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⭐️

Step I -⭐️
As you can see I have used a ⭐️above
(we can use any character/number /alphabet)

Step 2- use return key

Step 3- The poem in asterisk , which remains the same
for
italics
bold
bold-italics

Step 4- use return key

Step 5- again the character(⭐️) it could be anything

And there you get the poem in desired fonts .
I tried this in my drafts on Hp and yes it works .

Happy posting


⭐️
Step1 ~

Step2  return key

Step 3 *poem*

Step4 return key

Step5 ~

Thanks Kim for giving the sun here .
I just so hope whatever I tried , should be of help to all my friends on HP.
It would bring me immense happiness if it works for you all.

My abilities in explaining is limited, I have tried putting the steps in notes too


We could use any of these signs ~ !  # .
I just hope it works for you my friends .
The devices that I have been using  are my iPad iPhone MacBook.
Riptide  May 2014
Whatsapp
Riptide May 2014
Subconsciously,
I replaced your emotions
With emoticons
Your eyes
With profile pictures
Your voice
With fonts
Falling into this technological abyss
How could I be so stupid
Thinking whatsapp
Could compensate
For your aura.
And now consciously
I suffer...
cd  Mar 2015
fonts
cd Mar 2015
Times New Roman reminds me of a time when I knew that romance was not dead because I got to hold it in my hand 
 
The curve of the characters reminds me of the uneven curve of your cupids bow

The claustrophobic clustering of vowels reminds me of the cringe worthy cling of your foggy glass  frames stuck to mine, failing sight feeding failed intimacy

The simplicity of each symbol reminds me of the systematic sufficiency with which you seduced me in so few words,
 the straightforward soliloquy with which you struck me and bereft me of my sanity.

The length of each letter reminds me of the longevity of our last embrace
Lanky limbs looped laterally to the length of my body for literal milliseconds

The overuse in overdue essays typed in early hours of the morning reminds me of the overuse of three words and the emptiness and lack of effort behind them, 

Submitting those three words for a good grade and a pat on the back, coming up short because professor and princess alike saw through the inability to do
With meaning,
That your words had no feeling.

The fact that though I've faced fancier fonts and fell for them fanatically, I always return to the first, reminds me that though a fair few have found more than friendship in my fragile forearms that the first is the forever 
and if at times the former 
then always the future

the finest font I've ever found is you
I love my very own pen
a pen easy to push
a pen for truth
lies out-cast!

I love my pen
the way it goes along
with my helical head
the way it goes swift
with my roguish paper
the way it writes blank prose
delighted? Not me, it's them
or you.

non-sense fonts, they say
I beg for disgrace
for they are the power
of my visions thing
they are the power of my dark ink
freedom sharpened, inked
I scribbled its wisdom

Thoughts once ooze out
ideas irretrievable
impressions? I don't need
exactly its ballpoint's labor of thoughts
desires for precession and
harmony
of ideas never pirate.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 6
(trigger warning: my apologies to the long poem haters,
nah, not really)

<>

Dawg!

your last and latest test be driving me crazee-
the poem conception birth rate is out of control,
them titles intriguing, stinging,
falling like curling up and dying oak leaves crunchy neath my feet,

and this little town don’t allow no burning thereof,
inclusive of leaves, poem drafts or witches

it’s not only the skin-pores, inhaling,
but the braniac neurons
that are clogging up
(ex. where’s my coffee mug hiding
when it ain’t hiding in the microwave)
and there ain’t no legal Drano for the
upper cortex contextual,
and condoms on my ears looked upright atrifling,
small & unbecoming, 
so pse. put a lid on it,
without sacrificing my nice head of grayling fibers
you graciously let me inherit ~
(thanks mom!)

soooo,
need to provide a method of contraception, legal and100% poem~proof, to keep me in decent metal health, with a natural speed limit on steadily in~fluxing immigrants of
seditious inspirational insights,
and these insider’s outside sights/sighs that
my eyes catalogue, and remind/tell, as well,
my buddies, the animals and the elements,
who constantly are hinting ‘n suggesting themselves
for yet another scripture of praiseworthy adoration

(esp. the rabbits, the ospreys, &
the nighttime starry skies,
a living tableaux de peinture…)
to pretty please
cease and desist
before *I

seize (up) and de-exist,

overwhelmed by piles of dead leaves
and out of computer memory
for anymore inspiration retention

Your earliest attention to this
Matter of Urgency to me, and

What‘a that you said?

