"mighy" poems - Hello Poetry

Tree stand high, temperature low this hunt has never been so cold. This mighty forest bare no more than two souls, Destined for one another, someday? Much hope. Much hope. Tree stand high, temperature low the hunter starts to grow. Becoming one with this mighty forest, oblivion melts like the snow on the pines. Peace. Tranquility. "the game is one of great trophies, to boast, to play." Oblivion is bliss, and the hunter grows humble. Tree stand high, high, high above the pines, temperature ever so luke. Gray skies become orange, as the sun breaks through. the hunter puts down his gun, deciding to break tradition. The longing for the trophy melts like the ice on the creek. This mighy forest is beautiful. Tranquil. Peace in silence. The hunter climbs from the highest stand in the trees. Stumps, moss, grass and mud. Is the hunt more than a game? But one of true love? Peace. The hunter stays quite, at the foot of the tree. True love became more than a silly trophy.

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Mar 6, 2011

Mar 6, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC

sam-cardinale

La Chasse

Tree stand high, temperature low this hunt has never been so cold. This mighty forest bare no more than two souls, Destined for one another, someday? Much hope. Much hope. Tree stand high, temperature low the hunter starts to grow. Becoming one with this mighty forest, oblivion melts like the snow on the pines. Peace. Tranquility. "the game is one of great trophies, to boast, to play." Oblivion is bliss, and the hunter grows humble. Tree stand high, high, high above the pines, temperature ever so luke. Gray skies become orange, as the sun breaks through. the hunter puts down his gun, deciding to break tradition. The longing for the trophy melts like the ice on the creek. This mighy forest is beautiful. Tranquil. Peace in silence. The hunter climbs from the highest stand in the trees. Stumps, moss, grass and mud. Is the hunt more than a game? But one of true love? Peace. The hunter stays quite, at the foot of the tree. True love became more than a silly trophy.

23

... would you hear a sound? Where's the sound of a heart breaking? Is it a mighy noise? What kind of music does it play? The lullaby destroys! Where's the crash of a soul cracking? Is it in the rushing wind? Is it in leather'n flapping wings As all of Hell decends? Where's a bass cocophany In the wrist that bleeds? What sort of soil accepts and grows The poison crimson seeds? *Where's the green stick fracture? Where's the ruptured spleen? Where's the cancer in the brain? Where is the pain unseen?* And what if the Entire moon should crack? And all the high stars fell? There's an end... and you decend... ... into the pits of HELL. SoulSurvivor (C) 2014 Rewritten (C) 3-18-2015

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Mar 18, 2015

Mar 18, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC

SoulSurvivor

If a heart broke in the forest...

... would you hear a sound? Where's the sound of a heart breaking? Is it a mighy noise? What kind of music does it play? The lullaby destroys! Where's the crash of a soul cracking? Is it in the rushing wind? Is it in leather'n flapping wings As all of Hell decends? Where's a bass cocophany In the wrist that bleeds? What sort of soil accepts and grows The poison crimson seeds? *Where's the green stick fracture? Where's the ruptured spleen? Where's the cancer in the brain? Where is the pain unseen?* And what if the Entire moon should crack? And all the high stars fell? There's an end... and you decend... ... into the pits of HELL. SoulSurvivor (C) 2014 Rewritten (C) 3-18-2015

27

I'm Davy, an 18-year-old boy from a small town in the Netherlands. My hobbies are drawing and writing poetry. You mighy not see it, but when you take Route 66 through my eyes into my soul, you'll see a distorted world, full of chaos. I tell people I am what I am and they just have to accept it, but deep down, I know that I'm a nobody, a waste of space, just another leaf on the tree, just another drop of rain, nothing more than a piece of thin air, hoping that someone will make me feel special and loved again...

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Jun 29, 2015

Jun 29, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC

MrDavy

Less than acceptable

I'm Davy, an 18-year-old boy from a small town in the Netherlands. My hobbies are drawing and writing poetry. You mighy not see it, but when you take Route 66 through my eyes into my soul, you'll see a distorted world, full of chaos. I tell people I am what I am and they just have to accept it, but deep down, I know that I'm a nobody, a waste of space, just another leaf on the tree, just another drop of rain, nothing more than a piece of thin air, hoping that someone will make me feel special and loved again...

