#poetry poems on Hello Poetry

lisagrace Jul 19

Words make sense and numbers don’t
I try to count, but then I won’t
The digits blur, my thoughts plateau

"What the hell is 9 x 4?!"

Mother says I need to practice,
“Mathematics covers all the bases!”
But numbers never spoke to me—
Static is all my ears percieve

Equations dance and then collapse
I trace the lines, but miss the gaps
I’m nearly thirty (yes, it’s true)
Still count on fingers—calculator too!

But give me words—I’ll make them soar
With metaphors and quiet lore
A single phrase can build a door.

The cash register waits patiently
Just how many twenty dollar notes are these?
It’s nearly 5:30, I wish I were home
Where silence stirs and words can roam.

A funny one about being better with metaphors than multiplication.
Words make sense. Numbers? Not so much.
For the finger-counters, the mental math dodgers, and the dreamers behind the till.

#poetry #mathstruggles #humor #wordsnotnumbers #relatable #languageoverlogic #cashregisterlife #quietfunny #writinglife #neurospicy

Joel K Jul 19

Twins (Theatrical Masks)

Down Down
To our feet; we wear the same clothes.
Left.
Right
We are not puppets—
Neither of us a clone.
Born with mask’s on our face—
able to communicate a story.
A Joker—the both of us.
One or the either.
Buttoned together so tell us apart.
Up. Up.
Read the lines, up to down.

This is just solely experimental so it is meant to be short and playful. The “Up” and “Down” is meant to persuade the reader into re-reading the poem again.
These twins are Jokers lol.

#twins #joker #mask #cards #face #writing #hello #poetry

lisagrace Jul 19

What's The Opposite of Woe?

My coffee sings a morning lie
I greet the room and get no reply
Still, I talk to myself—at least I try
The walls never say hello or goodbye
Maybe the silence is just being shy...
but we usually see eye to eye
Now it’s time for ham and egg pie

The bookshelf waits. Dust comes to stay.
Unread for weeks. This is the way.
My pile of clothes begins to sway—
A soft rebellion, mild decay.
Necklaces lounge in proud display,
Bright lollipop earrings steal the day,
I dress like I’ve outrun dismay.

Otonoke in my ears, pocketed hands
I don’t need a reason. I don’t need a plan
The clouds clap with a flash and a BANG
I walk like I'm lit by streetlamp spite—
just me and the echo of maybe-I-might

One step, two step, three step, four
I giggle in the face of thunderstorms
Rain, rain, please don't abate
Let me linger in this state
Wet socks squish, but they carry their weight
Wish I had nowhere to be, that'd be great
The clouds and I are late for our date
My umbrella dozes – dry, ignored
Drip-dry dreams on the hallway floor
I hang up my coat and set my plea:
Oh woe is not me

I refuse to droop, to wither, to mope
Not all the time, at least, I hope
Let joy arrive on tiptoe
A spark that only I bestow
A tiny smile for what I miss the most

Because what is the opposite of woe?
If not a blink that dares to glow

Wrapped in fleece, the evening mine
Slow sips of golden honey wine
Just me, and this quiet offering
Where everything small becomes everything

A slightly ridiculous, slightly profound poem about rainy socks, rebellious outfits, and refusing to mope (at least not all the time).
For anyone who’s ever asked “what if I’m okay anyway?”—and meant it.

#poetry #whimsy #healing #selfreflection #rainyday #joy #melancholy #hope #defiance #softrebellion

lisagrace Jul 19

2. Dwelling

He hunts in the Spine
The woods erupt warmth and light
The deer bolts, affright
A blue stone? No – dragon’s egg
She, Saphira Bjartskular.

The second in a four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
A quiet moment before everything changes—fear, fate, and something ancient stirring in the Spine.

Stay tuned for the next piece in the series.

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #eragon #saphira #fantasy #dragon #alagaesia #bookinspired #fear

The Wicca Man Jul 19

Writing My Truths

No matter how hard I try
I cannot put what I really feel
down on paper.

