A Poet's Voice - Hello Poetry

May 2018

Traveler

If you could feel
Certain thing I've done
The rush in my desires...
I assure you most
Would cut and run
From the lake
That burns like fire

Dancing to a primal beat
Where life is trampled
Under feet
To feed the furnace
Of evermore
No time for love
Or even war

If you could see
Through shell shocked eyes
You'd know just why
I live a lie
...

Traveler Tim

#crazy

May 2018

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Summer Road

Bamboo groves sing the symphony of winds
in their crackling I hear my heart
on the red lone summer road.

The village woman passes with her cow
she has no time for poetry
yet her radiance fills me to beg life
more..

O Death be a while away
I've taken root on this land.

On the village road, May 11 2018 2 pm

Apr 2018

onlylovepoetry

tapping on my breaks

~ for Sara Bareilles ~

deuce driving nowhere for no reason,
wasting time, purposely, meticulously,
Otis singing the timelessness of no time,
wasting gas, polluting the future,
should I be caring,
of coursing not,
that’s the purpose
that needs no explaining

but ya know, surely knowing,
it’s not about the going,
but tapping on the breaks,
hoping they’ll close up the painful spaces,
bandaids of near silent footfalls,
pauses of pressure,
implausible discarding the empties

cause a love story,
is now more about the
chapter breaks, heart aches
thus looking out the window
thinking-gazing you’ll spot her
knowing you won’t but
still go on driving until
you no longer can and
tapping on the breaks
is helping

and that is all that you are really doing
minding the gaps that yet gape
open them pausing breaks
so time can suture them

4/17/18 8:43pm in a Master Class with Sara B.

Apr 2018

The Dedpoet

Surely I Emptied My Cup...

And filled it with your fatal presences,
The best a Texas Hill Country
Morning when the bluebonnets wept
While our bodies entwined
A sparrows song,
Your eyes enveloped the light
Of first day and I swear I could
See through Heaven's eyes,
When we shattered the noctirnal
And stroked the suns burn
Merely with unified cravings,
The deer crossed an unspeakable
Verse under the parting night,
I collapse in fatal gratitude
Taking willingly
The thorn of your memory;
Stuck intimately with the rising sun
And born of the wound
Was filled a cup
Encompassing the four things
Love:
Pain which your lips
Promised never to cause me :
Passion which endured as much as time
Swallows the years and closes the
Mouth of the things we remember:
Memory which sustains my soul and erodes my body:
Loyalty to the deceit that in some
Place when we were as perfect frames
In Time's womb
Eternal and everlasting
Where I pray as a Pagan
To return where no one can,
Still my cup empties with gratitude
And overflows tears I cannot
Contain within the spherical
Shell of your precision,
Cut deeply;
And with a despairing gratefulness
my cup runneth over.

Apr 2018

beth fwoah dream boleyn

waiting....where love is....the moon reflected in the waters of a lake.

clouds without edges, white like
soft pillow cases,
the sky filled with the pale embers of dusk.

the day drifts away, striding, skirts swaying
floating in the ether, untamed and restful.

sunken like the stars, the
dark begins to ripple its black
pools, carves its statues of wood and moon.

i wait for you in this opal night,
my legs a song of longing
my breath a shiver of scattering
birds, flowers in my hair,
my kiss gold blossom
unlocked with a sigh.

i melt as you touch me
my eyes whispering silk,
blue enamels of sea,
my arms
gathering you to me,
my breast full of
dark songs.

i glow, my eyes bold shadows of night,
my lips pressing in to yours
gathering honey like a bee.

i am your girl of the wind,
a jar of stones,
your beautiful muse.

gather me to you,
hold me for ever
and i will learn to speak
of love like
a solitary red rose petal
falling to the floor.

#loving #you

Apr 2018

Rick the shoe shine boy

THESE HANDS

these hands,

these hands were meant
to melt in the keys of the piano
and not for pushing buttons
to operate complex machinery,

these hands were meant
to climb the plateau’s of New Mexico
and not for spilling a half bottle of
Dutch milk while the tv watches me
passed out on the couch,

these hands were meant
to build treehouses for my children
not to drunk punch lousy bums
on the slum streets and lose,

these hands were meant to
pick peaches in the orchards of Georgia
and not to be holding my **** as it
****** in the linen closets and China cabinets
while in the drunken state of befuddlement,

these hands were meant to
make colossal sandwiches
and not to swipe my card
in the drive-thru,

these hands were meant
to caress my wife and
waltz her through life
and not be defiant,

these hands were meant
for gumption and not for
delusions of grandeur,

these hands were meant
to make my own dreams come true
and not someone else’s,

these hands were meant
to have purpose, talent,
motivation, diligence
and not to be shoved
into the pockets of uncertainty and
suffering from indolent characteristics,

these hands were meant
for bigger indentations
in the world and not to be
tyrannized by simplistic minds

these hands,
these hands,
these hands...

but somewhere down the lifeline
of my palms
I had left behind
my spirit and my soul
a long, long time ago
and it’s never too late
to get it back,
oh no,
it’s never too late
to get it all back.

#poem #rick #thesehands #talent #motivation #dilligence #gumption