"interestingly" poems
this is where you
own our love
purse your lips and
twist mine
because I am the one who has
to sleep without
you no compromise
you said
as I ran my feet
over
the smooth 12,000
threads but no
body
even the patter of the
rain can’t soothe
it hits my face
in horizontal
crosswind and I sit in
that same fold out
chair on the porch
looking out across the park
at the children playing
in puddles
now when I think of
your highlighted jaw line
I am truly gaping at
the mirror that shiny
shiny reflection where my
eyes pop blue
and I’m magnetized at
your breathy yawn
what’s in your head?
what caused this
boiling
this cream that
settled on my coffee?
actually
already
easily
I am forgetting
interestingly
intriguingly
amazingly
you still taste sweet
when I blast music
in my car and then I hear
myself uttering
thank you.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me
here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf
contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me
my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see
double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree
my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing
***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing
polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed
confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed
divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed
desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed
constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning
polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree
there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.
who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.
Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me
polygonal me
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
Wow, his eyes sound absolutely beautiful!
I can only imagine the mesmerizing colors that can be seen in them. It's understandable why you feel like getting lost in them.
It would be so easy.
The comparison to the ocean is so fitting,
I can picture the way his eyes shine
Like the sun setting over calm waters.
Interestingly, you would want to see the world from his point of view,
Perhaps there's something special about the way he sees things.
But I can also understand why you might be hesitant
To look too deeply into his eyes,
It sounds like they hold a lot of depth and emotion.
Nonetheless, his blue eyes have left quite an impression on you.
Dec 26, 2023
Dec 26, 2023 at 9:07 PM UTC
As the water birds lifted from the morning tide,
I found myself being lifted from an unconscious
state to the dictionary by four unfamiliar syllables
like the many poets before me, searching for
the meaning of nomenclature. Interestingly enough,
it could have been me on the other side of a poem
that I would come back to after sundown: an old,
scientific word who first appeared in 1610,
whose roots grew, naturally, like the hidden
interests of a loved one, from the Latin
nomenclatura (the assigning of names).
But instead, I ended up on this side of the poem,
sitting before an empty screen and a dictionary
in a Yankees ball cap and denim t-shirt, slowly
piecing together a poem about a 17th century novel
while trying to include the sudden interest of my
loved one: French parenting literature on healthy
eating, all while slowly tying the loose ends
of a poem without meaning together.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
boarding a freighter in san francisco harbor
destination kobe
best described in a longer poem
where the city itself longs for the sea
with childlike longing
the journey best in stripped down journal entries
about rest of crew and assignments aboard
but also and more interestingly about the historical development of buddhism
in china and japan. chan/zen.
myths of the mountains. animism. grace and gratitude at a dying animal.
a she-fox sneaking in at night in the guise of a beautiful woman.
man sleeping. man and woman an altar.
poems to robin in a temple garden. pleiades chanting
my words above.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 3:16 PM UTC
People and their belongings can be said to be waves which oscillate at a given frequency.
Friends are the people with which you harmonize well, or interestingly enough for it to work.
Hobbies are activities which harmonize with you well, or such that you are inspired to seek it out.
Some others are artifacts that your mind has embraced in such a way that you are it as it is you.
There is no such thing as a unison in this phenomenon.
No two waves are identical
but at the same time
no one is isolated.
All sing together to create the plethoric mono-chord of things we call 'Reality'.
Dissonance is there
but it is absolutely relative
as it is also relatively absolute.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
Some things are sadly poetic
Like the cougar whose boyfriend
Won’t come back outside and she’s alone
At the only table in the cold
smoking a pall mall,
Having a beer.
Some things are refreshingly poetic
like leaving the office for a bit with the boss
and going somewhere
where there are domes made of pure gold
and priests who pour milk on them from
helicopters.
Some things are interestingly poetic;
like the poet, turned novelist, turned artist,
who does landscaping to cover the spread.