Start a petition?
You kidding?

Might as we try to buy indulgences,
in bulk at Costco,
though they are never in stock!

I get it.

Using Pandora as your voice never fails.

You just played Judy Collins singing
Pete Seeger’s Turn,Turn, Turn.

Unsubtle.

This is my seasonal hint too,
part of my timed descent towards the
shadowed valleys + visible peaks I’ve
occasionally reached

My finale’s approchment nigh,
yet, don’t turn my heart or my senses
just quite yet,
from the spark divine you have placed within us each,
don’t let it burn brightest before
it flames out of existence
into extinction.
Appreciate the heads up, really

Most don’t know ‘bout this method of our conversing,
and the hint, the seasonal changeover, taking place now,
is mourned by my utterance with every breath of
a Kaddish prayer
contained within
a larger message:
natty, it’s time to
turn, turn, turn

Which way when,
of courses,
you’ll musically clue me in…

but you impatient being,
drawn after all in the
shape of humans,
fast forwards, nay hurtles this human,
with chariots spun from a summer sun’s
fonts and hints,
accidents and incidents,
by spectacles through spectacles,
colors emboldened by  
in a glory, glory, glorious
sun-nation

****!

Vienna Teng sweetly invades singing
Homecoming (Walter,’s Song):

but things are good I've got a lot of followers of my faith
I've got a whole congregation living in my head these days
and I'm preaching from the pulpit
to cries of “Amen brother”
closing my eyes to feel the warmth come back
and I've come home
even though I swear I've never been so alone
I've come home
I just want to be living as I'm dying
just like everybody here
just want to know my little flicker of time is worthwhile
and I don't know where I'm driving to
but I know I'm getting old
and there's a blessing in every
moment every mile…

well I'll kneel down on the carpet here
though I never was sure of God
think tonight I'll give Him the benefit of the doubt
I switch off the lights and imagine that waitress outlined in the bed
her hair falling all around me
I smile and shake my head
well we all write our own endings
and we all have our own scars
but tonight I think I see what it's all about
because I've come home
I've come home.”*
(lyrics by Tom Hall)

Got it.

so many summarize better,
but even still a bit heavy handed when
you follow up with  Sting’s “Fields of Gold,”
and even, jeez, Louse,
“Danny Boy?!”

Your DJ is a ham
(I know, not exactly kosher).

It’s my season of the muse,
extracting every remaining incantation,
knowing  there are hundreds, thousands,
of notional ideations
in my draft files,
some born even before HP!

But deny them not their use,
they cannot remain forever
unemployed,
but at their peril, double toil and trouble,
be them entrusted, encrusted, secreted
in someone else’s existence,
by your annoying divine persistence

Demanding Being,
have you no sense of
sufficiency? (1)

Eva so sweet Cassidy
ends this trip
with “Who knows where the time goes ?”

Gonna pack up this ditty,
containing a peace of deity,
drive back to the city
where all my sorrows
are streeted above ground,
inescapable resounded …

now down to  2% battery (ramming)
and this cracked -screen
whispers too gently,
“no mas”
my dearest companion,
you still don’t know
when to shut up,
or call it quits,
but I’m hearing a new crew
old familiar poets, awaiting,
who will take one up & in,
relieve you of you earthly sins,
and I hear up there,
you’ve got
unlimited
data storage
and no need for cords
and
batteries

Seeing the schooner drawing nigh,
must be the season of
‘at last, here is Shelter,’
repentance (2)


<>

n.m.l.
Weds. Sept 4,
2024
while sitting by
my dock on the sound,
who insists that it’s
soundless wavings of water
get the last silent
mention
published Friday Sept. 6,,
Sabbath Eve

p.s.
(and that’s how u put the playlist
in an Audio Visual poem,, kid)
(1) “Who by Fire
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833523/for-leonard-cohen-who-by-fire/
(3)

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/
<>

Ecclesiastes

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to ****, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
Gaye Oct 2015
I swallowed her and now
She lives inside me or I live
Through her, we are alive.
I’m her friend, her teenage
And fantasies, a sixty year old-
Hair and books she ever read
Long distance phone calls
And delight matched our
Love for Sujata, Mr And Mrs Iyer
And I sat on her couch on my
Despised vacations sketching
Letters to Milena, Quabbani
And we spoke of her brothers,
Generations and cafes I went.
I’m Delhi, Bangalore and
Endless conversations-
She never met and she’s my
Lost Malayalam, postcards and
A world so familiar, a childhood.

