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EJR Jul 2015
he was your favorite poet
he touched you with all your favorite quotes
he held you with the perfect rhymes

but darling, you were just his outlet
you were just another poem that he wrote
words that he scribbled just to past the time
for you. you know you deserve better then this :)
Jack L Martin Aug 2018
I search for some decor
to pretty up my house
A headboard, some dead boards
or maybe a couch?

The said so to do it
on public TV
my kitchens not pretty
as pretty as can be

But what will the neighbors
think of my design?
they'll report to the magazine
that it's beautiful and sublime!

Some ship lap, some sconces
all wrapped in a bow
i will trend till tomorrow
then die all alone

Rip it all down
Says Chip and Joanna
They are more popular
Than Hanna Montanna

They live on a ranch
an take millions to make
a spectacular suprise
for a couple to take

We all laugh an cheer
at Chip's child like antics
Which makes great TV
as Joanna gets Frantic!

Do Chip and Joanna really
care about you?
As long as the station
gets ten million views

They tell us to fix it
even though it's not broken
go shop till you drop
and spend every token

Buy that cool sign
made from cheap yellow plastic
The richer get richer
but, our wall looks fantastic!

Do not give in
to the big corporate greed
there are sick, hungry people
and starving mouths to feed

so every cent spent
on the corporate wealth
helps the richer get richer
and we go to stealth

Wake up and see vanity
is causing distress
don't give in to pressure
of this corporate mess!
laura Jan 10
During the first month
of band class,
You can’t even make a sound,
You get tired, frustrated,
And you ask yourself why you even did it.

During the third month
Of band class,
You are at the point,
Where you get so excited
When you can play twinkle twinkle,
Without missing a note.

During the fifth month
Of band class,
You feel like it’s going pretty well,
You still know you ****,
But you still think you might want to stick with it.

The first year has gone by,
And you are definitely doing it again.
The year finished strong,
And you feel great.

Then middle school goes by,
You think you’re all that,
So you go onto high school.

During the freshman year,
In marching band,
Things get hard,
But you learn that it’s kind of like a family,
You stick together through thick and thin.

During the senior year,
In band,
you realize that you made it,
No matter how hard things got,
And you are so glad you didn’t quit.

After you graduate,
You think back all to of the
Cold, rainy, football games,
The gross band competitions,
And you know that if you were told,
To go back and perform with them again,
You would.
I know I haven't quite gotten to the end of band yet, but I have a feeling I'll stick with it through anything. If any of you play an instrument, I'm telling you, don't quit no matter how terrible you think it's going.
Yuki Jan 5
I’ve never loved myself enough
to love another human being.
Love is practice and I’ve
only practiced hate.
I’m a mixture of
fear and boredom.
Never understood what
could make other people
happy.
My favorite hobby
has always been guessing
what could hurt me
the most.
And then do it.
How am I supposed to know
joy and gift it?
Songs abound in Time as running due paid
We of Merry Emotion dance a Jig
And see you Happy toss-coins on the Said,
Mark farthings for pounds won on Cocktail's Lip
And whilst we Celebrate, what is that Chest,
Eating Sweets beneath the Lottery's Lot?
That's a nice hobby; Dried lollie's possessed
And Playful Numbers tucked beneath forgot
Taking Remembrance when he was Alive
With Chances simply Fun and Truly told
That the Greatest Theme; Not for Profit's Bide
But Storied Values hungry tongues retold.
What such Lesson this, a Blackboard can learn
Gems studded aside; That same Chest you earn.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
juneau Aug 2014
Dawn is near as I make another coat
After I ripped and slashed your throat

It brings me joy, I will not lie,
to hear you whimper, scream and cry.

Shout for help, scratch and bite,
most the fun is in the fight.

Down to the basement I drag your body
making coats, my new favourite hobby.

Daily office life can be such a bore,
so I stalk the night to find a *****.

No remorse when I see your pain.
Unless I'm caught I'll **** again.

