#rows - Hello Poetry

There are 72 days between today, October 20, 2025, and the end of the year on December 31, 2025. and grow tired of the husbandry, the seeding of the rows of corn, the writing with ribs of meat, the drafts that fallow my life like a herd of less than docile crazy goats, and i shall lead them them to freedom, like spaghetti fresh delivered to the ceiling, some to stick, becoming ceiling tapestries, some to fall to the floor where the housekeeper will deposit them in the cute little can designated solely for compost consumption, an irksome decycling. There are 72 days between today, October 20, 2025, and the end of the year on December 31, 2025, and that by divine division, means they will come in storms of two or three, for there are many more than merely a minor key of 72. thus come the new year, I will be cleansed, carefully choosing my newer burdens bundled, and slow unwillingly, start RE~amassing them, like the secret hoarder I truly am. my apologies in advance. nml

0

Oct 20, 2025

Oct 20, 2025 at 12:30 PM UTC

nat-lipstadt

there are

There are 72 days between today, October 20, 2025, and the end of the year on December 31, 2025. and grow tired of the husbandry, the seeding of the rows of corn, the writing with ribs of meat, the drafts that fallow my life like a herd of less than docile crazy goats, and i shall lead them them to freedom, like spaghetti fresh delivered to the ceiling, some to stick, becoming ceiling tapestries, some to fall to the floor where the housekeeper will deposit them in the cute little can designated solely for compost consumption, an irksome decycling. There are 72 days between today, October 20, 2025, and the end of the year on December 31, 2025, and that by divine division, means they will come in storms of two or three, for there are many more than merely a minor key of 72. thus come the new year, I will be cleansed, carefully choosing my newer burdens bundled, and slow unwillingly, start RE~amassing them, like the secret hoarder I truly am. my apologies in advance. nml

6

Do you have everything let's check? The ((Pleasure of Life)) is in a prime love setting Ancient times the Queen meeting her acquaintance little Horderves At the wedding reception Like the Antionette, her laced curtain moved their rows and rows invitation What shows Vanity Fair (So Debonair) to find her glassware remembering another time The World fair 1960 But pleasure arise more You get what you deserve affairs They are sitting comfortably Lake George their beach chairs Minds start looking elsewhere We need to check over there Mrs. Honey Bear, I see Claire Well what do you know checkmate This wasn't a date Friday the 13 red unlucky dress Rows more pleasure affairs debonair conceited smirk book for two umbrella steampunk She saved all his junk what a pair You better hold it steady to be set Square and fair Your hands couldn't save them All the magical book/ hearts Kate spades, they played She got his"Rock Candy"? Before you get seated he pleaded You jumped up to cheer Billionaire Evening prayer A-bloom preserved for me tears Castle high society killed the air You felt like the debutante but you weren't at the ball Your pants hit me football ouch? Rows and rows, come-at-able Moods bat swing hit double Voice behind you rhapsodic X graphical red dress design Dove-like debonair wearing the sign body notes cinnamon and cloves Pleasure please be fair She is Robin in her East Windsor chair

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Jun 29, 2018

Jun 29, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC

robinHelloRow

Debonair Of Rows

Do you have everything let's check? The ((Pleasure of Life)) is in a prime love setting Ancient times the Queen meeting her acquaintance little Horderves At the wedding reception Like the Antionette, her laced curtain moved their rows and rows invitation What shows Vanity Fair (So Debonair) to find her glassware remembering another time The World fair 1960 But pleasure arise more You get what you deserve affairs They are sitting comfortably Lake George their beach chairs Minds start looking elsewhere We need to check over there Mrs. Honey Bear, I see Claire Well what do you know checkmate This wasn't a date Friday the 13 red unlucky dress Rows more pleasure affairs debonair conceited smirk book for two umbrella steampunk She saved all his junk what a pair You better hold it steady to be set Square and fair Your hands couldn't save them All the magical book/ hearts Kate spades, they played She got his"Rock Candy"? Before you get seated he pleaded You jumped up to cheer Billionaire Evening prayer A-bloom preserved for me tears Castle high society killed the air You felt like the debutante but you weren't at the ball Your pants hit me football ouch? Rows and rows, come-at-able Moods bat swing hit double Voice behind you rhapsodic X graphical red dress design Dove-like debonair wearing the sign body notes cinnamon and cloves Pleasure please be fair She is Robin in her East Windsor chair

