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Shofi Ahmed May 2017
I wanted to reach out to the sky
not to touch any star
just to whisper to the Moon
'How beautiful are you'!

I was still, stunned on the ground  
wandering down the sunrise hill.
In the midst of the morning breeze  
I heard of a whispering
‘The eyes in the sky gaze on the ground’.
So close to me that drew
as if that whispered to me ‘tell me about you’!
PoserPersona Jul 2018
Idly stationed in the bucolic hills,
sits a stone well; unknown when abandoned.
Though her people foregone, water yet fills
as much as you can want for. In tandem,
are high trees less old than she; occluding
the view from pathless and naive strangers.
As their wish in well is to keep obtuse,
those that siren would otherwise capture.
Her drink, one thinks they'll constantly receive.
In reality, they'll only be taken.
Youth will fade as the heart minutely bleeds.
Their hollow, dried corpse will be forsaken.
And though her hole but a tall dark crevice,
I see my reflection on the surface.
CK Baker Apr 2017
to exonerate the clipping
we took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****)
and what remained
of the scape
was dead
and dry
and orange

that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey ~
the needles
and stragglers
(from shady bay)
remained in numbers
on the outskirt
of the park

the fabled town
of horse drawn tours
was stone washed ~
on the back of
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set on high tide
against the lighthouse
and its measured song

flutes and fiddles
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags

hedgerow trimmed
alongside the sea walk
rolling hills bend
before the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in back
Dark n Beautiful Sep 2018
Another Version

Hartley Forde

You can’t see the wind,
But that old mango tree,
Outside my window,
tell me it’s there..
.
I never travel with a raincoat,
Even though I hate getting wet,
Then here comes the aches and pain
And I started to wonder,
was it because I got a little insane..
I thought that I could
Have run faster than it pours
I haven’t heard of
any aircraft that outrun  a jet plane yet,
But, not so anymore,
I never leave my coat and cane,
When I am on a stool,

Oh dear, what has happened to me?
Am I aging? I am not young anymore,
Nor grey, nor old: for age is just a number,
But when the toil of the day
Merges with the aches and pain
With sighing sounds I start to wonder:

I still dance the night away, with my social tunes,
And waltz across the floor to all-time favorite of Strauss
See how I step back in time with the reggae beat,
Lighter than a feather on my feet,

Smiling, with my pearly teeth from ear to ear:
Life just isn’t fear: because age is just a number
That’s when the rubs and oil granny left me:
Come alive again in the neck of time,
to soothe the pain of my aching joints
I smile once again and said
“Oh dear, what do they say again,

Age is just a number and life begins at forty,
Because, I am just starting to be naughty:
Downhill !

written by:
Hartley Forde
Pagan Paul Feb 10
.
Do you remember when time stood still
skipping naked, happy, upon Spring Hill?
Warm westerlies, do rebirth dominate,
brushing the flowers, each one to pollinate.

Do you remember when time stood still
running naked, joyful, upon Summer Hill?
Hot south wind, sun growth it gifts,
providing life, as Nature's head it lifts.

Do you remember when time stood still
walking naked, tired, upon Autumn Hill?
Cool easterlies, the harvest to reap,
just preparing, waiting, for the annual sleep.

Do you remember when time stood still
laying naked, spent, upon Winter Hill?
Chill north wind, the snows to bring,
patient listening, to the universe sing.

Do you remember when time stood still
exposed and naked upon Season's Hill?
No rain, no sun, no wind nor breeze,
could disturb the silence of the Trees.





© Pagan Paul (2019)
.
John K Trainer Jun 2014
The fragrance of a memory
From childhood long ago
I’m brought back
To a fenced in back yard
Crayola blue sky
A burnt umber ground
Islands of green and yellow grass
The scent of Summer Hill wafts
As the unseen is revealed
A dream is remembered then forgotten,
And you say it didn't happen
I recollect the aroma that says it did
Whenever I smell the fragrance of Summer Hill from Crabtree & Evelyn, it brings me back to a particular time in my childhood. The same memory on the same day. I was about 5 years old at the time.
Smoke Scribe Aug 2018
is this the hill I want to die on?


there are certain questions I ask myself
filters, lines in the mental sands, rubicons, so denominated by me.

which loosely translated means is this battle worthy of dying,
fighting over?

