"collaborated" poems
A strange kind of intrusive ambiance; voices in several languages, forced laughter, technological functioning; human activity intermarried with machines. The volume rising perfectly in sync with my cortisol levels, I interrogate my past for signs of the path that led me here; it remains blurred. I did not dream of working in customer service; but here I am regardless, moments of my life that I will never ponder again; a cascade of the present moment repeating as long as my employment contract exists. An event-less horizon, memories are stillborn here and true ingenuity stifled. There is much and nothing that has led me here. It is hard not to feel like a horse bred for performance in this place; everything is monitored, quantified, reviewed and collaborated. Performance reports produced with the fervor of medieval scholars translating the bible. I look to the sky, what else is there to do; only to see smoke alarms and aesthetically neutral lighting arrangements. There is art work on the walls, but is generic, created to defy analysis. The colouring of the walls is chosen to exude a neutral sort of trendiness; on brand for the overarching corporate image.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Last night I had a blast
It was just me and her the entire 8 hours
From 1am 'til 9 something this morning
I cannot remember when we exactly departed
Thanks to that stupid muscle car outside I had no chance to say goodbye
I remember a glimpse of me saying hello
Everything seemed to happen so fast
Though the scene grew slow
We were in a setting that I saw before
But it didn't really make sense to me
However I felt every little detail
Our mind is Amazing
One's thoughts can contradict a lot
Do our actions always have to oppose the freedom of our mind?
Anyway
We were holding hands tighter than we've ever done before
We got the chance to laugh about things that usually would have resulted in bitterness
Never before have we collaborated with such tenderness
Last night was the first time in a long time that we came together w/o domestic belligerence
A few people was present to witness
But they're not gonna remember this like I will
Not even her...
I loved her
I hugged her
I didn't bug her
I didn't shove her
I kissed her
...
I miss her
Even though she's just up the way in her dorm
But...
Everything changed within an alarm
I may not ever get to see her smile like she did
We weren't irresponsible
Although it wasn't planned
However we had kids
...Little princesses
I'm trying to remember where we lived
We might have been living without sin
Because she had a ring on her finger that had a Rose-goldish blend
Around 10a.m I got up and checked my jeans to see if she gave it back to me
I may go early tonight to see if I can finish with what I've started
Hope I can somehow make her believe
Hope one day I can treat her like my Queen
...
Just the way I did in my dream
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 6:37 PM UTC
best friends
that titled has been stripped away
are we even considered friends anymore?
what even makes someone a best friend?
is it their inabily to say no or tell you a lie- no
that can't be it
because you lied
and apparently
best friends aren't supposed to lie to each other
it's not even that your friendship not being in my life at the moment is a lose
i just miss having someone like you; someone who can relate
it's 4:30 in the morning and i just stalked your vines from the beginning of last year
what the ****
you've changed
but we all have
as of now, i don't know if it was for the better or the worse
it's evident that friendships can be rekindled
but you completely lost my trust
i don't know if we'll ever be on good terms again
i knew you were staring at me the other day
the last time we saw each other after
"the break-up"
you kept going out of your way to wave at people standing near me or look back and see me laughing with my new best friend
it's weird to think that you were over at my house less than two weeks ago
and everything
every single thing
is different now
i hadn't really realized that things can happen in the blink of an eye
the thing that keeps getting me down
is that i tried
to save the friendship
you were the one who lied
you were the one that ruined two other friendhips of mine in the process
you are not a nice person
i'm shaking my aching head as i'm hoping that you're okay
what the ****
the littlest things keep bringing back memories of us
i'm calling you and I, an us,
almost like a break-up
i wanna throw all our collaborated poems in the still lasting embers of our burnt-out friendship
i just hope you get what you deserve
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
i
sacchariferous exhale's, I shalt insufflate into her bronchi
An Ode of enchantment, a beacon of escarpment, Filipino oblige;
We shalt junket all the way to France, the way politician's do
Concord, oh amour', at the end of the day Cogitation's, sky blue.
ii
The artist's shalt adumbrate ourn outter appearance's, as ghost's
They shalt brush us onto an primeval canvas, Enlargement ****
Phosphorescent simper she giveth, as I grace her foreign perfume
Thither the acropolis, to mine land of Greece, Corinth, in all tune.
iii
The people their do greeteth her, they layeth out the red carpet
White wall's of these spítia, nacre full of plenty, open market's;
The children here art collaborated in epoch, decorative style's,
As mine queen shalt seeith, they weareth golden leaves, wild......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/ pag-ibig magpakailanman.....
