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Devon S Aug 2018
It's almost been one year since we began talking,
Since we said, "Hello" for the very first time;
And that is okay because we went out and we had a good thing going,
But on December 6th,
we were split up;

We didn't talk for months on end,
No, not until April 20th;
When you finally realized that I was not going anywhere,
And we both realized that we could no longer go on fighting;

Even after we started talking,
I disappeared for a week,
scaring everyone;
When I got back,
the first thing I did was come looking for you
to apologize for everything that happened;

I put the blame on you,
and we didn't really talk again until July 28th;
When I put something about abortion on my Instagram story,
and I tagged you in it;

You were confused on why I did that,
I was freaking out about your reaction;
Once I explained what it was about,
We then had a four-hour conversation;

It started at 10 pm and ended at 2 am,
The longest we ever talked since December 6th;
And from that moment on,
We became better friends;

A friendship that once was something more,
Something that turned out not to be quite right;
Something that turned out not to work out,
Turned out that we just needed to work things out;

Two people who tried to be something great,
Wanted something different;
Would finally realize later on,
That it would be better if they were
new and improved;
if you can't tell from what this poem is about, it is about my ex and I finally became friends after realizing that they were never meant to be in love with each other.
As a child I drank milk,
As I grew up to be a young teenager I changed to soda,
Gradually as a middle-aged  man I thought beer was better,
With maturity and a cane in one hand,
I have settled for wine.
Andrew Aug 2017
My philosophy as I drive down the road
I don't feel bad if I don't feel it under my tires
That means I step on spiders
Swat mosquitoes
Take antibiotics
Life is not created equal
When we live atop an ever shifting puzzle
Where the value of life
Is dependent on the ability to take life
A virus's sole purpose is to attack host cells and reproduce
So is our's
I guess we'll see who kills who first

Trees get larger trunks
Animals get larger teeth
Humans get larger guns
And as those guns hold our hopes
Humanity holds the hopes for all organisms
To one day transcend competition
But in the meantime
I'm worried about the cracks in the road
Because I can feel them shifting under my tires
But there is cement on my wheels
And on the vehicles around me
We pave this road we travel on
Until the cement runs dry
And our vessel dies
For newer improved cars to continue
On the freeway to transcendence
Muted Jun 2018
on a crisp, clean morning in the fall of 2008,  i was happy.
i walked to class, textbooks in hand.
I could almost feel the earth shifting underneath my doc marten's.
I was ready to showcase my new haircut,
reaveal my new and improved self to the world.
I'll never forget when the handsome, bright eyed boy who sat behind me in first period told me that
my hair wasn't supposed to be short. After all, I am a girl.
You see, from the very beginning, I was taught that having a ****** made me "just a girl".
Made me just a maid.
just a cook.
just a someday wife and mother.
just a dainty, pink ribbon.
just a punchline.
just an orifice,
is an ode to the parts of me
that no soul has ever truly desired to understand.
this is working just as hard as a man.
this is ******* with the lights on,
assuming my position,
stepping away from the kitchen.
this is burning my "big girl *******" and going commando, instead.
this is scrubbing his DNA off of my body and reclaiming it.
this is creating and birthing new life,
a generation of girls who aren't
just girls.
When you exist in a world
where you are instructed to keep your mouth shut,
your strongest desire is to open it,
as wide as a cavern.
Here, where we are told that we
think too much,
feel too much,
love too much,
we long to be enough.
this is being enough.
this is learning to love myself.
this is finding comfort in my body,
despite all of the glass shards
i find myself plucking from it.
this is loving myself into
an ******, so heavy,
that it makes me feel
like a ******
is the most profound thing
a person can have.
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
controlled intellectual tolerance,
considered Golden Age,
became first exchange, wars took their toll
turning point called second Age.
seaside expanding new suburbs
food shortage, riots, rooms had fallen
city invaded, concentration camps
some lived, one girl died, bookcase covered
scarce citizens, countryside foraged
spaces provided improved conditions
restoring entire city
city centre has reattained former splendor
buildings have become new millennium,
flat man is city inhabitant
city limits of foreign origin,
large wave settled asylum seekers
social projects make up the population
eight windmills summarizes open society,
increased influx has strained nationalities,
widest varieties share immigrant ancestry
city centre forms the foundation
Canal boats most popular
million visitors flood inhabitants, travel freely through
only staying for illuminated red lights.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source -
avalon Apr 2018
i stopped thinking about big things a long time ago. i can't tell if i'm any healthier or cooler or if the apathy has improved my complexion. i feel lost, though. lost like a minnow in the wrong body of water, lost like i should be asking "why" instead of "where," like maybe the world is spinning like a top and i'm the fleck of dust it's spinning on. i feel like maybe the security is getting to me, like it's a trap, like maybe everything they told me i was looking for was a lie, a gold-painted idol placed in my hands when i reached for the sky. the sky doesn't show itself to me anymore and i can't figure out why, can't decipher the patches in my ceiling---why are there patches? if this was supposed to be picturesque where are the cameras?