the question comes so frequently I wonder what’s wrong with me.  

always instigated by a human being and every one quick to the draw

I ask the question twice -
most times
once to them. then to myself

by now my children know,
to ask themselves first,

so once is enough
A brand new sheriff came to town
I'm sure he's not the last
We've had fourteen in the past year
They leave here mighty fast

Some can't stand the pressure
Others end up in boot hill
It ain't easy being Sheriff
Here in Cactus Mill

He was tall, compared to most folks
That's what the undertaker said
"I'm just scouting for the future"
"In case he ends up dead"

He went into his office
Fired both deputies on sight
He said "you wanna get your job back"
"Then, you'll have to do it right"

"I don't hanker to disruptions"
"In the town ... I rule"
"The laws all must be followed"
"Now, boys...it's time for school"

"We're gonna have a meeting"
"You can follow, or can go"
"I'm gonna clean this town up"
"I just thought you both should know"

He'd printed off some flyers
Had them passed out by the men
It was scheduled for the Baptist Church
It was due to start at ten

He cleaned up and got ready
A good impression he would give
Because this man's demeanor
Chose who'd die and who would live

At nine fifteen he left and went
To the church, to say a prayer
He thought it would be empty
But found half the town was there

We waited till the church bells
Chimed ten times ...and he began
"I'm here to be your Sheriff"
"I'll do the best job that I can"

"I don't like injustice"
"Wrong doers...they must pay"
"I like to keep things, well..in house"
"I make decisions in  a day"

"I'm like a judge and jury"
"I hold my own cowboy kind of court"
"I'm like Roy Bean, I guess you'd say"
"It's my town...It is my fort"

"Gunfights, just won't happen"
"If they do, both men are dead"
"One, because he lost it...."
"The other, cause I said"

"Drinking...keep it local"
"Stay inside at the saloon"
"Don't wander the streets at night"
"Standing, howling at the moon"

"You can wear your guns in town"
"But, I don't want to see them out"
"If I do, then you can bet"
"You'll learn fast, what my court is all about"

"Now, coming in, two miles out"
"I saw a sturdy tree"
"The only one who hangs from it"
"Will be decided on....by me"

"Lynchings...not on my watch"
"Rustling....don't you try"
"The rules all must be followed"
"If not....you'll surely die"

"I have a length of rope with me"
"It's been stretched 'bout twenty times"
"Add one more...it's twenty one"
"So, don't commit no crimes"

"I also have two friends right here"
"Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson"
"Don't make them come on out to play"
"If they do , you'll learn your lesson"

"Back at the jail, there is one more"
"A right old sturdy gun"
"If Smith and Wesson do not work"
"Then you'll meet...Remington"

"I hope that you will follow"
"The rules that I lay down"
"Cactus Mill is pretty"
"I like this little town"

"I might be the new Sheriff"
"And I want to be your friend"
"The choice is which one do you want"
"A long life...or early end?"

He shook the preachers hand then
And he walked on out the door
The towns folk sat in silence
You could hear a feather hit the floor

Now, the question....Did this Sheriff
Clean up little Cactus Mill?
Did Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson
Keep his hide out of Boot Hill?
September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Kieran Nov 2018
With silence harmonizing
The night sky sang the universe's song
Two sat in its audience
through looking at her love
Oceans formed in her eyes

The world simply paused

The man she loved captured a star and tied it to a ring

At that moment, she smiled but her eyes cried

'I will give you everything'
CK Baker Nov 2017
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scenes

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Spent a couple days in late September on a motorcycle trip with my brother...weaving through the small towns and villages of the Pacific Northwest.  Magnificent!
M Solav Sep 2018
The world is filled with cracks through which I can escape;
Your word have carried me upon one more of those trails.
The land is dry to us, I fail to see to what avail
We walk apart parallel to the truth that keeps us here.

The distant line, horizon, that now draws across the sea...
My eyes have reached out my body in the hope that it could flee.
Whenever I have tried, when I wanted to get there,
A cloud had formed in my mind, no longer was I aware:

Between tangible reality
And a vanishing dream,
The path of least resistance
Still leads me up the hill.

Now a witness of my own being in change,
I no longer mould to all the forms;
I, this dreary cage.