You’d think that
something no one will ever read
(probably even me)
would allow free reign
to say what is really going on
inside my mind …

These thoughts and feelings,
my truths,
are there,
sometimes quiet, passive, dull.
Other times,
a maelstrom;
of anxiety,
of anger,
of regret,
of shame,
of loss.

And yet,
as I sit with my pen poised to write down my truths,
I am held back from writing what I need to say
and my words on the page
are empty,
meaningless,
passive,
dull.

And every day I vow to myself,
‘This will be the day I write down my truths.’

But not today -
maybe it will happen tomorrow,
or the next day,
or the next …

#writing #journaling #poetry #melancholy

Yu Jul 19

confession

when i die, do not desecrate my body
by laying to rest with those fools
i rather live an eternity in solitude
then to see your ruined face again
to confront this wretched reality
that you, and i, we were never loved
not once, never.

#poetry

lisagrace Jul 19

1. Discovery

Dust motes catch the light
The world sighs in shades of grey
My hand reaches it—
A blue cover, curled edges
One sharp breath, I turn the page

The first in a four-part tanka series inspired by The Inheritance Cycle.
This one marks the beginning: the moment when everything changes.

Watch for the next poem in the collection if you like—each follows a different stage of the journey.

#tanka #poetry #inheritancecycle #fantasy #discovery #beginning #awakening #magic #saphira #eragon

kortu valentine Jul 19

a kingdom, or this.

(a tribute to C.S. Pacat)

on a bed
of white flowers,
etched on my wrist,
i wear it as a vow,
above the place
my pulse
tenderly blooms,
forgetting to lie.

her soft handwriting
is a reminder of a journey
i had once taken
between the lines,
forgiveness forming,
from lashes to petals,
on bruised pages.

i carry her with me,
their story, her essence,
kingdoms folding into skin,
her words marking
not only a change,
but a becoming —
the slow-burn
of identity
i can finally place.

July 19, 2025.
this one is about the tattoo in her handwriting, etched on my skin.

#captiveprince #cspacat #poetry #tattoo #identity #book #fangirl #fanfiction #tribute

lisagrace Jul 19

Honey, Lemon and Ginger

I must look ridiculous
to these other café patrons—
just a woman with orange-dyed hair
blinking back stubborn tears,
trying not to cry
into her honey, lemon, and ginger.

But I sit there, half-failing
to maintain my composure.
I look anywhere else—
up at the ceiling,
out the window,
trying not to meet anyone’s eyes.

These tears dare to seep,
but this sadness needs to steep—
not pour.
Or else they'll overflow
in overwhelm.
I must take the helm.

So I take a sip:
that warm, sweet bitterness
rights the ship.
And the gentle calm
soaks back in.
They may glance over and wonder
What must be on her phone
To evoke such emotion?

Oh, don't mind me
I'm just writing poetry
about a silly girl,
and her hopes for understanding
Falling onto deaf ears yet again
and again,
and again,
and again
One more long swill
A sharp intake of breath
They prickle at my eyes,
Again

My teacup is empty -
I think I'll need another ***
For the sake of my sanity
I cannot let them see it pour
For a flood, an empty teacup
Has begot

A poem about writing a poem in a café – literally TODAY, trying not to cry. It's about holding it together when your heart is steeping in too much.
Warmth, near-overwhelm, and one more *** of tea.

#poetry #grief #softness #overwhelm #healing #tears #cafe #vulnerability #warmth #processing

irinia Jul 19

silence

silence swings over waters as if...
it rehearses its unseen so...
to fill in the depth of blanks
a stratified time inhabits the landscape
orphic dreams morph into your flesh
the wind collates its courage and rage
like someone who falls into a self
my words bite the shape of a scream
the hunger of love descends language into crumble
the beauty of lungs full of air is misleasing
when I am waiting for silence to miscarry its void

#poetry