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
The most momentous utterance that has ever summoned forth an alteration escaped from his lips.
The room forgot its dimness as if the attribute had never previously existed.
Each syllable bombarded their surroundings in waves of brilliant neon.
Each percussionary word collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only two.
This unforeseen ballad to avoid embarking on Sisyphus' task.
This single verse sang by the jester to relieve Orsino's passions.
A battle song of beating drums being pounded by a racing heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm pillow where her head once rested in soft slumber.
A requiem for the dying desires breaking through their cages behind her eyes.
The most momentous bravery that has ever required assistance was gasped into her lungs.
A dimness crossed her face following the shadow of her hand.
The room erased the color from each syllable that he had previously uttered.
Each syllable became a tiny vacuum attempting to pull the air from within her.
Each chiming tear collaborated with the next to create a rhythm remembered by only one.
This unforeseen ballad was a spell to repel erotes.
This single verse sang by Phaeton to Zeus in his last breath.
A battle song of once intact dreams being beaten by a false heart.
A lullaby in remembrance of the warm heart that put her mind at rest.
A requiem for the dying innocence uncaged for all to see.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 4:09 AM UTC
Jimmy Boom Semtex is into many things. Writing is one. His varied work includes poetry, prose and stories on a variety of topics. Erotica like his Fire Extinguisher Man series, poetry on current world events, horror stories and more besides. Jimmy loves getting tattooed, listening to alternative music, drinking beer and living a simple but fulfilling life. Check his Facebook page out. He's working on new ****** stories and a poetry collection. His writing career is diverse and so are the authors/poets/writers he’s collaborated with like Filipina poetess Shy Lhen Esposo and Indian Saurabh Pant. Jimmy Boom Semtex is a pen name of Nick Armbrister.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
Ace fashion designer Rajesh Pratap Singh, who recently collaborated with Kullu-based handloom weavers Bhuttico for a collection, says he is passionate about the handloom industry which is his source of inspiration. Rajesh Pratap and Bhuttico’s fashionable affair was held in Kullu last week and highlighted the farm-to-fashion journey of Merino wool which is part of the Woolmark Company’s Grown In Australia, Made In India initiative.
“I am extremely passionate about the handloom industry as it is the primary source of my inspiration. I love the versatility of Merino wool, especially since it’s so easy to work with and supports various techniques and blends,” Rajesh Pratap said in a statement.
The designer, who is known for using Indian textiles and for working with ikat, presented a menswear and womenswear collection. The special line focused on the handloom journey of Bhuttico and their rich legacy.
The collection was a juxtaposition of clean lines and colourful weaves, and highlighted Rajesh Pratap’s signature minimal aesthetics and intense construction.
The designer feels “the fashion fraternity has constantly been striving to highlight the textile and handloom industry in India”.
“Owing to our country’s rich heritage each state adds another dimension of culture which is also captured beautifully by our weaves,” he said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-canberra | www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:53 AM UTC
i was a selfish antidote,
tied by the rope she collaborated with words
unsaid memories
i moved coldly between her fingers tips
made her sweat, and sleeveless
warned her about my doings
as she climbed on top of me
and slowly began murdering me
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Anger is my wild enemy,
notorious to everybody
and no place in hierarchy
to rank the rivalry,
memorable from
head to foot. Twisting
',,,'
inside and out, externally seen by the others
yet doesn't heard internally by my organs
*I can not control it easily.Just like my pen
collaborated with a *** And fortunately produced
a two liner poem--a girl and a boy.
