Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Let me hear
You are fine there

Hope to see again
Genre: Love
Theme: From Ground Zero, A Day In The History
Maxim Keyfman Jun 28
Today yesterday tomorrow  Blasts my head
That friend that girl   blast my head
Today yesterday tomorrow  blast my head
That the holidays that school Blasts my head

Blasts my head
Blasts my head
Blasts my head

Let me be the one you blast me
I'm so tired
I'm so tired

Today yesterday tomorrow  Blasts my head
That friend that girl  blast my head
Today yesterday tomorrow  blast my head
That the holidays that school Blasts my head

Blasts my head
Blasts my head
Blasts my head

Blast my head

Blast my head

Ahh ahh

All over.

Ellison Mar 22
A field of fire rising up to the sky
Ten thousands of people; all will die
Dozens of suns and a giant shockwave
And nobody went to visit my own grave.

Music and life had fallen as well
And imprisoned in a chamber donned by people as “hell”
Yet deaf was all real, but the one thing heard
Was the blast in the morning as soft as a bird.

A place where freedom did never exist
A place where war from society was pissed
And liberty had left; and peace had too
Inside of the government always undergoing a coup.

Cities had fallen from the bombs up above
Some paradoxical world that once kept me in love
With its sadism of nature, but all that has gone
And poems were buried in the nuclear dawn.

No…no no no no no more
I can’t take this anymore
No more nightmares it’s getting to a point

And my body rocks violently in sleep.
A silhouette cross by
Like a rock star
Metal probe in his back
With alpha heart
Pointed somewhere, and
Trigger a prey

Probably, the last cry
Human, it was.

Fired more metals
Without, excuse to say

I probably,
enjoyed a view
of bloodshed
being a cannibal
waiting for a fest.

It is hard to live
Harder to feel
20-40-90, and more to count
Bang…. Bang….Bang
A fetus got a medal, before his birth
A mute got a medal, no one to hear

I turned my face towards the light
As their life have no input to mine.

Later that night,
I wake up,
before a dawn
a nasty smell of sulfur, over my surround.

Was it my smell, when I was born?
If it is not me, then who cares?

I heard an inner voice,
"Silence is a curse for humanity".
I scream loud,

Low frequency chants from UN, I  heard,

How can,
rest in peace, be help?
Pray is not what, they asked for,
they are calling for help,
Irony, we just pray.
Genre: Free Verse
Theme:A moment to Syria.
Blast was/is /will
Never be

Music of my choice.
Theme: Haiku for Peace. A moment to Syria.
Bomb lives till it blast
Making a live, dead

At the end, it commits suicide.
Genre: Haiku
Note: Against lethal intelligence, call for a peaceful air
Danni Gohemi Jan 2017
I own horses, hence I take photos and write short poems that go with them. The latest  poem I wrote was about the first day of bitter cold air and first snow flakes falling, sticking to my horse's mane:

Oh, no! The Arctic Blast is here
With gusts of wind and chilly air
And tiny flakes of sparkly white
Much to the horse's great delight
Did you know, horses can handle extremely cold weather better than their owners do? Brrr...
Mary K Jul 2016
the days are long and exhausting
but they're a distraction I desperately need
until night falls and I'm left alone
laying, staring at the ceiling
and everything I was sure I pushed away
comes back strong and forceful
and all I can do is hold on and try not to look directly into the blast,
wait for it to be over and wallow in its wake
until it's shockwaves finally succeed in knocking me unconscious,
and the distractions begin again.
even the nightmares are welcome
because they, too, are an escape.
nothing seems as bad as the battles of my mindfield
during every waking moment.
so I welcome the monsters and make them my friend
if nothing but to eat my thoughts
before they destroy my mind.
I have no clue I apologize
Dennise K Apr 2016
I no longer call your name into the night
no more do my hands fit to yours
I have forgotten how your voice sounds
it took some time, but my heart stopped syncopating to the beat of yours
and in the process of letting go of you I became mine.
Tennessee Coal and Iron
Ensley Works , Birmingham , Alabama
Ensley Highlands , 30th Street

A turn of the century wood
framed house , sitting high on top a hill
Sitting on the front porch swing
in the sweltering August evening air

Playing "Your car next" , as cars ran
up and down the hill
Swapping turns , who gets what , laughing
at some of the outrageous wheels

Then as darkness descends
the dark skyline turns to Hell
Jets of forced blast air hits molten iron
and the gush of flames shoot high into the air

Eleven , twelve , maybe more
all the blast furnaces roared
as sparks flew up into the smoke
Surely these are the Devil's works
Where men are tortured so

As this for a backdrop now
it was time for ghost stories galore
Headless people and black drabbed ghouls
and little girls dripping wet that drowned in some unforgiving lake

We would draw up knees to our chest
in spite of the oppressive heat
And I would jump every time the breeze
would rustle the hidden leaves

So scared were we as bedtime neared
we'd ask mother if we could
spend "the night with you"
Ha ha ha , she replied , "NO !"
And then she went
Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo ! Boo !
Next page