Some things are courageously and nostalgically
And hurtfully poetic,
Like not seeing your family for nine years
Because the money’s good where you're at,
And plane tickets and passports are outrageous.
Some things should not be
poetic, but they are, because they are truthful
And that is verse;
like the waitress who was *****
when she cashed her check at a grocery store
after the night shift
and she wasn’t the only one in her car
when she got back.
Some things are poetry because they come
Into this world quietly
And bleeding internally,
and yet they survive
Even though their lungs are full of fluid,
And they can barely breathe.
Some things are poetry because they happened
And nothing can change that.
And because
Poetry is
unchangeable, immovable, and
grotesque, beautiful, uncomfortable, calming,
disfiguring, life-giving, ****** up,
Possibly ****** possibly a nectar
That God
or whoever the ****
allowed to be put on paper,
Possibly a way to talk about pain,
Possibly roided up with someone else’s words,
Possibly a way to talk about
the pure dream of a girl’s body
Without being a ***** *****
Poetry is love in the worst
and most unimaginable ways.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
I am Me,
Wholeheartedly!
I am more than what you see.
I am Authentic
I will not be Misrepresented
I am Beautiful
I am Steadfast and immovable.
I am Courageous
My smile is contagious.
Interestingly
My skin glows radiently
Its Honey Golden Complexion
Was kissed by the Sun embracing my imperfection.
The passion in me
Flows pleasantly
I am Unique.
I am the Words I speak.
I am Strong
Hidden within the message of a Wonderful Song.
I am Powerful.
Magnificent and bountiful.
I am a lover
Im like no other.
I am a Mother
A woman of color
I am Resilient
Im one and a million
Just As Pocahontas
I am Conscious
A Descendent From Royalty Unseen
For I am a Hebrew Queen.
And I am Me.
Wholeheartedly!
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
Met an old friend A
He says women are the greatest vocabulary
AWESOME , AMAZING , ARDENT, ARDAMANT
And Look what B has to say
BEAUTIFUL, BRILLIANT, BODACIOUS most women are
CHARMING, CALM, CAUTIOUS, COURTEOUS
Women are THE FINEST DIAMONDS in the sky
Complements D, DASHING, DEAR, and DILIGENT to be exact
EASTERN ELEGANCE, Western ELITES
ENERGETIC, ELEGANT, EMOTIONAL
E is right women are EXTRAORDINARY
FLAMBOYANT, FUN, FUNNY, FANTASTIC F says
Women are central FIGURE of FAMILY
G- GREAT, GRACEFUL, GENTLE
H- HAPPY, HELPFUL, HANDY
INTERESTINGLY some women are IMPATIENT
JOYFUL they are, K- head of KISSES
LOVING, LOVEABLE
MARVELOUS symbol of MODESTY
NEAT, NOBLE and very NICE
Women are pretty ORNAMENT
women are PRICELESS PRINCESS
Women are QUEEN
Women are RARE gift
main source of SURVIVAL the human being
women have true spirits of love
women are a peaceful UMBRELLA
women are the VALLEY of love
women are WONDERFUL WATER,
women are XOXO
women are egg YOLK, bad cholesterol but you eat THEM
last but not least
ZEALOUS women have great ZEAL
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
With your satiny hairs,
You amble without a normal foot.
But with a pristine look,
Your big eyes shines luminously.
Dear, Maybe people call you a handicap,
I call those bullocks a madcap.
Interestingly, what, I am a handicap mentally, here I reveal.
Everyday I fight inside the close door when night falls.
A few days ago your eyes have cried a lot,
Let me clear here, you are a daring person.
It gives me a reason to fight with his servants openly.
You are a bizarre, I don't know you Monica Sharma.
Though we did not shook our hands at all,
But whenever these eyes squints you,
A new story creates a History...
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
When I was a kid
I used to lip-sync in the mirror
Dancing around and
Breathing in the words
Even back then
Nothing inspired me more than music
Interestingly though
It could only be songs by men
I could still jam to women's songs
But I couldn't watch myself do it
It gave me a lot of anxiety to see
Those beautiful feminine voices
Matched to the way my mouth moved
I didn't understand it back then
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Hello, everyone on Hellopoetry!
