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 Apr 2014 S
J
The Tom Riddle Theory
 Apr 2014 S
J
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.
^^^let us live through our poetry
 Mar 2014 S
Tatiana Arredondo
4:00AM is the time of night where
the peaceful begin to dream,
the weak find their sleep,
and the dammed lay awake

sinking further into themselves.

It is not their tired mind that
earns them eventual rest,
but the weight of their eyelids.

Missing you is hell on earth.
 Mar 2014 S
Jeremy
Its that time of night
when all I do is try to write
but all that comes out is
words and not WORDS

Everything is funnier
in this funny time of night
and yet nothing has made you
want to cry so hard in your life

Isn't everyone lonely
in this lonely time of night
but a thousand other people
are lonely tonight

Lets all be lonely together

It's getting to that time of night
when the numbness becomes
unbearably
light

I'm afraid I'm starting to feel again
and believe me
I've never wanted to understand
why all our lives end

It's finally that time of night
when blood looks blue and not red
this actually has a tune in my head so forgive me if its a little dry
Night time has come,
Day time has ended,
Saturday night has come,
Sunday is about to begin
a new day and a new week
for everyone

Night time brings with it
the sweet relief of peace sleep
and
with it comes with a night full
of dreams,

Night time has come,
with bright stars in the skies,
where everyone can look up into
it
and make a wish and wonder why
everything happened why?

Yes, night has fallen, a wonderful
time to just reflect on the reason why?
 Mar 2014 S
cheryl love
Red, she was dressed in red
Skirts swirling with her hips
Click, click her fingers snap
Her pearly whites grip
The stalk of a freshly cut rose
Red as blood, as stark as fire.
Olives, green, pure and oily
Clench like teeth to a wire
With spicy sausage and clams
Orange and pink in a pan
Tapas, little bits of this,
gorgeous bits of that.
Spanish lullaby from a talented hand
plays romantic flamenco in a band
held tight in his grip, the skin so lovely
the eyes so brown, the look of love so now.
 Mar 2014 S
Riq Schwartz
Elementary
 Mar 2014 S
Riq Schwartz
We're too old now.


Too old to indulge in

partitioned plastic plates

shatter resistant

but molded to hold in

three ounces of fun

per serving.


We've outgrown yesterday's

gaudy voice acting

and crude cartoon lines

washed out, two dimensional

color schemes

and character types, now

redux in high gloss CGI,

300 dpi

1080p

5.1 surrounding

both of our senses.




What's that?

We have three others?


But we've no time

for scented markers

on monochrome pages

Breakfast food no longer

simply sugar and bread

We swath ourselves

with succulent self-importance

tech savvy misanthropy

dolled up in decadent

anonymity

We are too old

to go to a friends house and play.





A list of woes and throes

gives us nothing-

leaves us nowhere

except in thinking

patiently praying

that we may never outgrow

our love for the things

which we've long since outgrown.
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