Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
How weird it is
From one to five

That i have to go to the forest
To sing my favourite songs

How weird it is
From two to five

That i think that cold water
is better that hot

How weird it is
From three to five

That i can fall in love with
Somebody who i dont know faster
Than with somebody who i do

How weird it is
From four to five

That i would rather tell my secrets
to somebody that i dont know
than to somebody
who know me like fire knows a smoke

How weird it is
From five to five.
 Apr 2014 marcia noria sono
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
 Apr 2014 marcia noria sono
Jack
Window Sill Weepings

Draped as a curtain of silk disbelief
Tied back emotions lie still on the wall
Blocking the sunlight to pause in relief
Collections of dust form in spite of it all

Streaks hold the fingerprints bound of the day
Smeared in designs of a weakened refrain
Window sill weepings with nothing to say
Magnified teardrops add depth to the pain

Transparent wishes once hidden from view
Wait in the darkness this side of the dawn
Boarded up portals now moistened of dew
Nothing to see ever since you are gone
 Apr 2014 marcia noria sono
nivek
Canadian Girl
you also
could be British
The morning is far away
but it will be bitter sweet.
It's a week away
but the emptiness is overflowing.

Elite memories
I wish were vague
pound into my heart.

Six years.
Six.

For each of those years
this date was special,
it was eagerly awaited
and planned
and performed-
a date in which
I would spend all extra money
and countless hours
plotting,
awaiting the chance to please
and dazzle.

For six years this date was special.
Now... so quickly... it's nothing.

I know what she'll be doing
I know what she'll be eating
I know what kind of cake she'll get...
what she'll think about
talk about
laugh about
joke about
be confused about
everything...
I...
I know it all...


For six years April 16th
was the most important day of the year,
the day my best friend would age
just 19 days earlier than I.

For six years April 16th
was my devotion to her.

but now...
now it's nothing.

It's a week away but still
my body goes weak with the memories.

I look at her new best friend;
just a prettier me,
it's not like we fought
or we did anything wrong-
our world just stopped.
and split in two.

I know what she'll be doing on April 16th.
I'll be alone in my house,
facts of her penetrating my brain-
for I know all there ever is to know-
all the stories she's ever had to tell-
all her wants
hopes
dreams
fears-

Will she think of me?

For the first time in six years,
she will have a birthday
without me.
Six years without being separated..
six years.
It's like those years never existed.

I fear next week
like no other.
I'll sit in my room-
unable to even wish her a facebook happy birthday,
I can only sit and wish her happiness.
So here it goes,
to the only girl who knew everything about me,
and I her,
to the girl I'd give the world for,
to the girl who is but a ghost of my memories
and I of hers,

Happy Birthday, Tiffany Amber.
 Apr 2014 marcia noria sono
gd
Please
make me
hate you as
much as I love
you because I am
tired of feeling like I
lost something I never
really had to begin with.

gd
hangovers last so much longer
the flu goes on for weeks
high blood pressure causes migranes
the night drags on like primary school
the day stings my eyes
i have washed my pillow eleven times
yet your scent still likes to stay
smoking hurts my throat
no one argues with me to quit
music sounds off key
books are no good
poems make my head throb
other peoples conversations bore me
i'm always alone

i am finally understanding
that you are never
ever
ever
coming back to me
drink, drank, drunk
into submission,
a fact; death awaits.
inevitability flows into
sanctity
at the end of a six-pack.
Next page