#writer poems on Hello Poetry

Sumit Bhaintwal Jun 2015

He scarred another piece of white paper with ink,
crushed it mercilessly and threw it into the trash can lying nearby.
Again this time he missed the spot;
And the paper met its fate, yet again.

#poet #ink #paper #block #writer

Tolani Agoro Jun 2015

Writer's block

What's a writer with writer's block?
Who's a poet without inspiration?
What's an artist without a muse?
Nothing.
Once greats who could compose symphonies with their minds
Now without the ability to create beauty
Nothing sadder in the world...

#poet #sad #inspiration #writer #artist #wiritersblock

Christopher Dante Jun 2015

A Footnote on a Crisis

I woke up contemplating bourbon and bitters.
Pu-Erh, with local honey, has always been more sensible.
It is warm and it heals a hoarse throat.

After two bags and a little Marquez, I sat at my desk staring at a spider in the opposite corner of my office.

I stared at it for a length of time that is too embarrassing to mention and never once had the inclination to smash it.
Not that it did not deserve it, I simply lacked the motivation.

It occurred to me that I would not trade a deep sleep under the sunlit blinds for a week's pay. How long can one get away with this?
For as long as one's wit will float them is my guess.

No one knows exactly how they want to be perceived when their ego barges into a room, but they know exactly how they do not want to be perceived.

But If I had the power, I would perceive being wanted.
To know I am here on purpose. What does that feel like?

If Hell is my fate for my living sins, then let me die in the arms of the woman that lit the fire within!

When I'm amongst the great race, brooding over my artisanal mug-of-joe, the constant chatter and open planning of the day becomes a spoken roar and I want to scream out, "Keep it down, I'm trying to plan my escape!"

What do I associate with happiness? My dad pouring M&M;'s into my mouth before a football game. Of course, I won't play, but one must be prepared!
The look on my mother's face when I sang well. Getting picked first in a game of pick-up. All the fellas whispering legends.

Ah, to be wanted!

Of late, the pain in my torso has become more persistent. I think of it and my imagination gives way to bouts of sheer panic.

And even this is not an excuse for concern and a peaceful night.
How about a kiss on my neck and chest for a change?
Must I always make you hot?
What if this is my last stand?
What if this is it?

In that final glimpse of consciousness, in my minds eye, all I make out is a faint light far above me and the brown soil and rock digging into my feet below.
What walls did I allow to be built all around me?

#poetry #poet #original #dante #new #writer #essay

Dhaye Margaux Jun 2015

The Artist

She's the artist of love
She creates every piece of art
By getting a tiny piece of her heart
Every song are words
That echoes from her spirit
Every stroke of brush
Contains a song from within
Every poem she writes
Has the color of her paint
Every story she tells
Has the verse of her soul
She's an artist in love

Marguerite <3

#love #poet #writer #artist #painter #singer #composer #marguerite

Roger Turner - Poet Apr 2015

paper

help me find the paper
with the poem i need
it's a simple piece of paper
with a poem that must be freed
i am asking for my readers
not for want or greed
help me find the paper
and what i write...you'll read

right now, there's nothing on it
it's as empty as can be
i looked inside my closet
and no paper did i see
i found one under a bonnet
but, it wasn't one for me
the missing poem might be a sonnet
can't you help me find it please

the words i have aren't in my head
it's the paper brings them out
until the pen hits paper
i don't know what it's about
once the poem is finished
i can then stand up and shout
i found the piece of paper
this is the one.....no doubt

help me find the paper
with the poem i need
it's a simple piece of paper
with a poem that must be freed
i am asking for my readers
not for want or greed
help me find the paper
and what i write...you'll read

#poem #poetry #words #people #muse #writing #paper #writer #greed #blocked

XIII Jun 2015

Wearing Shoes Other Than Size 5

To be a good writer or a poet
You have to be good at wearing shoes other than your size
Size 1, 2, 3, up to size 10
Even if it falls off your feet or too tight, you just have to try

Not only shoes, also all other kinds of footwear
From socks, sandals, flip flops, and slippers
High-heeled, boots, flippers and sneakers
Even barefooted, if there's nothing else to wear

Then, walk with it, run with it
Feel the calluses and feelings it brings
Up until its soles are wearing thin
Then, write the experience

“Always put yourself in others' shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person, too.”

― Rachel Grady

#poet #writer #shoes

S R Mats May 2015

The News With Jeffery Brown, PBS

Jeffery Brown, reporting the news every night
Looks at the world through multiple lens, and writes
Poetry from a layer of glass glued to a layer of glass
Which has separated slightly. Magnifications at last
Divided and shared as divvied-out treats.

http://video.pbs.org/video/2365488825/

#poetry #poet #writer #journalist #news #pbs #news-hour

Michaela May 2015

Unreliable Misery

There is this deep, evasive emptiness
that never ceases to lack control.
That conquers and escapes,
that stirs quiet chaos in my soul.