why do i feel just as incomplete as i did before?
CK Baker Sep 2017
heads turn
and minds churn
as the old white knuckle
brings life to the board
facilitation (and procreation!)
become heavenly fit
for the
paradigm day

jitter men
and podium seniors
sit cocked
in the back row
front runners
bust a brain box
(their lines frayed
and edges portrayed)

truth makers tread
the center stage
(with a new and improved
product portfolio)
an evolution
of human spirit
in apparent
perfect form

sound bites
and titillating calls
echo from
the main hall
a wise man
on a poorly
timed exchange

mind sets moving
quid pro quo
and convictions
and revelations
all fun
and fundamental
(or so they say)

depth charts
and zodiac principles
speak to the masses
and timeless

we’d like a peak
inside of you

a glimpse
of your point of view
the turks and talking heads
speak of
grand design
and inclusion

class complete
(interpreted at the 7th sneeze)
please check those thoughts
and insights
the final answers
are coming
anthony Brady Jun 2018
“Truly,an abstract masterpiece,
you have just finished Picasso!”

“No, my friend, it’s a disaster:
everything in it is wrong….

… bad, I’m throwing
it away. I can’t stand it.”

“Don’t do that Pablo,
that face could  be
improved: just paint over it?”

“Hmm. Amigo, I would
not know where to start…”

“Start at the nose Pablo,
if I were you…”

The artist studies the canvas:
"the nose? The nose? "

“Qué lástima! I would
if I could find it.”

an0nym0us Feb 17
Math is witnessed at everything
It is behind infinite things
Capable of solving problems
From simple operations to Complicated theorems.

Math possess a long history...
Once taught by Physiologoi
Improved by history's Philosophers
Now being indoctrinated by Teachers.

Heart of all academic disciplines,
Bearer of intricate formulas,
The key behind all creation
Knowledge passed through generations.

From past mathematicians
To future problem solvers
Math changed through millennia
And so its problems and solutions.

Math can never be removed
It helped the world to improve
All society won't be like this to date
Math helped us all the way.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
There are times when the Lord will take from us every familiar thing and send all the others away to have us to Himself, uprooting and dismantling our earthly anchors until we find no safe place of attachment but to Him alone. And though we search feverishly to secure another, He will faithfully cut off our efforts at every pass and every attempted by-pass, almost as though we could see them being escorted out the door, marching one after the other in file and possibly taking our sanity with them. “No, not another one! Where are they all going and why am I not invited?” But it is His alone to give or not to give, to give and take away.

The One Who took up the cross and took the cup of the Father’s wrath for us has the absolute right to take anything and everything from us at any time for whatever reasons might please Him. But know this for certain: concerning His redeemed, those reasons will always involve two things—glory and intimacy. They are the overriding answers to every lingering question of “Why?”.

But if we fail to understand His glorious and intimate intentions we may misconstrue our losses to be a sign that He is actually withdrawing His affection from us. The very things which He is doing for love’s sake to perfect our pathway to intimacy might be taken instead for obstacles blocking it, causing us to doubt His love. We could not be more wrong, but sometimes it's so hard to see through the veil of pain.

For it's a strange and bewildering thing to feel that you belong to no place and no person in this world, to have nowhere to call home and no one to share it with if you did. A severe untethering indeed that though meant to prepare us for flying can seem to us more like drowning. The sobering truth is that none of us belong to this life or the things of this earth; all sense of it is only an illusion, and pain and loss are simply the dispelling of the myth—the rude awakening from a bewitching dream we once had. But oh how we fight the disillusionment.

Maybe we remember a time when we had prayed to be refined, to be made more like Jesus, but we didn’t know it would have to hurt so bad and take so long and look so dark and feel so lonely. Even if we have understood and embraced His call to deeper intimacy we may after a while, when nothing seems improved either around us or in us, start to resent our belonging to such a determined and jealous Lover, though He is doing exactly what we had once asked Him to. We may start to think we can no longer bear anything except that which superficially distracts us from our grief. We may even start to give up hope, for if not anchored exclusively “behind the curtain” and if repeatedly crushed it threatens to **** our hearts for good should we have to face one more disappointment.

We may feel very much like we are flailing around in a deep and darkening ocean, repeatedly pulled under by the powerful tow and thrashing waves of overwhelming emotion and continuously knocked back by the brutal winds of confusion. Yet we can still see the unshakable boat of faith and truth standing solidly only a small distance away. We know it is real and that if we could just reach it we would be safe. We hear someone shouting through the din, “Just hold onto the boat! The boat will save you. Look beyond your feelings and walk by faith. Hold onto truth!” But can’t they see that as hard as we may try we have no strength to swim to the boat? Can’t they see that we are sinking?

