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.
“Congratulations
You managed being five feet above the ground”
Said a man who
Can’t contain a slight, sardonic sound
The situation:
He’s reading eating magazines from the coast of Spain
And yelling himself blue
For the jeepney won’t hurry in the pouring rain

He smashed his head on the glass
Wishing for a train
It nearly cracked / but his
New cadence sounded quite sane

“Congratulations
You took five before you smoked the first one down”
Said a man who
Complimented me for sinking above the ground
“It’s estimation
I might trip before a wheel enters our lane”
I yelled the truth
At this moment, his presence started to stain

A boat that had already passed us
Yelled, “All aboard!”
We weren’t sure it would float
But it had a great deal of cords

Then we clambered on
There was a myriad of golden spades
Two for every buried fool
That was forced to stay
The stench was concealed
By the satisfied old man
A woman muttered
That she was headed to Queensland

A driver viciously flung his arms
Into the air, in apt alarm
The intersection’s volley
Aimed for the starboard
Everyone reached for the mast,
Hoping to soar

“Congratulations
You nodded off before the lights started to blare”
Said a man who
Lied, ostentatiously impaired
I’m at the station
Then, I noticed to my side was a golden *****
I dug myself through
The mahogany and got on with my day
In the rain
In the Plymouth Pass where I have passed
I witness buckles gaining mass
The paper cuts within my brew
Lampoon another step anew

Here lies where my skin was sewn
Wheezing steel, nature-grown
The gasps around my mind can see
The ***** yellow tether

Where I have seen my lover last
She kept me in a dress of brass
I long to see the Painted Crew
And eat the early morning dew

Dying’s cheap, dying moans
But living’s false and lies alone
For I believe that there’s a seed
That dares to croon, “forever”

I am strapped to a crown of birds
A shepherd of a mangled herd
We saw the Creviced Brigantine
And dreamt to hear a Byzantine

But speed, it saunters with a lapse
Cleaving instantaneous gaps
Who keeps watch to study time?
I’ll lock my learned head

In mondegreens, I taste a word
That chimes the gong of Lost Kyntire
Delouse the tongue with saccharines
Postcards via magazines

The wheels don’t turn, no, they collapse
Into a delta off the maps
I weep the street with sweat of rhyme
To lose what I have read

Where is Homer’s furrowed lining?
I forget my ink a-shining
The sun berates my slanted sleep
Which leads me to a voidless keep

The ties I twirl have never told
Me money’s green and fakes a fold
This jagged jingle holds a pen
That rakes a love of wealth

My mind is braised and stamped for finding
Reasons for a word’s rescinding
By my sins, I rest on heaps
Of famine-stricken sermon-sheeps

My steel-laced cries have never sold
A penny for my growing old
I decry the breadth of men
Who drink and die to their own health

Christ, I tire of my treads
I sense distaste of the well-fed
Sprouting my depraved behaviour
To find the sport in slaves and saviours

I can’t read with eyes of grain
I can’t draw the dated pane
My limbs belong to Nation Trusts
My child shall have my feet

A Mannish day usurps my bed
As the net that keeps me wed
To depots of deserted paper
And sickened lines of perverse vapour

The printed blue fight to remain
Twenty-four stallions breed to maim
The Court of Mobile states my ****
And treasures it like beets

Berries of the freesome smell
Southtrail deers degrazing ****
I am born to hear the hiss
Of driven serfs endowed with ****

Gratitude is served in rocks
Given life by stale warlocks
Augurs of the larger days
Reducing me to innocence

The Marshall spits a shallow well
Coagulates into a gel
To stress this life, I’d be remiss
And slowly stripped by vicious mist

I should chafe to serve a clock
Which underlines the formless flock
Yet I try to pave my way
To tangible incessance

Vivian Mills, an architect
Loves a state she can’t protect
The walls are hammered willow trees
Mercury arrows, guileless and creased

Edward Crael, a charlatan
Only writes on jars of tin
Where hate is love, rendered stale
And echoes through the past

Lonny Winn, the One Prefect
Cries over a submerged wreck
She feels the transit’s caving knees
And drinks away her soaring pleas

Finnick Gaelan, the Captain
Feels the weight of northern winds
He prays to long for wayward gales
Yet permeates the past
Someday
You will be charged
For taken for granted
For every visit

Every time
You visited
My dreams

Without VISA
Genre: Romantic
Theme: Beyond Immigration rules
Emmiasky Ojex Aug 23
Now I can go to jail
Have for myself, a bad name
If I take the wrong steps
And follow evil men

One that I would carry with me for the rest of life, in shame
One that would follow me till I join my brothers in Hades
I fear for I will soon be leaving the teens
But no worries, for I am still a kid to Him

Now I can serve life imprisonment
For murdering a soul whether I did or did not, since I was there
Now I am a man
What will I grow up as?

