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20.7k · Jul 2012
7 haiku on the light and dark
Richard j Heby Jul 2012
A single matchstick
is all it takes to brighten
the chaotic dark;

but it takes nothing
for the darkness to feed on
and consume our fear.

°•°

In all of our eyes
is a tiny bit of light,
big enough to see.

In all of our eyes
the pupil's darkness is void:
central to all light.

•°•

Man created fire,
and he brought light to the earth
to fill night's darkness.

The man who knows fire
gains a fear of the unknown:
the dark he forgets.

°•°

There is no darkness
without light. To see darkness
you must have sight: light.
18.1k · Apr 2014
reality
Richard j Heby Apr 2014
reality does not exist
in the mirror
15.0k · May 2014
tulip blooms
Richard j Heby May 2014
tulip blooms
pebbles cemented into sidewalk
we notice neither
11.8k · Jul 2012
Rage
Richard j Heby Jul 2012
The wrath inside you boils from your rage;
your anger elevates to drown your sense.
My blindness has deluded me as sage,
serene and irreproachably intense.

It’s likely that my passive nature’s pushing
my little brother, you, – who hates that term –
straight to hear discordant, silent ringing
as wrath’s contorted demon crisply worms

into your weakened ear to fill your mind
with bubbles, red, and bursting sound, and DARK –
which spread like darkened dust-storms into mine.
That ready wrath, red and quick to spark

burns best those minds invulnerable to sin –
such smug-singed souls sink – slaves to self-delusion.
5.3k · Jun 2013
Boxing
Richard j Heby Jun 2013
I think I have control by now; I know
you want me to instruct you how to love.
I lack the tools for idleness; I go
crazy when you weigh yourself above

me. I know you’re in the rink – I know you are!
It’s just my paranoia’s acting out,
and then I call you twice and go too far,
that’s just a macho, jealous, loving bout.

But still you love my fighting tender thoughts,
and look in our shared corner when you’re scared.
But then the jitters, stomach ties in knots.
No gloves came out each time an old love stared.

I do not care for who you used to love,
keep razor blades tucked in my boxing gloves.
4.6k · May 2012
Helping Yourself
Richard j Heby May 2012
***** he stands; (he has no midnight plans,
but one). From stroke of dawn, to coming dusk
he plays himself the song of lonesome hands:
first lost, then found, himself alone in lust.
The pleasure passes quickly; shaft will fret
through spasms rushing body (stiff and red)
‘till passion splurging, flying – white and wet –
then falls to bed in blissful blank of head.
The dripping love and ecstasy, once mine,
has gone and passed – the small false-death
of rhyme;so still, I sit, past stupor *** divine:
(the ***-less *** that’s made for private time).
So help yourself, but please, take note of this:
to play is fun – but nothing like a kiss!
one of my first sonnets.
wrote it out of spite for my poetry teacher.
now we are good friends.
4.3k · Mar 2012
The Sonnet Seasons
Richard j Heby Mar 2012
January
the morning after New Year’s Eve
In icy weather, warming comfort yields
companionship, hot chocolate,
love. A promise to himself revealed
(again) how resolutions turn to ****.

He poorly planned for no more one-night-stands,
but woke up with a head too hard to think
He slowly dressed and thought it was his man's
duty to bring her something hot to drink.

This year she hoped she wouldn't sleep with *******.
She hid her head in ***-swapped sheets, and cried
inside. He left the bed; she knew he'd lied:
"I'll be right back with coffee and some rolls."

Surprised the lovers'd catch each other's stare
in February's blank and blissful air.



February
when we met again
In February's blank and blissful air,
my inhalations thin and quick and dry
were only halted by your frigid stare;
to me, they wondered where I'd gone and why.

That one-night-stand was fun for both of us,
though neither of us seemed too satisfied;
when your first words burst out within the hush
my face grew warm and, caught off guard, I sighed.

"It's Valentine's," you said; your smile said
much more. "I figured we could take a walk,
cause what we did before was fun. You're red?"
We both knew why, but still I couldn't talk.

