COLLECTED POEMS - Hello Poetry

Aug 2018

Morning sun rises, here he comes
All night I have waited
Waiting for him to wake from his slumber

He is old, frail in need of company
She left him for a place in the clouds
Never a smile only a frown

I long to say good day
Its lonely on the web
Waiting to snare a bug
On the silken strands I call home

He shuffles his feet along the rug
I watch it all high upon the ceiling
Wishing for a glance upon my web

He never see's me
I see him with all eight eyes
Mr Mccoy, That's what I call him

He makes a cup of tea
I stretch a few legs hoping he will notice
The kettle boils, steam burns my feet
I scuttle to the top as beads form
Like raindrops on silver strings

His tender eyes peer out glass panes
Watching his crop, Old Mr Mccoy
Deep lines mark his face, thoughts of her mark his mind

Eight legs, no way to hug
If only he would see a friend in me

A picture of her, a tear shed
I spin my web, lowering
Closer and closer to his head

"Mr Mccoy ill be your friend!"
No words can I make to fall on death ears
He takes his tea and leaves me be

Tomorrow he might look up
Ill be ready, waiting on my web.

A little story of a spider who just wants a friend.

#friend #spider #web #love

Aug 2018

Christopher Victor Russon

The garden

Come join us in the garden
Your army days are done
Sit down and take it easy
Enjoy soak up the sun.

Now you need no longer worry
You will never be going back
Relax no need to hurry
Just forget about the past.

You say it's hard to carry on
Leaving the horrors of war behind
You often have those nightmares
From behind the enemy line.

So look now toward the future
The poserbilitys they are vast
There is that new horizon
Even though it's hard to grasp.

Come join us in the garden
Leave those fearful days behind
Look at all the lovely flowers
Representing peaceful times.

Look at this gardens beaughty
The war just had to end
Who knows what lies ahead of you
Your enemy could become your friend.

From the days of war come the time of peace
After the second world war came that new horizon
Never the less wars still continue.I had a friend who suffered PSTD.
To me that says humans are not designed for war.

Aug 2018

Edmund black

Poetic Cries

I just can’t help noticing
So many poets
With splits hearts
The hearts that cries out for help
Yet I’ve noticed
The silent sounds
From the comments
The words you’ve never said
Not a sound is heard
As they’re desperately crying for help
Their tears are falling for us
Their words crying ink
To be touched and set free
we must open our eyes
To their writings for it has a tale to tell
A glimpse of the roller-coaster of emotions
going on through the poets lives
But many go unnoticed
So I prayed
We can noticed their cries
And shield them from dangers unaware
And try to see yourself through the poets minds
Sometimes I ask myself
Are they truly In need of help
Or Is it just writings
And since I don’t have the answer
You don’t know the answer
We must and should
Reached out
Yes it is true
It’s not our profession
But it is also true that
We are all God’s creatures
And the great book says
help those who cannot
Help themselves
So next time you
And you and you
Notice a writer
Crying out for help through their ink
It won’t hurt to send
them a few words
of encouragement
A few words of hope
Or maybe just a good morning
Sometimes goes a long way
let them know
Life is precious
It has its ups and downs
But it always gets better
As I expressed
It wasn’t long ago
When a phone call saved my life
Maybe you’re the last word
the poet is waiting on
Before they’ve reach a dead end
It’s too late

Aug 2018

Kurt Philip Behm

New Storms

How now the vanishing wind…

The days are upon us
  last season begins

All words are regifted
  and placed into song

As time has now shifted
  our last excuse gone

How now the suffering lies…

The light burns immortal
  old visions decry

What’s done long behind us
  new storms call our name

The clouds mark their entry
—the past left to blame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

Jul 2018

EJR

The girl who speaks in silence

She is made up of unwritten poems, and unsent letters.

Silence was her confidant although her heart was screaming and her thoughts were tempests.
Thunder was music to her hears; and the strong gushing winds lulled her to sleep.
Unconquerable; afraid to be vulnerable.
She is made up of layers of high walls and unraveled facades.

She carries pain like a paper-back book and knew tragedy like home.
She's loquacious but her silence means more than the words she ever said;
Feeling everything and saying nothing;
Saying nothing and meaning everything.

She saw more sunsets than sunrise;
but sees sunshine in both just the same.

She held roses by its thorns and saw stars die as blackholes;
but still carries a light like a supernova that outshines the entire galaxy

She is known by everyone to be talkative but i know her through her silence

#silence #inspiring