricane force
Is this longing so vital

And as pedestal turns
So quickly to altar
Our wounded pride burns
When our gods and alms falter

And the fire of its rage
Turns upon its obsession
Tiger breaks out of cage
To reclaim self-possession

It bites and it tears
What it once so adored
And pride no longer cares
If it kills its false lord

But upon such demise
The soul screams in terror
For it's broken its prize
And can't take back its error

It begs and it pleads
To restore what's been lost
But at end knows it needs
To consider the cost

Of the damage untold
It has left in the wake
For hearts can't be controlled
With a gush or a shake

No, men's hearts are like bombs
Which so easily explode
Once the pin is removed
All past wrongs will re-load

So the prey becomes hunter
When the tiger attacks
For he does not want her
To see what he lacks

As he, too, had put
Her up in wrong place
But now steps his foot
Upon her shamed face

To now pulverize
As his own heart's been crushed
To blind out her eyes
And to see her lips hushed

For with words idly spoken
She'd stabbed at his soul
And had left his pride broken
By her judgments so cold

She had not meant to harm
Knew not e'en that he heard
But one cannot disarm
A thought put to word

Worse than not knowing this
She no longer knew him
And her once imagined bliss
Proved a nullified whim

Oh, what games and delusions
We play and we build
Upon empty illusions
And dreams unfulfilled

Yet strangely it's when
Our worst fears come true
We can finally transcend
All those old tales we grew

Out of ego and void
Out of sorrow and pain
When our nerves felt annoyed
And our hearts felt too vain

'Cause when ego is puffed
It is primed, too, to pop
And with pinprick is snuffed
Like a pest-blighted crop

So imagine much more
When a venom's injected
Right into its core
And its heart is rejected

But can you also not see
How it needs such a burst
To begin to get free
From its self-absorbed curse?

Except now feels the matter
Of our soul's isolation
Fiercer still with the shatter
Of our pet consolation

So we wait and we wonder
If we've missed the true meaning
Of the frightening thunder
In our heart's constant screaming

Whether homesick or lost
Whether lonely or grieved
Locked in bleak Winter's frost
We find little reprieve

Yet we know we've been made
For the glory of Spring
Some card's still to be played
Some grand song still to sing

Inexpressible yearning
For some secret we know
But can't speak for the burning
Repercussions of woe

Not some mere melancholy
Nor nostalgic forlorn
Not the musings of folly
But a sense that we're torn

From primordial root
And from headwaters fresh
Yet much deeper to boot
From our spiritual breath

'Tis an ache not for wares,
Appreciation or fame
But a fight just for air
Against strangling shame

For we're naked, we know
And with all we devise
Our most flawed parts still show
To a pure set of eyes

Like we're walking around
With no covering intact
But thin hospital gown
With wide split up the back

So we hide our true face
Aim to be what we're not
Work our blots to erase
Lest our schemes should be caught

Be 't by friend or by foe
We dare not risk the pain
Of humiliation's blow
On top of our stain

But instead of relief
Anguish grows louder till
This life's loneliest grief
Paralyzes the will

And last hope all but dies
On doubt's bed of despair
While embittered heart cries
That its lot's too unfair

Yet on outside we play
Through our unconscious mind
Man's collective charade
That everything's fine

Like some pact we'd all sworn
To uphold and obey
To protect from the scorn
Of society's sway

If we run with the flow
'Stead of strive 'gainst the tide
We might make enough show
To salvage our pride

We forget that conceit
Is what caused all the mess
Through a serpent's deceit
And a couple's wrong guess

'Twas they first tasted shame
And then hid in a garden
Sewing fig leaves as claim
To secure their own pardon

Yet in horror they knew
They had squandered the Prize
And must flee from the view
Of a pure set of eyes

Now same state of awry
Runs through each of their seed
Inborn and borne by
Like the thorniest ****

Whose nettles pierce deep
And infect every part
While roots tangle and sweep
Through the mind and the heart

It mocks what we've lost
Torments every dim hope
To constrict and accost
Like a noose-tightening rope

Still, hope won't be decayed
Smold'ring fires yet burn
Sparking hints that we're made
For bright Eden's return

This redemption we crave
Is no phantom's false plea
But as crestfallen wave
Hides itself in the sea