Making coats, my new favourite hobby.
After which, I eat the body.
This is a work of fiction
March 30, 2012
Seven
Do not deign to achieve.
Do not strive to suffer.
Aspiration is naive.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.

Hope's a hopeless hobby.
Nihilistic mother
taught steely melancholy.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.

Wisdom dashes all wishes.
In egodeath, discover
how free a nebbish is.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.
  
We are not indebted
to Indian givers stellar:
stardust smarts our fetish.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.

The stars eat their young.
Orion universe, hunters,
whose lotus lights stun slums.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.

Do not deign to achieve.
Do not strive to suffer.
Aspiration is naive.
Forget the stars, leave the gutter.
The Arctic Monkeys rattle my brain
nearly into a trance
while the lyrics cut
into my subconscious,
leaving me just a hint of sober

while she's sleeping, I slave
bleed my brain into this blank screen,
into this ******* machine,
so my feelings can be made public,
yet for the most part, unseen

it's odd, you know, I feel
further isolated, yet somehow,
part of something bigger, something,
I don't know, eternal,
when I feed this dysfunctional family
I'm a starving technician, because my profession doesn't pay, rather it robs me of my sleep, my peace, and some of my sanity
Poems I write for hobby sake for chap books great they make .

Art of giving words a life is a legacy so old , the charm and style simply unfold .
Here I am the super power,
Igniting sparks of positive desire.

Completely lost in the world of words so dear.
My love for books becomes clear.

Rhyming with the rhythm of words , caressing the art of creating a verse .
Attributing  to being a poet with a purpose .

Contributing to the humanity in all making myself confidant and tall .
By fabricating beautiful stories ,
I'm
Pleased offering everlasting memories .

© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
28.06.2019
Poem acoustic
(P)  Pleased
(O) Offering
        (E) Everlasting
     (M) Memories
A try at giving a depth to poetry in general.
Truely  believe the world of poetry transports one in a dreamland and a poet contributes so much of depth to the otherwise mundane things in life...kudos to all poets ....respect....
Trish Sep 2018
I sighed, it feel so heavy
"I'm tired." my body says

Mountain range of burden
And pressure everyday
Soul floating in the wind
A broken glass-like heart
Marathon of thoughts
Waterfall of tears

"I am so done with life"

A smile turned upside down
Tripped in a whole of anxiety
Memories of past says hello

"I just want to be happy"

Inner self screaming for help
Every color faded turned into gray
Lowkey asking people to stay
But urgently pushing everyone away

"Everything seems nonsense"

School is like a place of gamble
Going everyday is like placing a bet
Having unsure future after efforts been made

"I'm done with these hardship I'm going through"

Cutting ties with friends and family
Shutting people out is like a hobby
Getting used to all the moments

"I'm alone anyway so why bother?"
I still feel unsure for the title since I'm bad at coming up with titles for my poem
Allie Dotson Aug 2018
My love
the only one
I was deceived
because I'm a nobody
and I liked it when you treated me as a somebody
so I fell for a 3 year war
what's the body count of all the heart's you've killed
what was the score of the game you were playing
The puppeteer I should of seen
I became another one on a string  
I shouldn't of said it was all in my head
maybe I would have realized he was walking ahead
and I was the one hanging on by a thread
why did it have be
that I was just a hobby to fill
the time you had to waste
the side dish if you will
why was she was the main course
plus the dessert
how is it fair that I'm the one having withdrawl
when it was me who was suppose to be the drug
but at least my heart will heal
As for you though
Don't you know
Even if take you 100 hearts
you'll never even have 1
Steve Page Apr 2017
And when you read
Don't rush -
Theres no need to read
with undue speed.

And when you read
Start with a suckle -
Work up to a nibble -
Until you can gnaw without a dribble.
I encourage you
Get down to the marrow
Like there's no tomorrow.
Savour each word
As food for your soul
And live as a model
As to how to live whole.

And when you read
Apply your mind daily,
Apply each word liberally
(especially to those out of the way
hard to reach places).