The world is painted black and white, a moon in the lake;
Your word have brought where I watch the mirror pearl.
The waters are appeased tonight, I can see it all too clear:
We walk apart parallel to the truth that keeps us here.

The distant line, horizon, an illusion of infinity...
My eyes have followed its line only hoping that I could see
Some form of higher reason that lie in stable shapes,
But the staring threw me off and no longer was I aware:

Between tangible reality
And a vanishing dream,
The path of least resistance
Still leads me up the hill.

No longer a witness of my own being in change,
Moulding anew to all the forms,
I, this merry cage.
Written in July 2016.
Eric Feb 28
That June was fatal
I was 21 drowning in daze
Numb in my cellar cradle
To a Cocteau Twins through a midday sparkling haze

Scars went down my arms and legs and broken soul
Since I walked this self-harm alley
Strolling round  maniacally
Lifeless mind,numb and cold

Pills scattered like a nailbombs
Pushed me deep down to a crippled womb
Neither Heaven nor Las Vegas
But a valley of  fake healers
Äŧül Jun 19
Kindly avoid going to any hill station,
While planning so, bear some hesitation.

You are so very hot,
But the hills are not.

What if you go there when,
All that area starts boiling then.
My HP Poem #1745
©Atul Kaushal
Like as heaven's golden eye
In all her timeless grandeur
Doth emanate to paint the sky
In polychromatic hues all o'er
At the break of dawn, so raced I
 Briskly through woods of failure,
     Yonder the mighty hill of success
      That shimmered in the distance.

The closer I drew, the further the hill,
But despite the task seemed sisyphean,
Winds of hope came driving me still
Right through thorny thickets of men
That unto me said I'll never get uphill,
But though girthed with such ill omen,
     I bore it in mind, at the end of day,
     Even the sun fades into heaven's bay.

They tried to pull me down,
But, "giving up" ain't my name;
When at last I wore a golden crown,
They tumbled into a sea of shame
And there deep they didst drown
Till so soddened every part of them:
     "For now every body knows my story,
     I rest not till I behold clouds of glory."


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, 8/4th/2019.

           #Words Of Wisdom
P.S. Unto he who whose beams of hope are marred with clouds of despair.

The term sisyphean means: "Of a task never to be completed."

It's derived from Greek mythology, Sisyphus or Sisyphos was the king of Ephyra. He was punished for his self-aggrandizing craftiness and deceitfulness by being forced to roll an immense boulder up a hill only for it to roll down when it nears the top, repeating this action for eternity.
Stu Harley Oct 2018
oh
lord
the
sweet
storm rain
cleanse
our
souls
at
the
temple gate
upon
kilpatrick hill
be blessed
JA Perkins May 9
I can hardly imagine, now,
the beauty I saw from the
peak of Childhood Hill.
But, just because I'm not
looking down doesn't mean
it's not beautiful, even still.
It's just out of reach from
where I've taken my stance
and to make it back up
is a downhill chance..

The nights I've wasted, wasted...
Not like the gamblers, though.
I wanted to, but they really chased it.
They were always too trashed
to know the depth of the cess pool
or who they splashed.
I must've cared more than
I want to admit about ending up
in that bottomless pit - afraid to
flee the familiar feel 
I'd known on Childhood Hill.
(a mountain that doesn't
have to be climbed as long as
we never fall from it's flat).
But I came sliding down
as if the ground were made of
ice or something like that.
Barreling down to my grave
with my hands in the air,
announcing my arrival,
and spitting at casualties
along the way -
making light of their
happenchance survival.

And they shook their heads.
And they threw their dirt.

Some of them wanted me
to hit Rock Bottom
just to know their hurt.
Some of them wanted to
help, but changed their
minds in light of my arrogance.
(I'm not as bitter toward them)
And some of them, the ones
I hurt the most, watched in
horror when I upped my dose.
Both my sanity and serenity
in hand, I slid.
Both of which were lost amid.
Then I hit the ground and
did I hit hard?..
I hit so ******* the ground beneath,
I'm still spitting fragments of my busted teeth.
Just trying to make sense of it all.
Acina Joy Jun 6
For days I followed
your looming shadow
stark and black
towards that shining hill,

Used me like a ladder,
climbing to that point,
as I stood below you,
silent and still.

I let you use
all of my limbs,
my body and mind,
torn and bruised

You tore away
my nerves and bits
always expendable
in your use.

