"dailies" poems
I've used them on my windows
To see the clear outside,
If I read the Op-eds,
I shudder, shuttered and hide.
I've spread them 'neath my plates and cups,
My shelves all neat and tidy;
But the headlines made it clear to me
My glass is more half empty.
They had a place in the litter box
For **** to scratch and squat;
I laid them round my garden plants,
They made fine insect traps.
Rolled and twirled they'd start a fire,
I could fold them into hats.
They cleaned the grease from BBQs,
And they're safe to pick up glass.
Crumple them for packaging,
They work as school book covers;
Add water and some flour,
To shape papier mache lovers.
Fold seeds in them to germinate,
Then use them for compost;
There's many ways to employ
Your Times and local Post.
But I won't subscribe to Dailies
For the felling of our trees;
And yet I miss my papers,
And the ways they worked for me.
But when enthroned,
You'll hear me grouse,
*There's no **** paper in this *********
My cell works well to scroll and swipe,
But it's only good for a virtual wipe.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.
6.2k
I should have lived to thank you more,
where the blue dots and the green dots
met on a stormy porch-front streaming
crack-paint, blank and dirt from years
of games on the blurry tabletops.
Years of games.
We should have walked in the fields,
you the tide swelling and falling and
ultimately disgorging universes of all
you used to know: the good and the small
and the stern and the silly and the cruel.
The good and the small.
He will take your place in the shows,
in all the nightlies and the dailies,
grey hat and black sash. He is taller
by far, and you can't look up to someone
that unabashedly taller than you.
Grey hat and black sash.
You would have made time for me between
strides on the honest diamond of the sky,
and I? I might not listen at all, but
the pearl in the glasses, those awful
brown glasses would stay with me.
I might not listen at all.
She sat with us many evenings as the
winds raked the small lights of our speech.
What has become of her, I wonder more
frequently, but sleep with my head
on my hands all the same.
Sleep with my head on my hands.
They call me under the door, they call.
They fill me with themselves until I'm out.
Just what they want from me and less. Still,
they can't tell me the good and the small,
The fact that deep down I am nothing at all.
The fact that deep down I am nothing at all.
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 9:25 PM UTC
rocking on this swing again
where I crept into the moon
so many nights with
and without you
twirling tongue spells
whispering kisses on the wind
I sat in blackness
sky light communion
praying begging manifestivals
for just the slightest uplift
in your shadowed lids
to peep ignite
while you steeped in other brew
as if I could pry you
from your own entrapments
you employ them
in places you won't let me
because you're scared
to open your hand
fully
dailies distract the knowing
and warm your frigid sheets
then you wonder why
there's no space
for we
I know I'm Sunday mornings
flung swift at your door
requiring all your insides
from turned-out pockets
but I'm also
high-gloss, full-color
edge-of-your-seat
content symph in inter-D
and every last **** one
of the funnies
plus those coupons in the middle
to places you've never been
they kick back everything
you've thrown in
10,000 folds
uncreasing dewy
unto you
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:59 PM UTC
I was in a car accident in September.
I suffered a severe concussion.
Though my body is rattled and
bruised, I believe will heal fine.
I am getting extensive therapy
and treatment.
My brain on the other hand is having
a bit more difficulty pulling it together.
Words don't line up, thoughts are
confused jumbles of messy patterns
that don't make sense sometimes.
This is very scary to me.
As I write everything on my tablet
or my android phone, looking at the
screen hurts my eyes and my brain.
I am very sad as of late. Have been
crying (more than usual). Head
hurts all the time. Getting lost a lot,
like when I drive etc etc etc. Writing
backwards. Everything written,
looks like it is at a slant (yuck).
And I have developed a Very significant,
interesting stutter. Fascinating really...
All I want to do is sleep...
(which I have become very good at)
and to be held...
(just isn't in the mix right now).
I may try reposting some of my
old work at this time, until I'm better.
I will do my best to check in on the Dailies.
I need to stay away from reading and
commenting. : (( : (( : (( At least for now.
I am Sure, I Will Get Better!!!
☆●♡♢♡●☆
I need you all to know how much
I've come to Love and Appreciate my HP Family.
One of the best gifts I have given
Myself. Also, I am trying to join
Kalypso and Gang with Our collection
of Poems on Sound Cloud.
If I can ever figure it out
♡ Peace and Love ♡
▪○●☆♡♢♡☆●○▪
Christi~ MoonFlower~ Fluer de Luna
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Hello, this is my missing Mistress
Always she is for catching buses
Only for me its a physical stress
Clearly, she and me, 'musing bugs.
