"bedsides" poems - Hello Poetry

Be grateful. Be grateful We say in situations of valor and tragedy At dinner tables and kneeling rails At hospital bedsides and parent teacher conferences It could be worse Or it might be great Be grateful they all say For the sun keeping us here Here long enough to witness life And death and violence with injustice and not fair But grateful for the stars and for nights and winter seasons drenched in rain and icicles When everything is frozen dangerously Be grateful when things don’t work out—it could always be worse At least it’s not raining, hailing, fire storming, apocalypse They all say to be grateful for your friends The ones you love, but also the pains and heartaches they cause And the same for family, which causes so much hell in an already swirling environment Be grateful for this protection by arms But what about the cause? Results not causes are what count in this time And we never think of why, but only the surface Be grateful for all you have All? Including heartache and grief with stress and sin and chores topped with lies Grateful Is it knowing I am human? I get to the point I’m saying thank you and don’t know why But It could always be worse.

0

Mar 5, 2012

Mar 5, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC

danika

Give Thanks

Be grateful. Be grateful We say in situations of valor and tragedy At dinner tables and kneeling rails At hospital bedsides and parent teacher conferences It could be worse Or it might be great Be grateful they all say For the sun keeping us here Here long enough to witness life And death and violence with injustice and not fair But grateful for the stars and for nights and winter seasons drenched in rain and icicles When everything is frozen dangerously Be grateful when things don’t work out—it could always be worse At least it’s not raining, hailing, fire storming, apocalypse They all say to be grateful for your friends The ones you love, but also the pains and heartaches they cause And the same for family, which causes so much hell in an already swirling environment Be grateful for this protection by arms But what about the cause? Results not causes are what count in this time And we never think of why, but only the surface Be grateful for all you have All? Including heartache and grief with stress and sin and chores topped with lies Grateful Is it knowing I am human? I get to the point I’m saying thank you and don’t know why But It could always be worse.

27

i raised her with a violent birth my vocal cords tangled like a drunk couple making love with her name. she emerged from the slit in men's throats, a grown woman, her sister followed, from suffocated coughs, glowing like streetlamps from mouth to mouth, never happy, never settled. girls like her, they don't enter this world easy, they leave it in a mess, exit it like a highway, move on to the next place. there's a stain they always leave, yellow on the teeth, marks on bed-sheets, empty rings on bedsides with last nights drink gone cold just like their feelings. just a girl they say, harmless, girls have endless love in their hearts, and endless hate.

0

May 27, 2016

May 27, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC

rapunzoll

she worked a number on you

i raised her with a violent birth my vocal cords tangled like a drunk couple making love with her name. she emerged from the slit in men's throats, a grown woman, her sister followed, from suffocated coughs, glowing like streetlamps from mouth to mouth, never happy, never settled. girls like her, they don't enter this world easy, they leave it in a mess, exit it like a highway, move on to the next place. there's a stain they always leave, yellow on the teeth, marks on bed-sheets, empty rings on bedsides with last nights drink gone cold just like their feelings. just a girl they say, harmless, girls have endless love in their hearts, and endless hate.

36

Flowers on rooftops. Sold by stalks or bunches or barrels. Rooftops, where beginning see new light. Sunsets are given a second chance. Sun rises sweep you off your feet. Until you are tumbling towards oblivion. Falling for someone or no one, Someone will still catch you, For no one is truly absent on a rooftop. Rooftops are shelters. Covering our small material lives, That reflect poorly our selves. No living room can represent a person’s soul. Our drive, our motivation our passion. What we believe we are underneath. Without rooftops snow would drift against our bedsides. Without rooftops stars would tell the stories of our dreams. They would burn away the acid that disappoints us. That keeps us from laughing. We’d be filled with starlight, snowflakes, flowers. Flowers are sold on rooftops because, Perspective is shifted up there. Ground is still down but farther down. We are as tall as skyscrapers. Gravity makes our knees tremble. Tempting that leap of faith. Flowers deserve a second perspective –chance. How many times have you counted the petals on a dandelion? Or asked a lily if he loves you? Why send a rose when you have orchids? Rooftops are surreal. Ordinary cannot but attained that close to the clouds. The balance between flight, And gravity’s relentless pull keeps a mind awake, -alive. Rooftops are where flowers should be sold. No cars, cement or money. No stereotype, or donuts or guns. Anyone buying flowers Is looking for a second chance. Is hoping for magic. Waiting for lightening to strike him, In the same place twice.