I could not reason why she grabbed my hand.
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.



March
on Narcissus
The sort of love that's lust is most unplanned.
The self's the harshest lover there could be.
"There is no beauty more than thou I see!"
He calls back to me, "Thou I see!" His hand
outstretched is soft and reaching towards me,
and I reach mine to beauty young and free.
His muscled body causes mine to stand.

But when I touch this creature fair and strong,
that image scatters; beauty must be shy.
When he returns, my passion cramped too long –
I need those rosy lips before I die.

To lust and pride Narcissus was a slave –
but daffodils are growing at his grave
to show desire's poison for our sake.  



April
a beauty out of my league
To show desire's poison, for our sake
she'd wink and makes boys think we stood a chance.
But sweet as honey, April, seemed to make
every hopeful guy compelled to dance

for her. We were her loyal worker bees
and she the queen would reap the floral sweets.
I caught a sight within a balmy breeze
of April's flowing hair in tempting heat.

I stood away where blocked behind a fir
I picked a daisy from the soft green grass;
I never got the nerve to talk to her,
too stunned and shy I let the moment pass.

Her sight is so compelling, sweet and mean,
it taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green.



May
a fairy I cannot catch
It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green;
that light elusive sprite which mocks my sight,
in gardens where that fae comes out at night
to dance among the flowers' subtle sheen.

This fairy is disguised by buzzing lamps;
by day she hides in flapping butterflies.
In every blade of dewy grass and damp
reflective flower's gloss she hides. She dies

whenever someone says they don't believe;
as children wish on dandelions, she lives.
And flower's dust is magic for her breed:
spring's silent sparkling fairies. She gives

me joy in every fleeting light I see;
I cannot help but love her mystery.



June
on lovers separated by war
I cannot help but love her mystery;
I wonder what it could have been with her.
Though now our time is just faint memory
I always reminisce of how things were.

When school was out and roses were in bloom
and spring was turning summer every day,
I carved our names in branches as a plume
of ornament of love as if to say:

"we share this heart that with this tree will grow."
But unexpected news came suddenly:
my number picked, a soldier now I go
away from you – to war – I'm off to sea.

You say you'll wait and as you wave goodbye
The fireworks are bursting in the sky.



July
a letter to my lost youth
The fireworks are bursting in the sky;
they're popping like the pebbles 'cross the bay:
the rocks you're throwing fast. And free July
is when we watch our worries blast away.

We foolish, footless bandits in the night
were playing spin the bottle under trees.
Like fireflies and glow-sticks, we were bright,
but, grown, you've lost yourself and lost your keys.

And now your son is here; he wants to play,
but you're not playing catch, instead all day
you live your like Sisyphus, unfree –
just throw that giant rock into the bay.

Unlock that chain – conformity – and lay
simply in the sun-warmed grass all day.



August
summer love
Simply in the sun-warmed grass all day
we'd sit, and talk about some useless ****.
And in my jeep I drove you to the bay
to watch the sunset while we shared a bit

of wine. We laid down in that cooling night;
I watched your gentle lips move when you talked.
I told you that I never felt as right,
as when we kissed. My fingers interlocked

with yours; I brushed your beachy hair away
and shared a kiss that may have been our last.
I held you in my arms until the day
peeked through. We knew the sunrise soon would pass

like this. And though we think it isn't fair
departing is the summer's balmy air.



September
my first carriage ride
Departing is the summer's balmy air
to welcome cracking cold and falling leaves.
Before we left my mother'd taken care
to fasten on my mittens to my sleeves.

The foliage was bright, the air was brisk
I walked between my parents faint-clenched hands
and watched the business people rush and whisk
to work. But we were there with different plans.

My poppa propped me up into the car.
The horses both were brown and standing stiff,
but like the whirling leaves of fall thus far
my nerves were flying crazy. Then a whiff

of something as the carriage moved along
I could not hold my breath for quite that long.  