She handles it all on her own ways
Blooming face lighting little smileys
Like moonlit shining water waves
Laughter lighten her burdened dailies
A master lonely in friendly choirs
Shuttles merely from workplace to home
A king for cooking and child cares
Scuttling honey bee, nectar to comb.
Fancies mesmerize her failing frame
Work energizes her smiling game
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 1:16 PM UTC
I miss you but I don't know you
And my name would puzzle you
Yet neither rise your curiousity
Yet you're addictive to me,
This sensation, this adversity,
Sweet, like some iridescent nectar gathered by hundreds of fairies in an instant,
From some magical forest forever showered by the gentle light of the golden hour in the distant...
Albeit the bitter pain afterwards instead,
When reality take back its stead,
Who are you? I don't know
This doesn't make any sense, that I know...
But... if only I can dream a bit longer, for I have dreamed far too long, I know...
But, if there is even a tinier than a speckle of dust of possibility,
In this whole world our universe of unpredictability, please...
I'd like to make our story a reality...
Dilly dally, ***** nilly, talks of dailies,
No roses or daisies,
Just two souls walking together,
In harmony parallel, cruising in life for forever
...
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 7:59 PM UTC
***to tell you
you are terrific lately
Just because
you are all over
the map
of all creation
your prowess
is not discounted
here
forgive
conditional bones
you would have
no defensiveness
if you could put
your whole live's
goals, plans
ambitions, desires
into a single day
However there is
just this here now
one
and each of such dailies
and who can sniff each
as just another flower
upon the scent
of paradise
is the hourglass set
just the once
drifting time
unforeseen
or can forgiveness be
found through the occasional
dispensation somehow garnered
re-topping the hopper***
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
(If you knew this place as I know it)
I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am a patchwork of everything that has been done to me, and that has nothing to do with being just. I am not perfect because I have never experienced perfection, my life has never been picked through for the best footage. I’m bearing the weight of the dailies, every last one of them.
I am not a story. My body is not made of letters, no meticulous thought has gone into me, I have not been drafted and re-drafted until there are no spelling errors in my bones. That does not mean I cannot create stories. I may not be made of the things I write, but the pieces of the world around me are enough that I can give a little of myself to many while still being whole.
If you knew myself as I know me, you would hate it, too much, too little, unevenly and over-dramatically. I don’t know myself at all and too well, all at once.
If you knew this world as I know it, you would love it. Love it and hate it, hate it because it’s going and love it because you’re going with it. I will keep telling myself that different does not mean good or bad, but I’ll still miss picking a crimson leaf out of a stream of sunlight in the middle of snowy fall.
You would miss it. You would miss sleeping. You would miss not being scared. You would miss being able to love everyone. You would miss thinking that everyone was willing to love you. You would miss your friends being free and knowing what you wanted for Christmas and not worrying about being afraid to look in the mirror.
You would miss six feet of snow in November.
And you would love it. You would love knowing more, knowing better, knowing more clearly, more complexly, and more meaningfully. You would love knowing that spellcheck and calculators that do long division exist. You would love re-learning how to imagine the world, to question everything, to accept and believe, to understand a life that is not your own.
I am not just me. I have never been just me. I am not lonely. I am not alone.
(I'm sorry if I sometimes need reminding).
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
first of all i unblock the reading block.
then i unblock the writers block,
that i feel heavy in my chest
the rest is the monk in me exposed
to write dailies on all sorts of matters.
this aspiration i am declaring
will be re-written by monks hand
i can feel flow of the monk,
like Geoffry Chaucer reincarnated
modern day Canterbury Tales, i will write
on my poetry pilgrimage .
i am an aspiring poetry monk
i foresee a poetry monk,
who will invent and reinvent words
for poetic stories to be told infinitely
like numbers.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Man who made the Cubs world champs 2016 Series winner, named best leader.
Upon being named greatest leader in the world by Fortune, Theo Epstein, president of baseball operations at the Chicago Cubs, had this to say to an ESPN reporter: "Um, I can't even get my dog to stop peeing in the house. That is ridiculous."
