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Hello Poetry raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.
If you're into poetry and people who're into poetry, join the community to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Not ev-ree-wún can put words down
In stanzas and lines
And make them rhyme.

Not ev-ree-wún will pour out
Their hearts on a page
To clear out the rage.

Not ev-ree-wún wants to write
When they are in pain
Depressed or afraid.

Not ev-ree-wún can be honest
With themselves
And write about how they feel
About something or someone else​
Or even themselves.

Not ev-ree-wún can be creative
Not ev-ree-wún can tell the truth
Not ev-ree-wún can be a pow-it.
Thank you for reading
Ed Russ Jr Aug 28
Do you mind if I sit back and observe the process of the lords creation the subject matter is miraculous the beauty is elegant perfect in every scence my baby girl you stole my heart such a thief ain't you, thinking about seductive things we do sinners ain't we, naughty deeds but the intentions is good it serves needs

What pains me is that I have to let go to regrip your sparkling eyes again got to move fast so quick that I don't miss the chance to clutch you in my arms again heaven sent such a gift I cried when you was born I ain't even know you back then because, GOD made you for me I picked up your scent, I know from day one you was mine let us age old together bad and boujee like expensive fine wine my kiss is possessive the beat of your heart is mine let that foreplay tingle down your spine open wide going deep let me reach your soul climax our achievement together it ain't sex it's love

I want you, gotta have you, neeed you, I want you, girl I crave You, gotta have you, girl I love you, ooh baby boo love
Help me get this to trending. Wrote this about a special girl
Tori Ginter Aug 30
When I was a kid
i could go out into a street and dance in the rain
Even with eyes watching, I flailed my arms round and round until I was too dizzy to stand and eventually, fell into the dewy grass Without knowing the effects of lightning
instead, would pound my feet to the crash of thunder
I can't recall when I noticed they were watching
how it pulled the road from under my feet
and left me in the pavment
How I cared when they called me crazy
How they made me afraid of the lightning
How the fear kept me inside staring out from my window
When life became a cabinet with a plate,
holding ten other plates on top of it
how it all seemed so unbearable
I was fourteen when my pessimistic state of perception was shifted
All it took was one wise man and a sentence to crash the fragile system of fear:

                  "everything beautiful has a consequence" he said
                      "you just have to brave enough to face it".
sorry I know, the tags look cheesy but if I put a lot of those tags sometimes people actually read my poetry. just know the cheesy tags bother me as much as they bother you. I hope you enjoyed this poem though. xoxo -Tori
NAMANNAGARHERE
            -----------------------------------
Empty Residence Of Aforementioned Angel In Training
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own organ that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”
NRIKO Aug 5
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own organ that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”

- enriko. aug 5. 11:45pm
Isaac Jul 27
We all want our poems to trend and get views.
But when that is your focus, you're the one who will lose.

Striving for popularity can cause you to lose clarity.
Pulling you down a hole of insularity.

Instead, look ahead!
There are new horizons to be tread!
New poems to bloom happily in your garden bed,
no matter whether they are noticed...or even read!
Written 27 July 2018

Focus on writing a poem more rich with value than all your previous poems.
Red Brush Jun 22
Mourners of truth, now hashtag your pain.
Retweet and like, righteous fury appease.
Protests are trending, do not apathy feign.
Fight and resist, till the next Marvel release.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 1


a spokesperson of history and
their own language

an adventurer who dare to brave the
unknown jungles and uncharted temples

a student who starts from nothing
and grows by learning more

a listener who can hear and hone
the sound of their own prose

a lover who always leaves their
mark on virgin papers

a waterbearer who pours their soul to make
readers see and feel the beauty of the ripple

one soul that can and will write
their way into multiple lives

a warrior who fights to conquer
their greatest enemy, self-doubt

a drinker who wishes to
forget reality

a crafter who hears, sees, sniffs, feels
and thinks through their fingers

a sadist who loves to whip their
readers with twists, turns, pain and agony

a masochist who revels in the beautiful
agony of words, drafts and revisions

The writer's language is all that and more
It can bring as much agony as well as galore
And a special few truly understand that
the writer's language is anything but bland

The writer's language

The Writer's Language

It truly is second to none


The writing craft...
One I love to hate and hate to love. But I can't deny the good it's brought me
as well as the bad!
Also, to everyone who loved, liked and reposted my poem 'Naturally',
you guys are ah-mazing!
I logged in and saw 30+ notifications which made my jaw drop!
Seriously, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy that people love poetry as much as I do! I can't thank you enough!

Be back soon!
Lyn x
Loren Riley May 14
When a child is born,

A mother is born

When a mother is born,

A spark of love is born

When a spark of love is born,

There's a never-ending bond between them

When there's a never-ending bond,

Trust is born

When trust is born,

Empathy for one another is born

When empathy for each other is born,

One must part with the one who has supported them their whole lives and will always and always has been there for them.
I wrote this personally for my mother and found potential in it... So, I shared it!
How can a poem begin to trend
Without any likes or loves
It just doesn't make sense.
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