0

Jul 8, 2011

Jul 8, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC

emma-townsend

Rooftops

Flowers on rooftops. Sold by stalks or bunches or barrels. Rooftops, where beginning see new light. Sunsets are given a second chance. Sun rises sweep you off your feet. Until you are tumbling towards oblivion. Falling for someone or no one, Someone will still catch you, For no one is truly absent on a rooftop. Rooftops are shelters. Covering our small material lives, That reflect poorly our selves. No living room can represent a person’s soul. Our drive, our motivation our passion. What we believe we are underneath. Without rooftops snow would drift against our bedsides. Without rooftops stars would tell the stories of our dreams. They would burn away the acid that disappoints us. That keeps us from laughing. We’d be filled with starlight, snowflakes, flowers. Flowers are sold on rooftops because, Perspective is shifted up there. Ground is still down but farther down. We are as tall as skyscrapers. Gravity makes our knees tremble. Tempting that leap of faith. Flowers deserve a second perspective –chance. How many times have you counted the petals on a dandelion? Or asked a lily if he loves you? Why send a rose when you have orchids? Rooftops are surreal. Ordinary cannot but attained that close to the clouds. The balance between flight, And gravity’s relentless pull keeps a mind awake, -alive. Rooftops are where flowers should be sold. No cars, cement or money. No stereotype, or donuts or guns. Anyone buying flowers Is looking for a second chance. Is hoping for magic. Waiting for lightening to strike him, In the same place twice.

41

sandstone hits glass she wants to talk about our past the knives,the guns,the pills fill my head her words ring in my ears like a lost melody the things i would do to her, the things i would do for her she wields her sword and raises her shield, ready to fight our enemy is not the one waiting at the city gates but the one messing with her heads. we have the same enemies, her and i they are born in our heads, they thrive on our thoughts, they keep us awake at 3 AM with a bottle of wine by our bedsides because our eyes are too tired to shut themselves, they make us love ourselves sometimes only to rip us apart and wear our skin as cloaks. our enemies are peculiar they lift the corners of our mouth to form a smile they make us swallow pills and snort drugs to feel alive. we don't fight them we let them win we let them aim their guns at us we let them destroy our will to live we let them follow us to family gatherings and night-outs we watch them rip our insides out with a smile we can never get them out of our heads. you see, we once built a palace inside our heads we adorned the walls with our favourite pictures and stories we hung fairy lights by our bedsides because all the light we couldn't see was fading away. the demons crawled out from under our beds and got into our heads. darkness loomed over our palace. the fairy lights were broken the pictures shattered the stories reduced to scribbles we sharpened our knives, got guns for hands, bombs at the entrance and changed the lamps to grenades but they didn't die. they grew stronger. we tried to burn down our palace, run away to our haven but they got us in the end and no matter how high our swords and shields are raised they will stay with us until the very end

