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English Jam Jul 2019
Writer's block in the Old West
Sexually repressed
Tumbleweed blew dust
Nomadic, full of lust
It's only getting worse

All the cowgirls seem to like me
More than I love myself
I think I need help
All the cowboys seem to love me
More than I care to admit

Silver horses, bloodstains
No direction, no aim
I'm walking in circles, not steady
Haven't I written about you already?
I'll be back by the next verse

All the chiefs seem to love me
As I colonise the frontier
This town is so queer
All the native girls seem to like me
In their teepees
Though I disagree

Sheriff, colonise me
I'm better off dying
Hide before I forget
Ride into the sunset
Carry me in a hearse
There's a snake in my boot.

Or is there a boot in my snake?
English Jam Jun 2019
Summer's here in all it's depression
Bound to make an impression
Pretty little leaves fall and weave into a pattern, so naive
Marigolds of black and yellow
Stopping to say hello
Old flames anew, the myriad of youth debuts, shimmering hue
Here they come to make it right
In this garden of delights
Colourful and young among a palette of sweet songs to be sung

Flowers assemble into a crown
Laughter rings all around
Eyes trace the rise of the wind, graceful and calm, as she flies
The innocence that went away
Has come back to play
Upon sunbeams, it seems they have flown right out of our dreams
Nature calls, ornate splendor
To it we surrender
Sunny craze lost in a haze, spurred out of celibacy, mellow laze

Nature has something to say
Sun has a brand new day
Laid back with ease, all that it sees it gives new life, honey bees
The bees are dying! They perform 80% of all pollination and they're endangered :(( Save the bees!

If you wanna know more about saving bees, go here:

Or alternatively, we could just **** capitalism and then live in the wild! With the bees!
English Jam Jun 2019
I rise dandy and gay, darling
Carelessly waving away the past
Shining against the cruel light
I am washed and anew

I am a surging black tide
Strutting between smoky darkness
Wearing a harlequin dress
Bathing in the light of the dew

I am femme, and I am fatale
Follow me down the winding corridor
Twisting, snarling, enticing, enthralling
Into the land where flames brew
  May 2019 English Jam
Cello Girl
Your fingers soared over the keys.
You breathed love into the warm, bell-like tones.
You shook your head if you missed a note,
your eyes danced,
and around your grin
your mouth said
"I still have time,"
you said.
"I still have time before the concert."

A family trip, driving home,
back from the dunes of Michigan.
A father, mother, brother, you,
a sister left at home.
You sat in the back.
You were laughing, your family.
It was the last time they've laughed so hard.

A bend in the road,
a turn into town,
your car,
slowing down.
A different car, behind you,
did not slow down.

It slammed straight into you.
The metal crunched behind you,
the car spun, and your head bounced.
A helicopter came,
to take you away.

It was too quiet at the hospital.
But you couldn't tell.
You were in a coma.
"Brain trauma,"
the doctors said.
"And a broken leg and clavicle."
They didn't mention the broken

They tried to pump life into your chest,
air into your lungs,
much like you
pumped life into the body of your clarinet.
But the machines failed where you did not.
The human in you had gone;
only a body was left.

You're playing for the angels now,
I know you are.
There's a smile on your lips,
in your eyes,
your brown, dancing eyes,
as your fingers effortlessly
fly over the keys,
you play
for the only audience
that could ever
hold you.
This poem is dedicated to the boy who plays clarinet in the sky. He was in my grade, and over the summer he was in an accident. He was one of the smartest, funniest, kindest, most talented people I have ever met.
This poem is my effort to immortalize him in words, and process the fact that he is gone.
English Jam Apr 2019

Luke 12:49
“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!”

This wasteland, desolate vegetable garden
No crops will grow, no sun will shine
No cool breeze to clean the air
of the smell of decomposition
Just dead things, the decay of man and dreams of hope
Which my black boots stomp on
I walk the ruin in silence

I walk past a monster sleeping by a tree
Turning, frowning
The monster is me
Its eyes are as red as judgement day
As red as the faces of the condemed
Those who stare at the 144 000, wondering if they are worthy
As red as the blood ******* in this ancient garden

This is a battleground
Oozing with pain, pleasure, splendor and misery
Even if Pythia already circled the loser's name in bright red
Allowing the victors to trample holy ground underfoot
Before they disappeared
But me
I stood here
Feeling all feeling being drained out

I walked past a monster weeping by a tree

“Everything good must come to an end,”
Mystery says
Pursing her lips
“And so must everything wicked
But the memories
Those which encircle their victim
And slowly tighten like great snakes
Suffocating their prey
Those last forever
And if those memories last forever
Then how can one remain pure in heaven
Without thinking about sin
Temptation must surely creep in
Poisoning the mind until it is consumed with the idea
Who is pure anyway?”
I know she is lying
But her words are surreal, slurred, seductive
I look inside my heart to reassure myself
There is hope
But there’s nothing there

(And the monster is me)

In the vegetable garden
A ruin
A wasteland
I stand
Not really existing


English Jam Mar 2019
I claw out of the grave like the phoenix
And for my 15 minute lifetime
I burn like the sun, the gas lamp, California, the Holocaust
Before fizzling out again
I live to die  

I awaken on the production line
I breathe in the ash pouring from the apocalyptic clouds
Disappointed, I turn to my grey sarcophagus
The faceless, factory-made, invisible-as-Kether generation
Buried in the grocery store pyramid

Like Goya's dog, I peer blindly, so tiny
Upwards, into the infinite nothing that awaits
The afterlife, the void, Abraham's *****
Death, limbo, desolation row
The nihilistic emptiness from which I rise
English Jam Feb 2019
Quickly and quietly, running in the snow
Recalling memories of so long ago
The smell of wood and burning embers
That cherished old cabin, I remember
Am I Dreaming?

And when it freezes at night, and the outside seems like ice
The cosy firelight, curling up to your delight
There’s no difference between the dusk and the dawn
But it reminds us the fireplace is still warm
What am I Feeling?

Dreaming- could this be real?
Dreaming- what memories could heal
Dreaming- what do I feel?
Am I Dreaming?
Am I Dreaming?

Think of the haze of the early mornings
The breaking rays of sun as a new day’s dawning
There’s a blurry sensation to the bitter cold
Made to reflect on when you’re drowsy and old
Time is Fleeting

The grey hope of the skies of late afternoons
Life is far away, but coming so soon
There’s a mind numbing, tear-bringing space
That I enter when I think of that place
Is this Believing?

Just for a flash, to see things from my spot
Just to catch a glimpse, a portrait or snapshot
Just fly out the window and burst at the seams
Those fleeting moments
Those forgotten seconds
Those dreams

Are we Dreaming?

Today's my one year Hello Poetry anniversariy, so here's the first (proper) poem I ever wrote, and the one that lead to me discover Hello Poetry.
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