Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Steve Page Mar 27
Take your place amongst the brave ones
The take-a-chance ones
The get-up-despite
and try-it-again ones.

Take your place amongst the daughters and sons
living post-lockdown
and let's run.
First line from the new Justice League movie.  Got me thinking.
Sy Lilang Jan 12
Ito ang umagang
Nanaisin kong huminto muna ang Araw nang saglit.
Kung pwede bang manatili muna Sya
At ako'y hayaang pagmasdan
Ang kanyang kariktan.

Nais kong bumilad sa sinag ng Araw
At magpasakop sa Liwanag Nyang taglay.
Nais kong malusaw ang bawat kamalian,
Ang bawat pagkukunwari..
Pagkat ayoko na..
Ayoko nang magpanggap pa..
Na kaya kong mag-isa
Mag-isa na wala ang mga kamay Nya --
Ang mga gabay Nya.
Na maging sa gabi'y
Nasisilayan ko pa rin
Ang kanyang anino sa aking pagpikit,
Ang nakasisilaw Niyang Liwanag
Na nagiging mitsa ng aking pagluhod.

Gusto kong huminto ang Araw,
At ako'y makita Nya..
Kahit isang iglap..
Kahit isang saglit lang..
Kung pwede lang..
Wag Mo akong Iwan
Na sa gabi'y
Ikaw ang magbigay Ilaw sa aking landas
At ako'y Iyong yakapin
Habang ang Iyong sinag
Ang magsisilbing lakas
Sa bawat pagbangon ko sa Umaga..

Sayo ako magsisimula,
At ayokong ito'y magwakas
Na para bang hinahayaan ko lamang
Na malimot ko ang lahat --
Ang lahat ng mga misteryong
Iyong ipinakita na,
Iyong ipanaranas na.

Ayokong dumating sa katapusan
Na ako'y walang muang
Na Ikaw ang aking Simula..
Ayokong magtagpo tayo
Sa gitna ng aking mga kamalian --
Mga kamaliang hindi ko itinama
Kahit na pinagbuksan Mo na ako
Sa panibagong Umaga.

Kung ang bawat araw na lumilipas
Ay siya ring mga pahina ng aking buhay,
Bakit pa..
Bakit ko pa hahayaang
Dilim ang magsilbing umaga?
Kung Ikaw naman ang tunay na Simula ng lahat..
Kung landas ko nama'y
Kayang-kaya **** bigyang liwanag
At lahat ng masasaklawan ng aking mga mata
Ay simbolo ng Iyong paghahari.

Lilikumin Mo ang lahat
Gamit ang Iyong Liwanag.
Ang Iyong mga Salita'y
Hindi na mangungusap pa,
Ngunit Ikaw na mismo ang darating
At buhat sa Iyong bibig,
Ang lahat ay handa nang makinig..
Nang buong puso..
Na may tunay na pagpapasakop..
At ang lahat ng mga naggising
Buhat sa pagkakahimbing
At mga bangungot na tila walang katapusan
Ay sabay-sabay na babangon
At lalakad sa Liwanag na Iyong hain.

Masisilayan ko rin ang mga ngiti
Ng pagpupunyagi at tagumpay
Na walang balot ng anumang pagkukunwari,
Walang tampo't galit.
Kung saan hubad ang lahat
Ngunit tanggap Mo
Ang bawat kamalian.
Ang Iyong paghuhusga ay darating --
Darating nang patas;
Patas at pawang katotohanan.

Ang lahat ay darating sa katapusan,
At Sayo ay handang magpaubaya.
Ang lahat ng mga nabago ng Iyong Liwanag
Ay kusang sisibol at uusbong
Nang may papuri
At hindi parang mga paupos na kandila
Na nauubusan rin ng lakas.
Ngunit sila'y tila mga tanim
Na Iyong dinidiligan sa bawat araw --
Mga ginintuang araw
Na hindi gaya ngayong kukupas din..

Balang araw, ang lahat ng salitang
Mamumutawi sa bawat labi'y
May iisang sigaw
May iisang palamuti na ibabandera
At susuko sa Iyong kabutihan.
Ang bawat nilalang
Ay mabinihag sa Iyong kaluwalhatian
At hindi na..
Hindi na mauubusan pa ng Liwanag,
Ikaw mismo ang magkukusang
Punasan ang mga matang lumuluha,
Lumuluha buhat sa paghihintay..
Pagkat nariyan ka na..
Nariyan na ang Iyong kaligtasan.

Ikaw, sa bawat oras
Sa bawat sandali'y
Ikaw pa rin ang maging dahilan
Ng pagtibok ng aking puso
Ang magiging sigaw
Ng aking napapaos na lalamunan.
Ikaw ang maging dahilan..
Ng aking pagtaas ng kamay
At sa ere'y hindi Mo ako iiwan,
Ni hindi Mo ako kinalimutan..
Ikaw, ang Araw at Gabi..
Sayo ang aking papuri!
vita Dec 2020
i lie amongst the snakes
for they are teaching me
how to shed dead skin
and leave it behind,
without
looking back.
for they know that it’s okay
to start again,
everytime,
you need to.
Flatfielder Nov 2020
At your life
Analyze mistakes
Shake off your guilt
Reality is the truth
Wishing to start new
with your baggage
Or lift yourself up
With the experienced You
It's never too late
(c)near_lane7
Dante Rocío Nov 2020
It has been such a Long time since our last incarnation such like reassembly.