And when you read
- Study
Sometimes with a buddy
But - study.
This is no hobby,
You can't afford to get sloppy.
It's as crucial for the soul
As five a day for the body
- So study.

And when you read
Treat each word
Like a tutor;
It can teach you
How to live shrewder.

And when you read
Sustain it like a seed,
Ensure you pay heed
Cos it will never mislead.

And when you read
Do it to a plan,
Always with intent
And be sure
To finish as you began.

And when you read
Commit to it daily,
Commit it to memory
To avoid thinking lazily.

And when you read
Do it while a commuter
Do it on a computer
Do it with a kindle
Do it with audio
Do it with a paperback
Do it with a hard back
Do it from front to back.
However you develop the knack
Don't let yourself slack;
This Word is no throw back,
It will keep you on track.
So just read.
Hebrews 5:13-14
1 Peter 2:2-3
2 Timothy 3:16
1Timothy 4:13
almat011 Feb 23
You are my favorite, ******, **** thought, I love your cherry lips. Your body shape is perfect, your face is just perfect. The color of your sweet skin is exciting and your eyes fall in love. You are a juicy goddess of *** and erotica, too beautiful, sweet baby. You're just wow, yum, you're just seeeeeeeex. Looking at you, I feel a powerful *** attraction, you are my only hobby, you are my meaning in life. You are the one that I was looking for all my life, it is with you that I am in paradise, I am happy when you are near, dream of you, when you are not near.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Emeka Mokeme Jul 2018
My voice has been sounding
and calling most of the time.
How loud it sounded that
you couldn't answer it.
I tried to sound confident
but my voice came out small
and shaky then I hesitated.
Where are you my love.
My heart seeks to be with you.
Come to me my sweetheart,
my darling for I miss you
terribly so much.
Today I stood by the river bank
waiting for your arrival.
Counting all the ship that went by,
looking at all the faces walking down
the street.
I miss you dearly,
my heart misses you.
Only your embrace will comfort me.
From sunshine to dawn I'm still sitting
here watching the sky for the sign of you.
Waiting for you is my past time hobby.
The birds are singing the song of hope.
I'm encouraged that you will soon come
home to me.
Your presence is comforting and reassuring
for who can ever replace the vacuum in my heart.
These thoughts of you are
definitely something to keep,
they are beautiful and I'm convinced
that we are both going to be okay.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
You once told me how you were captivated with photos, how it fills you with satisfaction capturing a picture perfect portrait of a moment, memory, or even a mere mortal. I almost always never understood this addiction of yours on why and how you’re more than determined to collect snips of your life in a paper inked by dozens and dozens of color to paint a single picture. It is somewhat a kind of a waste but you never thought of it like that.

“What is it with you and photographs?” a question I finally got to ask you after harboring enough courage. Yet you merely answered with a shrug and looked away, away from my prying eyes, away from the echoes of what I just asked you. I was on the verge of giving up on you when you suddenly held my hand tighter than usual. “Because…,” you muttered in between huge gulps of breath. I wrapped my arms around you hoping to shield you from your turmoil. For minutes we sat there, still and not making any sound while I let you hold on to me as if I was your lifeline. Anchored back to the present, you told me, “I’m just scared that’s all.” I waited for you to continue, to go on with what you were saying, but you just did not. I turned to look at you only to find you staring at the far distance, looking lost, gone.

I yanked my hand out of your hold but you were still transfixed far, far away from me, far from this reality. Your stare just did not falter at the slightest even as you told me the words which bugged me for the most of my hours, days, or weeks even. Those times following your passing that is. Yes, you left me. You left me hanging and alone without knowing the reason why you ended your life just like that. I’ve always been blinded by the pretense that you were more that okay amidst it all. Probably it comes with the denial of your loss. But if there’s any consolation, I finally know you aren’t okay at all, now when it’s all a little too later that I should have known.

But now as I lay here, I come to think of the last thing you told me. *“If a picture is worth a thousand words, then as to what worth would a million photographs be?”