<•>
humble,
lives in the spaces in between our toes and eyes,
where a nightly miracle occurs,
linty dirt returns magically of its own free will
we wash our mornful faces dailies,
off with the night's crusted leavings,
gifts of The Elfin Elusives,
who come and go unremarked and uncaught,
with a kind of kissy poke in your navel 'n eyes,
a finer reminder,
don't ever get a prideful notion of a clean start - ha!
the stubble assiduously removed morning prior,
returns with a scratchy salutation,
"good morning and ***** off, you ain't the boss"
just in case you think u got it rightly wrongheaded,
by a passing stray notion filling your
grateful deadheaded,
master of the universe, egotistical bred
YOU,
the
greatest leader in the world,
go back to bed, it's the weekend
*but only after you have walked the dog,
Mr. Master of the Universe,
or suffer a
humbling reminder"*
<~~~>
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 5:20 PM UTC
I've just spent several hours reading over my poetry
And reading all the wonderful comments written by
Other poets and friends, some sadly who are no longer
On the site. It was those friends and poets who in great part
Were responsible for giving me the six dailies that I achieved
And the further six dailies written in response to my daily write
For me challenges. I feel it is only right that I come back and start
writing again
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 1:26 PM UTC
*Last year I wrote a poem called rose buds, I also set a series of challenges out of which we got six dailies
Well let's try for another daily*
I liken our young teenage writers here to rosebuds
Then visualize those rosebuds in full bloom
Well there it is, it's springtime so its simple, write a poem about a rosebud
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
Reading the Daily Poems,
Each and every day,
Watching for the good ones,
To see what they would say,
Sometimes they were happy,
Sometimes they were sad,
Mostly love and human life,
And some were downright mad,
Checking settings in preference,
I ticked each and every box,
Email account cross-reference,
To see if they were lost,
Never seem to see them,
Might never have been sent,
Daily Poems enjoyment,
Missed with sad lament,
Hello Poetry the poetry site,
I see you're still alive,
Can you please send the Dailies soon,
I'll wait for them to arrive.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
~
**The Cubs, The Dog and the
Greatest Leader in the World*^
~
humble lives in the spaces in between
our toes and eyes,
where the miracle occurs,
that linty dirt
returns of its own free will
we wash our faces dailies
of the night's crusted leavings
gift of
The Elusives^
a kinda kissy poke in the eye
lest u think stink,
u get a prideful notion of a
a clean start - ha!
the stubble assiduously removed prior,
returns with a scratchy salutation,
"good morning and **** off,
you ain't the boss"
just in case u think u got it
rightly wrongheaded
and a passing stray filled your
grateful deadheaded
notional still prone brain,
you,
are
master of the universe,
greatest leader in the world,
go back to bed
it's the weekend
after you walk the dog
~~~
The man who made the Cubs world champs Series winner named best leader. Upon being named greatest leader in the world by Fortune, Theo Epstein, president of baseball operations at the Chicago Cubs, had this to say to an ESPN reporter: "Um, I can't even get my dog to stop peeing in the house. That is ridiculous.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
To all members of Hellopoetry
(Not just my followers and friends)
Well that's another year behind us,
Another year of both good and bad
Another year of both happy and sad
A year in which I've seen friendships blossom
A year in which I've seen verbal abuse
But also love in equal measure
Verbal abuse! Yes and I've dealt out my share
Also a year in which I chose to set my challenges
Which in their turn gave us six dailies
You wrote the poems and so the credits go to you
This has been a year when I have seen young writers blossom
A year when grumpy old men like me are coming to the end
And so what does the future hold for this great site
In the coming year?
A new year when we can encompass the world
Arms linked with poetry both good and perhaps not so good
A new year when humility and not over inflated egos
Are paramount
Unfortunately I don't believe that will ever happen
You know when I used to teach several years ago
I never had failures in my classes
I had students who weren't quite as good as some others
They weren't derided because of it but were encouraged
To try in another way
Criticism yes but constructive criticism
And that in an ideal world is how this site should be
The strong helping and encouraging the less strong
Can we all work towards that goal
The majority here already do so
I wish you all a very happy Christmas and my heartfelt wishes for the coming new year
Joe
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
A Day Of Thinking or
This Is The Way My Brain May Work On Any Given Day
Breakfast In Bed
No one in this world
Makes thinner toast,
Better toast, winner toast.
You do not boast.
How have you learned to slice
This near-transparent, indisputably crunchy piece of bliss!
What skill! And modest too!
No one can make such toast as you.
Going In To Thank
Going into different segments of the brain
I thank for life in any of the synapses.
Is there a gratitude partition
Or a separate, section - special one?
An all-inclusive?
I don’t always feel it – just today.
It probably will go away.
I hope it leaves a record.
Late Afternoon
Deep, deep inside
I’m feeling tired of society.
It’s like, what I imagine to be
What they call depression.
It’s connected to reality; civilization.
There’s the problem -
It’s not me, it’s them!
I ought to put away the TV (I’ve no phone)
Things electronic, dailies, monthlies,
All things histrionic;
The destructive, scandalous and shocking;
All things not-to-be: illusory.
Noel Coward wrote “World Weary” –
A light, song for something serious.
Perhaps that’s it!
