"coleen" poems
11 years ago
the last words you told my father were
"I'm coming back."
He waited 7 months,
Even called your mother.
Where did you go?
you left your family,
a daughter and potentially husband.
but **** was more beautiful than a bright future for yourself.
you've missed events your never gonna experience.
Your daughter turns 16 in 56 days.
Cliff wells he's got a woman now its been almost 10 years.
That woman raised me.
Shes the mom you could have never been.
Coleen.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
I've only got one bar
on my phone and there's only
one more between here and home.
Ten dollars in my pocket may as well
be a thousand. Like a penny
in the fusebox, I could make it last
until the lights go out. There's a cowboy
band playing. A wooden Indian
by the door. I don't think he listens
to their stories anymore. He's quiet
on the subject. He's quite an object
of curiosity. Instead of two-stepping
all night long, maybe I should take
that Indian home. Use the last bar
to call Coleen. Tell her to put a ***
of cowboy coffee on. We'll tell stories
of our own. Sing songs in the old way
about better days when we were young.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
The poem formerly known as 'First taste of bitter' has been rewritten to reflect the lovely people who inhabit this etheral poetic wonderland that is home to many and a refuge to many - inspired by HP's own Elsa
- thank you Elsa :))
My first taste of HP
I was welcomed right away
Day one I had three friends
Peter Hamilton, Cecil and Ana
Is where my HP journey began
From another site I'd arrived
Not seeking fortunes or fame
Just a place to share poems
With people who feel the same
I've always been so welcome here
~ always made to feel at home
Thats down to the friendly poets
Who you all are, you know.
So many, many friendly souls
My, how that list has grown
Thank you HP - I glad I came...
I no longer feel alone
Special thank also to - Poetessa Diabolica, Niamh, Coleen, Shanna, Wolf, Brandon, Evie, ridicule, Beryl Dov, Donna and Sleeping Bag. Much love to everyone who knows me. X
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC
In shadows of 2020, your words still linger,
Soft whispers that dance on time's gentle finger.
Like the mystical sky that weeps with grace,
Your verses drip softly, leaving no trace.
Your tears, they seeped through the lines we read,
Like radiance that persists, a light we need.
Where have the unraveled scars gone to hide,
Those marks of growth, where truths collide?
Your mysterious mists still haunt the air,
With empty promises and unspoken care.
Where is the dream that once flew so free,
Like jellyfish effloresce, drifting to be?
The curves of heaven, the grain of truth—
Your words once captured both youth and proof.
Now silence remains where the cursed night drifts,
Where your wobbled strokes once found their shifts.
Where are the glorious jams of your art?
What stilled your pen, what made it depart?
For in your absence, your poetry stays,
Like a mark left behind, lingering always.
We wait for your voice to rise once more,
To hear your spirits and the world you explore.
So tell me, dear poet, where have you been?
Will your ink ever rise, to dance again?
Mar 1, 2025
Mar 1, 2025 at 1:10 PM UTC