Poems That Get Me - Hello Poetry

May 2016

Anubis the Philosomancer

Armed with knowledge
of any given set of rules,
One inherits great Power:
arbitration of One's own

Be well-versed
enough to be able to subverse
any and all obstacles, however adverse,
and, moreover, to be able to transverse
thyself (and, by extension, thy universe!)
perchance edified by some means of verse,
(but not necessarily: bask in the diverse!)
during this sacred and fleeting saga of the converse
called Life: denied, defamed, and defiled by perverse
and attenuated souls; true cowards: unwilling to traverse
their own inner darkness, rather opting for the reverse:
to turn themselves schismatically and indefinitely averse
to the divine, ineffable, and limitless inverse:

So this plea, please:

Just be you,
let them be them.
Let me be me,
and let her be her.
Let him be him,
just let us be us.
Just let us.
Lettuce.

("Why he talkin' 'bout lettuce now, mommy?"
"I guess he just think he funny, the fool!")

Look, point is:

You are you and I am not,
and I'm okay with that.

I am I and you are not,
and I'm okay with that.

I hope you feel the same.
If not, by me it's coo',
yet I jus' gotta say:
I pity the foo'.

Bask in the holy beauty of this Life
while you still have the chance.
Truly, Solace awaits those who are willing to face this unchangeable aspect of this Life:

Diversity is the nature of this Universe;
the Void is One is Two are Three are the Ten Thousand
(et cetera, blah blah blah)
Get over it and strive for balance.
Maintain balance.
Create it.
Be it.
Be able to lose balance and find it again and again and again...
Be it.
Be you.
I'll be me.
I'll try, at least.
I hope you do, too.
I mean, I hope you try to be you,
not that you try to be me..
'cause that's for me to do.. not you. that's..
oh jesus, here we go!

Foremost,
One must harmonize with One's own Godself.

Nary another
can or will do that for you,
nor shall ye for any other.

So, whatsayeth thou:
let's just try
and we'll see just what we can do.
I'm optimistic,
albeit a sign of weakness in such a needlessly vampyristic world.

Please,
heed my verse
should ye be so apt,
or, rather:
inclined!

Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.

I hope this makes even just half as much sense to fresh minds as it makes to me right now.

Words are constrained to interpretation,
but therein lies much of their magic.

I wouldn't change it if I could.
--

"******'fuckidyfuck! It's five in the ******' mornin' already‽‽
I been writin' n' editin' this ******' ******* for an hour now‽
Jesus Christ!"

"Whuddup, homeboy?"

"I got work at ******' ten a.-******'-m.!!"

"God-****! You so ******, yo.
Huh, ***** t'be you, foo'!"

"You tellin' me‽ Shiiit.
Look, Jesus, bro, I got a favor t'ask ya:
So, I know you all, uh- real nice an' all,
an' I ain't tryin' t'take advantage a that immaculate ****,
but, look: I drank a lot a water, 'n I got plenty left, but uh-
I could really ******' use some medicinal miracle wine right about now!"

--
PS: Profanity in the notes field ain't explicit, so it would seem.
In keeping with the allusion at the beginning of this piece:
Knowledge is ******' Power, y'all!
-
Now it's five-*******-thirty-
make that five-*******-forty-five in the morning.
Oh, the afflictions I incur in the name of this silly piece of scripture.

Still no miracle wine...
--
Seven o'******-clock rolls around with the epiphany that my lazy and crazy self can get me my own ******' wine! Expedite the whole debacle a little, y'know?

--
Seventeen-*******'-fiddy-one and I just got off work; ne'er got me wine,
but surely ein bißchen Whiskey!
Los geht's!

May 2016

Miss Honey

Myrtle Ave

It is not pretty anymore
I have no pasture
no sweet annie
or cider apples

I miss the nights on Myrtle Ave
always wine/music/friends
and Arlo’s playing guitar
and Brendan’s picking his mandolin
Zach’s holding my hand, we were crying in my bed earlier
but you
had wool and gold draped all over
drinking Italian prosecco
eating berries off your fingers
curled your hands over like a rabbit
tiptoed toward me
"drunk hands and sneaky feet”

Hey, that's just a memory now
Tonight there are no more
gimlets/dumpster food/hand carved spoons
it is cold toes/empty bed/hollow stare
I would trade this safety
for that love, wholeheartedly

May 2016

Valsa George

Swings of Life

With the peak of spring in the month of May
In the early hours of a pleasantly sunlit day
Two kids sat cuddled on a swing
Feeling as though they were taking on wing

Swinging in the air, they began to sing
Their sweet lay breaking the silence with its ring
They kicked their legs in rising delight
And felt like thistledowns ever so light

Up and down on the swing was fun
They closed their eyes on being face to face with the sun
Felt the swish and sway of the buoyant air
And knew the light tug of breeze on their curly hair

As the air got caught in the frills of their frock
Their eyes gleamed bright in delightful spark
Imagining themselves to be astronauts in space,
An ebullient excitement lit up their face

From a raised angle, they saw the Earth in green folds lie
Watched the surrounding hills standing awfully high
Saw a small stream flowing as a slow moving train
With trees lined up on its banks in unbroken chain

Longingly I watched these children free of all worry and pain
Also their aerial feats, not tainted by any melancholy stain
How I miss these childhood days of innocent fun
As my hours, towards the sunset, quickly run

I envy little children and their care free days......! They leave me immensely nostalgic as I had a joyous childhood in a large happy family !

