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imehsahdehahs Mar 2018
Siht  si hgih dne  fo wol
my
life
intro
is
backwards
                                               Riffes
made          




of






Grief


let's keep it brief

No body gonna read into  your
                                                










tear apart eyes










No body gonna seal love










deal with thirsty lips


She said : isn't  love the only true ?
I said : For that  Love must be true
r  Jul 2014
Dead drop
r Jul 2014
Underneath the painted rock
you'll find a key
I ain't much for hiding
but that's just me
There's a book of pomes (yeah, pomes)
beneath my pillow
You might find one or two
to your liking
But that's a'right if you don't
I wrote 'em
for you, any ol' way
Come September
if I don't remember
where I hid my key
That book of pomes'll be
still beneath my pillow
If you care
to take a read.

r ~ 7/12/14
\¥/\
  |.    
/ \
r Oct 2015
Hello Poets.
I received a copy yesterday of my good friend Timothy's new book "Reflections in Short Poetry". An excellent book with some of Timothy's finest poems.  Many of you are already familiar with his work. The book is very affordable and now available at lulu.com (by Timothy Salter). I highly recommend it. Congrats to Timothy for getting off of his **** and doing what many of us would like to do. Check his work out here at HP, too, if you aren't already familiar with his writing.

r
Reflections in Short Poetry, by Timothy Salter, at lulu.com
Phil Lindsey Jun 2015
I hate dull poems with no point
That makes no cents at all
I intend to laff it off and
Blame the alcohol.

Yes, Jaegar Bombz and Jello Sots
As far as i can tell,
Are fool fuel to propel my work
George Strait to Poem Hell.

I was gettin’ almost sober, SO
Had another Jaegar, and a beer (or two)
Lean closed to George and whispered in his ear
I’m here for a good time – juss like u

Yeah Iss country singin’ at is best
If u king n rite the kind that sell
But I get;n kinda sleepy
Stink my peom bombses swell.

SO moreally the story, if you right pomes wen yur drnuk
Beddter wate till til the mmornnimg lite
To post it post it post it tooo
That Hallowed Pomes site
LwP$@Qx)911 ^^(
the last couple were pretty serious, needed a laffer   ;-)
Anand  Apr 2014
My Apathy
Anand Apr 2014
To excel is like climbing a mighty mound
So dreary it seems trudging the desolated road,
But I've grown too weary doing inconsequential things.
Lazy to walk, craving for a comfy abode.

Though it's only disinterest that crosses my way
Like a torrent of the mountain creek,
Drowning me in trifling thoughts,
making my journey all the more bleak.

Hope I could find a tree along,
Bloomed with evergreen pomes
Of passion and perseverance.
I'd love to nibble at them for sure,
And regain my lost endurance.

I know I could transcend my limits
And ascend this arduous rock,
If only I took the first step
And started to walk.
Ben Brinkburn Jan 2013
‘They’re my babies
everyone of ‘em’ she grins
Barb is happy she’s released another character
into the world
Tommy Tickeroo the Angry Alarm Clock
and a publisher is interested
and I’m happy for her and
a bit drunk
more than a bit actually been in the Beehive
since it opened at 11 in the morning
and I’m flicking through the artwork
and Barb is drunk too and trying not to flick
*** ash on her brother’s sketches
of a red ******* alarm clock with googly eyes
and a little moustache
and I wonder about myself
and the book that’s proving a ****** to write
and the cliché of putting those authorly trials
into a poem
I am going to stumble home and write
a poem about a dragonfly instead
darting around on gossamer wings
or a pome as Barb calls it
let’s all write pomes together then have a sing and a dance
‘I’m genuinely pleased for you’ l lie and she grins
and puts her head on my shoulder
and I drunkenly go for the *****
down and out and ****** like a **** for The Art
in the middle of the afternoon
in Nowhere Town.
For all those who have sat around in the pub  thinking about writing but finding something else to do, namely drinking.  What a happy club we are :)
r  Mar 2015
put(in) pome
r Mar 2015
you have to be careful
what you put in your pomes
and how you word your critiques