And so we are left with nothing but to cry out to Jesus, to cry out to Him to bring the boat to us, to come Himself and rescue us. Do we have that much faith? Enough to just say, “Jesus, help me! I’m drowning!”? Enough to see that He is our only hope and nothing else matters apart from Him?

Because when we do, we will understand that this hope in Him alone is the very lifeline by which He will pull us to safety—back to faith, back to truth, back into His intimate arms of love, back into a peace which passes all understanding and into a joy that gives us strength for the journey.

As difficult as it can be in our grief to hear the Lord whispering truth to our hearts above the constant clanging of our feelings, we must now more than ever choose to take the time to be still and seek our soul’s rest in Him and in His promises. But how amidst such clamor and confusion?

Simply decide to cast your cares on Him, if only for the moment, by climbing into His Shepherd’s lap to look and loiter and listen. And if you have no energy to climb up, then just lift your arms and ask Him to pick you up. And if you haven’t the strength even for that, only raise your eyes toward Him and you will soon find your sanity restored as you behold His love for you. Ask Him earnestly to let you see it afresh, for perhaps you have been temporarily blinded from recognizing it.

Stop everything; cease just for this minute from all worry, anxiety, fear and anger. Forget the past and do not look toward the future. Focus only on this moment right now, as if you knew it would be your last, as if it were the very one to lead you into eternity. Inhale like fresh air the powerful promises of God’s Word. Soak in their grace and drink in their healing, keeping your eyes fixed on Jesus’ face. Can you see Him longing for you? Exhale every distraction, conflict and uncertainty of this world. Then listen... What is He saying to you right now? Wait for it, then let your soul rest in it, and let go of everything else. Rest in the grace of this present moment and in His strong, sure arms. Let Him take care of you, wounded one, for you are His beloved, and He longs to tend your broken and needy heart.

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
    my hope comes from Him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
    He is my fortress, I will not be shaken."
~ Psalm 62:5-6

"The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;
    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,
    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I called to the LORD, who is worthy of praise,
    and I have been saved from my enemies.
The cords of death entangled me;
    the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.
The cords of the grave coiled around me;
    the snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called to the LORD;
    I cried to my God for help.
From His temple He heard my voice;
    my cry came before Him, into His ears...
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
    He drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
    from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
    but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
    He rescued me because He delighted in me."
~ Psalm 18:2-6,16-19

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf..."
~ Hebrews 6:19-20a
Jordan Hudson Sep 2018
Sometimes I wonder if the world really improved
History says it did, thing changed but what does that prove
All it did was get easier so we lessen how much we work and move
So we get by easier which only speeds things up, life has been removed
I wonder sometimes how far we will actually go
Probably not far as as the working ones go alone
While the rest sit and watch television shows
As history and invention begins to slow
I guess it'll be easier for the future to study
Because there isn't as much happening
Then we will slowly forget and simple things become challenging
And the world becomes more afraid as wars get less ******
A screen becomes the new life and our minds loose what there is to find
We compared to yesterday are quickly and surely dropping behind
Enjoy the entertainment for now while we all become blind
I need to make these lyrics into a nursery rhyme
So future generations know what we left for them
They can clean our ancient phlegm
That pours out of our destroyed brain stems
Lets not repeat what we have created ever again
History is going through its worst time yet
We don't realize that our future is our greatest threat
Every country out there is racking up debt
It keeps going up yet no one gets upset
Our world is the Milky Way's biggest stain
What God has given us is going down the drain
Our generation is constantly in these liberal campaigns
Over absolutely nothing, give it up, what is there to gain
Where is the world going?
Anthem Aug 2018
We meddle and blame the seed for being buried in the ground.
We built bridges! roads! schools! abroad
all the while we allow our own to ground to dust.
We spent billions on bombs
we drop on weddings
on the other side of the world.
All this, while allowing 1/6 of our kids to be "food-insecure"
whatever the **** that means.
Our courts are less justice and more criminal.
Our politicians base success on 're-electability'
not how they've improved our lives.
Our happiness is collateral-gain.
We tread on poverty while rejoicing among the virtues of the rich.
The most basic humanities are reduced to tired pawns
in the minds of millions
and we are the American dream.
Äŧül Sep 24
The BJP has impressed me,
Welfare is their priority,
They have improved as a political party.

They used to be the capitalist kind,
Completely rightwinger it used to be,
They used to be crony capitalists.

But they have improved,
Their worth they proved,
India administrated by them will be happy.

They have made sacrifices,
Who can forget Shyama Prasad Mukherjee?
Once they know him - they can't.