54

Enid slept badly. Voices came and went, winds blew, trains shunted. She woke up slowly to a grey morning. The voices had stopped, just the birds singing. Had the rowing stopped? Where was her father? She sat on the side of her narrow bed. She could still feel where her father hit her. Back to how it was: him hitting them both. She got up and walked to the bedroom door. She listened for sounds, but nothing was there. She opened the door and looked down the hall. Had he gone to work? Had her father gone? She walked down the hall to the small toilet. Went past their bedroom, the green door still closed. Went to the toilet and sat on the seat. She felt the chill bite at her naked feet. What would Benny say when she told him all? Things don't change he'd say: your old man's a **** Benny often said your old man's a **** She heard fresh voices; her father was up. She heard his footsteps. The door handle shook: is that you Enid? Her father called out. Won't be long, she said. You better not be, her father replied. They were arguing, both her mum and dad. She finished quickly and opened the door. Good about time too, her father shouted, what you been doing, laying ****** eggs? He went in and shut the door behind him. Enid saw her mum by her bedroom door, her thin arms folded, her hair in curlers. Best get washed and dressed and don't be too long, her mother told her. Enid washed and dressed, then ate her breakfast. Still her parents rowed loudly from the hall. What would Benny say when she told him this? Your old man's a **** and give her a kiss.

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Oct 31, 2016

Oct 31, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC

TerryCollett

ROWS AGAIN 1957.

Enid slept badly. Voices came and went, winds blew, trains shunted. She woke up slowly to a grey morning. The voices had stopped, just the birds singing. Had the rowing stopped? Where was her father? She sat on the side of her narrow bed. She could still feel where her father hit her. Back to how it was: him hitting them both. She got up and walked to the bedroom door. She listened for sounds, but nothing was there. She opened the door and looked down the hall. Had he gone to work? Had her father gone? She walked down the hall to the small toilet. Went past their bedroom, the green door still closed. Went to the toilet and sat on the seat. She felt the chill bite at her naked feet. What would Benny say when she told him all? Things don't change he'd say: your old man's a **** Benny often said your old man's a **** She heard fresh voices; her father was up. She heard his footsteps. The door handle shook: is that you Enid? Her father called out. Won't be long, she said. You better not be, her father replied. They were arguing, both her mum and dad. She finished quickly and opened the door. Good about time too, her father shouted, what you been doing, laying ****** eggs? He went in and shut the door behind him. Enid saw her mum by her bedroom door, her thin arms folded, her hair in curlers. Best get washed and dressed and don't be too long, her mother told her. Enid washed and dressed, then ate her breakfast. Still her parents rowed loudly from the hall. What would Benny say when she told him this? Your old man's a **** and give her a kiss.

72

The parents row again, but You just sit in a corner like The good little girl you are, Watching shadows cast by The sun flow through the Kitchen window. Your dolls And toys are in the other Room where the row is; So you just sit and listen To birds sing from outside The house, like the patient Little girl you’ve become, Playing with dark dancing Shadows in the cold hall. The words of rows seem Harsh and loud and vibrate The walls causing your ears To ache and invisible friends To depart. The words are Unknown to you: the **** Yous and cruel ***** fill The air; the loud blows will Come next and Mother will Cry and the rows will stop And the there theres and oh I’m sorrys will flow along The walls where you sit and Watch the shadows on the Cold linoleum floor play As you and they have before'.