We’ve been scrubbing our United States
and leasing places
as scarification and other humans‘ faces
of stories,
to bless or gargle foreign.

We’ve been to the Neptune’s Fountain to find Young Man Hogan’s bench situated within all those loners’ speedy extroversion,
and catch the Saint Petersburg bell that hitchhiked the church there

to make a glimpse of urbanism and the world’s history replaced
by just one journal
and one fella’s pencil
swerving greatly‏.

Still,
the words are still trying,
flexing,
to fit their whole ends
into shoes they should have taken off
already, a long time ago,
and that‘s this somewhere
where we could say:
crossroads decide their fruition.

And it comes to realisation:
faces,
screens,
bruises,
droppings,
chilling entries,
work,
how I remade the word “naked”of one thousand and one nights
under my tiny silky
cloak
-
it has been nothing but a play
for the day when I’ll write,
and the Life,
that will take on my own skin
one way or another.

One paper corner will meet with the other.

Departures are all eventually just fun geese’s bump in another flight of a night.
How does it feel like to be stranded in a space between the exile from being poems and at the same time fulfilling all the tasks, seemingly full creation of functioning daily?
Duties have been and are strenuous, lots of flocks, yet own and desired by my aspirations’ oath, or rather at times disgustingly expected from apart of you too.
Had no space for that.
But now the game is finally on.
Poetry is my constant patron of its choosing of me and that makes us one.
And I cannot or will ever be killed.
So will It.
lua Nov 2020
"hello, what is your name?"

the familiar vibration in my ears
that creeps its way into my blood
a buzz
a hum
constant
beneath my skin
when days were louder
like the crash of pots and pans
in my grandmother's house
where the ceiling was littered with butterflies
like the static from empty radio stations
akin to that of crunching snow
and the harsh grating of metal

they are the memories dipped in sepia
and overexposed flashes of light
dripping as they walk on
leaving footprints
a silhouette

it is the fear of our wrinkling hands that drive us closer to the edge
to the end
as the sun and moon rewind in a never ending cycle
a loop
right before a leap of faith
towards that never ending youth
the desperate sliver of summer at the end of a blurry december's haze
when nothing is recognisable
a restart

"hello, what is your name?"
a poem based on The Caretaker's Everywhere At The End Of Time
Karijinbba Oct 2020
Pandemic poets disconnection!
I guess the SARSCOV-12-19
pandemic stunned
poets writing poetry
for passion, fun, courage
heart and brains.

Only scribblers remain
and wannabe writers
those forgetting to dream
are too busy in the nightmare
of their own survival paradigm
pandemic, or gone? as in RIP?.
I am feeling disconnected
in this think tank cubicle
called Hello Poetry
and all I can do is disconnect
from all private collectors
and their collections if possible.

for lack of tangible re- connections
with one another!
lack of one on one meeting.

Such misery and pain to poets
desiring to remain annonymous!
Arrogance neglect selfishness
and blatant thievery seems rampart.

Few of poetic true story poems
are fastly procured.
Supposedly by teen ager profiles
who will believe this!
It cannot last beyond pandemic
demoralizing fear monger
system re-start times!
can it?
My Purhepecha
The Maya mystic civilization
wisdom didn't end with their
Mayan calendar ancient
predictions cycle's
ending on year 2012,
It rather has re-started
somehow 2019 SarsCov-02
wasn't the Maya dream restart!.

I remain bound to my Mayan
civilization re-connection's
blessings
and to those who remember me
and not to deceptive originating
lab made nano covert virus culprit.

Instead, in my true light, I observe
how evildoers trash me to kin
who are supposed to love me
therefore, must disbelieve it all
but won't or can't.

So how about you?
~~~~~~
By: karijinbba
Copy Rights apply.
Alone no more.
Thanks for reading:
moderators poetry lovers.
please be well.
Orchid Sep 2020
The thin glistening needle threads
back and forth,
back and forth.
As the black thread slowly tangles in a knot

It twists and turns through each circle,
creating a lump in the center,
stoping the artist in their track,
forcing them to ponder on the black thread.

Should they continue?
Or should they stop,
cut the string and restart,
unwind new thread,
And strain their eyes again?
Marg Balvaloza Sep 2020
all of a sudden
its her vivid memories
that started to fade

like a photograph
captured in a camera
in grayscale effect

{ l.m.l.b }
at some point, i think it's pretty cool to also do what clementine did to joel barish. // may 2019
Daisy Hemlock Aug 2020
i just ate dinner
now i'm a new person
can we start over?
nice to meet you.
Next page