#hellopoetrycom
Magsusulat ako ng mga salitang matulain
kahit hindi ninyo ito basahin at tanggapin
kahit ako lang ang tunay na papansin at aangkin
Dahil masyado akong mausisa at malikhain
Tahimik ang paligid at nais ko sana magsulat
Ibuhos ang lahat ng nais kong ipagtapat
Mga bagay bagay na bumubulabog sa ‘king utak
Ito’y mga salitang sa papel lang kayang isulat
Mahirap man unawain ang aking nararamdaman
Ganun pa ma’y ipagpapatuloy ang makakagaan
Sa ‘king pusong puno ng hinanakit ang nakadagan
Ngayo’y bibigyan ng tinig sa blanking papel na tangan
Mga panahong nagmumokmok umiiyak sa sulok
Ni walang nakakapansin sa mga matang malungkot
Todo ang ngiti bagaman ang lungkot ay nasa likod
Huwag lang mahalata ang mukhang may sama ng loob
May mga salitang sa papel lang kayang manatili
Dahil ‘di na kayang bigkasin ng ating mga labi.
Mga lungkot at galit sa puso’y sadyang iniukit
Isusulat sa papel sa dingding doon ididkit
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 5:42 AM UTC
Ode to this cherished space,
Where words find their graceful place,
Half the poems I've shared and spun,
Blossom here where things get done
Gratitude spills from my pen,
For the joy of creating again,
In this realm where dreams ignite,
Half the poems owe you their light.
I'm so thankful for this site
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 9:01 PM UTC
The rain began as a blessing — the earth breathing with perfume, the world softened, and our family laughing together under a tender, silver sky. We savored that gentle wonder, thinking only of joy and the small comforts of home.
But the blessing turned relentless. By morning the drizzle was gone; a heavy, smoky downpour took its place and would not relent. Streets filled, drains failed, and the city’s heartbeat quickened with fear. People hurried from offices to homes; we returned and clung to one another, grateful at first, then anxious as the water rose.
Night fell heavy and wild. The river of rain swallowed roads, toppled houses, and swept away memories with merciless current. From our ninth-floor window we watched the city drown — neighbors’ rooftops appearing and vanishing like islands, distant cries threading the humid air. The government cut the power to prevent more tragedies, and darkness mapped itself across the city like a second flood.
I remember holding my children and my husband close and feeling a small, sharp truth: life is fragile in ways we do not want to accept. We spend years fretting over a future we do not own, while the present—this single, bright, breathing day—slips unseen through our hands. In those hours, fear taught me humility.
By the fifth day the waters began to be fought back, but not without cost. Homes were ruined, people were homeless, and the streets were full of stories of sudden loss. We counted ourselves lucky — our family safe, our home still standing — and I thanked God in whispers for the mercy that had spared us. Yet the grief around us lingered: neighbors who had lost everything, families who would never be the same.
Twenty years have passed since that dreadful downpour, but when I close my eyes I still see that smoky rain and hear the echo of voices calling for help. The memory still brings tears, and with it a lesson: nothing is guaranteed. What we hold today is all we truly possess — so live it fully, love fiercely, and hold your people close. That is the only message this night left me to give.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
Morning breaks with a gentle song,
Raindrops whisper where trees belong.
Peace blooms where the heart feels light,
Amid life’s race, a soul takes flight.
A window opens to quiet skies,
Green laughter in the branches lies.
Once blurred by work, by endless run,
Now stillness glows like the rising sun.
Why wander far in restless chase?
Joy is here, in this tranquil place.
A small, sweet home, a slower day,
Where life can bloom in its own way.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 10:15 PM UTC
I just want to layout on top of a straight line to mourn over my past life that I left behind. The new beginning has waited for me for so long that I thought pride would have come over me, even though that is not the case, no matter the circumstances of your past life, it will always follow you to your new life. It never escapes your new beginning, no matter how happy you are, the moment you layout on top of a straight line it all comes back to you.
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 4:10 PM UTC
There's a thin line
between loving yourself
&
putting yourself on a
pedestal.
Respect yourself without
becoming your own idol.
~ Author Ven J Arnold
~SacredInkedBlood
Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 10:57 PM UTC
They were a family sitting
And one of them was I,
I still can't forget what they were talking
And how the breeze passed by,
Then suddenly the gun sound cried
And everyone were separated
One of the mother left her child behind!
And runned for her life
The child was I..
I thank GOD i survived
I was hungry and naked
But only for some times!
At a Beatiful home am now located
And this is my life
I beleive i lost my home
Just to find my future
The future that has peace
Love
Kindness
And testimonies
Written by Anaclet the Poet Boy
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 1:47 PM UTC
Each year comes to close
Plans goals hopes, so many missed
New Year without those.
Michael C Crowder @scorsby
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
Often in darkness she approaches
predominantly men, seeking fun
soon as they speak, she already knows.
She's a professional and it shows.
Astute to what some men can't resist
moving as she does, her allure grows,
her trade perfected through many years.
She's a professional and it shows.
She's a priestess of many pleasures,
in particularly, of the flesh,
her ****** curves men long to own.
She's a professional and it shows.
She's a dispenser of sensations,
performing she fulfills buyers hopes,
a willing taker of hard earned pay.
She's a professional and it shows.
She can be a ten minute lover,
or can be rented by the hour,
it's just how far their money will go.
She's a professional and it shows.
Characters half clothed, or in leather
in all styles, she will easily cope,
she can give pleasure now on the phone.
She's a professional and it shows
She's a professional and it shows,
she has assumed the name of Honey,
buyers pay to love her for a while,
meantime she loves to take their money.
She will deliver all paid delights
desires of buyers, she well knows,
often called Predator of the night.
She's a professional and it shows.
Professional Lady
Michael C Crowder January 24th 1978
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
Celebration gone,
Wrapped packages jobs finished.
Spending overdone.
Pretty paper wrap,
So quickly removed prepares,
Pretty paper scrap.
UK Boxing day mode,
Present boxes packaging,
Collect and dispose.
Christmas perfected.
Feasts consumed and gifts exchanged,
Nice times collected.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
Our faves barely love us
The ones that we admire stay not
And those who genuinely crave our presence
Their heads get burried in the sands
Faces get soaked in the muds
Goodness, how saddening?
Love isn't a fair game
Affection comprehends no just at time
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC