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lillie Nov 6
it was on
this very day,
that one
among eight
shining stars
was allowed
to grace
upon the

a soul
whose passion
lies heavily
on music
and the arts.

they truly are
a beautiful,
loving, and
kind sun drop.

ups and
they've been
it all.
for kim hongjoong. ♡ // thanks again, apollo! uvu
The sun comes out
and the moon’s still there.
Hanging there in its desolate despair.
Mornings were never my type.
I could never see my dark friend die.
It’s scarred eternal surface never heals.
The lover in the night sky says-
“Dear I’ll bring the moon for you.”
Not knowing they both had it in them too.
All the darkness yet all that light,
Fading away into the darkness
is what it exists to do.
The glass half empty
or the glass half full
Doesn’t matter cause the moon’s too far.
Too far for a normal’s reach.
Perhaps that’s why it’s there,
for artists to reach.
Most of us have been to the moon.
Because living is beautiful art too.
Blind Pathos Sep 8
Where are all the great patrons
Throw me a hook you fishers of men

That I might be caught and eaten
by the audience beyond the footlights

That my blood be spilled on pages
and canvas in prescribed portion

Afford me the flame of arrogance
to believe that my own hand
in the fire of creation touches wonder
and maybe God himself
Creativity is the currency of tomorrows. History shows that patrons have had a strong hand in who we become. Creative people are every where, however the ones with support advance while the rest work harder and arrive later. It is a communal act to support an idea or work of art.
Well hung life's life's painting
Droplets of hope
Scattered  pages.
Leaves of fresh words
fall from poetry's summer
Love's unsung theme
Inked on chaptered scrolls,
We'll keep Shakespeare's signature;
painting mists of blissful autumn
in the sea of  our early dreams
  Shaded chrysanthemum smiles
and salty mistletoes.
We'll add the last piece;
pretty hues of yesteryears
and ringing tones of
cradle's  laughter.
Life's colourful stress
caught in the fluffy strokes
Of breath's brushes.
In our adios
Well hung life's painting.
Life brings unexpected valleys to us as individuals alongside unforgettable memories. It's our duty as poets to paint them into immortality. Dedicated to all poets on hp
Yvonne Han Jul 6
Always in flux:
Nothing is fixed in my heart of hearts
It is instead a perpetuating cycle
Of falling in and out of touch
And rediscovering
Everything I once felt
Do we all bleed?
Yes, we all do,
In different forms,
With a simple plead.

As a little child,
We bleed in tears,
With trivial doubts
And unknown fears.

As a writer,
We bleed in words,
Each blank page,
Engraved with inks darker

As a musician,
We bleed in rhythms,
Strumming chords to fathom,
The passion reflected in symphonies.

As a painter,
We bleed in colors,
Reality getting duller,
And canvases conveying brighter ...

We bleed in diverse ways,
For mutual reasons,
To encore unheard, unread, unseen
Piled up emotions...
Yes little by little every day
Tizzop May 27
faithful eyes are restlessly observing the luminous night
an angeldog is sitting on the debris of a former court house
its silky fur is glowing while it is singing a song of the ancient
long mother tongues are licking up all of the words, greedily

the dog's night is a creature and it is alive, serious and cheerful
nobody will be able to spot it with the glimpse of humans
dogs can easily scent its traces, like foul fruits, grasping
animals can not talk but they sense way more than any human

science, arts, music are simply distractions from our inabilities
we have to assure us daily that we have a selective soul
that we observe and recognize the existing to recreate it
goosebumps are a replacement for our lack of scent

poems come, artists go, dogs are better off in silence
a dog's barking is nothing else but a distraction for us
we think we control pets, they know us better than we do
the dog's night is dark by now, asleep with one eye opened
Today is a good day.
Four May 23
I know poems does not have to be rhyme, but I am rhyming mine.

It is just a preference that everyone has the right,
But rhyme or not rhyme a poem is poem when author recites.

Some are composed deep, imaginative or metaphoric,
Some are written simple, nonfigurative or realistic.

However it is wrote,
However it is composed,
Your gift of writing deserved to be exposed.

Let the words just flow,
Let your pen and paper do its work,
Someone might need and enjoy it folk,
So continue on, for you're doing great work.

Never stop creating for there are people waiting, appreciating and needing,
You are part of the community that will keep artistry living.

Yes, you heard it right,
you are an artist, just if you keep it alive,
If you read this, received this pat on the shoulder, for you from mine.
You're blessed with this talent share them to world. Never stop creating and celebrating artistry. 😉
undermyfeet May 22
My head is in the clouds
Too high to be measured with numbers

Words, swimming and floating
inside my mind my breath

Let me go
for, you cannot ground me at all
Through generations
It comes to me
Kicked me a
" hello"
When I was weaning
In nature's Bower
Reverberating streams
Of laughter

It came to me
Often with a baton
Taking a stroll through time
Plucking strands of sweet sounds

We walked with people
Black and White
Red or wine
Walked past piano's dazzling concertos
And drugged past drums

Sitting in thought's
Blissful tower
It whispered
"Music for a while
Shall all thy woes
Dedicated to my brother, composer , counter tenor and choir director Samuel yawson(yawsmight music)
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