"hale" poems
•
i wish
to infinitely
soar•in the highest
of skies•always higher,
and always more•held back by
the string that ties•i'd still welcome
hale air•as it blows stunningly
fresh•meets and carries my
body bare•bearing invi-
sible treasures in its
cache...•the errant
breeze i'd openly
fight•but i was
made with a
shoddy kit
•i'm fail-
ing and
falter-
ing...
like
a
k
i
t
e
•
wi
th
a
**
le
p
u
n
c
h
e
d
th
ru
it
...
•
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
They say that you are the lung of the world
An umbrella for the street light.
I know you can, and this I trust
Turn my bad habit into something of use
Unlike dear reflection, contemplation under
The stars.
At the concourse of many lives,
How much spite you must have caught,
I ‘hale a generation’s lot
Could I ask cleanliness that follows me
Into silence? Surely in the summer of its
Passionate body—
Surer towards its autumn.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
*study
*your defined mounds and dipping hips,,
lips and heated soles, to ascertain that
your mine willingly, you're alive, still mine,
to have and hold,
not to be me, a left~behind*
*for
you in and ex,
hale~hail me not,
you chest. convex nor concave,
if it gives, lives, moves, my eyes,
mine wetted eyes cannot discern,
and the precious stillness I do so adore
cherish,
contaminated by
notions of you having perished*
+
*it,
is wished hard away,
wished hard it may disappear,
a sigh. a groan, a puzzling moan, anything
even a sudden dreaming scream,
to confirm that our heat still can be all merged,
so that your light sleeper schema cannot be
touched and thus defeated,
so I write an only love poem,
and sign it with tears
of a cursed quiet streaming,
clouded, most unliterary, but
always
with a super silent adoration, of, for*
she,
who cannot be disturbed
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:16 PM UTC
Let me be the substance of your addiction....
Swallow me whole or drink me up
Or in hale me and let me fill you up.
Let me be the substance of your addiction
Snort me up...
.inject me ....
.poor me till you get your fill
roll me up...
light me up ....
or pop me like a pill .....
I want to be that feeling the one you love so much,
but let it be my laugh....my kiss.... my love and the way we touch.
I want to be your addiction the way that you are mine .
I want to consume everything your body mind and time.
I want you to get drunk off my lips
And make you forget what to say .
I want to be your drug,
I want to be your special K
I want to fog your brain with passion as you drawl me in and get high and not take much.
I want to make you feel invincible on top of the world with just one touch.
I want to be your addiction I want to run through your veins .
I want to be your addiction I want to cure your pain .
I want to be your addiction your euphoria of love.
I want to be your addiction I want to be your drug.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
People may tell you to not cry...
I won't because I know the difference.
They think they know when in fact they lie...
I say bury yourself in the deepest of detriments.
They may say that a new day will come...
They only spout what they can't comprehend.
They forget that you are ailing from a broken heart and that you're not dumb.
There's only you in your space, alone you stand...
Textbook responses are all they can offer...
They know not that it'll only make things worse...
There can be no replies so nice and proper.
To rid you of your life, your plight, your curse.
They may even share personal events that they think familiar.
Thinking what worked for them may work for you.
But no two situations are the same, albeit looking quite similar.
At the end of the day, you only owe it to yourself to pull yourself through.
I say feed your pain, grieve hard if you must
Wallow... Dwell... Drown yourself everyday.
Let your blood sear your insides, beneath your crumbling crust.
Let the world around you descend into destruction and decay.
What made me the expert...
To say these horrid, putrid things.
Because I am you and we both lay in the dirt.
Driven mad by the persistent echoes of our own misgivings.
I'm no expert... I am just a broken man.
Telling you to let yourself be caught in your own sad and angry song.
Be weak... Be as weak as you possibly can...
So you could rise from the ashes and emerge hale and strong.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Have you met the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man?
He scammed fig leafs in the garden,
And **** cloth in Ottoman.
outside-in, inside-out; upside-down, right-side up
The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can cuss.
He offers snake oil, spins a tale,
So you feel smart, healthy and hale.
from top to bottom, bottom to top
The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can't stop.
He swrawls with a Sharpie pen.
right is left, left is wrong
That's the Who-Gee Boo-Gee song.
Consultation for now is free,
No hidden added extra fees:
You buy two, you get three.
north to south, east to west
The Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man won't rest.
I've heard his feet are cloven;
The eyes are yellow, lips look swollen;
He has two fingers, wears silk- woven.
He sweats like water to the lowest level;
He's quicker than the slyest devil,
Selling hell, but we hear heaven;
Doing so twenty-four seven.
