A zemblanity is, effectively, an unpleasant unsurprise
That's when I realized which you were

Clear skies of white
         Darkness consumes
Life exhumes
                 The angriest parts of humanity
The blight of the people persists
    Meager Goose can not suffice
                 to say what is needed
and yet
              belligerent behaviors build boastful tendencies
to fill that void
                          left by last lovers leaning on opposing walls
of the singular mind

Tattered teal trousers
Are real worn through

Childhood chances cherishing
dreams, shatter by choices

Weathered weakened windows
the wither away with time

Knowing now never
waste a moment

Down by the beach
Lives a hermit crab
And under moonlit nights
He cleans
So I beseech you
After he sleeps his pale slumber
Go clean the beach

Imagine you are drifting through nothingness
You see all yet nothing
Something draws to you

Sit up straighter
Hands on your knees (as you read this)
You feel your greater purpose

You are rooted in the universe as a dark dark orb
Patrolling the stark existence

Things are drawn into you as you become more round,
Yet more massive

Do you spin?
Do you spew your excess matter?
Do you lay dormant--
Only picking up what you run into?
What runs into you?

Feel yourself flow through space, time, the universe
Feel yourself defy the laws of nature and bend all that is
Feel your soul mend itself
Through all the places you've been
Construct
Deconstruct
Reconstruct again
You are a black hole
Swallowing up all that dares cross your horizon
You are both nothing, and the very existence of
Everything
All things orbit around you
Yet
You orbit around the universe
Nothing can stop you

Sunbeams wash over me
As I climb up the ladder
And crawl, stumble, walk, run, walk, and crawl again
Life is short

A king cannot lead from sidelines

I hate to start this with a question
but what was your childhood like?
Was it filled with imagination?
Or void of inspiration?
Could I write a book about it?

I just want to break some ice
with a spike of words
so this broken silence rings with music
of conversation

infinite points from the center
all facing each other
playing a game of cats and mice
i just wanted to break some ice

Teacher, how can I learn patience

Jam filled, crust wrapped, glazed top

Chaos and poverty, hand in hand

Chairs sit stacked silently awaiting return

Tragedy isn't even very tragic anymore

I admit what I did was rather unusual
maybe even somewhat unruling;
Although i'm not sorry for being me
i just wanted to make you happy

Wake up
Eat
Go to Work
Sleep
Repeat

But what really is it
That gets us on our feet

For some it is
Money

For others it could be
Honey (wink wink)

I think it is kind of funny
How we relay so much so often

When all we’re ending up in a
Coffin.

Every-so-often
A loved one ends up in the Earth

But very every pound of Earth
Is another Birth
So be it a Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde
We all have a chuckle,
And some of us have even cried

While some get high
To pass the life away

Some choose to look high
And forward to the next day

frozen fingers follow fire-lit skin

It was my birthday
Just any other day

June 1st
Death had plans for my hearse

Rolled over and faced the digital face
Little did I know, I had to race

Back into darkness I fell, instantly awake again
Fell right out of bed, and that’s where, when, it began

Used the wall to pull myself up
My legs were just down, I reached for my cup

I don’t ask why
I never cried

It was my 10th birthday
Death **** me, I wanna go back to that day

I sit, unable to feel,
Unbeknownst I fall

“I can’t walk mom”
“I said get to your chores”

8 days back and forth

It’s climbing and I’m falling
In Walmart, I start balling

I’ve fallen in the parking lot
On faux hopes it would pass

MRIs and CATs
Finally, a spinal

I’m dying
Deep inside, I knew

My gut knew

If time only exists when we forget it exists, when it ceases to exist, then what really is time?

Walk the desert to the horizon
A wizened old man longs
For a taste of translucent liquid
To fill his can up full
His old man always said take a bull by the horns
But never uttered a word about life with all its strife
Much like attempting to bed a wed wife-
If it's easy, you're not doing it right
So the ripened old man walks the barren land
In search of knowledge

And so I did it
And so I lived it
And so I said it
And so I will do it again

Encumber my desires
                  Whilst I slumber by my internal fire

Dear Beach ***,
Thank you for brightening up my page
Every single day!
You lighten up my life and
Truly encourage writers in every way!
I know it may not always feel this way
But the greater sum of us, like what you have to say!
So here's a message to our dear *** on the Beach,
on behalf of the whole HEPO site,
Thank you for being our Beach ***!
~Ian R.

When I watch you grow
I realize, a thick stem is better
Than a long one
For a thick stalk does not break as easily

I'd write you a song
one not too terribly long

I'd ink your name
under a sketch of your face

I'd love you
the way you should be treated

I grew up
      Learning about car models
             Not knowing
I was just another one
      To my father

For all that I am:
Nothing

Wise men say fools rush in

Wise men say the gentle man angry is no longer gentle

Wise men say time only exists when you're aware of it
It is also said time ceases to exist when

Wise men say be the best you, for you are the only you

Wise men say, be just as good at lying as one is at truth telling

Wise men say bullets are not the answer-
but they sure as hell, help

I think and I ponder
And sometimes I wander
About what is my *** of gold
and what I want from it

Why do I always fall in love with them?

