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Classy  Dec 2018
Ice in Antartica
Classy Dec 2018
Day after day,
Month after month,
Year after year,

The ice in Antartica,
will melt into water.
And the tension between us,
will vanish onto the skies.

It's just a matter of time.
Sharina Saad May 2014
Sukarkah sekeping  hati seorang wanita itu di fahami?
Is it too difficult
To understand a woman's heart?
Just her piece of heart

Hati wanita
A woman's heart

Kadangkala keras membatu
Sometimes too hard

Bak kerikil di jalanan
Just as hard as the stones
in the streets

Sekeuat  ketulan ais di Antartika
as tough as an iceberg in Antartica..

Hati wanita
A woman's heart

Kadangkala dingin membeku
Sometimes as cold as ice

Kadangkala luka  merah berdarah
Sometimes as red as it bleeds

Kadangkala duka bungkam dan lara
Sometimes too sad, almost grieving

Kadangkala tenang putih suci bak salju
Sometimes too calm, too pure
as white as the snow

Kadangkalanya selembut bulu pelepah
Sometimes as soft the feathers

Hati wanita
A woman's heart

Damai yang dicari
Always Searching for a peaceful soul

Langit tinggi ingin di gapai
Searching in the sky so high

Terbang jauh mencecah awan..
Flying up in the blue blue sky

Bahagia yang didamba...
Every woman seeks happiness

Hanya tersemat di dalam hati
Yet locking the desires  at heart

Tersimpan seribu rahsia wanita
misteri.......
A woman's heart like an untold tales
the safest place where secrets and mysteries are sealed..

Selamanya di hati seorang bernama wanita
tightly sealed in a woman's heart forever.....
The poem A Woman's heart is written in Malay languaage by me and I translated it to English for Hello Poetry members to read and understand the meanings... Enjoy reading!!!
plunging  Jul 2013
antartica
plunging Jul 2013
teeth gritted yet chattering
body wrapped up yet shivering
curled into a ball
like a lonely girl in the corner of the hall
The AC is just really cold on public transport
Francis  Sep 2016
Wicked Woman
Francis Sep 2016
The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.

Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.

You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.  
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.

I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.

I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.

I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.

Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.

Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****.
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.

Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.

Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.
I love my mother very much. But we're only human. Blew off some steam.
george glass  Dec 2015
an inch
george glass Dec 2015
life is a straight line, they say
no bouncing springs of chaos
and impossible conversations
which tear the mass of intermingled blue stitches
apart

no destination
a train with tracks straight through
the barren emptiness of
Antartica
not the hum of your insides
that
what’s that word again
soul

nor the pure anticipation
the twisted gut
of never quite knowing
it is not the fear of reaching
and extending
and finding
nothing

life is a dash
between symbols
it is an inch
representing all of you
which makes
you,
You

strangers will observe
casually
they will never envision your
silhouette against the glare of a Sunday
sun
your breath, coffee-ripe
or the morning news sitting at her
empty space
at the kitchen table

maybe,
if you're lucky
you'll get a brief pause,
a second of consideration,
two-and-a-half-centimeters worth,
before they move on
Nat Lipstadt May 2015
from the beckoning nookery
a firework sign comes,
a warning bow shot
of summer commencing,
the ever present
natural elemental companions
sun, sky, water, earth and wind
in unison,
their voices commanding,
calling out

write!

poet has painted this vista~poem
so so many times,
all is as before,
yet nature's sirening,
   a compulsed fierce fire catcall
poet once more,
endeavor,

write!

poet resists
for all seems a priori,
impossible to change his older visionaries,
defending himself to them

"all is before"
(except for the poet)

the Nookery is
the poet's corner,
self-proclaimed,
in soul warfare taken,
oasis of composition,
truthfully, a
confessional
seclusion salvation place,
within it heard only
the voices of
twinning earth and water,
sun and sky
striking poet's fomenting
heart~throat beating chest

other poets have been invited here,
for their solacing arrival
this poet attends,
perhaps only  together he thinks,
two poets with luck,
in contra-unison can devise
new ways of capture of  the
unceasing harmonies,
unnaturally eternal
ripened to perfection,
a constancy of hope,
in the unchanging, island setting

river and bay breeze,
sun-warmed waters
bring to him once again as in the past,
Shaker Melodies of West Side Stories,
Air adagio's of rock and roll anthems,
Pachelbel's Canon

this, nature's subtle way
of edging him on,
beseeching the poet

sit, rest,
one more time
upon the Adirondack wood worn throne,
pluck poems from us,
about us

write!

