#notebooks
I yearned for you,
The most beautiful flower.
I searched the whole field through
Just to find your beauty again.
But the field is rotten,
As I pulled out each plant that
I thought would disturb your growth,
So, my flower, tell me, why have you left?
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 1:09 PM UTC
Stop screaming my name,
I don't want to hear you.
End the pain,
You're making me hate you.
Stop bothering me,
I don't want your whisper.
Stop calling out for me,
I want some peace for once.
Get away,
You weren't here.
Why do you come back?
Leave me alone for once,
I don't need to hear you now.
Now, my heart hurts,
See what you've done?
If you've just kept shut
This wouldn't happen.
Stop speaking and giving me
The feeling of insane,
You're making me fear
Myself again.
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 7:32 AM UTC
dismember
the smell of the books you hide
roughed into basement boxes amongst
the most casual of junk
the most bare note book
gifted and thrifted and costumed
your little girl words tea stain wounded
marooned and mould afflicted
dismember the words you mooned after near hearts
and the great white unrequited
the fluting of ****** fuel the fumes of their history
badly stored and water damaged
clumped 'mongst uni flyers and old never paid bills
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
She wants to read my personals,
The ones I don't ever post.
All the dusty notebooks,
All the hard years and burning memories.
You can read them bb,
But only if you are ready,
To learn history hurts.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 10:28 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Whatever Happened to all our Little Notebooks?
We all saw the same old bumper sticker:
This is not a rehearsal; this is your life
And so we carried little notebooks around
Discreetly jotting down the overheards
In coffee shops and class, the mid-night shift
The bus to work, the elevator up
The escalator down, the line at the bank
For the poems or plays or novels we’d write
The cafeteria was a notebook itself
Between the salad and dessert we fell in love
Jan 20, 2022
Jan 20, 2022 at 7:58 AM UTC
Pen and pencil residue
Scribbled across a crumpled page
My words
His words
Yours
What do they all mean?
Still they make me feel things
Tears staining old papers
Not sure where these thoughts come from
It's been a long time now
Though it feels like just yesterday
These empty vibrations we put out back then
Still find a way to reach me now
This sting will last an eternity
Unless I throw it all away
And let the memories fade
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
maybe i want you to find my notebooks someday
so that you can read all about my pain
that i kept stashed and stored and hidden
behind my pen and the countless ink stains on my hands
my pain that i wanted to speak to you about yet never could
so here are my last words, they always didn't come so easy to write
i grew restless, exhausted, and i just wanted you to look into my eyes
instead i held base, behind these scribbled lines
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 2:54 AM UTC
*
it is a revelation
not one cicada
sounds the same
a butterfly sitting
by me admiring
something I lose
myself on such lightness
I use to tell children
to stop and to listen to
the songs of
butterflies as
they nodded back
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
*
where I live
now is very hot
it's the dry desert
mountains encircle
the valley where
the rainbows lay
for short breaks
on periodically
sprinkled grass
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
i have these notebooks
they're nothing truly special
red, green, and black
70 sheets of college ruled paper
(less than that from torn out pages)
battered and worn
months of wear and tear
but they hold so much value to me
pages of thoughts scribbled out
some pages half torn
to-do lists that were never completed
poems that are half completed
notes of poems that could be
random thoughts throughout the day
a song that i heard and liked
it's just random notes
thoughts that were filling my head
thoughts i had to get out
there's so many things i can share
and someday, i will
but now
i'll leave you with this poem
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
When he asked me to draw something I made little flowers at the corners of pages and when I grew up they bloomed all over my notebooks, today I pick them up one by one, look through the pages to see him and the evenings humming birds sang on its branches.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
If I don't have to answer a text
I won't look at it
That way,
My phone continues to tell me
That I have a message
And I feel a little less alone,
Like someone actually
Wants to talk to me
I count my notebooks
Every morning
Before school
Even if I haven't touched them all night
Just to be extra sure
I smile when I'm sad
Just to look happy
For everyone out there
Even when the best thing
To do
Would be to cry my eyes out
I have a lot
Of silly habits
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
Piles of unfinished, unfilled, untold notebooks,
Stack high upon the stand,
Whispering their pleas deep into the night.
Write for me, if you will write at all, one begged,
For in I, you once wrote,
**"I don't believe in good and evil,
It seems a heavy sort of burdance to put on four little letters."**
*My story is incomplete,
I am not done speaking,
Pick up your pen, and write again.*
Nay, write for me, another argues,
For in I, you once wrote,
**"Your worlds isn't in danger because I came, as you believe.
I came because your world is in danger."**
*My story is not over,
I am not done telling,
Pick up your pen, and write again.*
Write for none other then I, a different insists,
For in I, you one wrote,
**"Life's for the living, the laughing, the chance takers, the gamblers of love.
If you must obsess on one thing, as you surely do, then go live it."**
*My story has not ended,
I am not done talking,
Pick up your pen, and write again.*
Whispering scrawls filled the night,
Overlapping, strangling one another,
Until all that could be heard,
Was the gentle breathing of pages.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
*
time leaving
traces everywhere
victims never
to be avenged
time cannot
be hold it can
be classified
never arrested
and if doing some
serious thinking
we last but the
length of a breath
time shows itself
and swiftly go
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
*
on borrowed dreams
he said we are made
with the same atoms
as the sun and the stars
that a small part of him
could have been a star
long ago now fallen
on this solid planet
yet not having
a light of its own
he was afraid he
may fly apart
anytime once
more into the
finest powder
a tear in my eyes
as I dive into
deep thoughts
he never ceases
to surprise me
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
*
not sure if it’s a song
my ear gathers or a
story gently murmured
out of the blue water
sailing between ridges
innumerable notes
I listen to these secret
codes I lightly stare
at the creases an
opening on the
improvising
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
*
let me wear existence
to move easily around
infinitude of problems
mind never ceasing
grudges uttered
between harsh words
I forgot I was once clad
with petals and blossoms
delicate easing out
fragrances as dreams
you don’t pay attention
nor have some sense
of smell no more sense
ordinary days of wasting
away in full daylight
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
*
allow me to dive
beneath the surface
of things told once
into a stream of
unconsciousness
into a sea of muffled
noises moving
slowly within a
smile performed
with my eyes as
you watch me
desiring sleep
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
*
what makes
the difference
between a word
and a scream
the curiosity
of seeing behind
past knowledge
to have the gaze
of who had never been
troubled by notions
foggy clouds
of opinions to be
carried away
swiftly over
the land disappearing
now light as dust
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
i hear the lady in french- but cannot listen.
my heart is beating slowly. the fear has seeped in.
the snow falls steady- we’ll be snowed in,
busting secrets, let’s not keep them.
let’s not keep them.
stumble into freshman notebooks.
discover nothing fresh or ripe.
but something stewing, something rotten.
something worth it- worth some talking.
now i’m laughing.
your uninspired, murmured sleep.
my tapping toes, so off-beat.
teach me rhythm, i lose it fast.
forgot how to flirt and picked up class,
something worth it- let’s not keep it.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC