#alacrity - Hello Poetry

There is a bold alacritas alive in all your style An eager joyful readiness smiles all the while Something in you wants to rise, beauty in art High & lifted up your spirit enters every part Holy in a willing heart cheerful flowing giver Obedience with warmth pure streaming river Lean a little forward let your mind brush tips, An out-stretched Hand, an Eternity let er rips, With alacrity and charm, your Soul steps first, Always behind the curtain her moments burst

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May 6

May 6, 2026 at 8:26 AM UTC

DarrellBaughn

There is a Bold Alacritas

There is a bold alacritas alive in all your style An eager joyful readiness smiles all the while Something in you wants to rise, beauty in art High & lifted up your spirit enters every part Holy in a willing heart cheerful flowing giver Obedience with warmth pure streaming river Lean a little forward let your mind brush tips, An out-stretched Hand, an Eternity let er rips, With alacrity and charm, your Soul steps first, Always behind the curtain her moments burst

10

Roses of dismal chances A quiet question, erupts in the room... Can a dancing smile, sneeze at your problems? Beguiling, the taste of decision, for doom... A waiting glass of beer, a hat with a choice Vent your stronger anger, with me The problems of shadows, visit in all loyalty To a comfort of saved distances, we play the part to, in all anarchy? Tired feet lead to such exciting smells Says won, says the bug you made for me... Strange endeavor in the hands of wishes, of need's hell's We have a name and word for each, that feeds our prophecy... Hidden, but suddenly too loud of an ask: What service and ought learn, the role of dread is ours forever? Ingenue's fish in the lend, and a new wish for something better to act The part of sincerity, as if you are, a charity of demands of a lover? Hate or hunger, fool... We remember the date with infamy, we made from rainbows Settling hopes, to give our hearts a try, a tool? Way out there, and with the glare of a new friend, can I have this wish on the house?

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Nov 15, 2025

Nov 15, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC

david-hilburn

Another Dance With Soap's First Lover...

Roses of dismal chances A quiet question, erupts in the room... Can a dancing smile, sneeze at your problems? Beguiling, the taste of decision, for doom... A waiting glass of beer, a hat with a choice Vent your stronger anger, with me The problems of shadows, visit in all loyalty To a comfort of saved distances, we play the part to, in all anarchy? Tired feet lead to such exciting smells Says won, says the bug you made for me... Strange endeavor in the hands of wishes, of need's hell's We have a name and word for each, that feeds our prophecy... Hidden, but suddenly too loud of an ask: What service and ought learn, the role of dread is ours forever? Ingenue's fish in the lend, and a new wish for something better to act The part of sincerity, as if you are, a charity of demands of a lover? Hate or hunger, fool... We remember the date with infamy, we made from rainbows Settling hopes, to give our hearts a try, a tool? Way out there, and with the glare of a new friend, can I have this wish on the house?

20

You feel the saddest at the far edge of the room, where dim, weakening light fails to reach— the corner where forgotten toys from early childhood live best in shadows. In the cabinet, you find not skeletons, but sleeves thick with dust, worn only once to grieve. Beneath them, a single shoelace— from a past that never happened, belonging to no one but you. As you stand, the floorboards sigh beneath your feet, forgetting you too. A picture of your mother, stained and half-burned by the sun, leans crooked on the wall. She wears the same black scarf from the last Christmas you still remember. You wear it too, in hopes of returning some alacrity that once bled this home.

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May 5, 2025

May 5, 2025 at 8:29 PM UTC

dipr

Alacrity

You feel the saddest at the far edge of the room, where dim, weakening light fails to reach— the corner where forgotten toys from early childhood live best in shadows. In the cabinet, you find not skeletons, but sleeves thick with dust, worn only once to grieve. Beneath them, a single shoelace— from a past that never happened, belonging to no one but you. As you stand, the floorboards sigh beneath your feet, forgetting you too. A picture of your mother, stained and half-burned by the sun, leans crooked on the wall. She wears the same black scarf from the last Christmas you still remember. You wear it too, in hopes of returning some alacrity that once bled this home.

24

Dark heavens slapped my state of blues today. the sky was grey and green, and seething in between. it spat cold rocks on me and made me see alacrity, defeat my sheets of drenched passivity, refreshingly.

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Apr 8, 2015

Apr 8, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC

salseye

Storm woken

Dark heavens slapped my state of blues today. the sky was grey and green, and seething in between. it spat cold rocks on me and made me see alacrity, defeat my sheets of drenched passivity, refreshingly.

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