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Tell me a story, composer,
One that can't be told with words,
Give me grace and pain and happiness,
Give me joy like I've never heard,
Sing me your soul in the melodies,
In the notes as they pitch and roll,
Flood me in its awesome vastness,
Like the refrain is too much to control,
Wrap me in its beauty, covered without a word,
Set my mind to endless spinning,
Articulate as a song bird,
And though it seems like insight,
Into your heart and soul,
I know, the music is little more than a peephole,
A glimpse into something greater.
I wrote this for a friend of mine who writes music. He and I had a conversation about how what composers and poets do is quite similar, and it inspired this piece.
  Mar 2018 Hallie Richardson
atr
Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter
  Mar 2018 Hallie Richardson
Her
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til you picked up the phone.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that we were right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
This is the first poem (that I have a copy of) i wrote that I actually thought was good. I was in seventh grade, twelve years old, and I wrote it for a newspaper competition. I knew it was really great but I didn't think I would beat all other applicants in the state in my age group. So you can imagine my surprise I'm sure when I DID win! That is the first time I was proud of my writing. So this one has a lot of special sentimental value. Thanks for reading.
  Feb 2018 Hallie Richardson
jess
i feel like time is
s
  l
    i
       p
          p
           i
               n
                    g.

i feel like there is more i could have done yesterday. 
 
i regret not kissing you enough yesterday,
because now i realize i can't tomorrow.

today i missed you,
it came in waves like water clashing against rocks.

yesterday i said "tomorrow you'll be okay."
and again i will tell myself, tomorrow.

yesterday wasn't as bad as today is or will be,

yesterday and tomorrow.
does it make a difference if i feel the same?  
-j.p.
i kinda fixed this one up a bit but it's pretty old - think i'll edit it again later to actually mean something because i really like the ending. sorry if my stuff doesn't make sense.
  Feb 2018 Hallie Richardson
cat
your lips
remind me
of the words
my hands
wish
they had the courage
to write
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