YES we are...Analyn is my
dream girl and I am
the father of her children
Although without a helping hands,,
we should and we must
fight our invisible foes
No more time for lust.
Now that Ana to me ,is so far away from me...
I would rather stay single and happy father
than to be with somebody new who couldn't love
my son and daughter and be with her custody and be a homer.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
He wasn't particularly special,
certainly not tough to follow
but I only knew his nickname
and they called him "Nowhere Boy"
I knew too much about him
in the form of knowing little
and I quite considered all of it
humdrum scuttlebutt
Some I knew was feeble
such as: this boy did not have dreams
simply for the reason that
he never voiced imaginings
This oddity spread as wildfire
and the cacophony collaborated
to grant a title fitting; the beginning
of that Nowhere Boy
All thought it preposterous
that he'd never had an outing,
none with friends, none to see the world
in place of content, they termed him wilting
Minus
concrete evidence
of lacking 'travellers feet'
they crossed out home
as a place to greet
and saw it fit
that he was Nowhere Boy
Unknown was the range,
the contours of his mind
There was no knowledge
of his intelligence
He was not outstanding,
but he never struggled
He was not beauty
nor unsightly
People'd add these up
and regard the bar -
that would conclude
he wasn't going far
hence his name
his claim to fame:
as that
Nowhere Boy
His kindness never reached helpful
His respect was only for elders
In return, peers made a description
that showed his lack of initiative
He was known as
Nowhere Boy
in that
He had gone nowhere yet
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
Baby Starr
Look at you sitting there
With your chubby hand
Holding my heart with your laugh
Knowing where I stand
Sweet Baby Starr
I know where you are
Staring at you sleeping
Listening to your baby breath
Waiting for your laugh
Hearing the morning sounds
Under the white mounds
Praying a mother’s prayer
While stroking your golden hair
You are the reason I could fly
My baby
You are the reason I feel so alive
My Baby Starr
Look at you growing up
Asleep upon your bed
Holding your teddy bear
Felling such love and care
With your little arms around my neck
Oh Lord, forgive me I yelled
For some little mistake
That she made
My little Starr
Kissing my little one’s tear stained face
Promising to be better
With each daily light
Holding each other tight
Chasing the fireflies
In the hot humid night
So tiny
But oh so bright
She sat on the table
Swinging her little legs
Her body as released as it could be
Her thought at that time
Was telling the jokes to me
The little girl sat by her mom’s side
“Mom, when will I grow up?”
“Patience dear, it will be soon enough!”
Sweet sixteen her first schools dance
Oh where did the years go by?
“Will anyone dance with me?”
She asks me why
“Patience, my dear soon enough!”
They said you were wild
I said you were free
They said you wouldn’t listen
I said you would to me
Young girl grew into womanhood
And marriage she did go
Love came and love went
Finally one true love endured
The beautiful bride looked
Towards her mother
“Can I make a marriage work?”
“Patience, my dear, patience, soon enough”
Mom it’s Valentine’s Day
I want you here with me
I feel like a little girl
That I want to be
Will I ever be able to see you again?
In the heavenly skies
A cold autumn day, the last leaves
Falling from the trees
Tears falling like rain
“Mom when will I ever see you again?
This is Baby Starr, looking for you”
Soft upon the wind came the reply
“Patience, my Starr, soon enough!”
By: Debbie Brooks
Author and Poet Susan Joyner-Stumpf and I have collaborated on this poetry book to help raise money to help the children with cancer..
here is the following link ...