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Apr 23, 2016

Apr 23, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC

TerryCollett

PARENT ROWS. (OLD POEM)

The parents row again, but You just sit in a corner like The good little girl you are, Watching shadows cast by The sun flow through the Kitchen window. Your dolls And toys are in the other Room where the row is; So you just sit and listen To birds sing from outside The house, like the patient Little girl you’ve become, Playing with dark dancing Shadows in the cold hall. The words of rows seem Harsh and loud and vibrate The walls causing your ears To ache and invisible friends To depart. The words are Unknown to you: the **** Yous and cruel ***** fill The air; the loud blows will Come next and Mother will Cry and the rows will stop And the there theres and oh I’m sorrys will flow along The walls where you sit and Watch the shadows on the Cold linoleum floor play As you and they have before'.

30

Morning came she woke up in her room she listened the old brown Bakelite radio was churning out music she got up remembered her father had hit her before bed she opened up the green door and went through the bright lit sitting room her father sitting there eating up his breakfast she passed through he watched her said nothing she went past the kitchen and bathroom her mother was coming out the bog how are you young Ingrid? Mother said Dad hit me before bed Ingrid said why was that? Mother said I went out with Benny we played games cut my thumb Ingrid showed her mother the bandaged thumb let me see how it is Mother said she unwrapped the cut thumb how did you cut the thumb? Ritual Benny said what Injuns used to do joining thumbs that are cut blood brother and sister Ingrid said is that why your father hit you one? Mother asked I don't know Ingrid said Mother washed the cut thumb and put on a plaster off you go to get washed then get dressed Ingrid went to the bog and sat down she could hear raised voices Father's roar Mother's shout exchange of insults a duet of anger words flying like dark birds Ingrid thought where's Benny wish he was here with me my brave knight with his quiff of brown hair hazel eyes and that sword his old man made for him he like me 10 years old the voices had silenced an eerie cold silence was out there Ingrid sat stiff as death listening with held breath.

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Mar 5, 2016

Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 AM UTC

TerryCollett

INGRID AND SILENCE 1958.

Morning came she woke up in her room she listened the old brown Bakelite radio was churning out music she got up remembered her father had hit her before bed she opened up the green door and went through the bright lit sitting room her father sitting there eating up his breakfast she passed through he watched her said nothing she went past the kitchen and bathroom her mother was coming out the bog how are you young Ingrid? Mother said Dad hit me before bed Ingrid said why was that? Mother said I went out with Benny we played games cut my thumb Ingrid showed her mother the bandaged thumb let me see how it is Mother said she unwrapped the cut thumb how did you cut the thumb? Ritual Benny said what Injuns used to do joining thumbs that are cut blood brother and sister Ingrid said is that why your father hit you one? Mother asked I don't know Ingrid said Mother washed the cut thumb and put on a plaster off you go to get washed then get dressed Ingrid went to the bog and sat down she could hear raised voices Father's roar Mother's shout exchange of insults a duet of anger words flying like dark birds Ingrid thought where's Benny wish he was here with me my brave knight with his quiff of brown hair hazel eyes and that sword his old man made for him he like me 10 years old the voices had silenced an eerie cold silence was out there Ingrid sat stiff as death listening with held breath.

111

Another hobby has been destroyed By my lover, my wife, my best friend I won't be annoyed. I decided to read and watch a number of works but have been made to feel guilty, I hate that and it completely ***** We only can talk for a few minutes each day Then it's time for the national news, I am hanging up I hear her say. Over half my salary gets transferred to that bank My emotional energy stands up in our talks every day Then the proverbial rug, out from under me is yanked. I am accused so often having made a big choice, In the past and now -- in the future That is what ends our conversations, silences my voice Why continue? Promises are made to me of a "for all time". Pain and suffering are projected back at me, How can I live like this, how can she? The fault is all mine. Earlier in life, I never spoke. I dared not reveal, To friend or acuqaintance, distant orclose. My pain inside, how everything made me feel So with this last long relationship, right from the start I explained how I felt each step of the way I poured forth a flow of words from my heart. Now I do hear, that the novels, and movies, and author I chose Makes me feel guilty, and I hate the, "SOUND FAMILIAR????" So the videos can stay off, and each book I must close. Is this what my life is, and how it will end? Confusion and heart pain, they happen each day. Using technology or words and sight our feelings we send. What am I doing tonight, this weekend, for all of each day? see you later, is what she will say, See you tomorrow, You Love me in your own special way. I guess mgm 1/22/2016

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Jan 22, 2016

Jan 22, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC

dr-michael-morrell

Another Hobby Destroyed

Another hobby has been destroyed By my lover, my wife, my best friend I won't be annoyed. I decided to read and watch a number of works but have been made to feel guilty, I hate that and it completely ***** We only can talk for a few minutes each day Then it's time for the national news, I am hanging up I hear her say. Over half my salary gets transferred to that bank My emotional energy stands up in our talks every day Then the proverbial rug, out from under me is yanked. I am accused so often having made a big choice, In the past and now -- in the future That is what ends our conversations, silences my voice Why continue? Promises are made to me of a "for all time". Pain and suffering are projected back at me, How can I live like this, how can she? The fault is all mine. Earlier in life, I never spoke. I dared not reveal, To friend or acuqaintance, distant orclose. My pain inside, how everything made me feel So with this last long relationship, right from the start I explained how I felt each step of the way I poured forth a flow of words from my heart. Now I do hear, that the novels, and movies, and author I chose Makes me feel guilty, and I hate the, "SOUND FAMILIAR????" So the videos can stay off, and each book I must close. Is this what my life is, and how it will end? Confusion and heart pain, they happen each day. Using technology or words and sight our feelings we send. What am I doing tonight, this weekend, for all of each day? see you later, is what she will say, See you tomorrow, You Love me in your own special way. I guess mgm 1/22/2016

35

The finishing touches applied to hair and eyes and Sheila is ready for school, her elder sister prim and proper and plain as grey stares at Sheila's image from the back sitting on her bed brushing her hair thinking of how tarty her younger sister is, how God would judge she knows not nor care, names you called out in your sleep last night she says, Sheila stops her touching hair and turns and stares, names? what names? her sister eyes her don't know couldn't make out boy's name sounded like, Sheila studies her elder sister's gaze, the slit of lips, dark eyes staring, probably that male teacher I don't like him always telling me off Sheila says, which male teacher? the sister says, Sheila looks away the sky is clear today blue and white clouds, Mr P with eyebrows dark as bats and eyes likewise Sheila says, shouldn't mock our teachers disrespect of teachers is a sin the sister says hands in lap, God has placed them where they are for a reason He alone knows and we not to judge, Sheila sees birds fly the sky wishing she could too he mocks me Sheila says, why does God permit that if He does allow? her sister stares and her slit of lips tighten and she says no more, thinking no doubt of her Jesus standing and calling her from some distant shore.

0

Dec 29, 2015

Dec 29, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC

TerryCollett

SOME DISTANT SHORE 1962.

The finishing touches applied to hair and eyes and Sheila is ready for school, her elder sister prim and proper and plain as grey stares at Sheila's image from the back sitting on her bed brushing her hair thinking of how tarty her younger sister is, how God would judge she knows not nor care, names you called out in your sleep last night she says, Sheila stops her touching hair and turns and stares, names? what names? her sister eyes her don't know couldn't make out boy's name sounded like, Sheila studies her elder sister's gaze, the slit of lips, dark eyes staring, probably that male teacher I don't like him always telling me off Sheila says, which male teacher? the sister says, Sheila looks away the sky is clear today blue and white clouds, Mr P with eyebrows dark as bats and eyes likewise Sheila says, shouldn't mock our teachers disrespect of teachers is a sin the sister says hands in lap, God has placed them where they are for a reason He alone knows and we not to judge, Sheila sees birds fly the sky wishing she could too he mocks me Sheila says, why does God permit that if He does allow? her sister stares and her slit of lips tighten and she says no more, thinking no doubt of her Jesus standing and calling her from some distant shore.

