#alabama - Hello Poetry

the everlasting arms. as i drive from Tallapoosa heading west to Tuscaloosa there's a weight that falls heavy on my neck. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. besides the bitter taste of ***** what else constitutes a state? there’s no people in Demopolis and the Son is rising late. i hate to say my home is gone but yellow birds are flying on and swaying trees refuse to pay attention to the sky. if i could say this was the Styx at least i’d have the soul-washed bricks to build a house, to settle down, to moralize it all. it’s far too late to realize that you have dug a grave. if i had the eyes to look above then, God, it could've saved. i hate to say i had a home ‘cause, “home is where you're not alone” that isn’t here, yet still i feel a calling to this place. if purple flow’rs and stinging bees could cry to God while on their knees they’d know the complications that arise on Judgement Day. the everlasting arms. no matter where you are they're always holding on. tighter, tighter, and even tighter still. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. the arms. they guide. they guide me to the cross. on a hill far away there's an old rugged cross the emblem of kudzu and rain. and i’ll go to that cross and my God, tie the rope to end one more sinner’s old pains. below Shelby and Jefferson below Montgom’ry and Elmore forever i’ll finally be. but why do i miss those red, once blue seas and Wormwoods they forced on Creek towns? the everlasting arms. they hold me still to the home of the camellias even when i cannot see it. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. … “And so my dear believers, as it once was written in the Book of God, ‘We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; so that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.’ And on that Hallowed Day when the Trumpets blow and the Seven Seals are broken and destroyed forever, never to be undone, we must be ready to know whether we have followed the path of good and righteousness or the path of the Devil. I for one know I’ve done good in the name of the LORD. I have given the Devil no foothold in my home… …h a v e y o u, d e a r b e l i e v e r?”

0

May 24

May 24, 2026 at 2:50 PM UTC

babilitu

the everlasting arms (alabama)

the everlasting arms. as i drive from Tallapoosa heading west to Tuscaloosa there's a weight that falls heavy on my neck. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. besides the bitter taste of ***** what else constitutes a state? there’s no people in Demopolis and the Son is rising late. i hate to say my home is gone but yellow birds are flying on and swaying trees refuse to pay attention to the sky. if i could say this was the Styx at least i’d have the soul-washed bricks to build a house, to settle down, to moralize it all. it’s far too late to realize that you have dug a grave. if i had the eyes to look above then, God, it could've saved. i hate to say i had a home ‘cause, “home is where you're not alone” that isn’t here, yet still i feel a calling to this place. if purple flow’rs and stinging bees could cry to God while on their knees they’d know the complications that arise on Judgement Day. the everlasting arms. no matter where you are they're always holding on. tighter, tighter, and even tighter still. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. the arms. they guide. they guide me to the cross. on a hill far away there's an old rugged cross the emblem of kudzu and rain. and i’ll go to that cross and my God, tie the rope to end one more sinner’s old pains. below Shelby and Jefferson below Montgom’ry and Elmore forever i’ll finally be. but why do i miss those red, once blue seas and Wormwoods they forced on Creek towns? the everlasting arms. they hold me still to the home of the camellias even when i cannot see it. the everlasting arms the everlasting arms. … “And so my dear believers, as it once was written in the Book of God, ‘We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; so that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.’ And on that Hallowed Day when the Trumpets blow and the Seven Seals are broken and destroyed forever, never to be undone, we must be ready to know whether we have followed the path of good and righteousness or the path of the Devil. I for one know I’ve done good in the name of the LORD. I have given the Devil no foothold in my home… …h a v e y o u, d e a r b e l i e v e r?”