October
a waiting affair
I could not hold my breath for quite that long
awaiting your arrival at my door.
My wife is out and though I know it's wrong;
the wrongness only makes me want you more.

I cannot help but wonder what you're wearing,
and if you think about me like I do.
I wonder if our spouses are as daring;
or if they maybe know of me and you.

I rake the leaves and hope you'll soon arrive.
I put away the pictures of my wife
and stare intently at the empty drive;
then that roaring engine brings me to life.

Your car drives by; I cannot help but grin
the bright red leaves are whirling in the wind.



November
every death brings new life
The bright red leaves are whirling in the wind,
their passing reminiscent of her days,
when auburn hair would break from fragile skin
like cracking umber leaves in fall's malaise.

Her daughter saw the doctor twice a week;
the pregnancy was moving well along.
The two recalled chrysanthemum's conceit:
in life is death; and death is life's old song.

The funeral was on Thanksgiving day;
her daughter in the hospital was ripe
and could not mourn, as one soul blew away –
and one without a Nana burst in hype

to life. The birth would turn out perfectly,
exactly as expected it would be.



December*
when she crossed the line*
Exactly as expected it would be
a snowy Christmas, white and colored bright;
(by strict request) I hung her favorite lights
about the house, so that the neighbors see
together we're a happy family.
She'd picked her gift, but what a sour sight
when, Christmas day, I didn't get it right.
And all was fine until she asked of me –

the last she'd ever ask of me. She tells
me "I don't like your underwear." She reels
off, "we compromise our comfort" (that bold
*****). "I'll be your man, but know my manhood holds.
I'll never change my boxer briefs” which feel,
in icy weather, warming." Comfort yields.
A sonnet garland. 12 poems. One for each month. I probably wouldn't read it.
Richard j Heby Aug 2012
It's not the time of dandelions;
they've all been blown away;

those fragile fragments now remind
the shooting stars of day.

And though the seedlings blown away seem gone;
they float as static light and air along
as pieces of a never ending earth –
a universe recycling its dearth.

All matter is
and always is.
A dandelion
may be his

smile. And think – drink water from your sink –
it may be reimagined stars you drink.
3.3k · May 2012
Eyelashes
Richard j Heby May 2012
Eyelashes: feathers
for your angelic eyes. Gaze
in mine and I fly.
3.2k · Jun 2013
The Ballerina
Richard j Heby Jun 2013
I do not want to dance with you if you
are watching all the other people dance.
And though I’m not a dancer, no – it’s true;
don’t think about the tightness of his pants.

I know you want to kiss me, close your eyes
so you can feel the lips, the hips, not see:
this body’s moves and dips are not some guy’s,
but long for you, and all belong to me.

Watch me as you dance, step on my toes
just so I know your dancing thoughts are mine.
The ballerina in your head that shows
you spin with me – I think it needs a wind.

You’re not a wind up toy but love a spin,
take me for one, I’ve won; I want to win.
2.5k · May 2012
Gluttony
Richard j Heby May 2012
no more strawberries
blueberries, fuckberries: ALL:
give me everything!
thinspiration
2.2k · May 2012
7 sins of thinspiration
Richard j Heby May 2012
Pride
Feel your collarbone;
it means progress. You don't want
to ever stop feeling bones.

Vanity
Don't you look pretty
compared to that fat slob you're
staring at? Yourself.

Gluttony
no more strawberries
blueberries, fuckberries: ALL:
give me everything!

Wrath
Violent heaving death:
you deserve the punishment!
Blood, bile, cleaned off smile.

Envy
Every pretty girl
is skinny. "Beautiful?" No,
he'd never mean me.

Sloth
I'm exercising;
not eating.       "IT'S NOT EASY
TO BE THIN LIKE THEM!"


Lust*
I must have it: be
skinny, be skinny; don't eat;
that *has
to be me.
2.1k · Sep 2012
double standard
Richard j Heby Sep 2012
If I am a robot
then I am your sexbot.