the environmentals,
so persistent -
refuseniks of the tyranny
of the past shout

lay us down to sleep
on coverlets of refreshed verse,
ours to keep,
when to the must of the city,
you
must

the poet,
contented
with the written word of
what has long ago
been removed from him,
fears plumbing yet again
the unoriginal error of repetition,
a sin of cardinals and small minds

the unrepentant wind whips
insistent,
seering sun shines
consistent,
water waves lap speak
one continuous shushing sound
persistent,
all together
demanding, non-stopping,
new homages and sacrifice
deny past connectivity

all is not as before
maintaining, complaining
(even the poet)

poet sees
the elements,
sees that all appear similar
in last year's' form,
and the year's before,
lacking the comprehension
of subtle modifications

eyes uncircumcised
see harder, look closer,
perceive
new combinations of
varicose veined blue shadings
in the waterways and the
fresh waving-hello colored whitecaps,
updated saluting salutations
quite like those of
friends past, rewelcoming him,
more real
than the error of self-delusion of
unchained unchanged
all, nothing
is as before

these waters molecules
have never been here before,
newly flowing nouvelles arrivées
from the South Seas and Antartica,
the Yangtze and the Amazon

today's temperate breeze
so adamant,
boasts of having come here first time
from cold Canada,
or balmy Bombay,
melting as immigrants to his sheltered island

all speak now in
new tongues, new accents,
all a collective
here,
come to me,
all the same quest

write!

the sun same,
yet newly born daily
burnished with a forever glory
send fresh light
to the poet's eyes,
each ray politely suggesting,
this summer's novice poet,
pay them
poetic obeisance dues,
and

write!

all is as surface as before,
but all have changed,
new summer, new elements,
decay wiped away,
man~poet must now speak too,
using uncovered new verbal molecules,,
recreating the ineffable solace
of a new summer
brought to him in the guise only of
familiar friends

all of us
have changed,
though seemingly minimally surficially,
Poet,
self-taught,
acknowledges, he too
evolves

it is this tale then,
the poet proffers
as his first serving of
summer-only fruits,
owning up now,
though man and nature
revolve in planetary unison,
all things change,
even the poet,
when in nature's nookery,
his compulsion
is sun blood heated,
and
skin breathes differently
in the nookery,
his natural old time, revival tent

happily now, he weeps
in tenderest of embraces,
when old, familiar
changelings
charge him

write!

Shelter Island
May 2015
cherma berdida Feb 2016
Lets go.
Lets travel everywhere.
Discover the undiscover paradise
And unravel the beauty it hides.

Come on.
Lets us tour.
See and enjoy the wonder of nature
W/ a respect from its creator.
Hey.
Join me.
As, I travel from Atlantica to Antartica,
And to conquer America.

Cause life on Earth maybe difficult.
But it includes a free trip,
Under the heat of the sun.
shahzain mustafa Mar 2014
I drove to the bank yesterday
I drove to fill my gas tank,Easter day

my dad went fishing with his friend today
and why shouldn't they?

leave me in the house
its no problem
i'll just sit and stare at the walls
take my brother too so there's no one to play

don't bother stocking up the fridge
forget about the electricity bill

mom's on the other side of the bridge
working for us
earning for us
just like dad

the clouds are crying like me
their tears falling on the roof
like marbles on the floors

the TV isn't working
neighbors are off skiing in Aspen
and i'm stuck at home

why can't I go fishing?
no room for me?

when will I go to Aspen?
when everybody will be going for vacations to Antartica?

this life's no life
trapped in the house,no phone

shoes muddy
hair curled up
breath smelling like socks

the day is over
but my complaints aren't

mom and dad are home
relaxing in front of the TV

Is EVERYTHING fine now?
Can I stop complaining now?
and MAY I go to sleep now?
Because i'm tired of complaining
now.
Kill me slowly Oct 2015
oh, she's the girl with the
cold lips
that sits in the corner
and mouths
words
she will never say
because she knows they're just too cold
for the average human.

ninety eight degrees hotter then you could ever be
but still she freezes you over with one look of her frosty eyes.

you get freezer burn
when she kisses you
but you like the feeling of being
chilled to the bone

mind over matter.
something over nothing.

am
i right?


i'm stuck in a constant state of nothing
and
apathy keeps me cold
while i make love by the fire.

