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 Nov 2016
phil roberts
I felt this primal urge
This trance-like instinct
To set things right
In case I have to leave
Move on, so to speak

So
I took my jaundiced eye
And rolled it from corner to corner
Of this, my situation
And I felt so very small and hard
Lost in largeness
For cynicism is a tight thing
Which allows little movement
A strange kind of chastity

And then, you see
Changes
Honesty demanded that I see more
Grow, so to speak

And oh, my poor sore eyes
See how the children starve
All over this bitter world
This bitter, sickened world
And cynicism did this
Through the slack hands of millions
Who still refuse to believe
That things can be changed

                                    By Phil Roberts
 Nov 2016
martin
Some things are simply understood
Without the need for spoken word
Others better said out loud
So they may be heard

Some thoughts are better unexposed
So not to harm the atmosphere
Others need to fly and soar
To land on lover's waiting ear

Hold the tongue, bite the lip
Let not insults from it trip
But compliments that smooth the way
Let them see the light of day
Really pleased to be the daily.
Thanks to all for reading,
what a great site we enjoy here at hellopoetry.
Venturing out
Into the woods.
Everything behind her
Is in Black and white -
Grey, but with a hope-filled
Blue sky.

Her red butterfly
Carries her transformed ideals
Within - it's always hovering close-by.

With every forward step,
Away from this manipulated
painful reality,

The scenery is painted,
Bringing it all to life -
A rainforest green;
Her sacred canopy.

Vivid,
Ever so bright,
Be it, by day,
Or, be it, by night.

Black and white do not exist
On this side of her world -
There's no grey!
Here, even shadows embrace
The blessed, illuminated,
Brilliant, pure light.

Doom,
Gloom,
And dullness,
Instantaneously banished!

Momentously replaced by
An addictive, elated state of vitality -
A miraculous invisible substance;
She embraces her newfound sanity!
Insanity just vanished!

Her aura
Paints her surroundings,
They are so alive -
In high definition, in full colour.
There are no toxins here,
No sorrow,

Nothing is needed,
Time stands still -
No need to borrow.

All of the brokenness
Is left behind,

She wanders off! -
Her soul
Free to unwind.

Here, she has no fear of heights -
There is a sacred comfort
In all that is phenomenally high,  
And so,
In all that grows,
From deep down
Below.

She inhales purity
Into her lungs,
She exhales
All of her noxious emotions,
She sighs with relief,
As she lets them all go.

Sinking her feet
Into the rich ground,

Each footstep brings her closer
To the edge of her world;
This is where she is often found.

Here, she is free...
She asks herself  "To stay, or to go?" 
The answer, she already knows,

The soft breeze carries
This wanderlust decision away,
As the free-spirited wind
Gently blows.

By Lady R.F ©2016
This poem was written to describe, and to help explain, the cover of my book.
"The Edge of My World"
(soon to be released.)
It explains why I chose the cover, and what I was feeling and thinking.
It explains my book's contents.
 Nov 2016
Allen Robinson
We write for passion
as it eternally sustains us

We write for others
because we are inspired

We write for ourselves
out of expression & freedom

We write for justice
to shed light on dark matters

We write for peace
to give hope & compassion

We write for sorrow
to ease the hurt & pain

We write for love
as it embodies our souls

So Let It Be Written...
My favorite movie line of all times from actor Yul Brynner.
 Nov 2016
ajit patel
Times between night and mornin,
Just when the chill about sets in,
Limbs frantically search for that crumpled quilt
Increasing warmth and ahh sweet grogginess.

A dream floats in my blank sleep
You and me tootling along a forgotten, familiar street
In a battered old Hyundai Santro?? it is.
Twenty years of acquired cobwebs melt
Evoke fond memories and unexplored possibilities
Overlaid with a wild imagination, the images move in slow motion

Me driving, your gaze surveying the landscape
You are older and plumper, I have a beer belly and a bald patch
There is not much to say, or too much to say but no time.
Four Eyes frequently lock and search for something
Knowing it but daring not to say.

Your sultry liquid voice breaks into a song, an old Urdu ghazal,
Of obscure origin and meaning,
The notes glide and acquire shapes in your husky abused throat,
Silvery quicksilver, flowing, and always round  at the edges
Unfettered and undisturbed by the bumpy ride and noisy springs
Brings whole of creation in the Battered old Hyundai Santro Still.

The vocal vibrates and resonates in my bones and skull and in my soul
Stimulates humours I didn’t know exist
Eyes lock again, a mild smile is exchanged,
We understand each other
Know the limits and improbabilities
Its not going to be in this life time dear.

Let’s seal it with a kiss
An embrace exchanged over the gear levers and handbrakes
Oblivious to the barreling old Hyundai Santro
Your tiny ******* and Pantene scented hair
Your lips still perfect, soft, warm, moist and downy at the corners,.
Unfamiliar yet so familiar.
(C). Ajit Patel, 21st Nov, 2016
 Nov 2016
Tony Luna
I hate how I can't sleep at night.
Why does my body put up a fight?
I yawn like I'm gasping for air.
So I lay there listening to "The Prayer".

Pulling out a pen helps me sleep.
Rather than imagining and counting sheep.
My spilled ink allows me to create a universe on a smooth surface.
Like Van Gogh with a canvas.

I write till my face hits the table.
Every night is the same, so I stay up planning my next travel.
Sometimes I'll wake tearing a page off my face.
I'll read it then throw it straight into the fireplace.
The Prayer is a song by Kid Cudi that I enjoy listening to.
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