That's a lie,
I'm a guy
2.1k · Jun 2013
fisherman
Richard j Heby Jun 2013
Hello lover boy, why don’t you take a look
at my new digs and help me change my socks?
I love your chest and arms, your rod and hook
it’s summer time, i think i’ll wear flip flops.

You can hook me, have me, and admire
but i’ll be flopping throw me back to swim
among the other fish, though on a whim
you were much fun at least more fun than him –
but cut me loose now darling; snip the wire;
I cannot breathe if we go much higher.

Ah! the splash is cool, familiar, soft
it’s free although, it’s thick and dark. I’m lost.

You cannot be my man, you fisherman,
I’d rather find my way alone again.
2.0k · Jul 2012
Who knows if you'll make it
Richard j Heby Jul 2012
Title: The Basketball
The Basketball Team
The Basketball Team Meeting
1.9k · May 2012
Lust
Richard j Heby May 2012
I must have it: be
skinny, be skinny; don't eat;
that has to be me.
thinspiration
1.9k · May 2012
dandelions and flowers II
Richard j Heby May 2012
quick dandelions
blowing with ease in all wind
are weeds not flowers.

Dandelions change
simply, growing quickly – all
need no tender care.

Roses and tulips
take man's hand, and are rare, hard;
grow with water, sun.

Worthy love: sweet, rare
takes cultivation and care –
unlike weeds: flowers.

Upon the foot of spring, dandelions run
rampant, and weakly – quick, seemed flourished, fun.
1.8k · Sep 2012
The Camel (7/3)
Richard j Heby Sep 2012
the camel doesn't see his back*

Each man lacks knowledge of himself
for his eyes point only outward,
but how unfortunate it is
for he believes himself, his eyes
which tell fated lies like the sea –
whereon I pressed my ear and heard,
"I am the sand, that I must be."

The sea can never see itself,
and nor does the drunk man who claims –
"there's no way that I **** myself."
1.8k · Oct 2015
poem
Richard j Heby Oct 2015
eye cantaloupe
batshit Midas
writer's iambic
within usurp
ender's egret
wherewithal
nearly Mykonos
orangutan elsewhere
eye dye.
#poemcode
1.8k · Apr 2012
shoelaces
Richard j Heby Apr 2012
the night i met a map maker
who'd never seen the world
i found out that this living life
slowly comes unfurled

with every sought experience
and everything undone,
granted we are shoelaces
tied and gone **-gung

so much so that we don't know
the order of our things,
like when we meet a pretty girl
we take her off some rings

and when the rings come ringing by
the anchor on your ship
i answer the phone and to him say
i'll never take your ****

to my house
because i don't have indoor plumbing.
1.7k · Oct 2015
Nothing beats the buzz
Richard j Heby Oct 2015
Nothing beats the
buzz of jazz,
guitar
blues, blue
hydrangeas like popcorn feathers
in spring, buzzing bees on daisies,
but now it's fall | that's all.
https://youtu.be/-IIjik7WvP8?t=35
1.7k · May 2012
dandelions and flowers
Richard j Heby May 2012
SEEDS GLIDE AS YOU BLOW
ON THE SOFT HELD UNIVERSE;
DANDELIONS GROW

EACH AN EASY VERSE,
BUT LOVE IS HARD.  TO PLANT WEEDS
TAKES YOUR BREATH – NO WORDS.

LOVE PARACHUTES SEEDS
SPREAD ABOUT ALL – NO BEES, BIRDS;
SOME LOVE  IS QUICK LUST.

LOVE IS HARD AND RARE
TO CULTIVATE, WITHSTAND DUST
A FLOWER NEEDS CARE.