57

I have never been to Alabama, or… <> I have never been to Alabama, or where Immortality reigns supreme, but I am told here and there nooks and looks of poetry reside abide and ENLIVE, And sadness is banished, loneliness impossible, & Loveliness abounds, And every poem Gets a sun, Becomes a star, And every poem, Is immortalized And those who choose to compose, selves to expose, become angels protecting all who write poetry in their hearts, but who cannot nor, dare to share <> but they share with them... who in turn share to all the confidence of Comfort

0

Jun 29, 2025

Jun 29, 2025 at 6:14 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

I have never been to Alabama, or...[1]

I have never been to Alabama, or… <> I have never been to Alabama, or where Immortality reigns supreme, but I am told here and there nooks and looks of poetry reside abide and ENLIVE, And sadness is banished, loneliness impossible, & Loveliness abounds, And every poem Gets a sun, Becomes a star, And every poem, Is immortalized And those who choose to compose, selves to expose, become angels protecting all who write poetry in their hearts, but who cannot nor, dare to share <> but they share with them... who in turn share to all the confidence of Comfort

32

Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan Birmingham I am an abandoned race course Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan Basquiat and Bukowski Birmingham I am nothing Birmingham I am blue Birmingham I’m yours if you let me Birmingham I am you

0

Aug 28, 2020

Aug 28, 2020 at 7:32 PM UTC

PocketsThePoet

Birmingham

Birmingham I am your first born Ex husband Birmingham I am 3rd avenue north Birmingham I am the hands of Vulcan Birmingham I am an abandoned race course Birmingham I am your Bob Dylan Basquiat and Bukowski Birmingham I am nothing Birmingham I am blue Birmingham I’m yours if you let me Birmingham I am you

10

Boy, oh boy Will boys be boys And oh boy, that’s gross to say, I at least get that, I mean I try to but here’s to trying Kind of like trying to speak for women Or anyone that isn’t you, you should just not do that… There’s a difference in defense for the good of all And then, there’s what we were talking about 50 ******* years ago Oh, excuse me 30 ******* years ago, Last ******* year… 2 ******* days ago… OK RIGHT THE **** NOW… But I really want to go back to 69 Oh, The Summer of love… Or the summer of forcing a woman to go to court over the ability to receive an abortion only to be decided by a group of old men if she has any rights over her body to receive a safe medical procedure, all while the media doing no one any favors guiding a blind division nationally between people and God fearing busy bodies, calling her names and questioning her character as a responsible person, in a not very god-fearing tone, all while forcing Ms. McCorvey again, to get burned more for prolonging an unwanted pregnancy due to waiting on a decision that is determined in court by that aforementioned group of men, which is like the sportsman’s equivalent of just killing the clock to win a game but it isn’t a ******* game it’s a woman’s body, which clearly they didn’t care anything about just as long as they get that **** baby in the next 6 months or so, but as stated above it is indeed unwanted, so really who is going to take care of the ******* baby because we know how much people just love adopting ******* children? Let’s ask 25 republicans! But some people talk of 69 differently, Some remember the Beatles. Some recall Charles Manson. Kind of like today Some say we are putting god back in our government And The rest of us in 1972 to 2019 are wondering who the **** invited god? I never knew God and every white person’s, “one uncle” has the same opinion. Amazing! But Uncle Alabama shouldn’t speak for God. Wait until he finds out she’s a woman. That’d be a kick to the unregulated nuts we can just spew anywhere, like a natural ******* disaster. That’s what the name of this ******* poem should be, but it’s not. Sincere, ******** That’s what I call this one, That’s what I call the last 2 and half years too. And this poem. And telling women what to do with their bodies. Some people would think differently. But I don’t think some people think.