Interestingly, I have just created a website that has my poetry, short stories, and articles that I have written throughout my life.
Hopefully, you take sometime and check it out! Thank you:
https://whatweweretaught.com/
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
It's a little known fact,
but true.
Jean-Luc Picard
grew up believing in Yoda.
Ever since he saw the little fella
in Star Wars, he's kept a picture of him
in his Star Trek wallet.
And if people knew that,
the ratings would
have been higher
for Star Trek,
'cause everybody loves Yoda.
Interestingly,
when the Apollo program
kicked off in the 60's,
Yoda hadn't even hit
the movie screens yet.
Too bad,
those early astronauts
would have loved
to have had a mascot!
Everybody knows,
space travelers
have to believe in someone.
It's just great universal karma!
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
The beast that is the internet, stole my heart, leaving me alone on the beach under some distant moon. Kindly, I gathered flowers for a loved one now forgotten, feigning all hope, desperate for a life of my own.
Sadly, I wait beneath the tall trees, under the starlight, underneath crystal sparkling skies of random, far beneath the trees of other branches in far off galaxies, aliens, pathways, lives and deaths away.
Galloping beyond the sun I set my sites on the horizon, only to find the horizon was a vague distant memory, in some intoxicated conscious ****** that was and is my present recollection blunder. Interestingly, I cope with the pain in my chest by placing my hand upon it, wishing that the gods I have abandoned would once again save me from disaster.
I don’t bother yelling because it’s no use, what will it attract except coyetes and wolves, except dreams and psychosis of which will only cure me of my present insanity. Starlight twists on my back in a way that is effervescent, ******* the hidden identity from beyond my soul.
Arguably, disaster awaits, but so too fate, and into the darkness I ride, leaving behind wanton and dust.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
Forgive me, I know I’m not perfect
my loving ways aren’t perfect
but my love for you is real
fear may have concucted my mind
fortune tellers may be redundant in this matter and somewhere along the way I will hurt you
but don’t let the hardships change the way you perceive me
the way you turn my imagination into reality
my soul recognises your scent instantly
my heart has countless beats
when I pour my feelings to you
when I contemplate on the windows of your soul
that lets me into your garden of mind
that lets me rest for a while in your deep breaths
'cause really what’s life with getting the wrong direction
I lack patience
sometimes I ride way too hard on my sense of humour
I’m misunderstood of my sarcastic ways
of my ironic mindset of love’s understanding
ups and downs mend our connection
melancholy, interestingly, keeps us intact
forgive me, for I am not perfect
speak up, might wanna change my ways.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
Babe,
if you were my man I'd start off by calling you babe.
I think it's **** in a confident to the point kind of way, just like my love for you.
I would run into your arms in a ***** dancing lift kind of manner each time I see you, just because that's how excited I would be to see you, every single time.
I would kiss you. I would ******* ravish you with my tongue, lips, teeth, and you will know what it's like to kiss, what it's like to really kiss.
I would run my fingers, all of them, through your hair sweeping it back from your face and just hold you really close to mine, spending an eternity figuring out what colour your eyes really are,
cause you'd always crinkle them when we're together, cause I'd make you smile, laugh and happy all the time,
so I'd have never really seen what colour they really are, and when I find out it wouldn't matter anyway,
cause that will be my favourite shade of eye colour to begin with.
I would sit on your lap and put my arms around your neck and continue to tell my aimless yet superbly animated stories of things I saw, people I met, thoughts in my head, when all I really want is to be just that close to feel the heat of your body, your pulse and your gaze.
I will cook for you and make you do the dishes just so I can stand next to the counter and watch you align them on the drying rack with ridiculous precision, which I find lethally adorable.
I would re-learn physics, follow football, play video games, listen to punk rock all of which I really dislike, just so I can be another step closer to your world.