As I recall you saying it that night, hours before you pulled the trigger over your head, I assumed it was merely rhetorical. I merely thought you were playing Socrates in order to halt me from bombarding you with any more questions. It kept me up all night staring at the ceiling only to receive a phone call at 3:00 A.M. on how you were rushed to the hospital and how the doctors shook their head in the inability to save you.

Until now, I’m still kept awake not of the distraught on your sudden death but because of that question you took me by surprise. I answered nothing then but I am afraid I do know the answer now. You did not capture those sunrises and the blossoming of flowers out of sheer creativity. Instead, it gave you a glimpse of a new beginning that this life failed to give you. You did not capture the candid smiles of random individuals out of a coincidence but because your heart yearns for this kind of happiness to be instilled deep within you. You did not capture the city lights just for the vivid imagination it fueled your satisfaction. It was the colors which brought light to every impending doom you have yet to undergo. You did not capture the landscapes and skyscrapers out of nothing more than an appreciation of abstract art. Rather, it gave you the leeway to live in a fantasy as the surrealism in these photos fuels your unwavering resolve to escape the trap this reality caged you in.

Darling, you weren’t just collecting photographs out of a hobby, out of a custom. And now, I know why you told me you were scared that time I asked you about this obsession of yours. *You were scared to find out that your life is a meaningless pit, like a hollow chasm with nothing but a void.
In search of yourself, you found fragments of ‘you’ in these ink-stained scraps of print. It was how you defined your existence: in shots of images of the existence of others. Some might not understand, but you are brave and brilliant to this all. Brave for facing all your demons alone, no matter how I would have wanted to save you from your distress, and brilliant for discovering that our lives are merely a collection of lives complementing each other.

So, darling, maybe this is the end of the line for you, the brink of your voyage to obtain a million photographs. And to answer your question, if a picture is worth a thousand words, then a million photographs would be worth a life. These million photographs are all you. These photographs are what make you whole, flawlessly complete. You will realize you always were as opposed to what the world let you believe in. And then maybe, just maybe, as you finally lay to rest, far-off from the tragedy this realm of this cruel dimension, you can be finally be at peace and eventually manage to realize that you lived not just a portfolio of photographs but a masterpiece.


*(k.p.)
McKala Hanes Sep 2018
Outside of a bar in a North Carolina strip mall, stone cold sober because I am scared to use my fake, I feel drunk as you sit next to me. Perhaps I am. I'd have to be to think maybe, maybe, maybe, when I know, I know, I know.

Your hand brushes against mine, and you're saying the most beautiful words I've ever heard, and the fire in my heart spreads up, down, left, right. But it cannot spread just four inches outside of my body. It cannot set you on fire, too.

We listen to each other and hear two very different things. You are birdsong outside of my window that I am eager to hear; I am traffic outside of your window you've learned to tune out at bedtime.  

If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, then Beijing is my insides and bicycles are your name, because it is written on my insides nine million times. But there are no bicycles on Antarctica. There is no use for them there, just as there's no use for my name to be perched on a straight girl's ribs.

You tell me my weird hobby of listening to French rap music is awesome, that it's so cool that I'm teaching myself three languages, and that you want to be me when you grow up - I laugh, because you're several years older than me. Selfishly I catch every droplet of your praise.  I ruminate on it for hours, for days. It means more to me than it should.

My name sounds like a compliment from your mouth. I try not to say yours too often, so you don't grow tired of me being around. If I can't set your insides on fire, I want you to want to be my friend. Even that feels like I ask for too much.

In every scene, I see you in the foreground of the narrative. For me, it would be on honor to be one of your background characters. Narratives are richer with them anyway.

I look at you and you are the Harry Potter movie marathon I wait months for. For you, I am the 2 am infomercial you fell asleep to. But I don't mind half as much as I should. Even white noise has its place in someone's life.
enjoy this poem about a one-sided summer not romance not between a bi girl and a a straight girl
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