A Poet's Voice - Hello Poetry

Apr 2017

Butch Decatoria

Raised in So. Cali.
Those early 80's on the beach,
When reggae birthed the bass
Subwoofer heart beats
And poetry woven into the flow
Open mics
Yo Spoken Word!
Rap as verse to mTVs

Bittersweet symphonies

When brothers were too heavy
Living in the hood,
And my friends
Ricky and Richy
And Ricks
Richard
****
Have no riches / wealth
Drawing blondes
For non
boys
In the cartoon
Landscape of generation
gap
Not so trendy cool
Unless master Richy
Loud animated riches
Mr. Rich
If I only knew
If richness
Lets you

Then Come be one of every

Minority
Say they can see

His friends-collection
From unique
Reserves
The wild
Child
Around the world
each birthday party here

His pals his country
Their diversities not his equal
As stereotypes
Subterfuge

Cliche
Equality pursuant to Freedom
So says the people

This that is
Priceless,

Enjoying tangerine days
Sinking in the golden
Tropicana
And cold colbalt

Blue bloods
In a darkening sea

The sky bleeding
Only with the life of the sun,
Where in spirit

Oh summer Lovin' nights

Cooling the boardwalks
dynomite!
Beach kin
skins
A many golden
Tans and the scent of
Paradise
Florals and cocoa butter
brine...
Tight fit bodies
Chrome shiney
Tanning oils

The summer wafting

Sensual
Through our basking
In rhythmic sync

From early days
Those happy days
Then when I was tween
On my Schwinn

Gliding
like the wind

Dollar movies
Sand and some kind
Of wonderful

The most radical arcade!
Raised a native son

By marriage
I am a mix into one
A people
My face
Has a race,
I am islander
Fisher King

Golden lion with
Interstellar wings

Please Call me Fishsparrow's
Dreaming

Though summer hues
My skin accused
Unmoved
Unclaimed
I'm a Golden Mango

Among the Californication-Ing

Indian Summer's with a
Torquois bottom pool
I could pass for Hawaiian
Most dark Mistiso do...

Raised in California
We are as golden
As the landscape

Americana

I'm laid back
As California as the cheese
We got the beef cake
80s to 90s to Kpop to Goa

The flavoring
Of caramel flesh
Sweet sweat
Footloose
Skinny jeans
**** undulations
Body
Surfing
Those summer waves

Toward our Nuevo
Fluorescent future
Opulence
So free and quite
Brilliant

The light
With life experienced

Fearless with Midnights
We Conqueror sunrise

The days I reminisce
When childhood bliss
did not die
Just down for a nap

New cats' days
Turning tomorrow making
bacon
Brown skin
My Soleils
Beaches
Soothing Mists

Breath of Suns' kisses:
Wakes of oceans
Peace

Oh

Now I lay me down to dream
I pray the Lord
To help me wake...

Every new day
So thankfully
Experience every divinity

That thou love
Doth make

Alive without regret
Of and by the sea
I'm raised

I grew up
California
golden
As is
silence

And Making love

With You
Early morning.... On the beach

Life arisen.
For light means Day!
Good morning
Glory

A louder Grace
Beloved
Will
Shall listen...

Apr 2017

wordvango

I hope for

becoming a poet since I read more
than I write
becoming a human
since I feel more
of others
becoming a man I stand tall in peace
becoming another
I hope for

Apr 2017

betterdays

The Great Day

so the bodohggedies
danced their dance
under the soogothle tree
and in their minds
they sang sigines
of depopple lines
and made the world
fleaegopple

then the caturnaps
made jackgnondle pies
and recited zungundes
of yeesterways and
told gobnibbittts
imogabble lies
to make them
flabhouter away

and when the great day
of Ubuinaqa was almost done
the teopssangwars
gave chant to the
promise of Gosbingilia
in formal
Datulach ligalibilate
and all Phfidugimea
around sat and listened to
the haquisalical sound,
sighing with
mneuss and saeszfedi