in this world
im surrounded by hipsters
that i pick my teeth with
and my reasoning is
there lives matter as much as ants when you consider the things they do with their time.
and the worst thing is, for the most part i am right.

and i'm stuck in this miserable god forsaken city
with these miserable god forsaken clothes
on this miserable god forsaken
back.

smile so bright still, i do
but i still end up getting  cavities
from
their flesh inbetween my teeth.

tumblr ****.

recycled faces.

grody.


i hate people
but they taste so good.
especially their hopes and dreams

haha i really am a life ruiner.

bitter..?  i guess you could call her that
she tastes like stale water
with a little extra something on the side
she never fails to leave your toungue numb
though,

thats for sure.

so deadly
she is
but you know you love it.
there's a deep rooted craving
in all of us
for things that tear us apart
and

she's just
sharpened
her icicle fingers
pointed like knifes
that she'll run through your hair
when she makes you a cake filled with poison
on your birthday

it was made with love.
i honestly don't understand how they all ended up dead, officer.


what.

she'll pretend that she cares
and spin you a fabricated story
but she. really.  ******* doesn't.

you mean as much to her
as what she regurgitates onto paper

so a lot.

not.


she could **** you
in one foul swoop
but she likes to watch you fail
so
go ahead and scramble for a safety you will never find
eventually you're going to end up losing yourself
or your mind

it's the same thing these days.


i just want to find one person
who understands this disease
and
has the cure to make me love again
rebirth me
into a world where i belong and can rule

please
    


dear nonexistent identical clone of a person

whatever universe you are in
whatever you are called
whatever you are
if you understand me
please tell me you        
do


are you trapped in a paradox just like me..?
will you call me on Sunday's after a bad run in at the church where i end up shooting a little bit too much of you up into my veins, to make sure i'm still breathing?
how do you like me and your eggs
battered, broken, or sunny side down?

the answer is no.

silly goose.

no one loves you.
and
no one is there listening on the other side of that phone.
(universe)
the line is dead
and so is your humanity.



these puns
and these lines
that i've been writing around this head
are driving me nuts.
i'm knitting a noose for your neighbor
but this has all left me without a single hair on my head.

i'm sorry that i'm so frustrating



so where was i..it seems i've lost track of where this all began?

i plead the fifth.

this girl.

right.

nevermind.          


there's not too much to her, really.
she's simplistically consistent in her ways.

oops

sorry

that
was a lie.


maybe next time you'll get it right
and get the **** over yourself


okay.

let's start over.


****
i'm losing my mind



she's the girl with the
pale face
that sits in the corner

the girl with the
antartica heart
that you just can't warm.
she'll **** you before she lets you try.
in fact.


not today
though
and
not tomorrow

     not you
not again.

heed my warning

step back before you
die
before
i
freeze your heart next to mine.


              before you're trapped forever.
.
haughty. hateful. histeric.

rambling just happens to be my forte
Athena  Aug 2015
Fire and Ice
Athena Aug 2015
"Life was a punch in the jaw and you were the pack of ice I needed."
But remember, we have a very complex relationship.
We are both poets, destruction is what we are known for.
But in reality,
They should call us carpenters.
We tear down, yes, but we also rebuild.
Better, stronger, our feet planted on the ground.
Your feet planted on my mind.
Frostbite,
That is what  you gave me when you just would not let go.
Yes I needed an ice pack but not everything can be cold.
Your veins frozen solid,
Antartica in your heart.
I was so used too being frozen over that when the sun came out I thought I was burning.
I was burning.
The frost already bit me,
But all I want is for you to hit me.
Hit me with your words one last time.
I do not care if you spit razor blades,
Your poetic phrases will fill the room.
Coat me with metaphors and philosophical ideas like I am the Aristotle too your Plato.
When you are done I will spit fire like a dragon.
After so many years of being frozen,
Im sorry baby,
I do not know how too treat a burn wound.
Please do not take my words, they are the only thing I have.
Wonder what I'll do when I grow up
I could tend to a mighty blaze on the ladder
of a city firetruck
Feed dolphins on the high seas
Explore Antartica with snow up to my knees
I'm the window cleaner high atop -
the skyscrapers of Atlanta
I can see myself driving a dump truck with a load of granite
Leading an orchestra , a game warden in the forest , a candler
at the egg farm , a cobbler in a tiny shop , a blacksmith
hammering horseshoes in the smithing barn* ..
Copyright November 30 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

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