Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#peopel
_Please,_ don’t start to believe having a large circle of friends is the closest thing to having a halo – not everyone in your life is a holy person. But they love to dig up something worthwhile out of you; leaving you only as a holey person.
0
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 6:15 AM UTC
OddOdysseyPoet
Holy Holey
_Please,_ don’t start to believe having a large circle of friends is the closest thing to having a halo – not everyone in your life is a holy person. But they love to dig up something worthwhile out of you; leaving you only as a holey person.
Continue reading...
6
In little coffeeshops By the back corner, far from the exits But near the little hall leading to the bathroom At a time set by a large window The poet, his soul filled with words and reasons to say them But unsure how to convey them Can observe the nerves and synapses Converging in this single axis The windowside throne, the great looking glass Provides a view of every soul to pass Through the door to the core of any good café The front register Where they serve the junkies Their first no cream no sugar fix of the day The register girl on this sunrise shift stands tall and wears A pleasant smile Like a suit of armor For the fractures frayed and loosened pieces Of her 65 hours a week between two jobs psyche From his back corner vantage point The poet sees this early morning warrior And watches her adversaries approach The sleep deprived and the caffeine dependent The men in suits with leather briefcases Hustling and bustling through self inflicted exhaustion Work force revenants who begin to shamble through the door Out of the early morning mists at about 5:30 just as the world is shrugging of the shroud of night In his seat of power, the poet, lord of the room Can see, despite the dim lights of the coffeeshop These early birds, gaunt and hungry like vultures Standing shoulder to shoulder with the last of the night owls Shabby old things with ruffled feathers Too tired to sleep or simply without a roost. Their re rimmed eyes provide a window Through which a sovereign of the word May glance upon their tired souls Yes from that lovely back corner The poet is a king, a lord in noble regality Reshaping reality Sitting in the back of any coffee shop In Phoenix Arizona In America In the world In this whole great evergrowing span of universe And turning people into words.
0
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
johnathan-juliano
The king in the corner
In little coffeeshops By the back corner, far from the exits But near the little hall leading to the bathroom At a time set by a large window The poet, his soul filled with words and reasons to say them But unsure how to convey them Can observe the nerves and synapses Converging in this single axis The windowside throne, the great looking glass Provides a view of every soul to pass Through the door to the core of any good café The front register Where they serve the junkies Their first no cream no sugar fix of the day The register girl on this sunrise shift stands tall and wears A pleasant smile Like a suit of armor For the fractures frayed and loosened pieces Of her 65 hours a week between two jobs psyche From his back corner vantage point The poet sees this early morning warrior And watches her adversaries approach The sleep deprived and the caffeine dependent The men in suits with leather briefcases Hustling and bustling through self inflicted exhaustion Work force revenants who begin to shamble through the door Out of the early morning mists at about 5:30 just as the world is shrugging of the shroud of night In his seat of power, the poet, lord of the room Can see, despite the dim lights of the coffeeshop These early birds, gaunt and hungry like vultures Standing shoulder to shoulder with the last of the night owls Shabby old things with ruffled feathers Too tired to sleep or simply without a roost. Their re rimmed eyes provide a window Through which a sovereign of the word May glance upon their tired souls Yes from that lovely back corner The poet is a king, a lord in noble regality Reshaping reality Sitting in the back of any coffee shop In Phoenix Arizona In America In the world In this whole great evergrowing span of universe And turning people into words.
Continue reading...
46