59

My day died an abrupt death. Ignominious. At the hands (and lips) of my own mother. Yet another broken thread, burning bridge, lost key to a door shut in your face without a parting kiss. Ce la ma vie.

0

Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC

yasha-harkness

Morte Diem

My day died an abrupt death. Ignominious. At the hands (and lips) of my own mother. Yet another broken thread, burning bridge, lost key to a door shut in your face without a parting kiss. Ce la ma vie.

5

Best words written in rows, Makes them poems not prose.

0

May 29, 2015

May 29, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC

raymond-dickson

Ten words

Best words written in rows, Makes them poems not prose.

2

You wanna know what it's like to be a rebel? You wanna know what it's like outside the salt circle looking in? I tell you what, I'm not dancing as much as flailing. Fitting enough, I am crashing again the closer that I get. You wanna know what it's like to be the other? You wanna know what it's like to live as if you were not dead but wholly aware in stasis? Holy stasis, what is it like to be alive unmoving and empty, dry of passion? I better tell this bitter truth, that being you isn't worth half the strength you generate. I tell you what, I'm not dancing as much as flailing. Fitting enough, I am crashing again the closer that I get. You wanna know what it's like to be the other? You wanna know what it's like to live as if you were not dead but wholly aware? I would trade wealth and mental health for just a touch of the sand containing what has gone lost. Just a touch, I want your hand. What's it like to be the metronome? I tell you what, I dance a lot.

0

Mar 18, 2015

Mar 18, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC

lux-capacitor

Rule of Rows: "Metronome"

You wanna know what it's like to be a rebel? You wanna know what it's like outside the salt circle looking in? I tell you what, I'm not dancing as much as flailing. Fitting enough, I am crashing again the closer that I get. You wanna know what it's like to be the other? You wanna know what it's like to live as if you were not dead but wholly aware in stasis? Holy stasis, what is it like to be alive unmoving and empty, dry of passion? I better tell this bitter truth, that being you isn't worth half the strength you generate. I tell you what, I'm not dancing as much as flailing. Fitting enough, I am crashing again the closer that I get. You wanna know what it's like to be the other? You wanna know what it's like to live as if you were not dead but wholly aware? I would trade wealth and mental health for just a touch of the sand containing what has gone lost. Just a touch, I want your hand. What's it like to be the metronome? I tell you what, I dance a lot.

51

Clawing up grey walls, stumbling on, breaking nails off paper and ink, in silver screen dreams they haunt, if you ignore them cause you could be like them if you ignore the qualities you bring, inborn, since you can't be what you see, what's your worth to redeem? I repeat: Why are you alive when you could be dead? Hide your hideousness, plebeian. The silver I love, the love that I want, lies just behind your, "Lovely Countenance".

0

Mar 11, 2015

Mar 11, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC

lux-capacitor

Rule of Rows: "Transfixxxer"

Clawing up grey walls, stumbling on, breaking nails off paper and ink, in silver screen dreams they haunt, if you ignore them cause you could be like them if you ignore the qualities you bring, inborn, since you can't be what you see, what's your worth to redeem? I repeat: Why are you alive when you could be dead? Hide your hideousness, plebeian. The silver I love, the love that I want, lies just behind your, "Lovely Countenance".

20

I crave freedom in my very core I sing randomly I write randomly I cry at night to not be attached to anything I’m sick of putting my ducks in rows I’ve never seen ducks in perfect rows

0

Aug 17, 2014

Aug 17, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC

alyson-rose

rows

I crave freedom in my very core I sing randomly I write randomly I cry at night to not be attached to anything I’m sick of putting my ducks in rows I’ve never seen ducks in perfect rows

6