Oh! What a world!
Santa's reindeer
Have runaway!
And now he is without a sleigh.

So for a while he sits and he ponders;
He comes to the conclusion
that the best solution
Is to find something that wanders.
So he sits, without sonder
and declares he'll take volunteers!

And so I sit
And here I write
Although my space is very tight
I sit with my poetry kit
And hope for better
In the belly of the best

A gentle warm wind
To signal a season of death
Swiftly with it
The sweet song of sparrows
The soft pitter-patter of rain
Wipe up your tears and get on you feet
A new day is at your door
Take off your skinned leather parka
The cold no longer shows your breath
And put away those soft winter knits
Let there be no more harrow
And pain should be that of scraped knees
From play all but too rough from friends you meet
After all your spring chores
Sunny like a Petrarca

In the Season of life
lives happiness

It has been awhile
Since the last clash
I used to be just a child
And now that I can stop them
I choose to let the brash battles,
Like the ones at the bulge, push on

I'm not going to babysit adults
She stands and yells, he sits and antagonizes
It's aggravating and agonizing
They like to drop bombs
It's getting agitating to see such polar opposites
Fight
Especially over small things
Like the computer chair

A sheep in wolf's clothing
knows no better

Maybe it is me
Actually it is me
You are quite the dream

Truth is a burden
Heavy sets the beating heart
Even on that day

Beating hearts and a falling start
Recreate the scenes of us falling apart
Incandescent lights
Disrupt the flame
Giving off a new sort of spark
Effectively entrapped in an entangled waltz
Spiraling into the wall

Indescribably

Beaten and battered by frivolous exchange
Understandably we're upset
Reacting not acting
Nevertheless we swing

Lightning flashing
Inside the mind between the hearts
Grasping what we understand
Hoping for the rest
Truly serene

Truth may be a burden
Hardly to fallen stars
Enticed to try again

Wishing for a chance
A way to find the end
Yet I'll I hope we'll never see

I want to write something that Pops!
Something that will drop your jaw
Something to retract cat claws, one that brings
Bling and sparkle to the world of poetry
I want the reader to gape in awe from the beautiful
Scenery I depict like park-hills and
Starry nights underneath
Blankets in the summer or screeching bats attempting to retreat
To caverns and attics also
Make the reader hear chromatic scales
And feel Christmas wreaths in July
I just want to write something good

What is thinking? What does thinking actually mean?
How do we think so well with all these problems we
face daily? I Like to believe it stems from a natural
instinct to have a roll in our packs. Much like wolves,
humans run in groups. We call it family; other animals
that act like this run in packs or herds. Every animal
has a roll to play in their own world. So what if we're
no better than pack animals? Is there a better, higher
way to think? I like to think so...

The pillar of the
"quick bite," world
cheap and fast to eat,
1 as a snack
2 as a small meal
3 is a good sized meal

I personally can eat 7 or 8
i guess my metabolism is great

malnutrition of knowledge and ideas
ravage the world
where wolves prey on the weak
where winds are whirled
and there is only bleak light left

Don't let light blind you from darkness
Everyone needs a little reminder of bleak starkness

When Life gives you lemons, remember you planted the tree

Eyes dart back and forth
Heart rate high
No longer wishing i could cry
Not sure where is magnetic North
Palms are moist
Nerves are weary
And so I foist
wishing to be alone and dreary
He's definitely blasted

Dizzy and toxic wanna watch
The world spins round
Fizzy drink in hand
While i mock it
Sit back and slumber

Fresh vegetables and fruits
the step of boots
it's winter here
yet there is no fear
it's just cold

As the fire echos shadows on the wall
And the chains rattle with every movement
I name the things as I understand them to be
Ball, tree, beautiful butterfly
I know these to be lies but i can't seem to see
Craning my neck I see a blinding light
Blind to me at least
I begin to understand, a very fluid plan
Life through light and dark

Down to Earth,
Something better than before,
High expectations turn low
Lower than hell's last floor
I'm supposed to be
better than those I succeed
So why is it I write poetry?
"No Future"
"No Money"
I need a lively hood
I need to fly far away

I sit up in the morning
Mourning
I still heed that early warning
I want to wait for this
Sunbeam to start pouring
Into window refraction bliss
Hoping for a sun-kiss
Maybe shoot some hoops, a miss
I miss the elementary days
when we'd all go out and play
basketball before going on our way

Land changes, Seas change, Skies, and life, too.

If one escapes life too often, their life becomes their escape.

Everything is scrap until one needs it.

The world belongs to itself.

I write what I wish...
That being said,
I wish I had what I write
I write what I wish for
If I write about love, her sickly sweet scent
I wish I had it in the moment
If i write about rays of sunshine
It is raining in my world
If I write erotica
I wish I lived it, felt it
If i wish for sadness,
I would write about it
For I write what I wish