#orbits - Hello Poetry

I lied, she too it kind of worked even as it failed. we fell into each others orbit and danced the first dance sealed our fate I asked, she said yes our orbits entwined but never really gelled she died, in the end a few years after we shared a sincere 'Goodbye'.

0

May 4

May 4, 2026 at 5:35 AM UTC

nivek

honestly

I lied, she too it kind of worked even as it failed. we fell into each others orbit and danced the first dance sealed our fate I asked, she said yes our orbits entwined but never really gelled she died, in the end a few years after we shared a sincere 'Goodbye'.

11

If the Moon could sing Would you listen to its melody???, or stare into its transcending, Illumination of transparency?? Showering down Stardust From the dark and wide galaxies, The orbits are wide open, The moment, flows magically, Just look and you will see, Lights and songs blend beautifully, Just Listen with your Heart and Soul!!! It's a feeling you won't believe!!! B.R. Date: 12/4/2025

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Dec 4, 2025

Dec 4, 2025 at 11:39 PM UTC

msbellepoetry44

Moon Song

If the Moon could sing Would you listen to its melody???, or stare into its transcending, Illumination of transparency?? Showering down Stardust From the dark and wide galaxies, The orbits are wide open, The moment, flows magically, Just look and you will see, Lights and songs blend beautifully, Just Listen with your Heart and Soul!!! It's a feeling you won't believe!!! B.R. Date: 12/4/2025

14

Some planets flatten at their rumps. Some have grown a paunch, and not quite round, They wander from their orbital bounds. Ellipses bulge because of lumps.

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Aug 6, 2021

Aug 6, 2021 at 12:12 AM UTC

david-plantinga

Ellipses

Some planets flatten at their rumps. Some have grown a paunch, and not quite round, They wander from their orbital bounds. Ellipses bulge because of lumps.

4

The stars are always pinpointed Against their dark blanket of sky - As constant as the pool of patience She always finds herself drowning in. Waiting. The days seem to linger like a long spiraling staircase you thought would end Fifteen flights ago - But you're sure that when you reach the top and step onto the balcony, you'll be greeted with a stunning vista - and you'll know the strenuous trek was worth it. But it won't be discernible until every blister is calloused, until every muscle has ached, until every labored breath has been released into the uncaring sky. Until every second lurches - towards an unforeseen time that seems completely off the watch. She isn't a patron of time because time is wind- Wind erodes, disintegrates, deteriorates, and plunders. There is a photograph of him and her pinned To a plaster wall that was painted dark blue - The photo flutters against the pressure of time, but it is not threatened. He is constant - a tangible, absolute gravity That pulled her into his orbit. In that safe harbor, the wind cannot lash at their hearts Despite the geographical distance between them. The infinite Universe pays no homage to time, But it does respect gravity, orbits, inertia, and Love. The forces that keep the stars from falling out of the sky.

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Aug 14, 2017

Aug 14, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC

jessica-wallace

Starry Vista

The stars are always pinpointed Against their dark blanket of sky - As constant as the pool of patience She always finds herself drowning in. Waiting. The days seem to linger like a long spiraling staircase you thought would end Fifteen flights ago - But you're sure that when you reach the top and step onto the balcony, you'll be greeted with a stunning vista - and you'll know the strenuous trek was worth it. But it won't be discernible until every blister is calloused, until every muscle has ached, until every labored breath has been released into the uncaring sky. Until every second lurches - towards an unforeseen time that seems completely off the watch. She isn't a patron of time because time is wind- Wind erodes, disintegrates, deteriorates, and plunders. There is a photograph of him and her pinned To a plaster wall that was painted dark blue - The photo flutters against the pressure of time, but it is not threatened. He is constant - a tangible, absolute gravity That pulled her into his orbit. In that safe harbor, the wind cannot lash at their hearts Despite the geographical distance between them. The infinite Universe pays no homage to time, But it does respect gravity, orbits, inertia, and Love. The forces that keep the stars from falling out of the sky.