Napowrimo 2017...neology

#napowrimo2017bd

Apr 2017

Sally A Bayan

Captured

A wind passed, and roused my lethargic mind
then, i noticed golden yellow leaves
starting to drop from the money tree.
as a young girl, i recall chasing leaves falling
careful not to let them touch the green grass.
i pondered on my own invented game...do i run?
to catch, or not to catch.....even one leaf
was a child's dilemma...that became mine,
for, a leaf falling, is a poem, starting...
a love...blooming....or, an elusive one
or one that's struggling...

after a fall, comes the rising...where
something should be bravely emerging,
this is the time, when tamed, unnamed feelings
suddenly, become verses, sliding from the tongue,
mind is active, hand is alive, pen hurriedly writes
the soon-to-be-born poem,
...the one hashtagged...chased...or sought.
a word, a name, a face forgotten, now remembered,
a love...that is fading, or falling out,
all these should be held, grabbed...captured!
before they truly escape from our grasp
or, be blown further away...by a cold, autumn wind
...and leave us drowning, in a stream of regret...

Sally

Copyright April 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

#leavesfalling #game #poem #love #npmmeta

Apr 2017

Pax

I write not

I write not because i seek your truth,
i just do - for someone who seeks
understanding in all the doors we see.

I write not because i seek your pity,
i just do - for someone who seeks
understanding in all tough roads we
go through.

I write not because this is a job,
i just do - for someone who seeks
relief to the burden he has not
spoken out loud.

© pax

#write #understanding #life #pax #truth #relief #someone #seeks

Apr 2017

Nat Lipstadt

“sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony"

~

and, to the young,
it comes with bitterest agony,
because it takes them unawares.
The older have learned to ever expect it.”

Abraham Lincoln

~~~

time is the seasoning spice,
rubbed into the unwanted go to hell gifted
cracks and crevices,
of aging,
ever deepening tracks of rusted orange paprika tears that are undepletable

experience, that cursed pretend friend,
has been-weathered worn upon our faces

you young think you have it all,
you cannot have my sorrows

though they come to
me well awares
undisguised in shiny silver sunlight and
full moon bright,
whipped, collected and freight-weighed by the poundage

the tears of surprise are no wetter than mine
and surely but half as bitter as mine
than have accumulated and aged and bred permanence cursed down upon my
grayed hairs

you weep grievously
throw your body twisted to the floor
then you realize mine
is already there -
a cushion for you
and hardwood
my pillow

you have hope of repair -

making surprises treatable, tenable
and tentative

perhaps your gasp
of shock
louder than my grasp
of yet another cut's meaning

but learning to expect it
neither lessens it or
ameliorates

you want proof?

look upon me, come look upon me or better yet
look upon the portraiture
of Abraham Lincoln

February 16th, 2016

see

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1555158/abraham-lincolns-famous-civil-war-condolence-letter-to-young-*****-mccullough-about-death-loss-and-memory/

~~~
O Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            This arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                   But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

Apr 2017

Onoma

Body in Question

What have we done to you?
We hung you up there, to
watch truth drain from you,
to justify why we drain it!
Our loss for words found
scriptural release.
You knew the time you were
out of, was no time at all--so
you couldn't help but love it.
No more a broken body in
question.
Even the flies that examined
your wounds shed their wings.
We made your bed, you slept
in full awareness--you heard
us seal your tomb, and grinned.
You got up, and went about
eternal life...remembering to
forget a shroud.

Apr 2017

Traveler

PENEAL GLAND

I wasn't the only one
Perhaps you've seen it too
Or felt the vacuum void
Of life that's been
Consumed

Or even heard
The voices moan
Woven in time lapse
Without ever a warning
Compass or a map

Shadows gather
Black and grey
The place where
Entropy itself decays

Approaching
The netherworld
My vision
Starts to fade
Have you ever
Caught a glimpse
Of what's
Beyond the grave?

Traveler Tim

Apr 2017

SøułSurvivør

unwilling participants

~~♢~~

we go through life
afraid of change
which
happens

anyway

[10W]
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/16/2017