The ease of lustful apathy takes breath,
but cultivated love is overstepping death.
sonnet haiku two
1.7k · Jun 2012
ddrunk
Richard j Heby Jun 2012
wonmcx
i am a wombat
who's drunk? meeee
time for summer
1.6k · Mar 2012
December
Richard j Heby Mar 2012
when she crossed the line*
Exactly as expected it would be
a snowy Christmas, white and colored bright;
(by strict request) I hung her favorite lights
about the house, so that the neighbors see
together we're a happy family.
She'd picked her gift, but what a sour sight
when, Christmas day, I didn't get it right.
And all was fine until she asked of me –

the last she'd ever ask of me. She tells
me "I don't like your underwear." She reels
off, "we compromise our comfort" (that bold
*****). "I'll be your man, but know my manhood holds.
I'll never change my boxer briefs" which feel,
in icy weather, warming." Comfort yields.
1.5k · Aug 2012
I am Hairy
Richard j Heby Aug 2012
i shed pounds

of hair

when i shave
my

back,
chest,
neck,
shoulders,
abs,
and below.

It falls lightly as the electric blades become hot on my body
gashing into my un-satisified self.

i am a hairy ****.
i am a hairy ******* man.
i am a hairy man.
i am a man.

but here i am
shaving everything off
so i can be
the boy
of your dreams,
the boy of your dreams.


And now, my body burns
but I cannot bear it; looking like a bear.
1.5k · Aug 2012
tea kettle
Richard j Heby Aug 2012
You make me feel so good
and so bad
about myself.

I could drop you like a hot kettle
and you’d be shattered, but

once I pulled a tea kettle from the hot box
and burned three of my fingers
because I didn’t want to drop it.
1.5k · Oct 2012
Fuck (a sonnet)
Richard j Heby Oct 2012
The ******* ******* ******-up ***** are ******,
and everyone’s a ****** too, and ****
you too, you ******, **** your face and tucked
away soft ******-up secrets – **** good luck
and **** the greedy; **** more than we need.
Either you **** them, or they ******* – it’s just
we’re all ****** with ******-up intentions, greed,
******* smirks, fuckloads of ******* (******* lust),
and all seven ******* sin ******* us
more – so we give zero ***** about good
or bad but how and who we should **** less
and who the **** we can throw under the bus –
i.e. who we can ****. *******, why should
we give a **** if life is ****** to death?
a rant, comments appreciated
1.4k · Mar 2017
some things that make me sad
Richard j Heby Mar 2017
seeing other people get engaged, and knowing
it's *******, you're running amok
with your left hand,
and in your right holding the ring
how long will this last, this *******, face, farce
facade? Until it becomes boring, then back to *******.
Marriage is boring. Case in point.

people that make vlogs and say "what's going on guys?"
because what kind of question is that,
to a non-responsive audience?
What level of loneliness must you live in
that you think that's appropriate? The Internet
is not your friend. I am
not your friend.

Dancing when you don't hear the music
and you want people to see you dancing.
That makes me sad because the music
is the best part, and it's almost as bad as
laughing but you're not really laughing
and you don't get it and maybe someone died
but you don't know that person, though
you want to honor their memory by laughing
so you laugh, and I guess that's not that bad
but without laughter and music, we're animals.
Try me.
1.4k · Sep 2012
Sunset
Richard j Heby Sep 2012
I'll be chasing down the sunset
although I'll never find
her. Melded pink is wonderful;
her gold cannot be mined.

Every time I reach for her
and think I have arrived,
my evening lady's disappeared
into her golden hive.

Every night I chase her on
horizons by the sea,
but now I know that being gone's
her only way to be.

Her purpose is to fade away,
the same is said of me;
but beauty's in the setting sun,
a beauty meant to see.
1.3k · Feb 2015
The Plum
Richard j Heby Feb 2015
The plum I’ve been waiting
to ripen
is a bit past ripe; in the fruit bowl,
the bananas speckled brown;
the lemons show no sign of age.

Monday morning I forget the plum,
which now may be a bit too sweet.
Thursday,
I buy fresh produce
on the way home.
I get a call
from my father
about my mother.

Forgotten,
beneath brighter flora,
the plum
in royal colors
sits in the bottom of the fruit bowl.