Who can forget Atal Bihari Vajpayee ji,
Or the living legend, Lal Krishna Advani ji,
Or the fallen soldiers, Sushma ji or Arun ji?

We have many more leaders,
All distinguished in their spirit of Indianness,
Narendra Damodardas Modi, their scion.

They used to be plain capitalists, yes,
But now they are very different,
They are the Left of Right.
India, as a majority, is very happy and positive.

My HP Poem #1773
©Atul Kaushal
MJL Feb 24
Which version did you see
Was it improved
Did you see both
Could you notice a change

Should have just picked Draft
Wait 24 hours
Then Publish
Hmm, maybe a mistake

I’ll change it back
This is good

Perfections not possible
Different for each person
For each moment
Go with the gut

This would be better

Step away from the poem
Ikimi Festus Feb 7
Treasure so dear I found once,
only to give it all up.
"Died of a broken heart" a phrase heard every now and then.
I have spent a couple years without teardrops,
I got issues but I've improved,
I don't want to die for love like valentine
What's this feeling?
Why do I want to risk it all?
In an attempt to remove myself from this world, I write about it alot.
I know that's childish, but this is me trying to comprehend it,
Not in a way that would bid my non believe - but to be an observer hopefully a partaker to the existence of something as true as love.
What's so special about?
So Stressed and torn between Aftermath,
History all over repeating,
All is fair in love and war.
Staring deep into the night, attempting to comprehend something impossible
Trying hard to draw an interpretation for a feelings new.
To that someone that is and will be,
The soul and the love I will need,
I have nothing else of worth
So Manage please
As poor as it is
All the best,
Festus Ikimi.
Ryan Joseph Apr 16
What will become of our Society?
Poor people die in hunger and thirstiness,
Corruption, Rally, Political Issues, etc. are always there,
Our world is full of miseries and nightmare.

Our world in its 21st century is quickly-evolving,
High-precise technologies, lots of concrete, improved skywalks and tall buildings,
But homeless people are dying of hunger,
They famished already yet government just don't care.

Poor people received hunger, diseases, illnesses and unforgivable yet unacceptable deaths of every year,
But we don't know what others there might can't bear,
Of what this country-- the world government gave,
Improper allocation of resources, corruption, unequal distribution of income that we can't evade.

Wishing yet continuously suffering,
Of this kind of nightmare we are having,
But hoping someday this will be cured,
So none of the poor people will suffer anymore.
Graff1980 Mar 2
It’s the first poem
of a brand-new year,
day one
verbal contagion,
ready to spread
this syllable plague.

Three hundred
and sixty-five
more days to
try and survive
two thousand

So, this should be
something written
Not a new years
but a declaration
to the creative nation
of something
much improved
then the poets
that they viewed
all last year.

This is the first
poem of the
new year.
Yenson Sep 2018
Oh I wonder if I mean pounding
Or maybe it's pondering
Hell what do I know, spelling isn't my strong point
I've always been envious of all those brainy lot
To see me you'll know why I can never be an alfa male
So its better I hide behind a keyboard and troll
I can't help feeling inadequate when I read the good poems
All I do is steal words and ideas then twist them around
I pownd and pownd and pownd till I drive them away
I am a  Pownder that pownd and get a pound for every pownding

I am a little person with a little mind and something else bothers me so much it leaves me with a Napoleonic complex
But I hope other men don't know about it but anytime I see a hot dog, wish I could just disappear and die cause I know that's one pownding That leaves me unpownded.

Excuse me I got a job to do
There's a poet here, I've got to drive him away from here
He's Benson or something like that and I just feel so small
Can never write like him and being a stinking bully and a Hater
I feel so inadequate and it's stressing me out, how good he is
He leaves me feeling so carri gibbanoius and useless pownding about
My job and aim is to oppose anything positive and good
I was born to destroy cause I can't do better
guess that's why I can't even spell an ordinary word like
That benson fellow will soon leave and coward inadequate me
will rule with my mediocre drivel again or go copy from someone
and pretend its my work like I did at Junior High and college.

My good friend below wrote this to me:

Karijinbba › In His Grace..............

I hear the pownding waves of God in every day or written silences. I hear Gods loving waves in everyday's life's harships and struggles; even when God in his silence blessess, me in imagined lovers arms, and in dreams, when my breath taken.

He copied a poem written by me and improved on it and then
posted it back to me to show me how to improve on my work.
So I must learn from him and be a better writer
And stop feeling bad and envious about other people's poems
And writing privately to them to intimidate them and making
them quitting this site.
My thanks to Kainjinbba who helped sharing his collaboration on this poem and has done a lot to make me feel welcomed and appreciated on HP. Please note that Passive Aggression is not something that Karijinbba indulges in, neither is karijinbba a bully or a troll who tries to antagonise talent and endeavour ...
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