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 the community to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
DalPal 2d
The other day I stuck my finger in the electrical socket, just to get one ounce of the spark you gave me with your touch. My finger tingled for an hour but it didn't give me my fix.

This morning I cried so hard that my room became the sea. I sailed away on my bed and promised to never go back to the person I was yesterday.

Last week I snuck up a building downtown just to have the feeling for a split second that I had made it to the top. I laid on my back and tried to grab the stars; "the most beautiful things just out of reach" you told me once.

This afternoon I went on a drive to clear my mind. On accident I turned in the wrong direction, but I wasn't opposed of going all around the world to get to where I was going.

Last month I threw out everything in my room hoping that clearing it would also clear my mind. I found the card you gave me years ago and slipped it under my bed. I obviously missed the purpose.

Tonight I sat outside the loneliest gas station in the world. I watched the fluorescent lights flicker on and off. I figured it was counting the seconds it took for me to realize that you're not with me this time to walk out with two slushy's and a deep breath telling me not to worry.

Last year you told me that you loved me. I felt my heart fill up with every single butterfly on earth. Even when I felt my emotions could bend the universe, I didn't say it back.

Right now I'm sitting at our bench on Main st. Bees fill the deep crevices of my heart and a million stings hit all at once. Each car that passes by reminds me of that fragile night when ours turned the world upside down.

I stayed there, my neck askew, the ground above my head, out from the metal shell. No clue in the world that you had vanished from your own exterior. Unfamiliar faces surrounding me and caressing my bruised body, leaving yours, unloved, under the sheets.

I sit at this bench, wondering if I sit long enough, the world will end and start over again, and you’ll come walking up to sit next to me, and I’ll never let you leave. I sit at this bench, reach for the stars still, trying to grab the most beautiful thing just out of reach.
changed some things around recently.
Sometimes I don't know
What's going on
It brings me to my knees
To the sand
And there are so many
Grains
Between my fingers

I remember a friend
Who cut his foot on glass
And how I felt
Seeing that bloody cut
Dripping and so
Full of sand
to pluck each petal
off of a rose
             leaves
                  only
                        the
                            thorns.

i refuse
to w
        i
          t
            h
              e
                r
                                                    
                                                   away.

no matter the
                              drought-
no matter the
                              little light i receive-
no matter how
                              strong the wind that
                                                          blows.

i will
   fix
my roots in Your soil.

i will
   quench
my thirst in Your grace.

i will
   become
a garden
   in
        the
              desert.

no matter the
                                circumstances
i am bound
to   b l o o m
with You
as
the gardener.
Imitation is NOT
the best form of flattery
when the imitator
gets credit for the idea.
James Khan Sep 11
low-hanging fruits
accompany wilting vines-
Viagra!
James Khan Sep 5
I sip the cup, I bite unleavened bread,
I celebrate ascension of the dead
To realms above this quicksand mortal coil,
The one we lubricate with holy oil,


I pray each day for my own seat beside
The entity that scripture sanctified
But something eats away at thoughts, divine:
I taste the blood within communion wine


That bias left like offal from its kill,
Contaminating conscious acts of will
To offer praise for such atrocious deeds,
To think my God a god for people's needs,


Alas, my back is all that heaven sees
And only death will see me on my knees.
James Khan Aug 29
Understanding meter and syllables is the key to successfully writing rhyme. This ongoing blog summarises the classical poetry meters used in rhyming form and gives examples as well as a breakdown of how they are structured:

https://schizoidspaghetti.wordpress.com
Taylor Ganger Aug 28
I can't stop living my life in other people's shoes
It brings me joy to see what they do

To see a painter's craft;
It's like ecstasy to peer into their head
And feel everything they've put onto a canvas

To hear a musician's melodies
Drag me into wonderment
How do they do that so well?

To read the words of a writer
Live in their world
Have my heart squeezed
And bleed colors I've never imagined

They're all me
I can fathom all of those feelings
I can, I can
The words
The hues
The emotions
The notes
The metaphors
All of those slivers of existence
I can experience them all
I want to
Live in their shoes

But they're not my damn shoes
And they don't fit; my feet are too small
And I know an artist's life is nothing to envy
And most of them didn't recognize their own talent
I don't recognize my own talent
Am I in their shoes now?
Or just talentless?

When I look down at my own feet
I don't see anything but stumps meant for walking
And when I walk to a mirror
I see a fool who keeps trying on other people's shoes
Asking if they fit
As if anyone else would ever know

I see a man who needs his own shoes
I only want to do what brings me joy, but what do I do when nothing does?
They gave me
A form to be filled
“Introduce yourself in 200 words or less.”

HUMANIST
Nothing more, nothing less
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Is there something above this? If anyone finds, let me know it.
James Khan Aug 11
Lascivious, lustful and brash
With a pocketful bursting with cash ,
For the price of a cab
You'll have plenty to grab
And the chance of a pustular rash.


If roots of all evil are wealth
Then you'll never be evil yourself,
With a job and those kids
You can barely find quids
And your greed is as poor as your health.


Your issues with weight have to wait
Till you've finished the food on your plate
And you only see sin
In the frail and the thin
And you'll never admit to self-hate.


If anger inhibits your views,
Take a breath and consider good news,
That you haven't broke backs
Or gone mad with an axe
And you're not on the end of a noose.


When jealousy turns it all green
Then the world is no longer serene,
And the best you can hope
Is your ego will cope
And dilute it to aquamarine.


Too lazy to answer the door
If it warrants your feet on the floor,
And the lonely embrace
Of the silence betrays
Opportunity knocking no more.


Persistence of pride has no grace
When it poisons your thoughts like malaise,
When embarrassment strikes
And intolerance spikes
Then your nose will fall off-a your face.
The Seven Deadly Sins. In classical Limerick form. Anapaestic trimeter and bimeter.

https://schizoidspaghetti.wordpress.com/classical-poetry-forms/
Next page