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 Jun 2014
Jonine Garcia
I won’t let just anybody get in. I won’t let many people walk through my life then eventually drop me after done breaking my heart. I won’t let just anybody crash my heart and my whole being after I gave them the trust that for billions of people is a precious gift. I won’t let them know every single detail on my skin, if one day I know they're meant to leave me like there’s nothing happens. That after they get what they want for me -- treat me like I am now nothing. I won’t let anybody use me, for those temporary pleasures and leave me like a kid who left their toys after they grew up. I won't let just become their past. I don’t want to become just an old story, that I once became their girl who trusted them and loved them. That I once became a part of their story, but ended up in a heartbreaking, because of many foolish reasons. I didn't wish to be like a broken road filled with dust, stains, and prints of people’s shoes who are walking along on me and marks of car wheels as they roll over me. I won’t let that happen to me. I care for my heart and value my whole being, to let somebody steal it to just break and tear it apart. I want to prepare my heart and dedicate it to someone who really worth it. I believe that my heart is a diamond it deserves to be kept and valued, because it will break, shatter, and be demolished at the slightest of hands.

If I had to learn by letting too many people come into my life to get my lesson, it’s not my way of learning. I don’t need to break my heart and **** myself many times to learn in life. To grow up. I will grow up, if I let myself grow through the experiences I had. I don’t need to be killed and crashed by many people who once I’ve trusted. My heart doesn’t deserve to cry every single night, because someone is again made it fall in love and then again, need to drop it out. My heart doesn’t deserve to be broken after of trusting someone so much.  My heart doesn’t need to be restless. It doesn't need people who will easily give her up, when time is up. My heart doesn’t need to meet many living, who will just cut her into shreds. If someone truly wants to win her, then make them worth it. Because my heart is the most precious gift I had, to the person who God meant for me. What I need is someone who will also take my heart as a diamond that I might not be the prettiest girl in this world, but will truly do anything to win it. And when he finally won it, he will take care of it more than as an expensive gift from a very special someone, and no man wants to steal it from him. I won't let just anybody get in, except to a man who will always win my heart like a diamond with a priceless value.
(j.g)
 Jun 2014
SøułSurvivør
Forgiveness is a concious decision.
Forgetting a byproduct of time.

Soul Survivor
10W
Unforgiveness is a self administered poison. The leading cause of death.
 Jun 2014
pluie d'été
One day
I want to write a poem
That captures your soul
In the adjectives
Describing the sky

One day
I want to write a sentence
That you will carry
In your memory
Scarred and stained
For an infinity

One day
I want to write a short story
Of a guy
A lot like you
And a girl
A lot like me
With no lies
Only honesty
And a forever that lasted
Just a while

One day
I want to write a paragraph
About the sea in you
And the sea in me
And how we fell in
Each other
And never needed to come up for air

One day
I want to write a dictionary
With all of our own definitions
Of everyone else's words
It will start from the letter Z
And end on A
Because it will be easier
That way

One day
I want to write an essay
On how the sunlight
Made patterns on your skin
Even after you lied
And shadowed the constellations
Screaming honesty
Into the dark

One day
I want to write a novel
About the way your voice
And his voice
Sounded
Just before
You both were about to cry

One day
I want to write lyrics
For the song
I meant to sing to you
About the moon
And the sun
And how they dance
Whenever all of our eyes are closed
Even if it's just for a second
(Light
Always travels faster
Than sound)

One day
I want to write you a telegram
With someone else's hand
To tell you
How much I miss you
And how my heart
Is not in my chest anymore
Really-
It's shattered across the sky
Just for you to see

One day
I want to write you a letter
To tell you
That you didn't know what love is
And neither did I

But
I still love you
 May 2014
Elizabeth Squires
Let us not argue anymore
About who'll walk to the corner store
We've had this row many times before
It's your undertaking to do the chore.

If you wish to eat fish pie for tea
You'll get your feet going in a hurry!
Stalling and prevaricating won't wash with me
Hop to it you dawdling fuddy duddy.

I'm ****** fed up with all these rows
Are you women always such cows?
Always on the who's and how's
You make me feel like a little girl's blouse.

It's a woman's job to do the shopping
Again you've got me really hopping!
We really should be out there bopping
Although my dancing is really shocking.

We've not been out on the town for years
This corner store walker is now filled with jeers
It may be my job to get the groceries at Sears
But our dancing and romancing have been in arrears...

I'm pretty sure you'll have the last word
But here my argument must be heard
You always treat me like a ****
And claim I'm as mad as George the third.

Darling I've treated you as a sow
Why don't we bring an end to our row
Let us hug a little and make up now
We'll enjoy an intimate pow wow.

What's done is done is what they say
Okay, okay I'll earn my pay
I'm on my way!

(C) Paul Butters and Elizabeth Squires 25/04/2014
 May 2014
Àŧùl
I don't resemble an angel,
But I definitely look like a demon.
I don't resemble an angel,
But I definitely look like a demon.
Perhaps you mistook me for the Archangel,
But I'm a definitely a staunch demon searching for an angel.

I'm definitely not the archangel,
I'm but surely the devil.
I'm definitely not the archangel,
I'm but surely the devil.
Perhaps I fooled you by camouflaging an Angel,
But I fell from grace long ago when you were not even born.
My HP Poem #15
© Atul Kaushal
 May 2014
Joshua Haines
I'm a ******
I don't do drugs or drink
my only flaw is how much I think
I don't believe in God but I believe in me
And I don't know where I belong on my family tree

I don't propose that **** is based on a girl's clothes
I suppose I'm dumb or brilliant but who really knows
You could say that I'm narcissistic or have low self-esteem
with a girlfriend with a pocketless pocket and a head full of dreams

Whoa that didn't flow, that last line
Imperfect effort seems to be an attribute of mine
Look at this rhyme scheme, it's so diverse
I guess I can get away with this; I couldn't get any worse
One favorite, three favorite, fifty-four
Give me validation, I could always use some more
Hello, Hellopoetry! You've been so forgiving
of my beautiful poetry that reflects an ugly way of living
Tell me, tell me: Should I write more?
What if my sadness is gone, and my melancholy no more?
Will you still love me if I write about crinkle-cut fries?

"****. No more suicide poems, does this kid still try?"

Is there still a Josh Haines if he no longer cries?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he doesn't wanna die?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he starts to fall?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he gets it all?
Is there still a Josh Haines after every kiss?
Is there still a Josh Haines after he writes all of this?

Eh. Maybe, baby. Maybe.
 May 2014
Natalie Wood
How does technology make the world a better place?
I’ll tell you, if you can keep up pace.
At first we were awed by a simple light,
Then a space shuttle taking off into the night.
We work and work, night and day,
Looking, looking for another way.
We look at places from across the world,
With a peek into a book, filled with words.
Some people think “ What shall I make today?”
While others say “ Should I stand here or lay?
2013 © Natalie Wood
 May 2014
GitacharYa VedaLa
Where The Mind is Without Fear

WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
The first line of my previous poem is taken from this classic
 May 2014
Àŧùl
We see a lot of dreams,
Of future life,
With opportunities rife,
In this land,
And in this birth itself...

Though we'll get married,
It isn't for the first time,
Either for you and for me,
But we still tie the knots,
Together we start it again..

Haven't we met previously too,
Hopefully you remember well,
We did meet in previous birth,
We had had made the promise,
You & me marry in every birth.
So we won't be married, we'll be remarried!
The true love stays immortal
My HP Poem #624
©Atul Kaushal
 May 2014
GitacharYa VedaLa
Flowers of water
Came from the clouds tip tap tup
It rains in our town
Yes. Finally it rains
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
"Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark."
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a "tote", whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, "Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark."

There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink his dexter eyelid shut,
"I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut."
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
"I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark."

A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat;
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark
No doubt, it fairly took him in — the man from Ironbark.

He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
"You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! One hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life the man from Ironbark."

He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And "******! ****** ******!" yelled the man from Ironbark.

A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said "'Twas all in fun'
T’was just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone."
"A joke!" he cried, "By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark."

And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
"Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough."
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
 May 2014
GitacharYa VedaLa
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is ******, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Mandela often recited this poem to his fellow prisoners to inspire them

A film of the same name was directed by the incomparable Clint Eastwood, and it was a huge hit. Morgan Freeman acted as Mandela, and costarred was Matt Damon
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