Summary of a thought - Hello Poetry

Jul 2011

D Amanda

You complain that I don’t tell you anything.
I’m a secret and a mystery to you.
You’re my daughter, you say.
Everything should show plainly on my face
and my heart needs to be planted squarely on my sleeve.
Well, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I need to prove to you I’m worth it.
I’m sorry that I don’t trust telling you anything
because I’m afraid you’ll squash
my moments of happiness.
I’m sorry I could never be
who you wanted me to be.
But you never saw me for who I was.
You never accepted me just as I am.
“You need to be better.
You need to be thinner.
You can’t sing for the rest of your life, it’s not a living.
You can’t
You’re not
You are forbidden.
We always thought you’d get C’s in school.
What’s that on your face?
Let me pick at you,
because I can’t stand to see any blemishes.
(Never mind you’re a teenage girl,
that blackhead has got to go.)”
And you wonder why I don’t go home much anymore.
I think the things that hurts the most
is that you didn’t have high expectations for me.
You didn’t push me to be the best that I could be,
you pushed me to be who you thought I should be.
But now, I’m someone who you don’t recognize.
Because I realized the most important thing:
I can’t be anyone
but myself.
P.S.-I had a 4.0 this semester.
So much for the C’s.

Mar 2011

Bellis Tart

Frying

LSD
acid rain
slowly detaching
feel no pain
lights all blur
colours smear
cold wind blowing
whispers her song in my ear
nerves tense up
panic saunters in
if I dont keep sippin' this water
the bad tippin' will win
a bubble surrounds me
but I can still see clearly through
a new found understanding
of just what is really true
you placed a cymbal on a drum
to play for us your show
sparks fly off, with every hit
and time moves endlessly slow
I smoke, but I feel no satisfaction
my fingers swell like sausage links
I wonder if it's all for real, or
if it's just what my mind thinks
this is a musical trip today
we jam, and fry, and blaze
we laugh, because we can't understand, like
no sentences are made from the words we say
soon I long for my cocoon
to swaddle my self in warm
while your laces turn to snakes
unafraid, they mean no harm
the morning eventually comes
but feels like she's been here all along
the rising sunlight hurts my eyes
as the morning birds sing their songs

Maybe I'll get breakfast....

Feb 2011

JVL NARASIMHA RAO

AN OLD MAN IN MY DREAM

An old man clad in orthodox Indian Attire
Entered my bed room. His Pure and white
Dhoti was steeped in blood.
I asked him who he was. He said, ‘I won
Independence for you and Like Jesus
I shed holy blood to purify the Indians”
I asked him the reason for his coming
He said, “I want to establish a political party’
I said, “Your party and you will utterly be defeated”
He asked,” Do Indians forget my sacrifices and me”
“No. We have great respect for you and we remember
You in national festivals and in elections”
But we will not like you to come to power”
Why? He quite surprisingly asked.
“You always plead for truth, non-violence and honesty
And fight against liquor and corruption.
The Indians are really fed up with your principles.
Even your staunchest disciples will not vote for you”
I said and the vision disappeared most dejectedly.
I woke up from my dream wondering where
He had gone .I felt very sorry for the old man

Feb 2011

JVL NARASIMHA RAO

THE DOS AND DONTS OF A POET

A poet should have a noble soul
Cheating should be never his/her goal
Winning a competition is not so important
As the means you have adopted to get it

A poet should be noble
His thoughts shall not wobble
Poetry soothes even a torn heart
But fake poetry kills the spirit apart

A poet should disclose his/her identity
Otherwise he/she becomes a fake entity
You may write with a nick or pen name
But you should stick to it for your fame

A poet must not write with too many fictitious names
The other poets can no longer be the fools
They will instantly recognize your deformity
And hate your shameful profanity

The poem is not intended to hurt anybody but I am totally upset with fake poetry on all popular poetic sites,I really hate fake poems and poets

Feb 2011

Nicholas Laurent

Whatever.

A rupturing, promising, hell-bent accolade.
The falling out between lovers ...
And the gut-wrenching fools of this night.

Your time here is almost done.
So cover the light under a paper-thin parasol ...
And the demons are sure to grace the fountainhead.

Still, fear drives us mad.
Laughing amid the distant crashes of emerald rockets ...
And the splitting sides of smiling crocodiles.

Whatever.

Jan 2011

JVL NARASIMHA RAO

A POET'S POEM

Can a poet write a poem
For the sake writing a poem?
I think he will certainly can
But it becomes mere fun

A poet needs to be emotionally touched
His creativity is incredibly recharged
A beautiful poem is instantly released
And the reader is immeasurably pleased

Unless something touches his heart
There can be no creation of everlasting art
Spontaneous overflow of emotions is poet’s natural part
It makes his poems immensely smart

A poet can't always write at his best
He needs to pass the readers' test
If jaded, he needs considerable rest
His poem becomes the seeting sun in the west