Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Hello Poetry,
Started off with "You had me at (Hello)"...
A place where we can speak our minds freely without anyone here to judge us merely.

Thank you to the creators
who've made this website,
as for without it,
many might have lost their lives!

Throughout roller coaster emotions
, some days I find it hard to speak,
so coming on here to share with all to see
is something helpful in my mind, you see
.
Steve Page Mar 30
A stew of slow cookers
sit simmering
slowly brewing a communal stock,
seaping steam and aromas
which speak a seductive welcome
from doorstep to table
and whisper a warm, rich reassurance
that this is home
My pastor has a collection of slow cookers, ready for a gathering around his kitchen table.
vanessa ann Apr 2020
you were my home then,
the warmth in my fireplace, my
chest purifier, key finder;
whenever i leave you clung to me like dirt on the dishes
i carry with me your sickness for
love, for good.

somewhere between morning calls and warm bedsheets, i took
your hospitality for kindness for authenticity for love for truth
i was still drying my hair on your bathroom mat when you rang
the bell, and reminded me it’s time for
my checkout.
—i hope you enjoyed my stay
James Jun 2018
Here I stand on the ***** of my feet,
Watching as the time passes by.
The day fulfilling the dreamers,
The night exhausting the lost.
Why must I move on?
Why must I go?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I sit under a stately willow tree,
Accompanying me with its hospitality.
It droops as it stands so mighty,
It rises as it slumps in humility.
Why must the tree persist?
Why must the tree grow?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I lie in a box of plastered wooden veneer,
My eyes encumbered by pitchy darkness.
I breathe my gratitude of this quietus,
I cry my despair for my own creation.
Why must I wallow in my regret?
Why must I now feel this woe?
Now I know.
Now I know.
Breon Mar 2018
All beauty must fade,
          wither, crack, split, die,
                    and so too the beauty
of sweet hospitality
          loses something magical
                    when put to a test.
Splintering down to
          strained smiles,
                    curt little whispers
behind a turned back
          summon up strangleweed
                    between the gaping cracks
of a path we walked
          for so long until "so long."
                    There's a blind desire
to douse what remains
          in that left-behind radiance
                    with a drowning of petrol,
a gasoline baptism,
          and send it out with a pyre:
                    something to remember.
Love comes and love goes. Romantic, platonic, delusional - why keep score, right?
Beau Grey Apr 2017
My Saturdays belong
to a quaint Parisian cafe.
I only have to think about carrying coffees
and baguettes
and they pay me for it.
It's the cheapest therapy I've had.

I've come to know some of the regulars.
Some days I wish
to tell them I love them
and I don't quite know why.
I suspect they remind me
in some part of myself,
or how I wish to be.

An almost elderly lady
always comes alone.
Her hair still retains some of her blonde youth.
She orders two very weak flat whites
and sits for hours,
writing letters to distant loves
and reads the paper.
I clear her cup
and she smiles
with both her lips and her eyes.
She makes you feel like your job
means something more than it probably does.
I bring her a second coffee,
a very weak flat white.

In the afternoons
a couple comes in for coffee.
She is quiet,
the artistic type,
and wears their son in a sling.
A sweet little thing with cherubic cheeks.
The father is a darling man
with a softness many men resist.
I watch the way his eyes sparkle
when he tells me of his sons milestones.
I make an effort to see them smile,
bring them water on hot days
or just talk.
But sometimes I leave them be,
watch them from a far,
and let myself be swept up in their love,
before they leave.

My Saturdays belong
to a quaint French cafe
with dark timber floors
and French antiques.
I haven't quite mastered the art of conversation
but I'm adept in the science of smiling
and that's enough to get me by
for now.
Atoosa Feb 2017
Ignite!
But tame
Your flame
Within the lamp
Shedding its light
Invite, and arrange
The room, the hearth,
Lace the food with love
Cage your tears with calm
And center yourself on Him
Trust that the words will come
The hearts will open and fear
Will be displaced by truth
Careless of self offer
Effort and intent
Confirmations
Will come in time with patience
Transformation time is near
Inspired by this beautiful prayer :

O my Lord!  O my Lord!  This is a lamp lighted by the fire of Thy love and ablaze with the flame which is ignited in the tree of Thy mercy.  O my Lord!  Increase his enkindlement, heat and flame, with the fire which is kindled in the Sinai of Thy Manifestation.  Verily, Thou art the Confirmer, the Assister, the Powerful, the Generous, the Loving.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá
Baha'i Sacred Writings
Àŧùl Sep 2016
Aaj ke bacchon mein hi nahin,
Apitu badon mein bhi sanskār,
Naammatr ke bach gaye hain.

Not only in children of the day,
But even the grownups lack it,
Ettiquette is just for namesake.

Andar se wo aadar bhaav gūm,
Aur haan gūm hai satkaar bhi,
Badon ke liye sammān gūm hai.

That feeling of respecting is lost,
And indeed is lost that hospitality,
Elderly are no longer given the place.
Foundation pillar-shaped bilingual concrete poetry.

The Hindi language poetry means the same as translated into the English language in the lines that follow it.

HP Poem #1154
©Atul Kaushal
I need,
You need,
And we all,
Comfort it is,
We plead!

Satisfied are you,
When it comes your way,
Cheerio!

I, too have found Comfort!
Cheerio!
Will you at least comfort me?
Next page