Hold your breath and relax
I’m going to stay and listen
Till you are out of stories and
I repeat, remind and you smile.
I’ll get you melodies and 60s
Harold Robbins and Nutan,
Your weirdness and aloofness.
You don’t grow old with me
I’ll live, I promise as your fonts
Visit places you walked and
Write to you all, deep- blue
Letters, deep- blue-letters.
You are my first high-heels
Strawberry fields and music system
I’ll recite you a love story
Picture him as our classic heroes
And giggle as girls sixteen and
Seventeen. You swallowed me
And I live through you, we’re alive.
Jack  Jan 2014
Tattoo Promises
Jack Jan 2014
Tattoo Promises

Read these words now inked of a passionate verse
From miles away, beneath clouded silver linings
Far beyond every enchanted moon glow vista
Phrases of undying devotion in eternal fonts
Styled by a hand now longing your touch
Tattoo promises melodically whispered
Breathless devotion in sonnet sighs
Forevermore holding tightly your
Affectionate kisses dripping
Of sweetest pure honey
Unto my wanting lips
In poetic phrasing
Written entirely
Upon the walls
Of this my
Beating
Heart
Raven Feels  Apr 2021
I'm Done
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I think my words speak for themselves;}


tired of the blinded faults

disgusted by the brutal unappreciation

manifested in the untied bonds

to **** the place and fire up the numbs

maybe ending in tons of regrets and flooded ponds

yet my indecisive conscience knows no faked up fonts

and my rage is bored of a game of prison where no fun

just please me with your silence drowned

keep me with your mouths shut down

you call me rage with no bounds

well blame yourselves for the upcoming storm and sounds


                                                                                         -----ravenfeels
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
much of the time Nietzsche was wrong,
in that claiming systematisation in philosophy
is a form of dishonesty,
perhaps, but for people having to wake up
to an alarm clock at 7 a.m. for several years
there's hardly any dishonesty to think about,
no long lost dream...
what bothers me is the supreme (apologies
for the adjective) usage of maxims in
the English speaking world - they're everywhere,
it's almost parallel processing of the maxim
and an advert snail (slogan), Achilles did
indeed lose in Zeno's paradox (fair enough
it was a tortoise and not a snail... but i
did mention slogan)...
English society hardly reads, hence it stresses
maxims, extracted from texts like it stresses
advert slogans... plenty of soul-mates about...
it doesn't read, hence it pressure to pretend it reads
by the process of regurgitation...
but it doesn't regurgitate what's necessary:
a unique interpretation, heretical, it just regurgitates
****, maxims... i find great dishonesty in the maxim,
it's a flimsy truth that attracts no bothersome
experience, observationally speaking... it's true,
but it's hardly experienced... that's the greater dishonesty
Nietzsche claimed paired-against systematisation;
any number of maxims can disorientate a man,
systematisation places him in a cohort,
in that great summer of 1961... re (i.e. repeat)...
in that great summer of 2005... re (  "        "     )...
English society doesn't read because it's saturated by
the virus of advertisement... the iconoclasm of
fonts, the swirly and curly coca cola insignia...
the proof that it doesn't read is the French work ethic...
and the fact that it's too eager to regurgitate maxims...
it's basically stating a philosophical bulimia,
although a bulimia of having eaten an anorexic's
daily allowance of a malteser and a lettuce leaf,
puking out more acidic saliva than the content of
what the oesophagus just constricted down like
a boa into the lake of Hades know as λιμνη ασιδωρ;
grapes of wrath? more like sour grapes, or simply
gooseberries. honest, they don't read, they just
maximise what's intended when it isn't intended,
they have no narrative, and if they do, they narrate
with images like some obscure rekindling of
Egyptology from the Suez clan of those ******* Africans
who built graves so high that it took the Eiffel tower to obscure
them. so no, Nietzsche was wrong about systematisation
being dishonest... what is dishonest is his excessive
maximisation, overly utilising maxims, truths that
very few will experience given the σ paradox
in practical saying: no plumber can or will experience
**** or skydiving, horse riding, **** ***...
i.e. the totality of all possible experiences... hence the
by-product of the σ paradox is the observer,
who utters many truths but experiences only a fraction,
a dividing summation, as in Nietzsche's case,
a descent into madness - σ of course refers to the mathematical
understanding of anti-phonetic encoding: sum of, total.

— The End —