some poets are unique
and their retorts
are silenced

like their critics.
r ~ 3-1-15
Kopter Zero  Jan 2014
Pomes
Kopter Zero Jan 2014
Hey!
How're you doing today?
I have to say
(If I may)
That I intend to write a poem every day!
"What?!", you say,
"That's baloney!
There aren't that many poems to be found anyway!"
Oh yay,
Indeed there are, more than all the stars in the skay,
(You'll note a bit of poetic license there)
If there's anything I've learnt it's to never say nay.
Infinite poems exist, you can keep counting away,
But a considerable more that don't rhyme.
r  Feb 2016
Dusting the inventory
r Feb 2016
A blue guitar, twelve pieces of silver-
ware, some feldspar, an essay on The Art
of War, two pine bookshelves, fifty-four books
about the past, a stone axe that must have
belonged to the last of the Mohicans, fifty more
books about bones, stones and famous pomes,
a sliver of glass from a mirror that shattered
the last six years like they didn't matter
plus one to go, a shitload of old liquor bottles,
a fossil of an inner earbone from a killer whale,
a spear-point older than 12,000 years+plus,
a tooth from a shark as big as a ****** bus,
dust marks from missing pictures of us.
Dusting off the Smundy blahs.
TheUnseenPoet Oct 2017
The best thing about teaching poetry,
And being a poet,
Is that you can show the children,
That sometimes what you write is AMAZING,
And sometimes it is *******,
But it all involves scribbles,
And considering every word,
And what is ******* to you,
Speaks to somebody else,
And what is AMAZING to you,
Is AMAZING to you. (and that's enough)
Oh and it doesn't have to rhyme.
A L Davies Jan 2012
***** alleys weeping garbage (fish                         heads)
            40s (alhambra) for 1 euro & a new leather
jacket;

football games in parks
carpeted broken glass/kids laughing.
sun like a strange shimmer 'yond th'mountains rearing
like
         jagger's wild horses   ,

liquid spanish smiles in little bars all w/th'same signs.. words
words
words like birds ...

                                   (birds that take off
                                   in th'park in raucous flights
                                   if yer talkin' too loud.)

eat minute fried fish outside over 6 glasses strong beer.
almost fall off stool twice's'many times scrutinizing passing girls.

go home & write pomes 'bout cig'rettes & running,
call it "oxymoron" 'cause doing both in same day
is bad ******* news for the guts.

                                  go to the university campus
                                  for cheap coffee
                                  &        conversation
                                  w/a girl from the bar (the bartender)
            write a poem while she talks & call it
                                 "terra nova"

                                                         ­                      that one's about nothing.
south a spain
Arizona Indigo  Jan 2013
Empyrean
Arizona Indigo Jan 2013
Where I abide presents colossal trees

Stretching out like continents.

I am with a caravan of explorers/ artists.

Flower children adorned in green garments,

Upon it, heavy brocade

We are the kings and the queens

You have ordained us to become.

We gallop through your woodlands,

Plunge off of great bonds,

Clamber your mountains,

dream in bountiful verdant shades,

Smoke your fine leaves,

Bathe in the river of wine

And frolic under the feathers of the sun.

I sweat in Egyptian musk and lavish myself in fruits and pomes

harmonic melodies and symphonic winds breath in my ears

I read the books of the waters and the air

i sing the odes of the stars

I swim in your legion of seas

with the divine poetic creatures

The women with the eyes of sapphire and diamonds

Full Garnet lips that taste like mint and rose water.

We are thee queens

We call upon empires within you.

Your lands are ours now.

We Bathe in silk and pearls you have birthed for us

We Feast on lokum

our naked bodies like Venus

Sit upon bowing thrones,

Chanting hymns to the mother.

-Arizona
older poem

— The End —