It's been veiled in plain sight
Big as all of our stories
Deep as mankind's full plight
And as high as its glories

Cloaked in every ambition
That we have to get in
To some exclusive coalition
For its favors to win

Lurks a bleeding predilection
Frustrated from birth
A desire for election
To bestow on us worth

Lured by scent of a promise
To be chosen and known
Like the warmth of a mom's kiss
Given only to her own

We search tree after tree
For sweet intimacy's nectar
From a fruit that will be
Our secret connecter

To hope's nourishing breast
To life's honey from comb
To an undying rest
To a straight way toward home

One to wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of a garden again
Cast from pure tree of life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

All our conflicts, comp'tition,
Confusion and blame
Find first cause in perdition
That's invaded our frame

Like the foulest disease
The most cankerous rot
Grown by monstrous degrees
Hatched by Lucifer's plot

This story's no ****'s attack
Nor archaic folklore
But the earth-shattering fact
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

And it's not our mere lack
which causes most dread
But the earth-shattering fact
That our spirits are dead

Cut off from their Source
In a black alienation
Humanity's curse
For it's rank ins'bordination


And yet...


This is also the story
Of how those same eyes
The Possessor of Glory
Looked with love and heart cries

On the crown of creation
His reflection of Self
Made His own treasured nation
The heirs of His wealth

Now broken and lost
All banished from Garden
And He knew the full cost
To grant them His pardon

Had known long before
He had e'er even made
That first man of yore
Yet handcrafts anyway

For His love is so strong
And He wanted to share
His intimacy with a throng
His own children to bear

So with souls in convulsion
From their rebellious misdeed
Just before their expulsion
He promised a Seed

One untainted from sin
Who could take its great boulder
And the weight of His kin
Upon His own shoulder

A Hero of hope
A rescuing Source
To widen our scope
And give pith to our course

An unshakable tie
An attachment at core
Who would silence the cry
That our hearts are at war

With a pure set of eyes
Full of fire and proficient
To dispel all the lies
That our souls aren't deficient

For those eyes are His own
And He'd pay the full fee
By His body alone
To set our hearts free

He's hope's nourishing breast
He's life's honey from comb
He's our undying rest
He's our straight way toward home

He will wipe away tears
And allay deepest doubt
Which proceeds from worst fears
Of our being locked out

Of the Garden again
Cast from pure Tree of Life
Dim remembrance of when
Mankind first entered strife

But 'twas on another tree
That sweet intimacy's nectar
Was secured tight when He
Became sacred Connector

And the thorns of our curse
Were pressed onto His head
With not one there to nurse
As the Son of Man bled

Then the wrath for our sin
Was absorbed as He cried
And the foul curse was broken
When the Son of God died

But death couldn't keep Him long
Nor His glory dispose
And we found our lost song
When the King of kings rose!

The debt had been paid
He had finished the work
The tide 'gainst us was swayed
We weren't left in our lurk

And we've only to now
Just repent and believe
To open and allow
Our hearts to receive

Our Divine Fountainhead
Our covering complete
To sup from His bread
And to sit at His feet

To worship the One
For Whom we were made
By Whom we've been won
Whom forever we've craved

The One Who can bear
Our hearts' full devotion
The One Who won't tear
At our souls' raw emotion

The One Who will be
Sweet eternity's song
Who with lasting decree
Will...right...every...wrong
~~~

First two lines taken from Timothy Keller sermon titles;
also inspired by his other sermons:
"The Breastplate of Righteousness"
"Blessed Self-Forgetfulness"
"The Sandals of Peace"
"The Wounded Spirit"

