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.
I have to go round the back
to arrive, to drive, cupboard,
* find
what I want to talk, to shout, push,
* express
because I, it's a big map,
I can't get, can't reach,
* forget
my teeth, the things out of my mouth,
the pages in my head, the long taste,
* words
that I want to hammer, hold, grip, throw,
* use.
It's like a different train, boat,
* country.
It's uphill.
I'm at bedtime.
The brain finds ways to say what it means.
Carried us through the blight,
Through the darkness and the light.
The love you gave was never lost,
Despite the crimes you paid the cost.
But now you can see through open eyes,
Through the darkness and the light.
Embraced with the love you have to give,
You gave your life so we could live.
@copyright 2018 Luke Wallace
W Oct 13
Thank you for raising me the way you did
For understanding me and my fears
For being there for me when I am angry at the world
For pushing me to be the best person I can
But most of all
Thank you for being you

Kylie Sep 25
She loved him so dearly,
With every passing day,
She treated him with kindness,
Hoping he’d repay.

She gave him the wings to fly,
And the floor beneath his feet,
The strings of a cello,
An act she’d repeat.

Instead he killed dear mother,
Stabbing her aching heart,
Puncturing her lungs,
With the sharpest throbbing darts.

He raised his fists towards mother,
Decaying her with pain,
Blood dripped down dear mother,
Pouring down as rain.

She was silenced to the silence,
And the noise continued.
RossWar Sep 22
Poppies growing through the cracks
Palma violets on my tongue
Sunlight in my eyes
Lavender on my skin.
I never say it,
I really can't show ,
Though I always mean it,
But welcome to now

I do love you,
From every wrinkle,
And oh yes I do,
To every crinkle

You're a great mother,
Even without your hair,
You shaped me a brother,
So proud, to even share

If I do manage to send,
Know this poem doesn't end
My mother's cancer count went from 2 all the way to 700 within a week. She spoke as if she's terminal, so I guess she joined my libriary of life
BW Sep 21
I thought the bravest thing I ever did
was run.
But it turns out I am too young and
Your shadows were too large.
And if love comes at your anger, anxiety
controlling manners and menacing venom.
Then mother.
I don't want to be your daughter at all.
I have a very toxic relationship with my mother, and it's always because her own fears and anxieties make her try to control every aspect of my life.
Hunter Sep 9
Mum doesn’t like my shoes
she says they look *****
she’s right
my shoes are very *****

Mum doesn’t like my shoes
she says the writing on them is dramatic
she’s right
the writing on my shoes is very dramatic

Mum doesn’t like my shoes
she says the holes are annoying
she’s right
the holes in my shoes are very annoying

I like my shoes
they’re ***** with the Earth I celebrate living on
they’re covered in writings from songs that define me
I could probably do without the holes
Cloud Aug 17
She builds a nest, builds a home
Out of twine and twigs and love
Day and night, dawn and gloam,
She works in trees above.

All to prepare for her offspring
To give them the chance to fly
Only the best for her children
These are the words to her cry

A fortnight her eyes are skinned
She is sentinel over her eggs
Come storm, gale, blustering wind
Her treasures safe under her legs

At last she meets her brood
Hungry and unrefined
She tirelessly gathers food
Their lives now intertwined

She kisses the food into their beaks
She cares for their every need
She answers their every screak
To love, to tend, to feed.

She watches them grow new feathers,
And reach out to the beckoning sky
They want to see other weathers
So she teaches them how to fly

They soar higher and higher
She watches from below
It makes her smile and smile
To see her babies go

As they climb and tumble
She makes sure to let them know
They are always welcome to return
To the home built long ago

The love she gave her young ones
Gave them the strength to fly
The strength to build their own nests
High up in the sky.
This poem is dedicated to my Mother.
Next page