There is a poet
And poetess
That writeth;
In the slums
And the ghetto's;
In the suburb's
In the meadow's.
There is a poet
And poetess
That prophecieth
In the mountain's
In the city, neath
Their graves, in
Tomb's, free one's,
Slave's, some known,
Many doomed, in
Heaven's gates, some
Art poor, some telleth
Of fate, some art lonesome,
Some speaketh of amour',
Some linger in the shadows,
Tortured by demon's, anguished;
Fighting hellish and earthly battles.
There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink:
Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's..............




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

It took him awhile,
To decide to dance,
He was always the first,
To roar, to prance,
Nevermind his sweaty palms,
As he pushed off the wall,
As he bowed,
Before her cotton dress in a graceful fall,
His hand hung for eternal seconds,
As she decided; looked around,
But, ah! Lo! His eyes, they beckon,
And as the entire room gawked,
At the bold, beautiful ****,
As he bowed before an ugly, pimpled nobody,
As if she were a queen; the most beautiful in this here, his flock,
And as the ugly, pimpled nobody,
Dared to consider, to frown, to appear unsure,
Of this, what was sure to be pure allure,
Finally, she ended his wait,
With hesitant nods, the innocent wide-eyed child,
He smiled beautifully, leading with a mesmerising gait,
They alone swept the floor,
She was surprised at this happiness,
And he was relieved of disappeared nervousness,
For he thought himself lucky,
To dance with one such as she,
The people they can stare,
He don't mind it, he don't care.

I have a Friend
And he has Me
We met right here on HP
He is noble and strong
A good man, through and through
Humble, insightful and gentle too

Complex stories he does tell
From experience and diaries
kept so well
Extraordinary accounts, he shares
Creating poetic stories
that shows he cares
He's witty and charming
He is oh so brave
Many a life has he saved

He came to Hp
wondering if this
was a place for him
Safe to share his heart
and tender skin
At first, shy and tenuous
to learn his skill
Now he commands his work,
Weaving words at will
Our fascination he does hold
With gritty stories so well told
Epic adventures, first hand accounts
Alway a moral, insight abounds

Yes, I chose him
And he chose Me
Mark Cleavenger,
My Poetic Friend here on HP

        In resonse to Elliot's #HPfriend Challenge
                        (please read his latest Blog)
Mark Cleavenger was my very first friend here at HP.
Hello Poetry has opened my world to many fascinating
Poets, from all around the Globe. (How cool is that?)
I appreciate all of my Friends here at HP. I love being
a member of this amazing, supportive community.
                    ThankYou  to all my HP friends
                                ▪○●☆●♡♢♡●☆●○▪

I hate the fact  that i feel like i am second class in your life. it been while since  I heard  the word love. So many hang ups and lack of respect just rips threw my heart. You are so blind by your image and wants you forget to look outside the box. This bed full but no not full of people but lies and problems you run from. I wish you could understand me see me for who  I was deep inside... I am broken inside and can't keep bang my head on this brick wall.

you kept me alive
i think
i think that was living
there was breathing, but there was no hope
and i really can’t blame you for any of this

but you can’t blame me for not wanting a future with you,
when you never gave me a future in the first place

and i can’t hate you, or forget you
i can’t be your stranger, i can’t be your regret
but maybe i already am

i don’t know if i love you
i know this is all i had, but nothing i want, so i why can’t i let go?
i’m beginning to think i trust you,

i thought if love meant trust, then trust meant love
but now,
i trust you not to worry about me
i trust you not to question me, not to understand me
i could tell you anything,
just because you wouldn’t care

i trust you,
i feel like,
one trusts a stranger