At home
two Google searches:
what to make with past ripe plums
why don’t I cry when someone dies
published by the Pea River Journal, http://peariverjournal.com/2014/09/26/richard-heby-the-plum/
1.3k · May 2012
Sloth
Richard j Heby May 2012
I'm exercising;
not eating.       *"IT'S NOT EASY
TO BE THIN LIKE THEM!"
thinspiration
1.3k · Sep 2012
Knowledge and Sin (HaikSon)
Richard j Heby Sep 2012
All unattainable
love is unconscionably
empty, while it's full

of "complimentary"
compliments and praise lacking
features resembling

features; they are signs,
which haven't been named or seen,
and make us human

only by grotesque
standards of knowledge and sin
(which grow conflated).

If morality is skewed then the root
is knowledge: the unavoidable fruit.
1.2k · Sep 2013
For Lea
Richard j Heby Sep 2013
The city sits above your eyes,
in dark mascara strokes.
Your soft pink lips are chapped and tried
unglossed, and un-baroque.

The flowers of a garden’s growth
are painted on each iris.
The laughter and the sadness, both
are on your cheeks that i kiss.

Your body sparkles, freckles brushed
are baked in your warm skin.
A bellybutton slightly pushed
by God’s last touch, thumb pin.
1.2k · Jun 2012
A dandelion
Richard j Heby Jun 2012
A dandelion
is first or last a puff of
God's made universe
1.1k · Dec 2012
blush
Richard j Heby Dec 2012
When nothing else
                                                inside you
matters except
                          getting him

that’s passion in a bub-
ble:lust. blushed.
And all he wants to do is bust
a bubble.,;                                                  ******­
1.1k · Feb 2012
Cat Lady
Richard j Heby Feb 2012
A lady whose heart as big as her boils
as ugly as rust, yet kindly through toils

for troubled she was and poor as a pitcher
her purse full of holes, but loving stuck with her.

And having this love with nowhere to store it –
her house filled with cats, the neighbors abhorred it.

For all through the day was scratching and crying
If they hadn't known better, they'd think she was dying.

Her house overflowing and no food to eat;
she cared for her cats like they care for heat.

And one day the folk came at her door wrapping
but she couldn't answer, for she was still crapping.

The folk weren't new; they'd been here before;
she'd leave them long often to wait at the door.

But now with no answer, the cats left to mewing;
the lady left helpless while she was still pooing.

The folk grew impatient and broke down the door;
the smell was of rodent mixed with cheap *****.

And all through their nostrils, the folk kept on smelling:
mold, cabbage and *****, then faintly a yelling.

The noise sounded desperate – a cat may be sick!
so holding their noses they trudged through the thick.

The yelling grew louder till the back of the house,
Lady needed some t.p. – instead used her blouse.
1.1k · Aug 2013
Across Tic ... tac toe
Richard j Heby Aug 2013
I cannot fathom all my love for you.
Know, no knowledge of what's real is easy.
I try to give you all my heart in true;
will you accept my words, my heart, thus please me?

Not I, not you has all the answers now.
Marry! I cannot believe this passion:
you love and hate me with one heart but how?
For love is simple hate in simpler fashion.

You kiss me kindly, lacking any strength
(lack any vulnerability in that).
Kindness is not love to any length;
In love we're rarely kind. A lover's spat,

your bane--my kindle--falsely represents my
heart. Are we truthful when we fight; and why?
Richard j Heby Feb 2012
The chorus: morning glory, holy, blue;
the chirping of the blue birds wholly true
is unlike ambiguity; the birds
are certain in their beauty void of words.

There's something in the air 'mid summer night;
the crickets call divine to poet's pen.
The rhapsode speaks to truth beyond his sight,
adorned by form, possessed beyond his ken.

The dialogues of man and poem surge
as meaning's multiplicity is found
in one unspoken statement to resound
through poems, all, encompassed by the urge.