And there is this voice of vacant words,
which implore me to find structure instead.
But the broken writer cannot rebuild.
The unabridged poet is dead.

And I look at this self pity,
embodied in this girl.
And I have no inclination-
no desire
to be her.

#broken #quiet #escape #control #writer #misery #emptiness #chaos #conquer #unreliable

IL Mare May 2015

the story of my yearbook ambition

A friend once asked me
What ambition will I let the teachers put
In our high school yearbook
For everyone to see
And I said I'm afraid I do not have one
And he said that how would I succeed in life
If I don't have any ambition
And I've thought about this for awhile
And to justify my answer, I replied that
You need not to have any ambition
To succeed in life
I said you just needed to be happy and
Maybe I should let them put "To become happy" in the yearbook and you know what?
It ocurred to me that I never even give a single ****
About what the other students might think or what their parents might think
Except for what my parents might think
But usually, they don't care as long as it's who I am and what I want
And I'm thankful for that

But I've always wondered
Why I never had one
Never thought of becoming anything
Now that I'm in my senior year which is a crucial part
Of my career orientation
And I'm scared so much
I'm scared that before
I wanted everything
Yet now I end up wanting nothing
And I wondered so much
On how I changed so gradually
From being a ball of blazing fire to a godforsaken blackhole
Though I know change is inevitable,
I didn’t expect to lose my heart in the process

Once, I've always dreamed to become a doctor
Because I wanted to heal scars and unspoken miseries and no
I'm not just after using scalpels or stethoscopes or syringes
Or cutting off people's brains
I wanted to fix the broken
Rip my being into shreds to keep them whole
I wanted sacrifice and salvation

And I've always dreamed to become a soldier
I don’t care how silly it sounds
I wanted to protect people and wanted to taste the bitterness
Of war and blood and death
I wanted to know death and see all the worst
And be exposed to them
That I wouldn't have any choice
But to be brave for myself and the others
Because death? It could be sweeter this way
To die for a cause, to die for somebody
I wanted sacrifice and salvation

And I've always dreamed to become a teacher
Beacuse I wanted to influence someone's life
Give them power to stand up for themselves
Watch a bud blossom into a beautiful flower
And then I would make thousands of memories
Because at the same time
I'm learning through connections and bonds and warmth
And that, would be one of the greatest things
I will cherish in my life forever
I wanted sacrifice and salvation

And then I aspired to be a lawyer,
To serve and give way to justice because that's all we have to know
And I realized defending a criminial would be unavoidable
And I've always sworn to myself
That if that happens, I'd rather burn myself to death
Because I should only send the right people in jail
Those people who deserve to rot in the cells and cling to metal bars
I wanted sacrifice and salvation

And I watched the conversation end
And feel my heart pound in my ears
And I cried so much that night
That I realized I seldom cry
Because I thought I was better
And I was terrified because
Nothing hurts more than not knowing
What you could actually want in this sad world
Because that means you might as well be nothing

A hollow
A ******* void
And I don't want to be like that
Nobody does
So i think and think and think
What do I actually want?

And the wind blew
Leaves fell onto the ground
People wheezed and laughed and breathed through their noses
And it slapped me in the face
I've never been stable in my life
I've concealed my greed up until now
I dreamed so much that I denied reality
Each day, making myself believe
That I wanted nothing but I actually
Wanted THE power to be everything

Be everything in a world I was bound to craft
I wanted to create moons and stars and storms and unicorns
And wars and tides that tell "Hey, humans can actually create worlds."
I wanted to be out of my control
I didn’t want to settle on a skin I was enclosed in, I was held captive by
So I changed whatever's written to
The paper I had submitted for the yearbook
And wrote "To be a Writer" and nothing else

This was supposed to be a slam poem but I don't have that talent to be so raw in front of an audience so I let the words scream at the paper instead. Hehe.

#worry #life #future #highschool #lost #firstpoem #writer #ambition #graduation #yearbook

Steven A Mckeown May 2015

Mississippi Lepidoptera

She holds his body by her bough,
where ghosts have hung him like a puppet.
Swinging slowly, shadow dancing
above a “sacred” cross of flame

Raven dark her shattered darling,
black as bruises, light as smoke.
Hollow spinning boy in blue jeans
held aloft by mother’s limb.

Swollen eyes and tongue extended
to taste the warm Biloxi rain
Suspended high enough to witness
where his mother lay in tears.

Mississippi lepidoptera.
Shedding chrysalis of sorrow.
Ascending far above the reach
of bayou dragons and men of prayer.

#poet #writer #author #smckeown