24

The moon behind palm Smiles, now, Like the first time I’d met my Second wife; My second life, My second shot at something, And in seconds, like lightning, Lost to dawn. Ushered came the day that’d drag When – The sun could burn, The sun would burn; The thirst, always there to remind. So I’d wait on the lawn, Under that same palm, Smile; later, To wed come dimpled stars.

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May 20, 2016

May 20, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

to Wed come the second stars

The moon behind palm Smiles, now, Like the first time I’d met my Second wife; My second life, My second shot at something, And in seconds, like lightning, Lost to dawn. Ushered came the day that’d drag When – The sun could burn, The sun would burn; The thirst, always there to remind. So I’d wait on the lawn, Under that same palm, Smile; later, To wed come dimpled stars.

16

She had the moon atop palm, and “righty” in her pocket, leaving me to wonder which heavenly body she’d present next. This goddess, “gravity,” if she’d a name, played physics with my parts, and persuaded thrice an orbit, circles wherein the same hopes quantized – “We’re we born of the same star? Please? And when again, can we burn brightly? Soon?” She’d reply, and echo come frigid a comet’s tail, leaving. So you’d know tonight as you’d twice before; I’d sip my beer before you. I’d cry before you. And a’parallel, tease your moon atop my very own palm.

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Aug 25, 2015

Aug 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

With moon atop palm

She had the moon atop palm, and “righty” in her pocket, leaving me to wonder which heavenly body she’d present next. This goddess, “gravity,” if she’d a name, played physics with my parts, and persuaded thrice an orbit, circles wherein the same hopes quantized – “We’re we born of the same star? Please? And when again, can we burn brightly? Soon?” She’d reply, and echo come frigid a comet’s tail, leaving. So you’d know tonight as you’d twice before; I’d sip my beer before you. I’d cry before you. And a’parallel, tease your moon atop my very own palm.

20

No. 1 there is a pane of glass which now occupies the air between us an indifferent arrow has flown through it leaving a web of cracks for which I am trapped reaching for you No. 2 the light you bend reaches across room the same distance travels your voice it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am exhaling wanting in your direction as stars are brought down over head by the weight of unfulfilled wishes No. 3 victim to a whisper pious to an echo tomorrow I'll be swallowed I didn't even need a name lost and unwanted things are entitled to each other so long as they don't hide no. 4 it's an open hand it's a broken window it's a perpetually naive sky it's off beat but we're out of line and I'm waiting for you one hundred percent of the time no. 5 out of context misshapened in parallax past my expiration date but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist when all this is dust the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret

0

May 18, 2015

May 18, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC

Squigs

Gardened Languor

No. 1 there is a pane of glass which now occupies the air between us an indifferent arrow has flown through it leaving a web of cracks for which I am trapped reaching for you No. 2 the light you bend reaches across room the same distance travels your voice it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am exhaling wanting in your direction as stars are brought down over head by the weight of unfulfilled wishes No. 3 victim to a whisper pious to an echo tomorrow I'll be swallowed I didn't even need a name lost and unwanted things are entitled to each other so long as they don't hide no. 4 it's an open hand it's a broken window it's a perpetually naive sky it's off beat but we're out of line and I'm waiting for you one hundred percent of the time no. 5 out of context misshapened in parallax past my expiration date but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist when all this is dust the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret

35

If apples could speak, they'd learn as buds that all fruit are doomed. A crisp history would tell of countless apples fallen, their seeds sowed in doubt and **** The sob story of falling down would rain existence fruitless for branch hangers waiting to be picked. If apples could speak, one might finally look up and ask, "Why doesn't the moon fall?" sowing the need for fruit to orbit trees, like fleshy moons, tiny but immune.

0

Aug 26, 2014

Aug 26, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC

courtney-pruitt

If apples could speak

If apples could speak, they'd learn as buds that all fruit are doomed. A crisp history would tell of countless apples fallen, their seeds sowed in doubt and **** The sob story of falling down would rain existence fruitless for branch hangers waiting to be picked. If apples could speak, one might finally look up and ask, "Why doesn't the moon fall?" sowing the need for fruit to orbit trees, like fleshy moons, tiny but immune.

22