He photo-shops secret desires,
Twists truth-tellers into liars;
Artful, wily, scheming, subtle,
The Who-Gee Boo-Gee's a hungry jackal.
*today is the day, yesterday's late,
tomorrow's a place that just won't wait*
I met up with the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man,
Peddling apples from my jardain.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
Lips to the end of the chamber
Finger on the carburetor
In, ex, in
hale
Heat beneath my nose
Even with eyes closed
Feel the radiation
Orange ember
Melt crystals
At the edge of its embrace
Black chalk
Caked layers
Scrape, melt, smoke again
Mother nature keep on givin'
Help this man keep on livin'
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Dear ancestors hear my voice
On this Samhain eve I have a
Message for you
Be sure I have found my love
A love that releases me
The version of me you may not know
The one that I have became
It is true that this love has grown
Grown into a perfect and lasting covenant
Love that is rare and true
She is the embodiment of me in a
Special and all seeing person
She has given me sight to see the world in its glory
The Vision of which I have never known
She has given me heart to carry on when all seems lost
Courage to face each day
The tenacity to make the most of my life and of hers
The soul that we share is complete in the extreme
It is extreme as it is perfect and as one
She gives me more than this more than I could ever
Ever ever say.
I found her just six years ago
She came to me in a rush of circumstance
Something unexpected and yet hoped for
I can say much of this but all I need to say
Is that I love her so dearly it hurts
It hurts because life itself is so fragile.
I hold this love in my hand and cherish it
Cherish this day as we walk together into our
Seventh year through the mist and veil
Of Samhain, oh Samhain,
This is our time
Max Hale
Dedicted to my Jan on the anniversary of our meeting six years ago.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Vernal equinox
Beltane in the Celtic tongue
Bonfires hale rebirth
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
Arms outstretched like the branches of a tree
Aspiring to be amidst with those borne of sky.
Gnarly bark, imploring the eyes of another
Weathered and worn... Skin and grain but parched dry.
Twig-like fingers that would bear no leaves.
With open barren palms that hover in the wind.
Longing and thirsty for the tears of rain
Pining for the heavens to wash away all they have sinned.
Spreading disjointed roots dig in,
In touch with the unseen core buried deep.
A tainted trove of lifelong poisons...
They greedily drink and keep.
Lone little trunk... That shoots up strong from ground.
Sturdy and hale, at least to the naked eye.
When in fact it's core is rotting within,
Eaten away by the worm of a single unassuming lie.
Sad fruitless tree...
Standing amidst the green thriving brush.
It dies with the hours baked in sun...
One day it'll fall, consumed by the secrets trapped in a silent little hush...
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying!
Ah, what shall we do?
O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying,
The greenwood through!
O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast,
Rend ye the delicate-woven vest!
Let the wail ring wild and high:
'Ah for Adonis!' cry.
O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss
Of Kypris — after such day as this?
'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot!
And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!'
So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught.
'Who shall console me for thee? There is none —
Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one
Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale
Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he
Dared but to lift his eyes unto me.
Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!'
Wail for Adonis, wail!
4.4k
"Under the flag
Of each his faction, they to battle bring
Their embryon atoms." - Milton
WELCOME joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's **** and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomine;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale; -
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night -
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.
4.2k
Duncan Gray cam here to woo,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
On blythe Yule Night when we were fu’,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Maggie coost her head fu’ high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Duncan sighed baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer’t and blin’,
Spak o’ lowpin ower a linn;
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Time and Chance are but a tide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Slighted love is sair to bide,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?
She may *** to -France for me!
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
How it comes let Doctors tell,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Meg grew sick as he grew hale,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Something in her ***** wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O her een, they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
Duncan was a lad o’ grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Maggie’s was a piteous case,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t,
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling Pity smoored his Wrath;
Now they’re crouse and canty baith,
Ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
4.1k
When I came last to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale,
Two friends kept step beside me,
Two honest friends and hale.
Now **** lies long in the churchyard,
And Ned lies long in jail,
And I come home to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale.
3.6k
Pink blossoms falling,
warriors falling in kind;
Portland in springtime.
Hale, hearty hana
aloft on the vernal winds,
transient beauty.
Cut down in my prime,
someday, I, too, shall fall down,
fading into dirt.
Like my mother did,
and my father before me,
returning to dust.
Until then, I fight;
Until then, I carry on,
a blossom in Spring.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
When do stars fade their light?
Does the moon and the sun make it right
For you the world maybe
Like an endless storm chasing a mystery
Is there hate in your heart?