There still exist fall hues phantasmagorical:
Food tastes, sweet music, friends amusing, loyal,
Beauty, animals…and still I feel
Despite the goodness,
Deep, deep sadness at the mess.
A Day Of Thinking 10.28.2016
Circling Round Reality;
Arlene Corwin
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
*I do crazy things all day
and at night I wish the cold shower will change my ways.*
*I am so **** patched up on the inside.*
Getting through the dailies aint really that easy.
So I run.
I run and throw the crazies beside the roads.
I run until I gasp for breath and feel alive for five seconds.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 5:14 AM UTC
How delighted was I
To be invited
To the ‘Poet-Freaks’
Sometimes my rhyme
Goes to waste
It’s an acquired taste
Some say
When they read my verse
‘There can’t be much worse’
Well now I feel quite at home
With my fellow zanies
Who never make the ‘dailies’
Sean Hunt
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Where have the daily poems gone?
That’s how I start my day, and I miss them.
June 27 was the last date one showed on my Mac.
Was nothing worthy in the ensuing week?
Is Eliot unwell? Who chooses the Dailies?
Is that person also unwell.
Does anybody know anything.
Somebody tell me something.
ljm
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
She would toddle off unaccompanied
In a short Summer dress and cardigan
That few brisk yards across the close
It would be early and the child small.
This was a regular feature of dailies
And the old man and little girl had
Great fun in his large back garden
With tea and a marmite sandwich.
Love Mum xxxx
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 1:06 PM UTC
Here is how I tell you the truth.
I haven't the slightest idea how to put these words onto something as gut-wrenching and precise as how the throne of these pulsating rhythms have been in a daze since Day One.
I'm afraid I can only reciprocate your gestures by poetic spontaneity and making you chuckle with my innuendo expertise; my words and actions may only go as far as this one foot on the ground lets me. It pains me every millisecond past midnight, see, and often more as I fill my guts with shots of nausea, my brain plays dailies of you brushing my hair off my cheek or humming to sleep on my chest, to which I profusely bleed.
So perhaps it won't hurt too much to tell you a thing I hold dearly in this massive void I thought was my heart after all.
In the grand scheme of things, I am certain that my profound affection towards you must have manifested from strong willful denial in such a manner that I've learned to love until there's not more I can give but love, no matter the expense.
But I guess that far beyond my naïvety, I have come to seek comfort in those lips that tasted nicotine yet dripping in honey, sending me to heaven and hell back and fro as you utter, "I'll take another one."
I hear the voices say I took it too far, the way I adore the jade and byzantium skies you would paint on my skin with your bare hands. What I spill under those sheets, wearing only deep longing and velvet honesty, is not what was left of me -- it's everything I have.
But what's more to lose when you already had the bullet lodged deep right into your chest?
So here goes, so blatant as it may seem, but you are the trickling toxicity in my ***** the massive pit of flames that found home in my soul.
Лучик.
Anyone or anything else will never come close and coax me into realising otherwise. I perceive us far too vividly, so morbidly -- a mad choking audacity as infinite as all there is.
I hope you don't mind, for I'm in too deep to be at odds with the fact that, God, I must have loved you so much.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
If you will, I do presume, as I know my medium,
I am not set cold lead type read backwards
by printer's daemons,
for centuries,
naturally,
to you, words, ready
for many readers,
at once,
at a rally, all receive fliers, and tracts,
-- who and how was paper made back when
the noblest institutions of high order master
hereditary right, the nation owns any born
on American soil, I knew a guy from Nogales,
he got drafted same day as me, he was a citizen
and all who spread the message attested to, see
it's true, I drank the generic flavored water, see
Only my misgivings have been taken up,
into considerate response
to my insistance, art
does good when used
to hope with, made hopefully,
easy to copy and paste and think
today I intended to enjoy my case, true
that is what we call worth-ship, true rest, worth made
art with patience
be, worthy upon reexamination, dailies, marking time
minutes or days
worth the price, being paid
for me, I laugh and recall,
Sgt. John Whykill,
to ask him, would he mind, recollection
he died last year, around now,
he laughs
of course not, why would he, we agreed,
in the spirit,
noblest occupation is bagging peace seeds,
any thing we find first peaceable, first touch feels good,
blessed silly so good sometimes, submersion, getting there,
just pretend
peace
clear, I did not hear, but sometimes,
I can remember hearing some body imagine,
seeing a rainbow clad entity conceived sorta like us,
feminine angelic spirit being, all visuals are imagined
I never have forgotten some thing I learned,
from a man confined to a VA hospital
in Miami, I miss him, then I think
we had all our best moments laughing.
We got to the bottom of it all.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 4:39 PM UTC