1

I dream of peace and just assurance. I have stood for it all my life, with constitution and vigor. My hope and that which I have defended, stood bright and noble in the light of love. It has been as I have seen him true, honest, quietly brave, a perfect encapsulation. The wind has not shaken him in his innocence, he shall stand beside me in nobility unscathed. I will defend this glory. In innocence and grace, as a child, you stand and walk. I will work this day in your honor, with ease. We will watch you in all you stand for victorious. Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope. Innocence tempted, standing unprotected, with all hope inside, and promise. All that is of value, tested, to be refined. The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool. Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire, unquenchable. We cannot lose hope, this is a test. I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny. Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal. You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled. I am destitute, in my flippancy, I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed. But I know the code, the law of fire and grace, I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials, and continue in love, but what love is this? A mentor lay in my path. The show must go on. It is loss to move on, it is loss to forsake, is is loss to do nothing. No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory unearned. Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again? Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain? He washed us white as snow. Works or Love? Entwine the two... We will carry you, the broken of my deeds, from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go, as you have shown us oh mighty man, now wasted. For this is the way understood. I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning. What's that you carry? The wreck of the mighty's ambition. For it was not just the faithful who brought me home, but the vision of might and of noble in glory. The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity broken. Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition. Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.

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Jan 31, 2018

Jan 31, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC

shawn-brocke

The Wreck of the mighy's ambition

I dream of peace and just assurance. I have stood for it all my life, with constitution and vigor. My hope and that which I have defended, stood bright and noble in the light of love. It has been as I have seen him true, honest, quietly brave, a perfect encapsulation. The wind has not shaken him in his innocence, he shall stand beside me in nobility unscathed. I will defend this glory. In innocence and grace, as a child, you stand and walk. I will work this day in your honor, with ease. We will watch you in all you stand for victorious. Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope. Innocence tempted, standing unprotected, with all hope inside, and promise. All that is of value, tested, to be refined. The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool. Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire, unquenchable. We cannot lose hope, this is a test. I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny. Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal. You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled. I am destitute, in my flippancy, I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed. But I know the code, the law of fire and grace, I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials, and continue in love, but what love is this? A mentor lay in my path. The show must go on. It is loss to move on, it is loss to forsake, is is loss to do nothing. No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory unearned. Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again? Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain? He washed us white as snow. Works or Love? Entwine the two... We will carry you, the broken of my deeds, from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go, as you have shown us oh mighty man, now wasted. For this is the way understood. I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning. What's that you carry? The wreck of the mighty's ambition. For it was not just the faithful who brought me home, but the vision of might and of noble in glory. The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity broken. Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition. Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.

63

I bear witness to the lies As they roll off the blackened tongue The forged talk I bear witness to the distortion The talk of slander while accompanied with others O’ LORD GOD do they not observe the deception? Instead they accept illusive perception O’ LORD GOD protect the ears of those who listen! I bear witness to the dishonesty Satan Forbid those who speak lies to accept Instead they hide behind a mask of phony Scamper towards shelter made of baloney May all be forgiven to those who lie Those disguised authentic Are all hypocrites Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHTY May all be forgiven to those who listen Ears perked as the whispers utter Credulous minds Gullible ears Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHY Save them all from the shackles Release the bounds AMEN we say AMEN!

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Sep 3, 2018

Sep 3, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC

peculiar-1

I Bear Witness

I bear witness to the lies As they roll off the blackened tongue The forged talk I bear witness to the distortion The talk of slander while accompanied with others O’ LORD GOD do they not observe the deception? Instead they accept illusive perception O’ LORD GOD protect the ears of those who listen! I bear witness to the dishonesty Satan Forbid those who speak lies to accept Instead they hide behind a mask of phony Scamper towards shelter made of baloney May all be forgiven to those who lie Those disguised authentic Are all hypocrites Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHTY May all be forgiven to those who listen Ears perked as the whispers utter Credulous minds Gullible ears Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHY Save them all from the shackles Release the bounds AMEN we say AMEN!

24

He remembered Khrushyov, Brezhnev. He remembered the mighy USSR’s fate. He remembered a lot, understood he a lot. Fidel Castro Rus was so truly great. He wanted to be a powerful dictator, Like Stalin being with a great power. “We can do a lot!” told he friends therefore. He led people to Revolution farther. He could change hundreds, thousands of people’s fates He achieved him great, bright goal. We won’t Exactly forget him, him deeds, him life’s dates, Do lie with peace, Fidel, was great your own lot. {26.11.2016} ФИДЕЛЬ АЛЕХАНДРО КАСТРО РУС (13.08.1926 – 25.11.2016) Хрущёва он помнил и Брежнева помнил, Он помнил могучий Советский Союз! Он многое помнил и многое понял – Таким выдающимся был Кастро Рус! Хотел быть на Сталина очень похожим – Диктатором сильным с великой страной! Друзьям говорил он: «Мы многое можем!» И вёл к Революции всех за собой! Он смог изменить сотни, тысячи судеб – Достиг он великую, светлую цель! Мы точно его никогда не забудем – Покойся же с миром великий Фидель! {26.11.2016} Translator - I. Toporov