Does your body drop and tell you to stop
Loving you or loving me
When it all falls down you just sing with me
Co'z there's a blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow shining and shimmering
A blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow
Maybe its all we need
Oh don't you wash away that smile
You just look out the window and see the light
It's beautiful to be alive
Its wonderful to live a life
The sun is sure to shine
For you and me for everyone
So don't be sad its just the start
Of a new beginning in your life
Co'z there's a blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow shining and shimmering
A blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow
Maybe its all we need
Rain will keep on pouring
Some things you cant control
And while the sun seems far and hard to hold
It will unfold
There will always be a blue sky
A blue sky waiting tomorrow full of hope
yeah, full of hope yeah
Co'z there's a blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow shining and shimmering
A blue sky waiting tomorrow
Waiting tomorrow
Maybe its all we need
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
Camping out is an experience everyone should have
The cool grass in the morning and the birdsong
Timeless air keeps you alive, energises the soul.
Freezing feet and nose is inevitable as blanket or sleeping bag
Don't quite make the grade
The hard ground or undersheet has a smell that remains
In your nose and in your memory
Bringing the place back to you in your latter years.
Once breakfast is cooking everything seems OK
The worst part is the transition of night into day
Then day into night,
It's easy, stay up and just look upwards
No light pollution, no clouds, no sound
Drink in the inky blackness as Orion's three winking lights
Demonstrate how wonderful life is
But more importantly how small we are
Tiny dim orange lights glow in the tents and vans
Muffled noises diminish as the occupants climb
Into their cosy beds and roll themselves up
To keep out the cold, the inevitable insects
One by one the darkness becomes complete
Until no more music can be heard or
Voices, rustling sounds or whimpering children
Wanting their teddy bear or comfort blanket
Mummies and Daddies soothing
The silence is deafening save a cool breeze
Just flapping the tent canvas, small cracking
Sounds as it rolls and then straightens.
Rolls then straightens gently, gently, gently
The guy ropes straining a little then relaxing
Another night comes to the campsite
Enveloped in darkness all are safe and inside
Their little tent or van
Goodnight campers, sleep tight.
Max Hale
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I admired the way
it had caressed my face.
The way it cupped my cheeks
and combed through
my tousled hair.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I was infinitely enamoured
with its playful but gentle ways.
The way it would upset
the serenity of my clothes.
The way it would engulf me cool
on a hot sunny day.
I once professed my love to the wind...
I had professed that I get addicted to the way
it would reach into my lungs
and abscond with my breath.
Leaving me asphyxiated for a brief moment
before mischievously
introducing new air;
hale and fresh.
I still profess my love to the wind...
I'd profess my adoration for the way
she fills my sails full
and my heart full of hope.
For I am a lone sailor
in a crowded ocean.
Sailing in a vessel bound for nowhere...
Traversing time and space
with my love, my breeze...
my air.
.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
The first in hale,
deep as the waters
that are now absorbing me.
Expanding my lungs
making room for the breeze
carrying with it opportunities.
Tingling my nostrils
that are like the canals
connecting to newborn perspectives.
A balloon ready to burst,
the clock stops ticking
I hold in this wave of awareness.
As still as the bridges I intend to cross
in that moment
I forget myself
and locate who I am,
simultaneously.
Exhaling all the storm clouds
that were filling my brain,
creating a galaxy of possibilities.
My shoulders releasing the tension
excited to take on new weights.
Repetitive in this breath
for the first time feeling
alive.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I was sent to work at the old Repat.
It was forty years since the war,
Those ancient diggers would sit and swear
At the pain of the limbs they wore,
The wounds would open as years went by,
They’d come for another slice,
That war was never over for them,
And morphine was paradise.
I saw one veteran struggle and curse
As he ripped at the buckles and straps,
The new prosthesis had rubbed him raw
As his knee began to relapse.
He tore the leg from his wounded stump
Sat on his bed, and roared,
Then swung the article over his head
And flung it across the ward.
The others had ducked as the leg took off
And bounced off the opposite wall,
‘I’ll have to report you,’ the nurse exclaimed,
‘It’s a good leg, after all!’
‘You wear it then,’ was the man’s response,
‘For it’s driving me insane,
What would you know of Flanders Fields?
You wouldn’t deal with the pain!’
My job was to settle and calm him down
So I asked him about his leg,
‘When and where did you lose it, Dig?’
The veteran tossed his head.
‘You’ve heard of a place called Flanders Fields
Where the bullets came in like hail?
Well, I was there with the Anzac’s, son,
At a place called Passchendaele.’