0

Sep 7, 2016

Sep 7, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC

andwhentheshipsails

of demons and palaces

sandstone hits glass she wants to talk about our past the knives,the guns,the pills fill my head her words ring in my ears like a lost melody the things i would do to her, the things i would do for her she wields her sword and raises her shield, ready to fight our enemy is not the one waiting at the city gates but the one messing with her heads. we have the same enemies, her and i they are born in our heads, they thrive on our thoughts, they keep us awake at 3 AM with a bottle of wine by our bedsides because our eyes are too tired to shut themselves, they make us love ourselves sometimes only to rip us apart and wear our skin as cloaks. our enemies are peculiar they lift the corners of our mouth to form a smile they make us swallow pills and snort drugs to feel alive. we don't fight them we let them win we let them aim their guns at us we let them destroy our will to live we let them follow us to family gatherings and night-outs we watch them rip our insides out with a smile we can never get them out of our heads. you see, we once built a palace inside our heads we adorned the walls with our favourite pictures and stories we hung fairy lights by our bedsides because all the light we couldn't see was fading away. the demons crawled out from under our beds and got into our heads. darkness loomed over our palace. the fairy lights were broken the pictures shattered the stories reduced to scribbles we sharpened our knives, got guns for hands, bombs at the entrance and changed the lamps to grenades but they didn't die. they grew stronger. we tried to burn down our palace, run away to our haven but they got us in the end and no matter how high our swords and shields are raised they will stay with us until the very end

48

If I die before I am a bride, bury me with these words in my mouth, as an I-told-you-so for the creator. If I go clutching my maiden name in arthritic hands like beads of a rosary, tell about it at my funeral. There must be a hymn to sing, something like: I kept every vow I ever made. Put me in the ground in ****** white. As if that'll erase the one-nights, love's malformations, the way that matrimony might have, in simpler times. If I die with vacant bedsides, I instruct you: take me to autopsy remove my heart and check for scars, then instruct the mortician to place it in my hands. Like a bouquet. To have and to hold.

0

Apr 18, 2014

Apr 18, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC

claire-eliza-1

Last Will and Testament

If I die before I am a bride, bury me with these words in my mouth, as an I-told-you-so for the creator. If I go clutching my maiden name in arthritic hands like beads of a rosary, tell about it at my funeral. There must be a hymn to sing, something like: I kept every vow I ever made. Put me in the ground in ****** white. As if that'll erase the one-nights, love's malformations, the way that matrimony might have, in simpler times. If I die with vacant bedsides, I instruct you: take me to autopsy remove my heart and check for scars, then instruct the mortician to place it in my hands. Like a bouquet. To have and to hold.

19

lately, lately, lately, I’ve learned life is too short, even for the most invincible of us. we live in hospitals we construct for ourselves, shelves stocked high with anxieties, and finances, and pills for every kind of high or low. and we live this way– chained to our bedsides, keys in our pockets, crying out for doctors and saviors. and we die this way– holding onto something that we thought, we constructed to look like hope. except we know it is just a scribbled picture, just a crayon creation of a gruesome monster, a thing waiting to grab us, with fierce blue claws, and pull us under by our fluorescently lit halos.

0

Sep 30, 2010

Sep 30, 2010 at 12:29 PM UTC

jennifer-marie

Deconstruction

lately, lately, lately, I’ve learned life is too short, even for the most invincible of us. we live in hospitals we construct for ourselves, shelves stocked high with anxieties, and finances, and pills for every kind of high or low. and we live this way– chained to our bedsides, keys in our pockets, crying out for doctors and saviors. and we die this way– holding onto something that we thought, we constructed to look like hope. except we know it is just a scribbled picture, just a crayon creation of a gruesome monster, a thing waiting to grab us, with fierce blue claws, and pull us under by our fluorescently lit halos.

27

falling out of love was easy. all you had to do was make a call, break a heart, find someone new. i guess that’s only if you fall out at all. i guess i'm still waiting for that. i've been waiting for a while. longer than it feels and shorter than I tell myself i have a fear that i’ll be waiting to fall out of love with you when i have canyons in my face from age and broken legs from climbing up this mountain. you can't tell people that your heart isn't the only thing broken. bedsides from just being damaged goods, they've heard all your songs before. they're tired of it. "move on, change the station please, this melody is making me carsick. you've had your time to mourn." everyone had their fair share of breaking. nobody cares. and no one cares about poetry. no one cares that a poet cries when they think about daffodils or that they feel physical pain in their chest when they think about what wasn't meant to be but it happened anyway. a poet writes for themselves, and how selfish is that? they consider others only when their chest stops hurting and expectations boil in their brain.

0

Aug 23, 2017

Aug 23, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC

rileyirl

breaking

falling out of love was easy. all you had to do was make a call, break a heart, find someone new. i guess that’s only if you fall out at all. i guess i'm still waiting for that. i've been waiting for a while. longer than it feels and shorter than I tell myself i have a fear that i’ll be waiting to fall out of love with you when i have canyons in my face from age and broken legs from climbing up this mountain. you can't tell people that your heart isn't the only thing broken. bedsides from just being damaged goods, they've heard all your songs before. they're tired of it. "move on, change the station please, this melody is making me carsick. you've had your time to mourn." everyone had their fair share of breaking. nobody cares. and no one cares about poetry. no one cares that a poet cries when they think about daffodils or that they feel physical pain in their chest when they think about what wasn't meant to be but it happened anyway. a poet writes for themselves, and how selfish is that? they consider others only when their chest stops hurting and expectations boil in their brain.

13

the oil machine whirs, stirs as naked, ***** lust filled bodies turn on bedsides pleasure in their spiritless behinds oil seeps, a lethal snake- pain these bodies cannot take as it runs through their pulsing veins immaculate temples stripped by the stars of the night their delicate beauty, marred snatched lotus flowers crushed in the hands of affection oil drips from dark hearts broken cities of love forgotten, abandoned its architect-reality a tale of two worlds (b.d.s.)

0

Apr 29, 2017

Apr 29, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC

distortedimages

•industrial impurities•

the oil machine whirs, stirs as naked, ***** lust filled bodies turn on bedsides pleasure in their spiritless behinds oil seeps, a lethal snake- pain these bodies cannot take as it runs through their pulsing veins immaculate temples stripped by the stars of the night their delicate beauty, marred snatched lotus flowers crushed in the hands of affection oil drips from dark hearts broken cities of love forgotten, abandoned its architect-reality a tale of two worlds (b.d.s.)

30

Panoramic one click, portrait? buy before it's too late film not included. How quaint it ain't. Hollywood ***** the shine from the stars and spits them out in cheap bars to sit and romance the idea that once they were great. But it was always the sidewalk and the way that the boys stood and spit while they talked their big deeds. Joe in the milk bar built the underground railway to spirit the stars from the studio lot, but he never made sergeant in the US marine corp because he was too fond of the growing and the smoking of *** And we all took those colour Polaroids to sit by our bedsides and remind us how easy this life had become. Panorama, the one click sick serialized drama, a portrait of us as we were.

0

Feb 25, 2016

Feb 25, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Wide angle.

Panoramic one click, portrait? buy before it's too late film not included. How quaint it ain't. Hollywood ***** the shine from the stars and spits them out in cheap bars to sit and romance the idea that once they were great. But it was always the sidewalk and the way that the boys stood and spit while they talked their big deeds. Joe in the milk bar built the underground railway to spirit the stars from the studio lot, but he never made sergeant in the US marine corp because he was too fond of the growing and the smoking of *** And we all took those colour Polaroids to sit by our bedsides and remind us how easy this life had become. Panorama, the one click sick serialized drama, a portrait of us as we were.

24

created and man-made, holding lives in the hands and dictates sorrows and joys. Slow and steady, never-ending, eternal, but never enough. capturing moments on squares smeared with ink. the hands never letting go. grandfathers stand tall and watch as the owl makes her best. she sings lullaby's to her children, as they lay to rest. restful days and restless nights. blankets covering who rest peacefully. the hands place bouquets by their bedsides. standing on a log amongst the swallowing waters, the hands beckon to cross the cavern. the owl and her children soaring high above the waters. with lifeless lungs and barely a grasp reaching for the hands and they stretch across. standing tall and looking grandfather in the face. the hands wrapping around with an unbreakable grasp.

0

Apr 5, 2019

Apr 5, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC

Annabarroso

vapor

created and man-made, holding lives in the hands and dictates sorrows and joys. Slow and steady, never-ending, eternal, but never enough. capturing moments on squares smeared with ink. the hands never letting go. grandfathers stand tall and watch as the owl makes her best. she sings lullaby's to her children, as they lay to rest. restful days and restless nights. blankets covering who rest peacefully. the hands place bouquets by their bedsides. standing on a log amongst the swallowing waters, the hands beckon to cross the cavern. the owl and her children soaring high above the waters. with lifeless lungs and barely a grasp reaching for the hands and they stretch across. standing tall and looking grandfather in the face. the hands wrapping around with an unbreakable grasp.