Please help the children
http://www.lulu.com/shop/deborah-brooks-langford-susan-joyner-stumpf/nothing-but-love/paperback/product-21961423.html
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
I watched her get
in the car
with another man
laughing at the noise
emerging through his
tongue and mouth
and teeth
while I cursed my
own tongue and
mouth
and teeth
for every
dreadful sound
they collaborated
and collided
to create
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
I ponder your reaction -
Your ****** expression,
The words that would escape your lips
If you don't become dumbfounded,
Your body language,
The tone of your voice -
If you knew that
Your name
Was meant to be in the place
Of the numerous
You's in the love poems,
That my heart and mind
Collaborated on.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Sometimes I often wonder what life brings
When your heart no longer wants to sing
Some days I think deeply and wonder why
I no longer laugh and all I ever do is cry
Wounds never seem to heal scarred forever
Is this my life for real with no endeavor
I am a pebble on this empty beach
Battered by the waves filled with grief
My crying heart screams out in agony
Sadness what spell have you cast over me
I am a shadow of my former self
Yesterday's happiness sitting on the shelf
I stare off into this night of misery
Will I live again to taste calm seas
Ripples of waves flow to the shore
May I touch love's kiss once more
Thanks Maxine. Maxine is a poet I collaborated with on another site. Maybe she will join here now :-)
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
I could care less how many hours you spend on the net or what you do when you're on. I have no clue who you are nor do I care to know you. You crossed the line in claiming one of my poems as your own.
Please be advised, It takes only a few minutes to upload electronically to the Library of Congress. Also, please be advised, certificates have been issued under the seal of the Copyright Office that attests the registration of all my poems on this site have been identified as being solely created and owned by me, Betty Ponder. There are stiff fines and penalties for attempting to take credit for works that are not your own.
Below you will find the link to the poem regarding Nelson Mandela I wrote and you get no credit for it being that I don't know you and we have never met or collaborated on anything.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/untitled-26927/
Betty Ponder
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
From one hundred and fifty miles away
You drilled a ***** into my head
These simple encounters collaborated together
And they built an emotion
It was sculpted from past events:
Driving around in your car listening to angsty teenage punk rock music
Everyone looked at us with a face that stated, “They don’t belong here”.
Showing me around your town. Knowing that where I was standing on Main Street,
You stood in that same exact spot ten years ago.
Sitting on your couch watching funny videos on youtube. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn’t wasting my time.
With you watching lighting bugs illuminate their ***** over the corn. Made me realize that you live in Nebraska. And I am happy I live here too.
Midnight. At the golf course. We got lost in stars and found a perfect spot on a bench donated by the “Rodriguez Family”. If that bench wasn’t there, we wouldn’t had a perfect view, which is why I’m so ******* thankful for the Rodriguez Family.
I should’ve been paying more attention to the road because it was so dark but, looking at the stars and creating constellations from the words that you said to me sounded like a greater idea.
I could just hear this voice, screaming within my rib-cage.
It didn’t know what to scream because it’s never felt this till…
NOW….you don’t even hear it…
No, it’s still there…she just chose to forget
In this stage of solitude, I did some research…
[luhv] noun, verb,
a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person
To have love or affection; be in love
_
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:58 AM UTC
OR: Benchmarks for Bench-Warming
The author, after recently publishing
Working to Frame Approaches Towards Approaching Frameworks: Contextualizing Systemic Interventions as an Interventional System in Context
collaborated with himself and co-wrote
Granting Greater Rights to Grant-Writers:
Turning Down the Echo in an Eco-Downturn.
Both papers were well-received and build on the strength of the author's initial work, published in 2018, entitled:
Speed-Dating the Data: Progressive Measures towards Measurable Progress
The author's third paper examined day-by-day data deterrence as a strategy to enhance documentation of impact towards tracking the implementation of benchmarks. The main thesis of the author's 78-page analysis was that out-dated data, when out on a date, flirts with obsolescence by trying to ford the current affordability when instead, it could be out-sourcing data while invoicing clients in adolescence—rather than dragging the river for dead data. All three publications are recommended and underwritten by overwhelmed authorized ghost writers.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
Hey, I thought I would write something for all my followers.
I would like to start off by thanking Word Freak.
Word Freak was my first ever follower, he is the one who told me about this site.
Thank you to cgembry, the first person to like my work.
Thank you, Teresa Alaska the first person to comment on my work.