I would do anything, absolutely anything for you, and let you do anything to me, cause I trust you a 100%, interestingly the only man I can say that about other than my father.
I would learn to speak your language just so I can meet your family for Christmas and thank your parents from the very bottom of my heart for bringing you into this world and raising you to be the man you are.
I would however never try to change you.
I would preserve you and the perfect, raw, uncontaminated essence of humanity you carry, and rather change, adapt and give up myself to be with you.
I would vouch to spend the rest of my life with you, change my name for you and bear your children.
Babe,
if you were my man I would in a heart beat die or **** for you, and the latter over and over again.
I know you would never want me to change and like me for who I am,
ironically,
you wouldn't be my man.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
I see you at the drive through with that silly bow tie & I don't get tongue tied because I don't know you and I told everyone I think you're interestingly cute not on a **** you're so hot shallow way but unique. I don't know you & I'm not infatuated with you I just find you interesting.
It's cold outside I can tell winter is sadly making it's way in this desert town and I have to warm my car up in the morning... What a drag.
I'm lost right now I just want to spill my guts out to some random person about my life and I hope they can make sense of how completely confused I am... I think this Is a journal entry rather than a poem.
My best friend and I aren't speaking & I got so drunk I texted the boy I'm madly in love with twice in the most pathetic fashion and woke up with a hangover and some shame and drove over to Starbucks walked inside to see the guy with that silly bowtie.
I have to get out of Reno.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
Interestingly enough
(I miss you)
Mayhaps love
Is not the
Solution to all the problems in the world but the,
Specific cause, creating a problematic
(I miss you)
Yearning of the soul that creates issues as dark as
Obsidian, or could it be that love will never be
Understood
I miss you
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
I have been wearing a bracelet of green beads bought from a charity,
With a thin gray circular disc (a severe charm!) attached,
Upon which the word GROWTH in blunt font is raised.
And then, beneath that, what I assume to be
The symbol for GROWTH in the script of some dialect:
It looks like a roughly scratched “T,” somewhat like a dagger.
As I go throughout my day the circle brushes my wrist;
If it were sharper it could lightly cut the skin.
In odd moments I’ve shaken the beads and repositioned
The charm so it laid flat against the back of my hand,
As though I could absorb the sentiment.
It would be a little indulgent on its own,
But in the chaos of my current days I do it bemusedly.
Lately I have been thinking of how personalities encounter history
And are changed. Does the person shape history or does history
Shape the person? There has to be cosmic selection
At work for some—obviously Voltaire, for example, was made for the French, For the Enlightenment! But time breaks over all of us
Totally. Time shapes us interestingly. The craziness and force
Of everything I’ve brushed up against lately has surprised me,
And worn me down somewhat.
I was surprised, too, sliding on the bracelet for the first time,
when I saw the big green beads interrupted by
The charm's message.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
I want to be tragically beautiful
I want to whisper delicate fancies
in the ear of the unknown
I want to sit in pools of serenity
while the world passes unthinkingly by
I want to breath in the flame of passion
and exhale pure intellectual thought
I want to steep myself in contemplation
articulating the terrible complexity of humanity
I want to sit in a coffee shop
allowing the distinct sent to engulf me in comforting familiarity
I want to wrap my arms around the wounded
and shed magnificent tears of sorrow
I want to soak in scenery
taking in the exquisiteness that embodies nature
I want to smile radiantly
yet mistakenly allow sadness to show in my eyes
for I am so terribly alone
and yet so interestingly picturesque
But I’ll remain in delicate transit
until that day that I succeed in capturing
the dignity of tragedy
while relinquishing
the nightmare of beauty
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
note: this is not a poem but an account of the mental aftermath of Hanau, where ten people got killed yesterday. one of them was the mother of the killer who worked in a bank, was paranoid and believed in conspiracy theories.
a turkish guy whose name means "justness" was shot to death by him. in the community, he was popular for his kindness.