0

May 15, 2019

May 15, 2019 at 4:44 PM UTC

Lousyerface

Severe ********

Boy, oh boy Will boys be boys And oh boy, that’s gross to say, I at least get that, I mean I try to but here’s to trying Kind of like trying to speak for women Or anyone that isn’t you, you should just not do that… There’s a difference in defense for the good of all And then, there’s what we were talking about 50 ******* years ago Oh, excuse me 30 ******* years ago, Last ******* year… 2 ******* days ago… OK RIGHT THE **** NOW… But I really want to go back to 69 Oh, The Summer of love… Or the summer of forcing a woman to go to court over the ability to receive an abortion only to be decided by a group of old men if she has any rights over her body to receive a safe medical procedure, all while the media doing no one any favors guiding a blind division nationally between people and God fearing busy bodies, calling her names and questioning her character as a responsible person, in a not very god-fearing tone, all while forcing Ms. McCorvey again, to get burned more for prolonging an unwanted pregnancy due to waiting on a decision that is determined in court by that aforementioned group of men, which is like the sportsman’s equivalent of just killing the clock to win a game but it isn’t a ******* game it’s a woman’s body, which clearly they didn’t care anything about just as long as they get that **** baby in the next 6 months or so, but as stated above it is indeed unwanted, so really who is going to take care of the ******* baby because we know how much people just love adopting ******* children? Let’s ask 25 republicans! But some people talk of 69 differently, Some remember the Beatles. Some recall Charles Manson. Kind of like today Some say we are putting god back in our government And The rest of us in 1972 to 2019 are wondering who the **** invited god? I never knew God and every white person’s, “one uncle” has the same opinion. Amazing! But Uncle Alabama shouldn’t speak for God. Wait until he finds out she’s a woman. That’d be a kick to the unregulated nuts we can just spew anywhere, like a natural ******* disaster. That’s what the name of this ******* poem should be, but it’s not. Sincere, ******** That’s what I call this one, That’s what I call the last 2 and half years too. And this poem. And telling women what to do with their bodies. Some people would think differently. But I don’t think some people think.

38

Fields of cotton, vast and white … Like a rolling sea of snow in the deep, deep south. Pecan Pie and honey, Muscadine jelly … So sweet, sweet in my mouth. Mmmm, Saturday shrimp boil and cheering for college ball. After church on Sunday, a picnic barbecue. Two things, for sure, will never be missing … and that'll be me and you. Herds of cattle grazing, flocks of sheep a lazing … Tomatoes fresh off the vine. Gentle rolling hills and streams and caves … Maple, Oak and Pine. Harvest season, kids, young and old, all squealing … Time for the Peanut Fest. The smells of cotton candy and corn dogs, white knuckle rides, country music and a rodeo ... Those times are simply the best. The haunting shrieks of an ol' Barred Owl, roadsides and backyards … filled with grazing deer. God's lovely creatures both furry and fowl … Wild Hogs … Peregrine Falcons, seen and heard, far and near. Granny's Peach Cobbler, Mom's scratch-built biscuits … Catfish in the skillet. Could you find something to replace even one of these heart-warming smells? Well, tell me then … How will it? A lonely train horn calls, off in the distance … as I lay in my bed. It lulls me to sleep with a contented smile … All these moments filling my head. Oh, Alabama.

0

Mar 3, 2018

Mar 3, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC

Jeff-Gaines

Sweet Home

Fields of cotton, vast and white … Like a rolling sea of snow in the deep, deep south. Pecan Pie and honey, Muscadine jelly … So sweet, sweet in my mouth. Mmmm, Saturday shrimp boil and cheering for college ball. After church on Sunday, a picnic barbecue. Two things, for sure, will never be missing … and that'll be me and you. Herds of cattle grazing, flocks of sheep a lazing … Tomatoes fresh off the vine. Gentle rolling hills and streams and caves … Maple, Oak and Pine. Harvest season, kids, young and old, all squealing … Time for the Peanut Fest. The smells of cotton candy and corn dogs, white knuckle rides, country music and a rodeo ... Those times are simply the best. The haunting shrieks of an ol' Barred Owl, roadsides and backyards … filled with grazing deer. God's lovely creatures both furry and fowl … Wild Hogs … Peregrine Falcons, seen and heard, far and near. Granny's Peach Cobbler, Mom's scratch-built biscuits … Catfish in the skillet. Could you find something to replace even one of these heart-warming smells? Well, tell me then … How will it? A lonely train horn calls, off in the distance … as I lay in my bed. It lulls me to sleep with a contented smile … All these moments filling my head. Oh, Alabama.

44

Pop music and Alaskan ice Whiskey is cool and I'm blue So too are the bloodied few Smoke rises and inspires Creation spirals into anew Sending geysers ski high Letting go the rigers of life A summon of ice Falling of snow flakes Seasonal prices are here Signs gripping onto holsters Finding *** and coal Air stale Quietly rancid Unholy desperation of breath Job is old Feeble are the bones Lost is the soul

0

Dec 31, 2017

Dec 31, 2017 at 1:04 AM UTC

dakotajdawson

Blue collar or the Dog collar?