The butterfly that surging clear in sight,
like poetry, is whimsical in flight.
summer, morning glory, Trakl, holy blue, to write
1.0k · Jan 2016
speech by MLK
Richard j Heby Jan 2016
bellows in the belly
of sky
pulling out
thunder,
filled with
light n ing
1.0k · May 2012
Pride
Richard j Heby May 2012
Feel your collarbone;
it means progress. You don't want
to ever stop feeling bones.
thinspiration
1.0k · Jun 2012
Apathy
Richard j Heby Jun 2012
apathy is useful
when recalling insults,
people who dislike you,
and upsetting situations

because then you remember –
i'm too uninterested to spend my time,
effort or thoughts

caring.
956 · May 2012
September
Richard j Heby May 2012
my first carriage ride*
Departing is the summer's balmy air
to welcome cracking cold and falling leaves.
Before we left my my mother'd taken care
to fasten on my mittens to my sleeves.

The foliage was bright, the air was brisk
I walked between my parents faint-clenched hands
and watched the business people rush and whisk
to work. But we were there with different plans:

My poppa propped me up into the car.
the horses both were brown and standing stiff
but like the whirling leaves of fall thus far
My nerves were buzzing crazy. Then a whiff

of something as the carriage moved along
I could not hold my breath for quite that long.
Richard j Heby Oct 2012
A ring
welcoming
the smell of fresh coffee.
Intimate conversation

is white noise
to the melody in the mundane
coffee order of his familiar voice
that captures mine.

Although I’m earnest while saying hello,
her grin holds a thousand secrets;
the few words I manage seem small,
but she continues to collect them for her tip jar.

Hidden in line, he's disguised his affection.
She awaits his arrival, his orders; they share
silence. An unfilled cup and connection
swept away, unnamed, a new cross to bare.
954 · Jul 2012
the fish who swam away
Richard j Heby Jul 2012
if i am a shark
i know why fish swim away
but i'm not a shark
there are plenty of  
fish in the sea, but not the
one who got away
938 · Jul 2012
a moth
Richard j Heby Jul 2012
The most impossible thing just happened.
A butterfly was flying around my room.
It’s 1:00am. I live in New York City,
on the 31st floor of an apartment building

No windows have been opened.
When I caught him, to let him out,
he died, or seemed to die

but really, he was just a moth
looking for the light.

But how did he get in here?
936 · Sep 2016
death comes in threes
Richard j Heby Sep 2016
they say death comes in threes
after 2 friends, barely 30
gone,
the prospect of a third frightens me
923 · Feb 2012
July
Richard j Heby Feb 2012
The fireworks are bursting in the sky,
(like breadcrumbs kids are throwing in the bay,
to fly in fun and freedom of July)
like fish we rush to see surprises blast away.

We foolish, footless bandits in the night
were playing spin the bottle under trees.
Like fireflies and glow-sticks, we were bright,
But now we've lost ourselves and lost our keys.

You, gone with summers past and freedom's will
have lost the will to seek and seek a thrill.
And strapped into conformity, you're dying.
You're lying. With each dollar earned you ****
that child that your son is. Sighing,
you wanted to play hard ball, but no one's buying.
919 · May 2012
Wrath
Richard j Heby May 2012
Violent heaving death:
you deserve the punishment!
Blood, bile, cleaned off smile.
thinspiration
917 · May 2012
haiku sonnet
Richard j Heby May 2012
THE LOST BUDS EMERGE.
SUN MELTED FROST BRINGS FORTH SPRING
FLOWERS AND AN URGE

TO WANDER, AND SING
SITTING IN THE STRONG, BRIGHT GRASS
LISTENEING TO BIRDS

WHEN ALL THE LEAVES PASS
YOUR HEAD: LOST TUNES, NEVER HEARD:
UNKNOWN WHEREWITHAL

IGNORANCE IS BLISS
AND THE WONDER OF SNOWFALL
IS MORE DANGEROUS

The unremitting motion of this earth,
unnoticed is continued in its worth.
my first try at a haiku/sonnet hybrid
908 · Aug 2012
stove
Richard j Heby Aug 2012
My friends say
Just put her on the backburner.

I don't think my stove is big enough.
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