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Mark Parker May 2
A tree falls in the forest,
and it doesn't make a sound.

A man yells in the forest,
and local wild life forms a mob.

A man falls in the forest,
and he doesn't make a sound.

A tree yells in the forest,
and we all run like hell.
Because I feel like the tree that falls in the forest.
a brave
boo suit
belfry bat
and gob
for her
*** up
the line
and Oviedo
worried in
romance wouldn't
dire the
leader with
a draw
but this
question not
heard flew
the coup
Steelyvibe Jun 2018
I find myself alone
In a peculiar disposition
A bio chemical accident
Leaves me in this condition

With a hat and dark glasses
Trench coat pulled up collar
To cover my misfortune
The lonely nightcrawler

Foot print in the grass
I walk without a shadow
In the descending dusk
Waiting for tomorrow

The dawn onset of shouting
And someone starts to scream
The pitch fork and shotgun
Are entering my dream

Hiding in the shadows
Making me seem smaller
They will come for me
The lonely nightcrawler
Jeff Gaines Jun 2018
HEAR YE!
HEAR YE!

SALUTATIONS TO ALL THOSE PRESENT!

GREETINGS!

HENCEFORTH AND FOREVER MORE ...
JUNE THE TWELVE
SHALL BE KNOWN AMONG ALL HERE AT HELLO POETRY
(AND ALL POETS WORLDWIDE)
AS "TEMPORAL FUGUE DAY"

TO WIT:

You will be compelled to go to McDonald's ...
on this date and at any time.
As you step to the counter to place your order
you MUST speak only in rhyme!

You can order salads ...
a burger with cheese ...
breakfast or filet-o-fish
Choice of drink is surely yours ...
order any and all that you wish!

Just make certain
that ALL that you say ...
in the spirit of poets EVERYWHERE
comes out in a rhyming way!

Let's show them solidarity
Tell the world that we are here ...
with wisdom and harmony
finding love and facing fear.

I further compel you
to your language you must translate ...
this declaration so that all the poets in the world will know
to do this on this date.

Not just to show them our pride so fierce
and that it isn't just any rumor.
Let's show the world that poets are amazing
and even have senses of humor!

So ... Plot out your order
and what you will say.
Let's go and have fun with this.
Let's make it OUR day!

WE ARE HERE!
>>PLEASE<< read this to understand where this is coming from:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2548700/temporal-fugue-goes-to-mcdonalds/

I hope everyone spreads this word and does this for ourselves and for our craft. It isn't so much about Temporal Fugue, he is just the inspiration for this. It is about us here at HP and ALL the poets in the world!

We may not share views, religions or styles.
BUT we DO share the most important thing of all ...

PASSION!

No matter the subject!

Imagine the news reports of these "flash mobs", if-you-will, showing up at McDonald's AROUND the world and ordering in RHYME!

Let's bring our love for others AND our craft to the WORLD!

SPREAD THE WORD!

Good Times INDEED!

COMMENT BELOW AND TELL US WHERE OR HOW YOU ARE GOING TO PARTICIPATE!

JOIN US!
Louisa Coller May 2018
"I don't like it, do it again!",
she spouts and hurls out to her men.

"It's different, abnormal, strange you see!",
that's what he shouted at me.

Why must someone be in such need to yell?
Well can't you tell?

They complain and complain until they finally zip up,
come on now! Don't be such tough luck!
It's different! It's strange? Something new you scream!

