I am a very old man
Living inside a plan
Of that great creator
To create immortals
But I live in a body
That is very young
And very enthused

My HP Poem #1630
©Atul Kaushal
Jasmine 22h

With the storm, it makes me less anxious and paranoid
About my own life and the uneven road it tends to navigate
because it reminds me of the wild, untameable world we live in
And how the fruit just keeps falling from the trees, it's unbelievable
How many ripened delicious feijoas get squashed and then they are swept away by this storm,
I should be out in that storm
With a raincoat, long enough to reach my ankles
Big enough to encompass my body in a cocoon of hopeful dryness
Some rain boots to protect my feet from the puddles and the branchy, sloppy, slippery and gravely path that awaits me.
I could've saved those ripened, mellow green and smooth feijoas
Or at least picked them up once I'd seen them on the ground.
But I chose to walk around them, ignore them, until the funky smell just subsided and they were washed away with the rain.
Next season I might just take them in a basket,
Sell them and buy myself some warm socks
until the storm subsides and I have
Made it through the winter.

mimi 1d

Electra,
You dance in lavender colored spectrums,
Causing trouble with your lover,
Playing cops and robbers.
He asks her, "Babe, you wanna?",
"Let's get high on marajuana.".
So you both drive through the desert,
The place that has become your home treasure.
Be careful with the boys your mother told you to stay away from,
Because the evil in him is what you've now become.

Love twisted minded devils,
Turning the world into blindsided rebels.
Don't hide your gun,
Because you know the fun has just begun.

Electra,
You're still dancing in lavender spectrums,
But you're running out of time,
The boys in blue have declared wartime.
Summertime is ending,
The thrill of the desert may seem never-ending,
But surrender your gun,
Before they chase you toward the sun.
You should of listened to what your mother said,
Cause now, you're about to end up dead.

Love twisted minded devils,
Turning the world into blindsided rebels.
Don't hide your gun,
Because you know the fun has just begun.

Electra,
Now you cry in red colored spectrums,
Alone in the desert.
Maybe you remain unhurt,
But your heart bleeds for him.
He's somewhere in the dim,
Screaming your name locked in an empty cell,
Now you're stuck in a never ending carousel.

Love twisted minded devils,
Turning the world into blindsided rebels.
Don't hide your gun,
Because you know the fun has just begun.

This poem goes along with another poem I wrote which is callled Electric. It's not necessary to read electric but it's a good background/introduction to everything.
Crimsyy 1d

We clicked, a
sublime combination
like cloud and rain.
We have punctured minds
and somehow mine is
coming undone,
spilling into your hands
thoughts I'd kept in my head.
You're warm.
Not edgy, not twofaced,
not laced with superficiality.
You're warm.
Honest conversations
decorate us and I
have never looked
so wonderful before.
You make me grin,
and I know
'making your own sunshine'
is all a mental thing,
but now it's so physical,
I can feel it spreading
through my bones.

Ashley 4d

We just kept getting worse and nothing really helped.
Maybe, just maybe we were meant to be like this,
Depressed, alone and ready to die.

death never strays too far from depression.

it's so easy to lose yourself when surrounded by people,



unable to truly express yourself and how you feel,



stretching out your hand but no one grabs hold,
until.





they do.

haven't written a poem for months. Was lost now I am found

I'm saying today really
You're happy sweet Lily
Yours love is Daddy Jonny
He looks handsome funny.
I'm saying today really
You're happy sweet Lily.

You are pretty cute shy
Yours mind likes blue sky
Glad smile gives shining
And face gives charming.
I'm saying today really
You're happy sweet Lily.

You're beauty queen Kitty
And so cute simple chatty
Yours look likes lovely
You talk to all nicely.
I'm saying today really
You're happy sweet Lily.

we were walking down a street that
used to be filled with blacks and browns and
yellows and purples and whoever else
but was now completely gentrified
the sun was setting and the orange hues
lit across her face when she turned to talk to me

“that house right there,” she said,
“I almost moved in there a few years ago
when the neighborhood was still sketchy.
it was gonna be 600 a month for a three bedroom house,
but there were rats in the walls and
one room was smeared with somebody’s blood
so I didn’t take it.
now I could be living in this fancy area for that much
and I feel stupid for not embracing the
blood and rats.”

we walked past a telephone pole with
a poster of a young boy plastered on it
the poster said in bold letters:
ON AUGUST 4TH, 2015
ANTHONY DONAHUE WAS MURDERED
IN HIS FRONT LAWN ON 10TH AND MONTGOMERY
IF ANYONE HAS INFORMATION REGARDING HIS KILLER
CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY AND
WE CAN HAVE JUSTICE FOR ANTHONY’S FAMILY


she would stop at every flower to smell it
and would tell me exactly what each one smelled like
“this smells like…orange peels.”
“this smells like…vanilla.”
“oh, lotion. definitely lotion.”
it made me smile when she did it.

she would rip off pieces of plants
in the yards of houses we passed and
stick the material up to my nose
without warning
“smell!”
“what the fuck is it.”
“it’s lavender! smell!”
“lavender, yeah. it’s lavender.”

she walked down the street
in love with the world
drinking it in
I followed behind
drinking in only her

“this reminds me of ashland,” she said.
“I’ve never been. why were you in ashland?”
“I had joined this pagan cult. have I not told you this?”
“no.”
“well I joined a pagan cult.”
“how was that?”
“fine for a while,
but one day I walked in on an orgy
and it really disgusted me. that was kind of the last straw.”
“what’s wrong with an orgy?” I said. “that sounds like a
selling point to me, sign me up.”
“it was in the kitchen. just thirty sweaty, hairy hippie bodies
writhing and humping on the counter I was making food on
like an hour earlier. that’s not sanitary. so I left.”

the orange hues deepened into a blood red and
I thought about holding her hand.
I couldn’t remember where we were walking but
I didn’t really care

Allie Jul 14

rupi kaur writes that loving with the knowledge that you are not good enough is selfish,
and to that i say let me be selfish,
just this once.
i have suffocated my joy and buried my despair for too many men.
please let me try to show this one
how much he means to me.

Next page