May 2016

PJ Poesy

Emotion Detectors On

Confused blessings with bruised memories
Delights fixated upon, rushing hormonal rage
Not all tragedies are what they seem
My time soon to be distant as this page

Terrific is my precious time with you
Falls amongst feed most unpopular post
Friends who won’t even look unto
To them, I am mere gabardine ghost

Lines will be forgotten and forged
By a mass of “who knows who” status
Emotional detectors are blinking on
Pay no attention; just more apparatus

May 2016

K Balachandran

Her invisible wings

She had enormous wings, he could imagine,
how light it would to soar up and view
the world as one, from above the clouds
that would make her feel blessed an envied
celestial being still walking firm footed on earth.
"Have you ever dreamed flying" he asked her
in a matter of fact way, concealing the wonder
the wings caused, but her words made him
think how strange the world is, she wasn't
aware of the gift of wings, pure white, delicate,
sturdy all the same, but the wings were not
a reality she appreciated, hasn't it ever come
to her notice? He looked in to the silence
of her eyes, was she keeping it as a secret?

Her wings were thin, shining silver petals
a rare flower, with a scent wafting everywhere
but by some quirk of fate, it wasn't there for her.

#invisible #talent #hidden #flight #gift #rare

May 2016

jane taylor

solitude

i hear the loudest
in the quiet

©2016janetaylor

#peace #solitude #quiet #spirituality #stillness #poetfreak

May 2016

Randolph Llewellyn Wilson

Tennessee Wind ...

Mysterious , Tennessee nighttime wind , what fables do you bring on a cool Spring eve .. Tales of Mountain 'lore , of whispering rivers and moonlit hollers , black Bear antics and coonskin chapeaux , pristine valleys and hillside shanties , Memphis Riverboats and Elvis Presley .. Cascading brooks , foggy morning dales and Bluegrass pickers , Dulcimers , twisting highways and Nashville Telecasters* ..

May 2016

jalc

full circle

.

         •we sleep
                                 swad-
                                           dled
                 we manage               tight•
           somehow      to wake            late at
       •and...                  cradled             night•
      the bed                    in the ci-          we toss
   ngle off                      cle of ea-           and tu-
   ms da-                     ch oth-             rn•roll
our ar-                  er's a-             away
sheets•            rms•           and re-
with the                   turn...•
our legs tangle

.

Words by me.
Arrangement by the madly gifted ryn; more of his talent at writing and concrete poetry showcased at http://hellopoetry.com/ryn/
Thank you ryn(:

May 2016

ryn

Flight

If you were granted the gift of temporary flight...

     Would you ascend...
          Just so you could feast your eyes
        on the horizon,
          beyond the confines of weather-worn tiles
          set upon unsuspecting rooftops.

     Would you take soar...
          Just so you could briefly leave the ground
          below.
          And as the land beneath you diminishes,
          all that's you tethered to your earth
          almost instantly would turn into nothing
        but specks of insignificance.

     Would you fly free...
          Just so your heart could entertain the possibility
          of being ensnared by the breathtaking
          view of the sun,
          as it rests its pompous girth upon its bed of
          clouds;
          Like a bratty king sprawled over lavish sheets.

     Would you burst through the boundary...
          That separates heaven and earth.
        Just so you could be bewitched by the full blown
          moon,
        be enthralled by the siren calls of the stars,
        and be a part of the spectacle that is the
          universe...

If you were granted the gift of momentary flight...

     Would you still ascend?
          Knowing full well that soon gravity would claim
          you with less than no pity nor remorse.
          And all that you had complacently forsaken...
        Will greet you with the harshest of punishments.

                    *I would.

#flight #hellopoetry107 #momentarybliss

May 2016

Chris G Vaillancourt

Sometimes Sunshine Streams Through The Windows

Sometimes sunshine streams through the windows,
like a tousled head of hair. Bright and solid light

that opens the room to dangling frames of dust.
The dust collects itself under the furniture.

Hiding, transforming, resisting change. It becomes
its own entity, its own statement. Gradually the dust

overcomes the sunshine and the room is again bleached
in bleakness. Voices are gradual, distant sounding, as they

try and survive in the ***** room. Sometimes sunshine
streams through the windows like a growing sense of doom.

Hard and harsh vibrancy that collides with the anticipation
of the occupants. They are uncertain how to proceed with

their daily routines. Like the dust, they collect themselves into
arbitrary points of views. Mangled intentions that are never

stated, but instead are felt like rotting fruit in a basket.
The smell permeates all areas of reality as it dominates the

passion of the souls. They moan in obligation. They whine in
muted patterns of surrender as they whip around the room

like the dust floating painfully in the air. Sometimes sunshine
streams through the windows, like a bloated body in water.

The beginning of the race always promises to have an ending.
The ending always promises to begin again. But the room will

always stay as it is, dust and doom its statement to the world.
And, sometimes, sunshine streams through the windows.