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Greg Jones Feb 8
This piece speaks with subtle attitude.
Its whispers echo over the crowded gallery
Yet only I can hear.

My eyes are fixated on its delicate details,
Tracing every ****** of the brush.
My sight is paralyzed.

The colors move and swirl,
Caught in a maelstrom of creativity.
The hues melt off the canvas,
Bleed down the wall,
Pool at the bottom,
Mixing but not blending,
And all I can do is watch.

Slowly the others follow suit,
Bleeding down the walls in a patient rush,
Stretching across the floor
So desperate and calm
Until It caresses my shoe.

It climbs my leg, rising and rising,
Staining my pants and skin.
It rises and rises still,
An orchestra of color making permanent residence.
I am terrified yet my breathing is slow,
Watching the details form.

Engulfed by color I turn to see
All the masses staring at me.
Speaking to one another with subtle attitude,
Whispers echo the crowded gallery,
Their eyes fixated on the delicate details,
Tracing every line,
Paralyzed.

My fear was met with thunderous applause.
a house
of heat
and a
man with
silver tounge
went south
to spread
the news
with divergence
but never
a clamor
in his
throat would
obstruct his
jet in
the would
of Parr
a man of note
FRITZ Jul 2018
tonight the sky died a little.
baked us in a soup thick as roux
           ****** lips,
                        loitering less,
                                meditations rests your head on my shoulder.

psychic fever functions as an embryo

                                             EAT. EAT. EAT.

you were amniotic happy! stifled great! pushing jelly feeding the joyous ooze!
_________+___+_________[]
98;;;; 18
k
Poetry, I’ll give you my unfulfilled dreams
and yearnings, any part of my past, that
brews resentment. I’ll keep the rest and
I’ll smile.
(Knowledge Variable)
Apollo Hayden Aug 2017
Like neo in the matrix-
hand up, palm out to stop the bullets being sent my way.
In mid air, inspecting and reconfirming with self, seeing this for what it truly is.
Some stay comfortably asleep, always revealing their true selves when you're seeking knowledge of self;
the agents of the matrix tryna sabotage and block the progress.
Still plugged in, believing the lies of this manufactured world.
Speaking through harmonic tones from one of the four chambers of the heart,
planting seeds in the ears of those who choose to hear, always hitting the mark.
It's the
poetic mystic,
swimming in the subconscious whirlpool created by two fishes;
two eyes closed and one open in triple black darkness, letting intuition lead,
In tune with the feminine energy, listening attentively.
With the Oracle I speak deep within my dreams,
fighting to recover forgotten history while they wishing that I would just shutup and go back to sleep,
but this soul burns with a desire to seek truth and so I continue to seek.
Zero Nine Jul 2017
She'd gone from discharge straight back to the office, dressed in her sweats and intake band. She got into the elevator, fingered lucky seven, and rode the way up stuck in molasses thoughts, in anger and shame.

She was no one's property, The Agency's least of all.

The neon lights over River City's southeast side popped and sparked, dancing gracefully in the array of dull grey derelicts. She watched them exploding through the safety of the glass.

She'd tell Asgar exactly what she thought.


"I don't give a **** about the why, I give a **** about the how. How could you do that to me, man?"

I was doing you a favor.

"No, don't even -- you were doing your ******* self a favor. "

Oh, of course. We all thought you might like to have some teeth, Miriam.

"Don't say my name like that! I'm not your ******* daughter."

Calm down, okay? Please?

"You made a decision about my body that was not yours to make. If I want to be a toothless crone, that's my business. If I want to have one *** and a ****, that's my ******* business, Asgar. "


And when it was over, as most do, she rode the way home with her head hung below her shoulders, wondering if the words she'd found to say were too true. She wondered, what some wonder, if her truths were better used when they were cut from the script to defuse inconvenient situations.

When she went inside, Miriam threw her keys and her clothes into a pile by the bedroom door, pulled the band from her wrist and then stepped into the shower. She'd go out. If she truly weren't worth her weight, then she'd throw herself to the city, hoping to trade what was left for ***.

And drugs. Drugs, too.
Gavin Barnard Dec 2014
Pantuoms are one of my favorite types of poetry, second to free verse. They are fun and easy to make, and sometimes fun to read and give strong senses of emotion. They follow a special, yet simple rhyming scheme.

It goes like this:
1
2
3
4

5 (repeat line 2)
6
7 (repeat line 4)
8

9 (repeat line 6)
10
11 (repeat line 8)
12

13 (repeat line 1)
14 (repeat line 10)
15 (repeat line 12)
16 (repeat line 3)

I haven't seen any on HP, but then again I don't read many poems or search far for them. You poets are all doing and amazing job, and I love the poems that I do read. I just wanted to introduce this type of poetry into your lives. You should all give it a shot.
I leaned of this in creative writing, before I found out about HP. Please repost this, even if you don't give it a like. How hard is it to push a single button?
Marieta Maglas Nov 2014
A red bird has flown soaring in the great height of the
purple sky. The thrilling scream was as a shrill cry on
the soundtrack. The bird has disappeared into the sky,

and all it could be heard was the sound. That cold sound
became fluid in the ears. A forked green lightning following
a zigzagging pattern appeared from an antimatter space.

The eyes fixed wide-open up, and the mouths kept silent.
A ship has left the dock to disappear in the mobile horizon.
It seemingly disappeared and reappeared based on where

the eyes were looking; the eyes were not able to leave the dock.
When the ship could not be seen, a prolonged blast could be
heard. Finally, the ship disappeared in an antimatter space,

where cold could illuminate and beat the heat to burn everything
as we beat the heat with icy cold neck wraps. The eyes fixed
wide-open toward, and red screams grew from open mouths.

The sun lost its strength to become redder than it was before.
In the twilight, its disk disappeared below the mobile horizon.
Its power was in the spirit and the matter of the freezing cold.

The eyes were unable to see where the sun was going. In the
soft and purple mist, they looked like little amethyst stones.
The violet light slowed down in the water much more than the

red light refracted. The waves of alternating strength in electric and
magnetic fields moved around the Earth in the tick of a clock.
The mouths murmured, but the anti-sound made them all be quiet.

From an airplane in the sky, the eyes could see two rainbows with
colors in opposite order forming a complete circle. The eyes could
move up and down to see the red light that refracted out of

the droplets at steeper angles than the blue light. The mind could
imagine another rainbow made of complementary light wavelengths
such as green, blue, violet, red, orange, yellow-orange and yellow.

— The End —