he was killed because he was an immigrant, a muslim, and because he hung out with his friends in a shisha bar to enjoy his leisure time. got hit by bullets. died, leaving relatives, friends and an entire muslim community, the entire world, in daze.
met three uber drivers today, all of them muslims, two of them know some of the victims personally.
the first one of them was desperately sad today. i asked him "how are you?" he answered "not well" and told me everything. i was very concerned because i can't deal with such inhumane cruelty.
the second driver was from pakistan. he argued that germany is an open-minded country and that he had left his country due to religious lunacy that is lived by some people there.
the third driver was interestingly humorous. as wired as it may sound, he thought positively after the assasination and said that the relatives of the victims should live on as if their people hadn't been killed.
i don't know about that; yet, everyone deals with terror differently.
hanau is just a couple of miles from my home city, frankfurt am main.
in my heart, my spirit and my soul, i am with all the victims, their relatives, friends and colleagues.
MAY GOD BLESS ALL YOUR SOULS. MY CONDOLENCES. MAY GOD BLESS US ALL.
MUCH LOVE FOR ALL BELIEVERS OF ALL RELIGIONS. LOVE IS THE ONLY WAY TO DEAL WITH THAT.
The killer killed himself after the crime.
OH GOD, GIVE US STRENGTH. WARMTH. HOPE.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
My heart beats calmly
-It just calls her name-
With each strong beat
My life just revolves
-She does not know it-
Only around herself
My concentration has
-Quite interestingly ya-
Improved drastically
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
I'm sitting outside my home in NDRI campus.
It is a place full of trees & plants and insects.
It is full of life and the natural ambience.
I sit on the bridge I hear many sounds.
The crickets are droning continually.
Are they celebrating the victory too?
The Indian national cricket team won.
They defeated the Englishmen in finals.
This tournament victory reminds of '83.
Kapil Dev led the men to victory that time.
It was really inspiring for the present team.
Interestingly, that event was also in England!
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Interestingly enough, a city filed with intoxicating dress, yes, I like the chucks and baggy pants, no I do not wear it myself, but I appreciate the look, with the Giants hat, let me write you a vignette, techies tools talking bout tacky office gossip and girls they will never **** bahaha and iPods ipods iPods fueling a sweet melody for the ride in boxcar boxcar. Yas yad yas
People going to and from work , quieter, contemplative, examining their tax returns, the hat pulled down straight
people, ticking, tocking, the images of content, staring up with amusement, the people talk of beer, of business, in seriousness, the pamphlets, the trends, counters, crawlers, beggars, in solitude, all of them
have
lovers, insecurities, mal adaptations, taking the drug that says that the life is alright, and thats alright
the little town looks so real to them, they, use the crosswalk, they, stop at the red stop sign, they, don't make eye contact, because their purpose is
to purpose, their purpose is their power lunch, a power lunch, of a sandwich, what of a sanwhich? and what does that have to do with the urban life?
the power meal, designed with purpose, for purpose, in chairs that are made for rain, in intersections made for walking, in red lights made for stopping
and aliens must be amused, by the order, the roots must be...facinating
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
#6 | 31 Poems for August 2016
Here I stand, gradually disintegrating just so I can remain whole.
It’s interestingly sad to see how many people that are alive feel dead to me.
Your kind words are smooth like a fresh cup of latté but I need something stronger to battle this heartache.
Got nothing to read except the words I effortlessly wrote last night and a few James Patterson novels.
Time is wasted so I patiently wait for the clock to get sober eventually.
The sincerity of my words is embedded in the movement of my metaphors, similes, adjectives and verbs.
I love waking up whole to the bonfire of a warm and loving soul.
But you will eventually grow tired of me, somehow they all do.
Everything is slowly falling apart, I just wish I had full control.
All I can do is sit and helplessly watch while the debris flies over me.
Here I stand, gradually disintegrating just so I can remain whole.
I love waking up whole to the bonfire of a warm and loving soul.
But I hope that you never grow tired of me unlike how everyone did.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC