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She wrote me
and my memory
cannot write her off.
Ma ; 23 years and still counting
 Jun 2016
John Hawkins
One day, I will leave this world.
The energy that pumps through me will dissipate;
The body I know will begin to rot and decay;
The thoughts and emotions I feel now,
with great urgency and severity,
gone.

The people I love will put me in the ground,
to cover the stench of my rotting corpse;
They will visit 'me' once a year with obligatory tears in their eyes.
They will auction off all of my personal belongings,
All the things I cherished and valued;
To look upon them will be 'too much'.

Slowly I will fade from their memories:
My personality;
My laugh;
My smile;
The way I held my face when I was concentrating really hard.
All the little things that make me me, forgotten;
Like I never existed at all.

In their loneliest moments, perhaps, they will remember me.
Not the real me, of course;
Just my name attached to a sort of vague concept of death,
An idea of what it is to no longer exist;
My memory will serve to give them a sense of their own mortality;
An occasionally present reminder that they too, one day, will die.
 Jun 2016
Richard Riddle
For all of the newcomers to the site, and you 'old comers', too.)*

On December 16, 2013, in my work titled "Thank You",  was the first time I used the term "Poet's Train" for all of the contributors to the HP site. For that is exactly what it is. It also reminds me of times that have passed.
My grandparents lived in Joshua, Texas, a small town not far from the city of Fort Worth. Their house was only about 100 yards, or less, from the railroad tracks. Every evening around six o'clock we would hear the faint moan of the first whistle. My brother and me, both little tykes(6-10), would run to the back porch, anticipating the subsequent whistles from a huge piece of machinery. As the whistle grew louder, we could see the column of smoke billowing from the coal-burning engine as it neared. All of a sudden, there it was. We weren't the only ones that stood and watched, for there is something magical about trains, that attract both young, and old.
Our biggest delight however, did not lie with the train itself, but waving to the passengers and engineers as it passed, seeing them wave back, blowing that whistle in gentle acknowledgement, as if saying, "Good to see you, thanks for coming, have a great day!"
So it is with the "Poet's Train." When a piece is posted the whistle blows, each piece becomes a boxcar. Each writer, a passenger; their computer, the engine, and every reader waving as it passes. Its length, infinite, with no caboose. It will come the next day, the next night, with new passengers, with new cargo. I love it. I really do!

copyright: richard riddle, December 19, 2014
 Jun 2016
Allen Robinson
A song of words that express
A fluid compilation of ones being
Styles abound yet rules apply
but they are made to be broken
Sonnets and Haiku's
they evoke unbridled emotion
Love, hate and sadness
we pen a subject that moves us
we relate, we admire and contrast
Expression of epic force
we cry, we laugh and wonder
Rhymes and rhythms we create
with substance and candor
Occasionally making no sense
but only to the poet
We applaud, we marvel and appreciate
the creative mind.
to all poets
 Jun 2016
Ma Cherie
I was flipping through some books that I got from a free pile.... some lovely literary titles.
In the back with a note with a quote from Robin Williams

"Please don't worry so, because in the end none of us have a very long time on this Earth life is fleeting. And if you're ever distressed cast your eyes to the Summer Sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night if a shooting star streaks through the Blackness, turning night into day make a wish, think of me, make your life SPECTACULAR! "

I can hear him saying that in a sincere yet....  comedic tone. Words like this above and the ones following just seem to always flow from his lips

" you're only given a little spark of Madness you mustn't lose it"

" Comedy is acting out optimism"

" People say satire is dead. Isn't dead it's just living in the White House."

" the Statue of Liberty is no longer saying 'give me your poor, you're tired, your huddled masses'- she's got a baseball cap and a bat yelling- you want a piece of me?"

" Time is the best teacher, but unfortunately, it kills all of its students"

"Never pick a fight with an ugly person they've got nothing to lose"

And finally...not by any favorite

"No matter what people tell you words and ideas can change the world"
All above quotes by Robin Williams

"I think Robin Williams was an amazing quick witted poet, an exceptionally gifted actor...because I'm not sure he was acting...and he was also a very shiny human being" - Cherie Nolan © 2016
Fun, inspiring.... Just because I hadn't been writing poetry when he died so this is for him. I personally loved him as an actor I wish I could have known him more as a person which is unrealistic! Through his words & pictures I hear his voice and know him as well as I can. If anyone doesn't care for Robin Williams or comedy that is totally fine- if not perhaps you can find something in his words to appreciate...Farewell Mork! thanks for reading. :)
 Jun 2016
Lazhar Bouazzi
What is a poet
Who leaves
A green poem
Unsigned
In red ink
unnoticed?

(c) LazharBouazzi, June 12, 2016
 Jun 2016
Joel M Frye
Poets do not
make a living;
they make a life.
 Jun 2016
LJ
We are the unsung poets
who toil in day for the harvests
then write at night as the wick burns
in the dark slips of our meek turns

We are the unseen poets
who invisibly raise armours
swing pens as the dark evades the light
a strip to the core of the soul,our right

We are the trampled heroes
whose halos are out-shined by thunder
and tongues tied to a word twisted silence
Our heavenly seduction of a naked dance

I am the unsung poet
inspired by love and rhythm of life
transpired by the ounce of human experience
My eternal contract that only makes sense
 Jun 2016
brandon nagley
Mine Jane, to whom do I compareth thee?
To the moon's, sunset's, star's; ancient sea's?
Thou art the rose of the Philippines, the heat
To mine *****. O' mine woman, thou art the
Divine, the release of dopamine in mine
Dismayed mind; thou art so fine mine dear,
In every calendar season. With thee I laugh
With none questions nor reason's, thy
Countenance is of the ethereal race;
O' dearest, mine pet, one day ourn heart's
Shalt beat in one stage. Darkness shalt be
Trampled under ourn wild toes,
Singing song's, speaking hymn's
Saints do only know. Mayest
Ourn caru grow, mayest god
Bless ourn love, elated
by eachother's word's
Of hope, babes of the
Same yolk; apparition's
Of the same cloak,
Vibrant in color.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley, (àgapi mou) dedication
Thee- you
Thou- you
Art- are
*****- has many definitions this one is- used to refer to the chest. Of men and women.
Thy-your
Countenance-a person's face or ****** expression.
Mayest- may.
Caru- welsh word for love.

Day late on Jane's ten month anniversary poem our anniversary was on ninth already made her something yesterday made her a cute romance comic strip that's funny lolll today poem .. least I try though not best lol!!!! Will be posting this to SoundCloud in about 20 mins if wanna hear it at
SoundCloud .com type my name brandon Nagley will find this poem there!
Thanks for reading dear poets!!!!
 Jun 2016
Dan
I am a simple soul
When I die I want to be remembered fondly as a pretty decent poet
I don't want fanfare
But if I receive it I won't complain
Most of all I want to be remembered
My greatest fear is that everything I am and everything I have ever done will be reduced to a forgotten blip in the back of someone's mind
How I so much wish I had the power and strength to start fires I have no intention of putting out
My greatest philosophy is that a majority of people who do evil know **** well what they are doing, they just don't care
And enough of them can get away with it to inspire the next generation
Let me inspire a generation that won't allow evil to be done and go unpunished
Leniency towards evil is a joke that stopped being funny long before now
It never really was funny to start out with
Sometimes I catch myself thinking of all the rocks thrown at Peekskill and how they got away with it
I think of the four dead in Ohio
Even now I think of Sacco and Vanzetti and cry

I am a simple soul
I only wish that you remember those that came before us and sacrificed everything they had
And then I hope you think of me
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