Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
This was just recently
The madness i craved was
Fulfilled by ur touch
Thank  you
Now I want more time with u
Almost every second of the day
 Feb 2018 Halsea Callis
mk
your cheeks blush
a light red, a dark pink
and i think to myself
maybe it's time
that i wash off the
oppression from your skin
the colonial violence
and the crimes against humanity
your eyes are a certain kind
of blue that i always
associated with privilege and pain
but maybe there's more to them
the ocean under the moon
the poppies mid-june
you burn under the sun
but maybe that isn't a punishment from God
instead a blessing from the
God of Sun who loves you
so much that She can't help but
kiss you just a little too long
your white skin speaks
of your history with your all too obvious
scars and bruises that shine
(you couldn't ever see mine)
maybe they are not from the wars you started
but the ones you fought
protecting yourself from your
own demons
while you button your shirt,
i see the light shadow of blonde
clean-shaven, button-up in a suit
white men with power over me
white men who want to hurt me
i am the enemy, i think.
he is the enemy, i think.
they are the enemy, i think.
or maybe-
maybe he is the midnights turned morning
the coffee and the cream cheese
the husband
the father
the start of a revolution
colored light brown, dark white
the lineage that is not of oppressors
the lineage that is not of the oppressed
the lineage
that is us-
survivors, fighters, or simply-
just two kids in love.
revisiting my colonial past and peeking a glance at my romantic future
 Feb 2018 Halsea Callis
Sourodeep
Up for grabs, a shattered heart
after each time tells with a sigh
pain lies in that crucial part
when eyes meet and says *"hi"
Hi everyone :)
 Feb 2018 Halsea Callis
wordvango
Wouldn't it be crazy wonderful
To see in person some of
The most noted Wordsworth's
And personalities that
Hello Poetry has to offer?
August 15th would be good
Here in Clayhatchee Bamalama
In the south with nothing else to offer but the woods and cornstalks the peanut dust air.
It would be a festival. A face to face to finally meet the poets I admire and describe in my head by their words and their profile.
I'm about to start a gofundme page to make the wildest dreams come true. Imagine Eliot greeting you in person.
Its gonna be tie-dye only and sandals dress. (Weeds illegal here and the price high as hell, so bring your own)
Load up the vw van with all your poet friends.
Entrance fees waved to those
Bringing their own soap and toiletries. Oh, and beer....or ***....whisky....tequila.... Etc.
We are also going to need qualified trippers to man the LSD flipout tent.  Please apply here: www.hpflipouttent.com
Mike Bee
Likes a fast read.
The End.

Paul Butters

© PB 1\2\2018 (2).
I've bowed to market "demand" here. lol
 Feb 2018 Halsea Callis
Ricki
What is a poet if not a victim?
For he seems to be the only exception to a world of goodness.
Oh, what better way to depict him, than his own victimization?
What is a poet if not a child?
Granted, some are aged, but they all whine.
What is a poet if not broken?
He does mention his glass shards on the frequent.
Do keep in mind that he will never be doing fine.
What is a poet if not psychotic?
For him and all his kind appear to be mad.
What is a poet if not sad?
Spoiled minds of the depressed kind truly are poetic.
What is a poet if not contradictive?
For him, it's quite addictive.
What is a poet if not guilty?
For he may not always have the ability to plea innocent and play the victim.
What is a poet if not old?
Granted, some are young, but they're all wise.
What is a poet if not whole?
He is full of courage, he is bold.
So tell me, how is he not whole?
What is a poet if not sane?
Sure, he may be vain and a little odd, but he does write with utter sanity.
What is a poet if not glad?
He writes of love and purple lips.
Though his happiness may dip, he truly is a joyous soul.
What is a poet if not a fool?
He does accuse and misconstrue.
What is a poet if not a man, just like me and you?
trees lose bark covers
like a brown snake shedding skin
to reveal new coats
the hands of time*
do tick on by
in the process years
passage quickly by

our clock's cogs
speedy of haste
there's not a spare
minute to waste

a youthful soul  
racing along
then into old age
comes a final gong

the hands of time
do tick on by
in the process years
passage quickly by

life's every moment
strikes a chime
until they reach
a conclusive prime

days on the rapid  
circuit decrease  
as momentum's lap
will so cease

the hands of time
do tick on by
in the process years
*passage quickly by
Next page