A bad or a good one?
I do not know and can not say what I want
For the world is all wrong
And what they see as good is actually not

I am becoming eighteen
I will no longer be known as a teen
But an adult
Who would learn from people and life, all sorts

Welcome to the world, son
Say this to me for
all I did in the past was learn
Now we’ve gotta put what we learnt to fend for ourselves

In this market of life,
We’ve gotta struggle to not get behind
Life’s gonna move on whether we like it or not
Whether or not we want it to be solved.

Now I know no thing,
Yet, I plan to and will learn every thing
All I wish to happen, I will do them
And not like them, complain rather than make wishes real.

I am and will always be ME,
May He help me.
Amen.

©Emmiasky Ojex
From FOR BOYS TURNING MEN (the personal version)
A poem to those children who are currently entering into the world of adulthood and are confused as to where their future lies, in this world of evil.
Job
The day begins before it should,
and every minute is squandered,
before I jump into the car,
spilling hot coffee in my haste.

Then the rushing wind blows past me,
running through my hair in the dark;
headlights keep up with the sharp turns,
and the thumping stereo lifts me.

Parking, on time, walking briskly
to ensure the grandest entrance
to give a formal impression.
My echoed greeting meets my ears.

Hello, goodbye, I take over,
holding my vigilant station
as I toast bagels with butter
and wait for them to call me up.

"Ashley!" comes the petulant cry
and I manage to answer her.
"Coming!" And I take a slow sip
before heading up creaky stairs.

They want me to pick out their clothes.
They want me to help them get dressed.
I say, "You can do that yourself,
I'm here to do hard things, like cook."

Teasing, admonishing, waiting
for children to do what I asked;
I take one more sip of coffee
and the cup is gone far too soon.

Soon, they are eating their breakfast,
and I'm prepping backpacks and coats.
Something spills, and I clean it up;
then she says she forgot her shoes.

I tell her sister to get them,
but she won't go up there alone.
So we three climb the creaky stairs,
and come back with their socks and shoes.

We run out the door, lock the garage,
and jump in my car for a ride.
"Seatbelts?" I ask before leaving,
and they both ask me for tic-tacs.

A minute away, and I park.
They jump out and both wave goodbye.
I smile and wait for the school bus.
I drive to my next job, next door.
Work as a nanny, it's not for everyone, but I love my girls.
Mister J Jan 13
Staring at the setting sun
Thoughts drifting with the clouds
Mild sunlight kisses my skin
Gentle breeze hits my face
Headphones on my ears
Listening to the songs of my youth
Train ride feels a bit bumpy
People coming and going
Melting behind the scenes
As I stay frozen in my thoughts
Lingering on the moments
Of a roller coaster path
When there was suffering
And there were triumphs
When my smiles lit up
And the times they died
They're all here with me
Shaping me to what I am now
Still in my transit
To the destiny I'm given
Still growing and learning
Still falling and stumbling
But with hope and drive
With courage and faith
And an unfaltering will
I'll get to my destination
My final stop
And carry on to a new journey

I'm still in transit
Heading to that special place
Where I really want to be
Waiting for me
And made just for me
Reflections in life and past failures while travelling on a train.
Jan. 13, 2018
4:00-4:35pm PST

-J
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
Dizzying fall
The ending claims all
Hitting rock bottom when there's nothing solid left
Fending off the end with each passing breath
Lungs on the grind, buying me time
Onward, headfirst
Through layers of earth
Til my soul is bending
Ears ringing with a thousand rending
Tales of farewell etching out
This cavity of self doubt

What the truth is I can't say
And most likely never will

The noise, it fades
****** sprites screaming out my name
Eventually all lose themselves in the torrent
Of endlessness
Of abyss and persistance
Of nonexistence

No longer resist

Thoughts respondent of a scream
Repressing turbulent dreams
Still crawling along my back
Feelings crouched out of sight
Negativity, prone to attack

Deceased
Or not
The truth
Is that
I still
Have friends
Or not
I guess

In life it's nearly always just a matter of time
Ricocheting through the valley of fatal decline
Wishing after thoughtless grandeur, wishing for more wishes
Ephemeral, it all
Falling to the ending
Dreaming
An astir this dimm
she dig train then abscond
that dawn set her part
just round nine o'clock

and she sped into town
but rode back at dusk
met me on this serial port
and funny interlude discretion

with a keystroke to browse
this cockamamie diatribe
while all through a route tonight
yet this flagrant twist ensue  

with her laptop a comrade fair
to find her again
upon this moment of bliss
she rightfully kissed

with a monument there
that touted strikingly tall
like an obelisk affront
an oft-heard prayer.
Tuana Mar 2016
Poetry is emotion
Traveling  is a magician of intensity
How much should I hate my blood
to be able to love my own skin?
Transit in Rome, 2016
(c)Tuana
Next page