3

He jokes that we'd argue over bedsides We'd live in hipsterville & I'd bike everywhere & douse myself in patchouli each morning He giggles at the thought of us Dancing in our white-walled apt & the wine spilling over our glasses & the dog ******** in the tub What a crazy thought--Us Sanding our own dining table & reading the headlines & taking pills before breakfast He laughs at these things These things I've already thought Buried under sheets alone in wonderment of what we could be -- c

0

Apr 4, 2018

Apr 4, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC

onhiatus

Things I've Already Thought

He jokes that we'd argue over bedsides We'd live in hipsterville & I'd bike everywhere & douse myself in patchouli each morning He giggles at the thought of us Dancing in our white-walled apt & the wine spilling over our glasses & the dog ******** in the tub What a crazy thought--Us Sanding our own dining table & reading the headlines & taking pills before breakfast He laughs at these things These things I've already thought Buried under sheets alone in wonderment of what we could be -- c

19

By my Softness you shall know me Soft Quieting Voice Throat removed Given the the Flame Torch Ire Chamber music High A Woman For whom this Lamp Burns Well And whose Braun Is the **** snake Goddess Come into a mind of Teachings Touch me Well family.. Smile Vloser Sweet Bow of Infamy Quietly gathering Smile Draws you Ever Closer Closer Until Yours Is the Very Gate Upon the Earth See Feel Emery Escxene part of Me Gathered for her Herbs and Forest And Drawn from the well of HerBlood I Drink Thee Our Pleasure Holy Symphony Your death My Bedsides companion Each Falling Instance Greatly Golden In our Non Forgetting Desire Unleashed Heavens Curtain Made on the Presence Of Your Flesh Ring Bearer

0

Apr 26, 2016

Apr 26, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC

kw3

Clan

By my Softness you shall know me Soft Quieting Voice Throat removed Given the the Flame Torch Ire Chamber music High A Woman For whom this Lamp Burns Well And whose Braun Is the **** snake Goddess Come into a mind of Teachings Touch me Well family.. Smile Vloser Sweet Bow of Infamy Quietly gathering Smile Draws you Ever Closer Closer Until Yours Is the Very Gate Upon the Earth See Feel Emery Escxene part of Me Gathered for her Herbs and Forest And Drawn from the well of HerBlood I Drink Thee Our Pleasure Holy Symphony Your death My Bedsides companion Each Falling Instance Greatly Golden In our Non Forgetting Desire Unleashed Heavens Curtain Made on the Presence Of Your Flesh Ring Bearer

45

I must apologize. I'm sorry, man. Let me go out on a limb here, Jack. On behalf of all Senators, Republican and Democrat; On behalf of every congressional rep, Every government worker, Whatever the jurisdiction, For every student council, For the clerk stamping the seal, For every department... I apologize on your behalf For the slanders hurled And flung like dung At the men and women who weeped At the bedsides of the lonely and dying. Oh the shame. I apologize for him, Who will never apologize. I apologize to the medical profession, And to all First Responders and Essentials. Oh the horror... the horror... Believe me, We don't believe him.

0

Nov 1, 2020

Nov 1, 2020 at 8:58 PM UTC

francie-lynch

Apologia

I must apologize. I'm sorry, man. Let me go out on a limb here, Jack. On behalf of all Senators, Republican and Democrat; On behalf of every congressional rep, Every government worker, Whatever the jurisdiction, For every student council, For the clerk stamping the seal, For every department... I apologize on your behalf For the slanders hurled And flung like dung At the men and women who weeped At the bedsides of the lonely and dying. Oh the shame. I apologize for him, Who will never apologize. I apologize to the medical profession, And to all First Responders and Essentials. Oh the horror... the horror... Believe me, We don't believe him.

23