I have a little word for you,
called 'individuality'.
Why when a group of people share one singular opinion, they refuse to acknowledge another, even when they disagree?
Simon Woodstock Mar 2018
Slowly I awaken
I am hanging upside down in the center of a room
the floor and surrounding furniture is covered in plastic
karma catches us all
I was on my way to Vegas to start over
to fund my life change I started robbing mob safe houses along the way figured i'd be a new man before they caught me
I was wrong
The drugs wear off and I feel every blow all at once and pains ignites like a 4th of July ceremony all over making me cringe and yell out in agony
Just like that my screams of pain usher in this 6'8 Russian guy with a baseball bat
"no one can hear you" says the russian
"*******!' I scream defiantly
he walks over with the bat he hand lines up his swing and like barry bonds on a good day I feel that Louisville slugger shatter my ribs more then they already were sending me weeping in pain holding blood in my mouth
"no one is gonna come save you either gingerbread man"
his phone rings and his smile disappears he vanishes to the other room leaving me to my agony so close yet so far away
I was almost free
The Russian wall returns a few minutes later with the last face I could hope to see Vincent cauldron his friends called him Vinnie
His enemies usually didn't live long enough to call him anything
he came directly to me
"nothing personal kid you just ****** up" he said coldly
he pulls out a pistol and hits me in the temple with it
after he orders the Russian to cut me down I collapse on the floor and feel my insides fall apart while blood leaks from my face
"let me go" I yell with the last of my strength
"afraid not bud you stole too much to be forgiven"
Vinnie continues "but if you like i'll try to not enjoy it as much as the last time I had to do this" I feel all the hope leave my soul and I begin to accept my fate
This is it  the end of the show
I begin to turn cold and daze off only to reawaken to the sound of a buzz saw at once I begin screaming with everything I had left
My voice was wasted no one was around to save me and I was about to die shortly
before I can finish my thought I feel a butcher knife skate across my throat with ease
I stop screaming
I collapse back on the ground and let myself bleed out vinnie and the Russian set fire to the room and leave me to die alone
"maybe in the next life you won't be such a **** up" Vinnie tells me before he leaves
As the fire gets closer and my blood soaks the plastic I think about every path not taken and the lovers you left behind
Nothing Matters
In my last moments I smile because **** it
who wants to live forever
FIN
I literally just let my mind wander and this was the result
Isaac Godfrey Aug 2017
The Man was at the tavern at 08:30, 13th February, 1929
Flatcap on, and average but he couldn't help but notice the Men behind him dressed so fine.
See, for the booth behind held 7 men with 7 glasses of blood red wine,
But what were the men doing on the day before Valentine?

Did he know that those shadows concealed scars upon the leader's face?
and did he know for certain it was a Violin in that Violin case?
Thought the Flatcapped man as he held a half-empty pint of beer,
that these suited men in question, are suited men he should fear?
He knew that these men hid secrets.  Secrets he wouldn't dare try find.
But he knew most of all the leader had sorts of plotting scattered in this mind.
15th of February, 1929 and the Flatcap Man returns to the Bar,
He stands nearby the taps and looks around ~ he's the only one here so far.
The guy sits down and adjusts his cap, then orders a pint and pulls out the Friday news,
He remembers that he saw men on the 13th, and thought the men he saw were certainly shady, and what he sees on the papers proves...
14th February, 2 gangs take control of organized crimes in charcoal jackets and pressed fedora hats,
The south side Italians clash with the Irish-Americans, then invite Egan's Rats.
7 Men found dead in Chicago, shot and squashed like bugs,
But that is how all ends, if your life is in the hands of Notorious thugs,
All 7 Men found with bullets in their head,
few of them with broken bones and a heart pierced by Lead.
Of course this massacre was for everyone to hear,
and anyone who heard, it was definite they'd fear.
A narrative writing about the Valentine's Massacre, a shooting lead by notorious criminal boss, Al Capone.
Stanley Wilkin Aug 2017
They attacked her in mid exploration
Cutting away her golden thoughts
As they cut away her flesh, destroying
A mind that they couldn’t destroy in
Debate, a sparkling old woman
Whose thoughts were spun from steel.

The screaming mob desecrated her tiny form
Dragging it into the dust, through the *******
And ****. Tearing off her clothes
The Parabalani exposed her to celestial winds crossing
The arora, rubbing
Spoilt Alexandrian soil into her unexplored ******.  
She did not die as a philosopher, calculating and
Learning, but, torn apart, the old woman
Screamed out for her father,
Terrified, in sacrificial pain so much worse
Than beheadings and crucifixion. Her modesty,
Kept for 60 years, mutilated by a 1000 killers in a single
Minute.

Her head bounced in the forum,
Her arms thrown to the 4 corners,
Her soul stamped into the gutter,
As the new religion cried out for tolerance.
In a morning thinking became forbidden
Books burnt, laughs ignored and fires built for heretics.
Hypatia was a female philosopher in Alexandria in the 4th century who was torn apart by a Christian mob, her skin scraped from her bones.
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