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May 15, 2020

May 15, 2020 at 3:13 PM UTC

Vladimir_Lionter

FIDEL CASTRO RUS (13.08.1926 – 25.11.2016)

He remembered Khrushyov, Brezhnev. He remembered the mighy USSR’s fate. He remembered a lot, understood he a lot. Fidel Castro Rus was so truly great. He wanted to be a powerful dictator, Like Stalin being with a great power. “We can do a lot!” told he friends therefore. He led people to Revolution farther. He could change hundreds, thousands of people’s fates He achieved him great, bright goal. We won’t Exactly forget him, him deeds, him life’s dates, Do lie with peace, Fidel, was great your own lot. {26.11.2016} ФИДЕЛЬ АЛЕХАНДРО КАСТРО РУС (13.08.1926 – 25.11.2016) Хрущёва он помнил и Брежнева помнил, Он помнил могучий Советский Союз! Он многое помнил и многое понял – Таким выдающимся был Кастро Рус! Хотел быть на Сталина очень похожим – Диктатором сильным с великой страной! Друзьям говорил он: «Мы многое можем!» И вёл к Революции всех за собой! Он смог изменить сотни, тысячи судеб – Достиг он великую, светлую цель! Мы точно его никогда не забудем – Покойся же с миром великий Фидель! {26.11.2016} Translator - I. Toporov

30

cheapskates: what a nice, and at the same time privy word.... recognised within the framework of people who don't bother to pay for art... because they think, well, they don't exactly think with any orthodox care to state a fact... this is going down the rough & tumble... people stop paying for art, they stop earning a soul... i can't blame them, but i also can't earn from them... meaning they're neither appreciating nor consuming the adequate response... the mob rule said: 20th century artists had too much fun... am i going to side with chopin piano antics or that of sonny clark? d'uh... obviously the latter... imagine free cabbage, and free meats... for some, ******* oblivious reason, there's free art... at this point artists mighy as well cite herr ****** the "failed" artists... and that's implying a non-inclusive stance for the man regarded as a anti-jew-psycho with a jewish girlfriend that was eva braun... christianity has no other patron saint of artists, other than kinder adolf... fa-king irony... as far as the current zeitgeist states: thieving is o.k., stealing is smart... so, stop, complaining, you, dumb, *** ******* whether, you, like, or, don't, like, the karaoke, import, into mainstream, media: i just hope you choke on this cultural output, and take it like a ***** that i know you are; i hate cheapskates... i just imagine these people having as much knowledge of music, as the music farmers used to hear, i.e.: grunts of horses, snorting of pigs, clucking / clocking in of chickens... never, in the history of man has stealing become so normalißed... so nonchalant... up yours and the a.i. cherokee algorithm... what a bunch of wanks and yanks put together... you just feel like smashing them with the edge of a cricket bat... till they resemble a crimson balloon stuffed with plums.

0

Jul 14, 2017

Jul 14, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

cheapskates

cheapskates: what a nice, and at the same time privy word.... recognised within the framework of people who don't bother to pay for art... because they think, well, they don't exactly think with any orthodox care to state a fact... this is going down the rough & tumble... people stop paying for art, they stop earning a soul... i can't blame them, but i also can't earn from them... meaning they're neither appreciating nor consuming the adequate response... the mob rule said: 20th century artists had too much fun... am i going to side with chopin piano antics or that of sonny clark? d'uh... obviously the latter... imagine free cabbage, and free meats... for some, ******* oblivious reason, there's free art... at this point artists mighy as well cite herr ****** the "failed" artists... and that's implying a non-inclusive stance for the man regarded as a anti-jew-psycho with a jewish girlfriend that was eva braun... christianity has no other patron saint of artists, other than kinder adolf... fa-king irony... as far as the current zeitgeist states: thieving is o.k., stealing is smart... so, stop, complaining, you, dumb, *** ******* whether, you, like, or, don't, like, the karaoke, import, into mainstream, media: i just hope you choke on this cultural output, and take it like a ***** that i know you are; i hate cheapskates... i just imagine these people having as much knowledge of music, as the music farmers used to hear, i.e.: grunts of horses, snorting of pigs, clucking / clocking in of chickens... never, in the history of man has stealing become so normalißed... so nonchalant... up yours and the a.i. cherokee algorithm... what a bunch of wanks and yanks put together... you just feel like smashing them with the edge of a cricket bat... till they resemble a crimson balloon stuffed with plums.

80