‘Our Generals were trying to ****** us,
I swear, on my mother’s head,
They kept on sending us over the top
Until half of the men were dead.
The German gunners would enfilade
As we struggled against the mud,
I’ll never forget the battlefield,
It was spattered with bones and blood.
They’d send artillery shells across
At the height of a soldier’s knee,
We’d watch them come as they parted the grass,
They were Grasscutters, you see!
Well, I was running with bayonet fixed
And praying for God’s good grace,
When suddenly I was lying there,
I’d tumbled, flat on my face.’
‘It’s strange that I never felt a thing,
When the Grasscutter got me,
It took a while ‘til I saw my leg
Was gone, from under the knee.
But that was the end of the war for me,
The end of the life I’d known,
I spent some time back in Blighty, then
I came on a ship, back home.’
I never chided those men in there
Though they’d curse and swear, and roar,
For every man was a hero where
They'd trudged in mud through the war.
That Repat. job was a fill-in job
And I left, still young and hale,
But I never forgot the Grasscutter
Or the man from Passchendaele.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at work
Cheerful member of the staff
Underpaid - unappreciated
Tiny office with no window
Paperwork nobody looks at
Rules just for the sake of rules
Which face will I wear today
The face I wear at home
Always tired, depressed, besieged
by a thousand minor ailments
All the things I'd like to do
crowded out by other things
I have to do that are no fun.
Which face will I wear today
The face that sports a poet's cap
Gel filled quill pen clutched in hand
Trying every format I can learn
Gleaning from the published experts
Writing happy after years of sad
Finding sunshine in the shadows that I live in
Which face will I wear today
The face above the helping hands
that reach for places to be used
That garner joy from mucking in
to smooth the path for others
Seldom thanked - often refused
Bucket goal - to save a life.
Which face will I wear today
The face that looks back from the mirror
Mapping all the tracks of age
Searching for the sparkle in the eyes
that joined hands with my youthful looks
and did a conga-line away
Which face will I wear today
Picasso portrait of them all
Ill and hale - strong and weak - sad and glad
When seen together in the mirror
it's a face I do not know
and someone I don't care to meet
So check the clock and choose a face
Paste it on and smooth it out
Comb hair over all the edges
**** the light and close the door
And take this face out for a walk
See if anybody says hello
ljm
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
-DREAMER OF DREAMS-
Dreamer dream endless dreams-
Dreamer dream of you and me-
Dreamer become reality-
Dreamer no more fantasy-
In hale with me Dreamer of dreams-
Blow faster then the wind has ever seen-
Fight me Demon of dreams-
I am determined to be more than you can believe-
Together we are an army-
Of harmony-
Alarming-
How beautifully starving-
We have become-
Lay me down sun-
Dreamer of dreams-
Your beautiful even if you can’t see-
Richard Itskovich
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 7:33 AM UTC
Ötzi
Even in my long sleep,
I dreamed of this.
A waking by strangers
A grasping of my wrist
And I wrench it back from them!
My dreams beneath the ice
Were warm, in summer vales,
Where children played
Under my watch, old but hale.
An easy thing, my guard was then.
I tend sore limbs as supper warms,
And aching joints inflamed,
And muscles tough as ibex horn;
For a while I can be lame.
And see my copper ax in the red-gold flame.
I dream of how it came to me,
After vanquishing a headsman.
Intruders fell before me!
And I earned this talisman.
Weapon, scepter, power of my clan!
Then I was sent across the mountain,
A lone journey I knew well.
To trade with kinsmen in a the northern glen,
With gifts, arrow shafts and tales to tell,
Never guessing betrayal that walked behind.
Alone upon the highest peak
I ate my last meal by the fire.
To me the gods seemed trying to speak,
As men I knew climbed higher.
We had words, but they were my kin!
In my long sleep I wonder why
These false friends turned to hate.
I’d watched over them, yet they cried
That my rule was done, and it was too late,
So I turned from them and faced my doom.
I crossed the last protruding rock
And now felt safe from them.
But then a blow, beneath my heart: a shock!
I fell in a soft, snowy glen,
And then a dull pain in my skull…and black.
Beneath me, I can feel the ax;
They’d never take that from me!
Nor my arrows, quivers and packs;
And risk the fury of the gods.
They’d taken my power and left a naked soul.
Five-thousand years I spent beneath the frost,
Until I was found and freed.
My scattered ions watched, angry and lost.
They dragged my body from its bed
And my soul from another life.
Now part of me lies in a crypt
Another frozen tomb.
If only I hadn’t run and slipped,
All those ages ago,
I would now lie in sacred ground,
Back in the earth to which all are bound.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC