Beauty - Hello Poetry

Mar 2014

r

Desert pool shimmers/
Drinking water from cupped hands
Cool sweetness of life

r ~ 5Mar14

Mar 2014

Austin Pursley

I was born without a family,
Always stayed inside my bed,
I never had a friend,
By 15 I was dead,

You found me in my closet,
With a noose around my neck,
You knew that I was gone,
Called my brother in to check,

Your suspicions turned out true,
I guess it's not so bad,
I mean he didn't amount to much,
And he was always way too sad,

I was forgotten by next week,
No funeral was had,
No one to call and tell,
Not even his own dad.

I am aware this isn't true,
Just how things play out in my head,
Please just let me be so selfish,
Please don't miss me when I'm dead.

Mar 2014

SheOfNeverland

Why do i even try (to stay alive) when

my utter inability
    to take responsibility
             is killing me...
                    and the possibility
                            of Heaven's plausibility
                                     is thrilling me...
                                            while my capability
                                                    to harness my hostility
                                                          is willing me...
                                                               And the last of my civility
                                                                    Disappears in mere futility
                                                                          As death's cool kiss is chilling me...

Mar 2014

Damaged

I'm depressed. I'm high. And I have no idea what I'm writing

I was warming up tea and I put it in for a little too much time.
But it was too long so my tea boiled over and made a mess.
But that didn't mean I could never make tea again.
It just meant I had to wipe it up better and be more careful next time.
This reminded me of life.
That sometimes things bombard your life and everything happens at once.
And what happens?
You break
You boil over
But no matter what it is, not matter how much it hurts.
You just have to pick yourself up.
Brush off your hands.
And smile a little longer.

Mar 2014

Mike Hauser

Why Poetry?

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

Mar 2014

Craig Harrison

What am I?

When you say I'm not a proper man, what am I then?
I read and write, I like poetry and I like romance
I might not like fighting or drinking like most men
but I'm not ashamed to admit that I have feelings and I'm not scared to express them

I like to watch ballet and listen to Opera
I like a bit of Mozart and some Beethoven
one of my favorites is Pachelbel's Canon in D
I think it's right when a man gets down on his knee

I believe in love, princes and princesses
I watch films like The Notebook and The Lake House
I like walks on the beach and watching the sun set
and I get scared when I come in contact with a threat

I like antiques and museums
I like art and shopping
So I might not be the same as other men
but if I'm not a proper man what am I then

I like football, I like fast cars
I want to take a trip to the planet Mars
I don't like cleaning, I've never had my nails done
I like women and I've always wondered what it'd be like to shoot a gun

So if I'm not a proper man, what am I then?

This is the second one, I hope you like it.

Mar 2014

E. E. Cummings

The Rose

the rose
is dying the
lips of an old man ******

the petals
hush

mysteriously invisible mourners move
with prose faces and sobbing,garments
The symbol of the rose

motionless
with grieving feet and
wings
mounts

against the margins of steep song
a stallion swetneess ,the

lips of an old man ******
the petals.

Mar 2014

Austin Pursley

I forgive you.

What was going through your head,
When you pulled into that lot?,
Grabbed the gun under the seat,
Put it to your brain and shot,

What was going through your head,
When you took way too many pills?,
Did you regret it as you died?
I just wonder how it feels,

I meant to ask before you left,
What's it like to watch your body die?,
But I've been watching all along,
It's almost time to say goodbye,

I was mad at you at first,
I cried about you in my bed,
The thoughts that made you pull the trigger,
Are the same ones running through my head.

Mar 2014

Daniel Magner

Bowl

I helped a friend
stumble to the bathroom
so he could puke,
held his head
so he threw up in the
toilet
and not everywhere else,
made sure he got
toothpaste on his teeth and gums
then led him to a couch
so he could lay with
a cute girl and cuddle
while I made bed
out of a chair
the next room over
evaporating like
the last puddle
of this storm
cold and wishing
I was him
snuggled up
and warm
.
.
.

Daniel Magner 2014

Mar 2014

Wandering soul

It was raining one night

It was raining
One night
In a little girls heart
The torrent inconsolable
The storm did thunder part

It was raining
One night
And she didn't
Want it to stop
She liked the feel
Of the drops on her skin
When she began to sob

It was raining
One night
The water kept flowing
Down the cliff of her nose
Tides gently brewing

It was raining
One night
And you brought
A coat
And I'm still
The same little girl
Whom you saved
When she needed you
The most

Feb 2014

Navarana

Forest

She went into the forest
The darkness soaked her up
Into the forest she went.

The deer
It has no fear
She went into the forest.

The fox
to thee it talks
Into the forest she went.

The crow
thy anxiety will grow
She went into the forest.

Death shall occur
What will thee prefer?
She went into the forest.
Into the forest she went.

Feb 2014

Ryan Galloway

Last Words

I want my last words to be remembered.
I want them to be so grandiose that it is like a gunshot through future generations.
I want it to reverberate beyond the time that my mortal coil is shed
And live on in the hearts of man
I want them to be cross stitched on the pillows that line retirement homes.
I want them to be the ashes from which a revolution is born
The fertile ground from which peace may grow.
I want them to be the muse that inspires creative thought.
I want to live vicariously through those few sentences that leave my mouth alongside my last breaths, but then I think better of it.
I want my last words to be a whisper,
I want them to barely make it past my lips.
I want them to sooth hatred and calm anger.
I want them to lull the aching soul.
I want them to point the way my spirit will leave.
To the father, who is waiting for me.

Feb 2014

marina

a quick thought

your mind is a forest, and i
want to carve my initials
onto every tree