Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Once upon upon time
many years ago I met
girl so sweet and loving
she was to
me
Once upon a time long
ago long ago I fell In love
with this pretty called girl
Helen
Once upon a time long
ago I got engaged shortly
after that I married this pretty
girl
Once upon a time long ago
my pretty wife gifted me a wonderful son and so proud of her I
was
Once upon a time not so
long ago I lost my pretty wife to ill health that I'm slowly trying to come to terms
with
Once upon a time a very short time ago I promised
my pretty wife a
poem
to date I've written nearly
nine hundred and fivty all
dedicated to my pretty
girl
A poem promised to my pretty wife that turned Into nine hundred and fivty dedication poems to her memory
MicMag Feb 18
Cien poemas
     In less than a year
Muchas palabras
     Flowing line after line
Looking back now
     Digo con confianza
La poesía
     Is the best "waste of time"
This is my 100th published poem on HP.

It's been a fantastic ride sharing in this poetry community, reading brilliant works of art, sparking new ideas, and seeing the power in our words.

Poetry and other forms of art are sometimes derided as a "waste of time." I already disagreed with that sentiment but this past half year or so has shown me again the real value in both reading and writing poetry. So thank you, fellow poets, for making this a great artistic community truly worth our time!
Mil gracias and here's to hundreds more!
gabrielle Feb 8
if i have hundreds of eyes
i would only gaze at you

if i have billions of hope
i would continue to hope that you'll love me too
if i have thousands of hands
i wouldn't let you go

that is if i would have the chance to hold you
One hundred years ago
There was silence
We hoped it was forever
Forever is a short time historically
But, it stopped
For a while
And there was peace
For a while

The silence was loud
It was heard around the world
For a while
Soon, the silence faded
But there was silence
For a while

One hundred years ago
The war ended
It was the war to end all others
For a while
One hundred years ago
There was silence
Except for the wind in the poppies
For a while
Remember WWI. Remember it was the war to end all wars. It didn't. May all those who died be thought of this November 11.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
There's only so much that you can do,
so be honest about it. If you are in
a situation where you truly can't
help them, at least have to
courtesy to try and not
hurt them.
I reached 100 of Lesson Learned! I did it! I did it! Gaaah! I'm so fricking happy! And holy ****, 91 followers?! I'm so happy I could jump to the moon and back! Thank you so **** much! HP is the best, I swear!

We're all human as as humans, we all have the power to hurt people, internationally or not. We have the capability. I've been on situations where I knew I wasn't able to help people but I did so, and ended them harming them in the long run. I've learned the importance saying the word, 'no'. Do your best as a human and as a persom, ok?
Thanks so !uch, everyone.
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
Gifts and corporations do not equate love.
Although I admire a certain aspect.
The after effect.
Everything being restricted to one day.
Three-hundred sixty-four days in comparison.
To show how much you love, how much you care.
The simplicity of taking time out to do something special for the one you love
out of sheer appreciation.
Price tags don't include how vital it is to bask in the same breath as your loved one.
The amount of time it takes
Creating memories that outlive us.
The moments we constantly over-obsess
How could they, they are manufactured in the same manner of restriction.
Mass quantities of fluff and chocolate.
All ranging from big to small.
A single day that lasts three-hundred sixty-four days.
Love is the rarest commodity and it's all of these small moments
That create the most memories.
The after effect.
In actuality.
The real holiday is to see your face light up at all the discounted chocolate
as we celebrate each and every day
The same way we met
Three-hundred sixty-five days
500
five hundred words are not enough
to say all the things I need to say
but five hundred poems are **** sure enough
on hello poetry to get noticed

alas, I write poetry for the sake of poetry
just like good ole Charles Bukowski
cranking out words with a foul mouth
without a care for the audience

I write words for the sake of my soul
because it is the only time that my heart
feels free to be whatever it needs to be
without the world confining me

so **** straight. I wrote five hundred
words for my five hundredth poem
because I rarely write so many words
to express what is in my soul

I should be listening to jazz while I write this
just like Kerouac so my words will have a beat and rhythm
of the sounds of bebop, instead of a cadence of all my own
who wants originality when you can have novelty

everyone is nostalgic to recreate what has been captured before
the great writers and poets of our time regurgitate what’s been said
for me I don’t really give a **** about the words,
so much as how I let the words live out into my life through my actions

words matter because they order our thoughts and feelings,
they give shape to the amorphous images that play in our minds and hearts and once something comes into being, then oh man man do they have power
that’s why knowing the name of something really means something

who knows if meaning comes from the words, or words come from the meaning
did the chicken came first or the egg?
all I care about is how you cook the ****** chicken or the egg
fried chicken and I prefer my egg sunny side up

Bukowski eat your heart out as I write my stream of consciousness
five hundred word poem for my five hundredth poem
is it getting a bit redundant?
I am a firm believer that less is more

but sometimes I want my words to beat out like they used to
on old type writers like a **** machine gun
the beat flowing like the drums of a marching band
that gives life to even the worst of brass section

I don’t know if my heart can truly sing in a sea of so many words
I prefer capturing a single moment with 10 words, maybe 20 words
anything more than that feels like a waste
just like a coffee ice cream ruined by too much toppings

I am a minimalist at heart
even though I can’t declutter my stuff
holding onto old forgotten receipts
closet full of clothes I never wear

however, on most days my mind is clutter free
old resents are shoved out
fear written and jotted away
the book of the past closed

each day is a gift
freely given
each breath new

may you be blessed
may we keep sharing
for fun and
for free
My 500th poem on HP with 500 words.
Next page