#figure
Alysha Liu started climbing the highest mountain, starting when she was five, and fifteen years later, she reached the top.
Starting at an early age, the seed was planted in a dream, and was nourished, cultivated, and strengthened through the years of grueling practices, a pause at 16, a hesitation, and then an about-face. Today, she is an Olympic Champion in figure skating. And deservingly so.
Her family, especially her dad, was in front.
But nature had her back.
She blended with the elements. So free spirited as the wind. So radiant as the sun. So mysterious and exotic as the moon.
Alysha won prettily in Italy.
She carried herself well in a golden sequin dress, with a golden halo hairdo, and those sparkling golden eyes. She was more than cute. She was golden, wholesome, and real. And she skated to perfection.
She made the US proud, crowd and loud over her accomplishments. And deservedly so
And her family, fans, and freedom absolutely adore her.
There will be other winners. But there will be none like Alysha, bunny-hopping "her way" to her coaches after her performance, where her warmth and good vibes touch everyone along the way that is watching as she greets her coaches--- all with tears of joy in their eyes.
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 11:41 PM UTC
i cant breathe, i cant think
i cant skate, because the rink
its too warm
melting ice
my one solace
my one vice
i cant freeze
freeze my brain
lose myself in the music
get lost in the pain
the sting of the cold
my movements bold
i cant sing
i cant swing
move my body
i cant move
i cant think
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 11:14 AM UTC
Her love spread like the branches of a fig tree, reaching for the sky.
She offered shade during the hottest days, sheltering them from the harsh sun.
She kept them dry, protecting them from the tears of the sky.
They built their homes upon her spine, and though they never asked, she allowed it.
They carved their initials into her skin and bone, claiming her as "mine."
They thought her branches were meant to fuel their fires,
so they took chainsaws to her heart.
Despite the pain they caused, she believed that loving someone meant enduring it.
But in the end, they only cared for the sweetness of her fruit.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 7:41 PM UTC
This is not a poem, however, it is an invitation to everyone. Many years ago in a galaxy far away. No, that's not it. lol. Blt and I came up with the idea to write poetry from the viewpoint of a historical figure or a fictional character's viewpoint. I wrote one from Humpty Dumpty's point of view. Jesse James and Bill had some great ones too. The ideas are endless. Anyone is welcome. Join the fun.
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132874/lost-poetry-from-history-challenge/
Jun 9, 2024
Jun 9, 2024 at 3:28 PM UTC
~
*Cotton duck canvas
on careful days
in a closed room,
intersecting tension,
energy and interest
for strangers to interpret
Three bashful belles
and lovers of art
undressed as a figure study,
cloistered together
in a line of beauty
for moral support
Their congregation assembled
in glorification of
angelic landscapes,
tempered by the mysteries
within convexity's arboretum
In unequivocal parts and gradation,
where good posture
and graceful presentation
count in equal measure,
to create Hogarth's
line continuous
--the Analysis of Beauty,
bended at the waist
to spread light through the canopy
During such exhibition
the belles whisper
under the rose,
of war and shopping lists,
they seem to avert eye contact,
gazes fixed to
the eternal sphere
ticking on the far wall,
never directly into the eyes
of those who come to
paint their *******
with sandalwood*
~
Apr 17, 2024
Apr 17, 2024 at 1:05 PM UTC
I sat there talking with people,
but I seem like an invisible figure.
No one listened, so I still sat there, with a happy smile;
Pushing back tears while filling my head with lies,
Whelving those feelings away as I put on;
A pitiful disguise.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 1:24 AM UTC
I saw it
A figure the size of me
filled with the empty black
injecting a pricing screech
that pushed me further in my bed
I can't move
as it is looking at me, and through me
the sounds are getting louder
tickling my eardrum
I close my eyes
and open to see it climb the walls
I close my eyes again
and wake.
Dec 29, 2020
Dec 29, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
Your hair, its softness makes my heart palpitate rapidly;
Your face, its lineaments leave me in the wonder of their rarity;
Your eyes, I can stare open-mouthed into them unweariedly;
Your lips, I wish I can kiss them constantly;
Your hands, I wish I can entwine them with mine eternally.
Your mind, it captures me on every occasion thoroughly;
Your soul, I can love it everlastingly;
Your heart, it belongs only to me, solely;
O, my inamorata! Feelings of you will never be dreary.
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
A puzzle I am
You wont figure me out
A puzzle I am
You will not find all my pieces
A puzzle I am
You wont put me back together
A puzzle I am
You see the broken, tattered pieces
A puzzle I am
You did never solve
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 10:06 PM UTC
You'll know its time to leave
If all the truths you are told
Are just twisted lies
Spoken by a masked figure
You once knew
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 9:33 PM UTC
crimson roses for breakfast
glass of wine adorned with thorns
stems wrangled around my figure
scaled petals as my skin
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
When they look at my body,
they giggle between their teeth that are crooked but they call them curved. They perceive how curveless I look
and tell me to perform yoga
so that my curves can be defined,
so that I can shape my convexes and concaves.
I smile as bright as I can because probably those are my only visible curves.
I tell them how every time I sit to write
my pen curves on the pages
that are thumbed on the corners
so they seem curved too.
I begin by writing the first letter of the English language
and make slopes and valleys of this alphabet.
I form serpentines and swirling cyclones of my words,
I curve my 'S' to form into an infinity
so that I can hold on to him for as long.
I stretch my 'K' until the end of the earth
and make it look like a single leg shoulder stand.
And as I take all my alphabets,
I turn them from staff position to the plough position.
I make my words turn into Paschimotasna,
and my noun tries to perform Kundali.
My pronouns sit in vajrasana.