You had a heart,
a cryptic mind,
my hero guiding
with his touch,

Who had a side,
of flint and still,
so dark and scary,
that I knew such.

But I never knew
what you were doing
if you asked or you stole
everything in between

As you looked past
that stormy hill
and left everything
that you've always been.
K Balachandran Nov 2018
A coy spice hill breeze,
Passes subtle hints on it;
Poet knows the rest!
You might as well ask me
Not to take another breath -
To climb to the top of Arthurs seat
And not stand with my arms outstretched –
To stand in the middle of an icy street –
In the depths of midwinter
And not gaze with wonder
At the cloud of unspoken poetry
Pouring from my lips
Utterly failing to warm my hands –
And ask me –
Why do I continue –
Look in awe upon something –
So natural, that gives me
So little pleasure in return
And yet enriches my life -
So indescribably?
A piece of automatic writing I came up with in roughly a minute when I had some time to myself during the Edinburgh fringe. It's a brief meditation on unrequited love, both with a person and with a city.
Sophia I Dec 2018
I would like to be the girl in white,
with rosy cheeks, and porcelain skin.
Plump and pale-freckled like a hen’s egg,
with a laugh like peals of golden bells,
and a jar of lavender on my windowsill.
~
In the dark and silent night,
I’d shine a lamp over the water
so fleets of sailors long starved of beauty
could glimpse the outline of my chest,
Hugged tight by ghostly silk, and flushed with warmth.
~
To wander along the sand dunes, barefoot with basket in arm,
To sing a long-lost melody so pure that cherubs think me their mother.
Meanwhile, greyish waves idly lull the townsfolk to bed.
In their sugared, posied dreams,
An angel walks quietly along a shore,
The girl that lives in the lighthouse on a hill.
~
Karijinbba May 14
Drying rose bouquet blooms back to life now intergalactic
E.T mine shared
O fool me awaken to this golden key ink mystery master ink P.P on H.P another of thy soul piercing statuette poems appearing on mine mirror
again gleaming as a diamond streamming down my cheeks deeply felt as daggar yet as featherly timeless caress.
O fool me awaken to this
golden key ink mystery by
thee P. another soul piercing statuette
E.T masterpiece bouguet of roses blooms just for me simultaneous two edge sword caressing my cheeck in some treasured hill road to picnic savoured in voraceous hunger road not taken there transforming tini me scribbler into dearing poetess again P.P- sigh!!
O timeless bloom how you
revive me
Kindly "i" thank thee
this Red blackish rose drizzles
and to the presence of thee
meekly and lowly bows.
~~~~~
By:Karijinbba.
All rights reserved
This us a spotaneous note a salute to a great poet on HP. Mysterious as his tasty poetry,. my teacher my guide.
HP to me is filled with mystery minded gifted writers carrying each their tourch the ingreedient mastery dish in poetry and Ive been blessed to hold in their spark my candle is lit.
Where the wind ruffles my hair
The rain kisses my lips
The sunrays embraces to keep me warm
And the serenity makes me break into a song
Or just a simple humming and wiggling
Where I can lie on the grass to catch my breath
And for hours watch the birds fly
And watch the kids play
Where the innocence once more beats in me
That I run up to them just to taste the shear joy in playing
Where I can spontaneously plunge into a river and then decide Whether to drink it's purity or drown in it's abyssal depth
Or just watch my reflection on its glistening surface
And drift off to distant thoughts with the shepherd's kulning
Where the farthest stars lead me to my deepest emotions
Where the silence of the dark night awakens my soul
There I'll make my bed
On the grass under the sky
And not sleep a wink
For I'll be already living in my sweetest dream
everly Aug 2018
and we went in your moms Honda
and i called you baby the whole way and
you loved it and
we spoke some deep ish for a while about the past rather than the future
we’re both afraid for what earth has in store for us
i reassured you that i have and always will love you
and then i touched a nerve
and you didn’t want to kiss me anymore

so i kinda just watched the moon past the hill
on a boulder
and looked at the city
as a couple ants started crawling up on one of my shoelaces



we both thought about how we could’ve been kissing already.
but we’re both somewhat stubborn so none of us brought it up.

so i walked down the stupid hill
as you played with your bracelet.
lost opportunity for some action tbh
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