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Keiko Tei Sep 2019
His name was Johnny. His close friends and family liked to call him, little johnny.

This story is about little johnny, with his report card nearing, he wanted to throw one last Hail Mary.

He tried his best and paid attention. He did all but one math question.

On the night before the big day, he knew that this was it. He fell asleep from fatigue, before everything he learned could even hit...

Next morning, little johnny feeling proud of his effort, went off to school feeling great from his rest.

Unfortunately for little johnny, the results show...that in the end he still failed his math test.

This is a story of little johnny, and his mediocre report card.

I plan to write one for every time I am reminded that it's just as important to acknowledge your existence as "normal" and "mediocre" as it is to believe that you are "special" and "unique".

The truth is that no one has read stories about people who fail, fail, and fail again, without really obtaining success in the end.
Yue Wang Yidhna Sep 2019
How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams

Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight

Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose

A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee

And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream
Sentient Dreams: My Poetry Anthology

This is the manuscript to my amazon vanity press poetry anthology: "Sentient Dreams" that I have now decided to just share it here digitally. All of the poems have been published here on HP at certain points of time anyway.

Almost all of the poems are from October 2017-July 2019.
Please feel free to share! :)

I don't think I will be adding to this specific anthology in the future. (Except three more poems that will be updated later.)

Vessels from Dream to Dream
By: Yidhna
June 25, 2018
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2019
The next
Will be dedicated to
No one

Some how
The concerned knows
No one is
Genre: Abstract
Theme: In silence
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Why can’t I write anything?
Why I need to write something?

Between those two questions, I found my way to ink my thoughts being fascinated with words addressing a soul inside the human body. Being a part-time dreamer, full-time realist I tried to reflect human psyche, social-issues, clinical journey, and so forth with an interdisciplinary approach. White Words invariably explores the hidden depths of a human, set free by either circumstance or the truth. With every new day I felt writing is not just an art, It’s a social engineering with thought exploring the boundaries of our mind. Words could be a medium to achieve inner peace, sometime embraced with an autobiographic element. Nevertheless it needs to be visualized with holistic lens, being near and far off from the distance with curiosities to get the true meaning of it.

All forms of arts are work in progress, where artist tries to reflect the craftsman’s imaginations and emotions, other time control it with an armor and conceals things using words easy to say in the comfort of expressive outlet. Honestly, I never cared about getting it right, now the same thing is inspiring me in the form of catharsis to make a free verse of a poetic trail.

I feel blessed to be around the people I've come to admire.  I remember mom for providing much needed optimism and endless devotion. There is always something new to learn and there is a constant effort to evolve with a better reflection. I want to thank all those who enjoy my writing, and open enough to hone honest  criticism. I  am  accountable for all the errors in bringing this up.

Let the White Words be the life to live by. Until we are blind to foreseeable future, live until we die, laugh until we cry and write what can’t be said. Lastly for a moment just imagine, how good it is to have a voice and being heard, and heeded.
Genre: Experimental
Theme: 2nd Anthology Press Ready, Blue Canvas White Words
dmperez Oct 2018
white world in wild winds
the one fair sun repelling
when Persephone rose

Published in Four Hundred and Two Snails, HSA's member anthology 2018. All rights reserved.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018

found a hope that prevails
reaching for me under a starlit tent
built a boat that sails
across all oceans as they bend
filled my book with tales
an anthology of moments I didn't attend

what a terrible word
holding such a stinging truth
felt like it's all worth the hurt
while wasting years of restless youth
called out and haven't been unheard
found something I couldn't lose

thought any path would get me there
where wholesomeness is not just hearsay
kept a fire in sight that brought me to where
I would find the light of day
made them proud of me, made them care
made them listen to what I had to say

And now
from where I stand
a lyrical sadness
paper in my hand
I know this is true
                                                            ­             I can almost see you
sunprincess Jun 2018
Anthology, yes, someday
positivity, trying to keep afloat
sometimes life feels just like
a sinking boat
An emergency macaroon
on a boulevard, in March,

Because my sugar levels dropping,
mind foggy, dopamine high crashing;
because legs aching; I can’t unknot
the multi-coloured tangles this evening;
because yesterday; because I said yes; because.
Because you never said in so many words.

You say there is cloud cover
with chance of rain, but you know there
will be rain because you have a headache.
You can tell but you can’t say.
Submission for the theme 'distance' for The Menteur Anthology
Steve Page Oct 2017
The known universe was split into two parts.  They were almost completely separated by a thin membrane and had been for 55 years.

On the inner side there was room for one individual, secured behind a flimsy, somewhat porous and pliable divider. It had to be pliable as the individual concerned couldn't decide just how much space would be needed at any one time.

On the outer side the rest of the universe ebbed and flowed, only occasionally taking note of the activities that jostled relentlessly just a short distance away on the far side of the membrane. It was almost as if it was quite unaware of the inevitable collision that was to come once Steve finally published his poetry anthology.

Once he hit that button the two worlds would have to establish new terms for their coexistence.

Only time would tell if it would be a peaceful one.
'Not Too Big To Weep' now available on Amazon.
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