My similies stress themselves and flex,
while my metaphors curl into themselves and hide as Marichyasana.
When I am done,
my poems form themselves into Pindasana.
However,
I remain coverless,
as straight and sharp as the pen I use.
I remain 'Arjuna's' bow
so he directs me into my own self,
my own heritage
and I end up killing my Bhishma,
my self-respect.
Hence while my words perform yogasana,
I stand still in tadasana.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
She grabs her by the neck
And I can see it unfold
She never stood a chance
Her body slams to the ground
She gasps upon impact
Blood running from her mouth red as her hair
She reaches up
Unclear if as an act of pleading or anger
But a figure dressed dark as night rips her off the ground
Only to slam her down again
This time she lets out an unearthly moan
She spits blood onto the pavement
It glistens in the sun
A puddle of color against the blacktop
The figure grabs her again and drags her by her hair
Her lips quivering
She puts her arms below her
And as she pushes to lift herself up another blow
The dark figure kicks her in the side of the head
She falls to the ground
A sharp kick in the rips and she spits blood once again
She looks up pleading with her eyes
Scrapes cover her face with streaks of red
The tears are streaming down but she does not cry out
Another blow to the ribs and she doubles down
Using her hands over her head she attempts to protect herself
Finally relenting the dark figure stops the kicking
She lay broken and quivering unable to face it
It begins to scream
And when she turns away it grabs her face to face the lingual horrors
When I see her face next it's only a glance
But her eyes seem empty now
Glazed over and lifeless
The figure picks her up again
She makes no sound this time as she hits the ground
For a moment it seems as though she will try to rise up
The figure stands over her watching
But she doesn't move
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 1:05 AM UTC
I cry and often for get to ask why
On some days I’m fine
But it’s times like now
That I find out
That life is just a game
And I am trying to figure out
Why I came
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 8:36 PM UTC
How ephemeral the memories now seem.
As if they truly come from a world altogether unfamiliar…
Tis but a dream
The early mornings spent on ice,
The blinding lights and gorgeous whites,
Thirsty lungs,
Tired quadriceps,
And of course bruised knees.
And all of them filled to bursting with the emphatic movements,
Gestures,
Leaps,
And lifts,
Of the bladed ballerinas
That dance across my fading dreamscapes…
The ice-dancer glides effortlessly,
But with purpose austere.
Every muscle contracted in the manner most conducive
To manifesting their artistic desire.
From fingertips
To toe-picks
Their body transfigured into an instrument of emotion —
A weapon of beauty.
From start to end each routine is a metamorphosis:
Budding and blooming along a euphonious plane
Until the artist’s full potential is revealed…
The energy released —
The raw power,
Of the jumps and spins,
Kaleidoscopic fireworks
Clashing
Against the roaring white backdrop:
Each explosion
The ignition of a chambered round;
The spiralling bullet,
The impact on target…
The artist’s winter warfare actualized.
Last night,
As such ballerinas …riveting …terrifying
Danced around the panorama of my mind’s eye
I recalled that ultimate unison between flesh and spirit;
That of the figure skater
Painting their art
On a canvas most cruel.
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 9:05 PM UTC
Majestic figure,
Carved with marbles and jewels.
Painted in pure gold.
Sep 16, 2019
Sep 16, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
copious stories
are told about it
and it is of a floating
figure's fit
on one of them
coming into your view
it may give you a
shivering chill's preview
it can be loitering
on a dark stairway
waiting to unnerve
your very clay
dare you walk into
the old mason's yard
for there's a phantom
inside the said yard
Vincent Price can readily
evoke a scream
as his voice lends its self
to such a deem
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
I feel ashamed as the fire went out already.
It took so long for it to lit.
For a while it hasn't been that steady.
Maybe I'm not supposed to be fit.
For only a day and I'm already beat.
I don't sleep very well.
I blame the the weather and the heat.
But I know it's not the reason I fell.
When I look in the mirror I am ashamed.
The extra that's still visible on me.
I want to be seen, be famed.
But what I see is not what I want to be.
Asleep and tired, from my own urge to be freed.
Empty inside, but it will be worth it, you'll see.
But I'm not stopping this until I see what I need.
Yet I miss the days my fire was easily lit by me.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
The figure
Tall
Wearing black and white
Walking to the side
With a limp
Is he hurt?
Do I know him?
Does he know me?
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 10:28 PM UTC
with the stretch of his arms
he created the world
breathed life into it, a melody produced
no songs existed before
he walked, danced across the land and seas
and caressed the skies
they called him King
and prayed to him through and through
sorrow and joys, dreams and storms
a lover lost, memories gained
with the nod of his head
he flew above them
tore the skies apart, fingers pointed at
the sun, daring, duelling
smiting its rays of boastful light
there can only be one sun, he said
there can only be one him, he asserted
there can only be One, he cried
he fought like a champion, the winner
who rises while falling
with the raise of his fist
he shouted a name
no one knew whose it was, no one
dared to seek the truth
"King, oh King, we call thy name"
"I am here, I call your name"
there went the Light, a heat
permeating, invading, but like a whisper
cared and loved, silenced
the troubles in their hearts
a heart of gold
he revealed his name
a name so sweet
a name so strong
his name was Yuzuru
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 3:33 AM UTC
I'm waiting for you still,
You can't understand me
Maybe for now, but you will.
I depicted you and bee.
I've found sounds of sorrow,
On that admiring scenery!
I saw the pictures you throw,
Didn't say anything but your eyes...
I know what they said me now.
Here reluctantly my body dies
For it can't resist to be alone
Please everyone give me advise.
I've been broken as my bone,
I try to figure out what is stress.
Anymore, I cannot be in that zone,
I'm going to make a progress.
Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 8:10 PM UTC