~~~

for more on this:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2179517/the-gospel-of-jesus-christ/

~~~
 May 2018
Cecil Miller
The ageless plight of persistant awakening,
Thoughts protruding into my every day,
The restless inner noise of ruminations,
Rustling windy bow-quaking wispers,  remain.

The restling of memory spurs a conversation with the past
Concerning things I have done,
As I recourse for resolution within the recollection.
I'm just playing around with a bit of alliteration this morning. I figure the proverbial inner monologue is just as good a topic as any.
 Apr 2018
Cecil Miller
My memories look faded, like old instant develope polaroid film in a photo album. Today, pictures are almost all digital, and more vibrant, than real time. I wonder; how will the future memories of today's young children look? Is their vision of the future as cloudy my own?
This is a brief paragraph I may use as part of another piece of work someday.

It functions well as it's own little thought - I think.
 Apr 2018
liz
is a thought i had the other day
thinking, as one does, back
to when life was
just a little more junked-up.
as easy as it may seem, i was
a little bit more verbose those days,
foul-mouthing my way through my problems
and strangely,
call me a printer's press because
the grease kept coming and the pages kept coming
(and i was one squeaky wheel, you know)
and it seems to me a tad lopsided
how junked-up living overflows
into creative spaces, and
while picking through the flotsam and jetsam of
your overhyped depression and paranoia,
lightning strikes from a fed-up God,
tired of your long-winded prayers,
sizzle the brain's juices
and out comes a fresh verse to lay down
into another page of those worn out notebooks
so why does a person seem prolific
when they've just got a lot of problems?
frustrated with the vast amount of work i was able to create during a rough patch in my life as opposed to a more calm period in my life, producing very little of merit :(
 Mar 2018
Cecil Miller
Your crusty new day eyes
Have long been opened wide.
You're not at home.
You're out in the world,
Where I can't hurt you.

I know our time has passed.
I can't bounce you on my knee;
Look into your eyes and see
No matter what mistakes there might has been;
That you love me.

I ain't always been a white hat guy.
I got no answer, if you ask me "Why?".
I'll never have a claim to innocence.
There's no excuse for it.

I've no right to write
What your heart has kept inside;
I can't be forgiven.
Though I'm no longer your monster,
I am your ghost.
Sometimes, I bet I'm screaming in your dreams.

I caused pain and much despair.
And I know it's too late to save our past.
But hopefully these few lines
Can spare other lives from similar despair.

I know our time has passed.
I can't bounce you on my knee;
Look into your eyes and see
No matter what mistakes there might has been;
That you love me.

I ain't always been a white hat guy.
I got no answer, if you ask me "Why?".
I'll never have a claim to innocence.
There's no excuse...

And it weighs on me
Like sopping rags
That cling to my body
When caught out in the storm.
I thought this was going to be a country song. It is not.
 Mar 2018
N Paul
Burning face as you
Fly off with my airship.
Diesel scorches moist lungs
Dark nostrils flare.
Raised eyes behold, dreamlike:
Your silhouette 'gainst the blushing pearl of a yawning sky.
Soundlessly you vanish beyond canopies and ken-o'-man.
Dawn slips expertly among shimmering trees to greet me with love.
"WHERE IS MY AIRSHIP!"

...

Cicadas tense to pour into a silence
Stretching like an open gullet.
 Mar 2018
Cecil Miller
Let me dream of love;
Let me dream of love tonight.
Sometimes fantasy can be
Greater than reality.

Let me dream of love tonight.
Let me hold a body tight.
Let me gaze into some eyes
That are kind and beautiful and wise.

Let me dream of love tonight,
Though it may not be real,
No matter how it may feel.
It will not be mistaken for a lie.
Some of my favorite poems are little songs I make up while in the shower.
I composed this and then wanted to get it on the site before it slipped away as so many tidbits often do. (I'm still in my towel) 3/11/2018 6:35pm

p.s. there is a rock festival happening outside my window, so of course I would have music on my brain.
 Feb 2018
Sincerely Em
Do you have food on your plate?
Do you have clothes on your skin?
Are your decisions left to fate?
Do you fear the life you're in?

Do you speak your loudest thoughts?
Do you have books to read? 
Do you even know the alphabet?
Are you always left to bleed?

Do you hide to pray at night?
Are beaten to your flesh?
Do you rub your skin white?
Do you have the freedom to express?

Many questions you ask ..
Many answers you seek ..

But it has always been one question ..
Is this humanity you see?
I've been suffering from a severe writer's block the past three months. It's starting to worry me, but I'm glad I've been spending more time practicing my music as an alternative form of expression.

I wrote this piece a while ago. I thought sharing something old would hopefully get me back into my writing mindset.

I'm grateful for Hello Poetry and the patience it has as we all go through our phases of evolving as writers, or even our phases of writer's block from time to time.

Much love, Em.

P.S. Would love your advice on resolving a writer's block **
Next page