Thank you, Anna-Maria Rose Newell, you have given me a lot of inspiration.
Thank you, Walter W. H., David Hewitt, and Enslaved King you also have given me inspiration.
Thank you, Joellei for always being here when I need someone to talk to!
Thank you, Flames for a martyr, Toxic moon and Vicki.
Thank you, Woody, Stephen, and Keith Wilson.
Thank you, Bleeding Diamonds you make me smile and laugh.
Thank you, Jennifer DeAngelo for writing a poem about me.
Thank you, Eebi Jonson the first person I collaborated with.
Thank you, Kristy Renae Dalton.
Thank you, John Stevens for raising your two beautiful grandchildren, I can tell they really love you.
Thank you, so much John Stevens for reading my work and giving me endless amounts of support.
Thank you to John Stevens wife also.
Thank you to all my followers each and every one of you are special to me.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 12:32 PM UTC
This parachute is crushing my ribs so that
my knees buckle when I land.
I feel sick.
I ***** up post-its and
menthol cigarettes
and pages of a movie script.
Inside jokes drip off my chin
when my eyes
roll back inside my head.
There's too much sweat
on my upper lip out,
out without warning doubled over
come collaborated lyrics that ****
sticking to quotes from books that speak to us.
I put a message in a full bottle of
gingerbread schnapps
so you won't know what it says
when you get drunk
and this parachute won't come off.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 12:16 AM UTC
we dashed our hopes, we smoked our dreams
we collaborated with our saboteurs
while the shots were still echoing
we tried to hide our tired eyes
with wired silent sighs
that were a final long goodbye
before our minds even recognized
too slow to get up on this rhythm
pulling pins down nicely
while shooting barrel fishes
and the polite, smiling, trusting
are the worst ones to grow up with
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
by
KARL SIMON S. CHUA
Not telling you
How many years
187 followers
Following back 144
125 total works posted here
19 persons collaborated
57 works trended (45.6%)
1 work as a daily (0.8%)
So what?
I hope I inspired
I hope I made you smile
I hope I made your days
As you all made mine
Going away
Thanks for everything....
©Karl Simon S. Chua 2015
*A farewell piece from Karl Simon Chua....a fellow Filipino I am
so proud of. His decision to leave HP has saddened me,
but he has his reasons. I am sorry I could no longer
persuade him to do otherwise. He is a fine,
talented poet, versatile, very promising,
armed with a good sense of humor.
He definitely, will be missed.*
---------------------------
--------------
Sally
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
I didn't see ******* until I was too old for school
I graduated myself GED when I was twelve
went out to pasture early I was so cool
educated on the streets got literat-ed liberated delved
dabbled collaborated mixing drooling at
all the gangster easy money, got rich,
had a bizness a box chevy with changing paint
twenties a banging ***** -
ain't never did what was good for me- ain't
feeling ****** now, cause I caught a nine mil', natch'
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
This war started long ago with your great grandfather,
The difference being he was fighting to stay,
For the same reason you're fighting to leave...
He was fighting for this home which no longer is,
For the gods you now call pagan, for the culture you deem fake,
And the minerals, now heavy jewels around your neck.
This war started long before anyone thought it would,
When the iron snake started wriggling from the coast,
Spreading its poison across the land, carrying modernity with it,
When they killed the protesters of Tsavo and called them man-eaters.
This war started when Kinjikitile failed to save us from the fire spitting sticks,
When nyungu ya mawe fell, when the imperialist found the trade routes.
This war started long ago when your ancestors developed a taste for salt,
And were told to give away a few of your kin to have it...
This war started with that book that you believe in,
the one that speaks about sticks turning into snakes and people walking on water.
This war started when your great grand Uncle believed and collaborated,
even long before that, when the kabaka agreed to split this land.
This war started when we accepted the names the colonialist gave,
to our lakes, our rivers, our springs and then to our children...
Yet here you are pumped up like this war has just begun...
Jul 30, 2023
Jul 30, 2023 at 4:19 PM UTC