Pop music and Alaskan ice Whiskey is cool and I'm blue So too are the bloodied few Smoke rises and inspires Creation spirals into anew Sending geysers ski high Letting go the rigers of life A summon of ice Falling of snow flakes Seasonal prices are here Signs gripping onto holsters Finding *** and coal Air stale Quietly rancid Unholy desperation of breath Job is old Feeble are the bones Lost is the soul

18

Everytime I push my pen I am moving mountains Everytime I touch the keys I will part the seas Everytime you do the same then we are creating the liberal Science of poetry

0

Jun 26, 2017

Jun 26, 2017 at 6:43 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

moving mountains

Everytime I push my pen I am moving mountains Everytime I touch the keys I will part the seas Everytime you do the same then we are creating the liberal Science of poetry

8

It's getting easier to say goodbye to you. Every time I migrate away from home to find warmth, leave you behind in the cold, I am taking back a piece of my soul that I have left in your icy hands. You still have the same hold, the same capture, but I am learning that it's much easier to keep my heart to myself.

0

Sep 28, 2015

Sep 28, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC

e-townsend

Alabama

It's getting easier to say goodbye to you. Every time I migrate away from home to find warmth, leave you behind in the cold, I am taking back a piece of my soul that I have left in your icy hands. You still have the same hold, the same capture, but I am learning that it's much easier to keep my heart to myself.

8

I can't help but love you. You are me but you messed me up. I hate being here with you. I just can not wait to pack my bags and leave you for good. Yet I know that even when I'm gone I'll miss you. But never will I miss you enough to come back, ever. I'll move on to better things. But you Alabama will always settle for the worst.

0

Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC

katelynn-shadoan

Alabama

I can't help but love you. You are me but you messed me up. I hate being here with you. I just can not wait to pack my bags and leave you for good. Yet I know that even when I'm gone I'll miss you. But never will I miss you enough to come back, ever. I'll move on to better things. But you Alabama will always settle for the worst.

8

It was a normal two scorpion and one rattlesnake day at 112° in Wichita Falls , Texas . Texas . . . they made Hell out of the good parts of Texas and the rest of the state just went there . Fortunately my parents only went there so my little sister could be born there . We left the great state of Texas and moved to the incestuous state of Alabama . Where the impossible will always remain the same . And the possible will be banned , outlawed , and perpetuated behind countless barns , toolsheds , and the outhouse known as Montgomery , the State Capitol . Called the Heart of Dixie (it should be called ******* of Dixie and thank God for Mississippi , for they have wrest that title away from us . But we gave it a-hell-a-va-fight .) We are a multicolored society . We have white (the pressence of all color) and black (the absence of all color). Which is strange now because the black people are called colored and the white people are called all kinds of blacked out names (usually on court documents). Alabama is proud of it's educational system . We measure one's intelligence by how soon they leave the state for better opportunities . In Alabama an educated person is a four letter word , like *** hole , or worse . Oops ! Let me see now . . . one , two , three , four . . . got to tale off my shoe . . . five , six , seven . . . wait a minute . . . *** hole ? . . . is that one or two words .

0

Nov 12, 2014

Nov 12, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

Bama Boy

It was a normal two scorpion and one rattlesnake day at 112° in Wichita Falls , Texas . Texas . . . they made Hell out of the good parts of Texas and the rest of the state just went there . Fortunately my parents only went there so my little sister could be born there . We left the great state of Texas and moved to the incestuous state of Alabama . Where the impossible will always remain the same . And the possible will be banned , outlawed , and perpetuated behind countless barns , toolsheds , and the outhouse known as Montgomery , the State Capitol . Called the Heart of Dixie (it should be called ******* of Dixie and thank God for Mississippi , for they have wrest that title away from us . But we gave it a-hell-a-va-fight .) We are a multicolored society . We have white (the pressence of all color) and black (the absence of all color). Which is strange now because the black people are called colored and the white people are called all kinds of blacked out names (usually on court documents). Alabama is proud of it's educational system . We measure one's intelligence by how soon they leave the state for better opportunities . In Alabama an educated person is a four letter word , like *** hole , or worse . Oops ! Let me see now . . . one , two , three , four . . . got to tale off my shoe . . . five , six , seven . . . wait a minute . . . *** hole ? . . . is that one or two words .

6