Mitted poems on Hello Poetry

King Panda Oct 2017

The birth of our sun wrote megalithic,
two-word bursts of observable heat to life.

It pounded the density of a billion
squealing animals and thought itself
star—a pencil

being lifted by an oven-mitted hand
somehow deft, fortune-telling
witch.

sun—which will, in time,
bow out to a goodnight city
where every light is eaten

by dark-spelled window—no reflection
of flame,
no kiss of magnet—no

just cold death to
the bones—a molded meatball
dancing in a spiral once believed

to be beautiful.

Dylan Jones Oct 2016

Beth/Rest

Errant heat to the star
And the rain let in
The hawser rolls, the vessel's whole and Christ, it's thin

Well I'd know that you'd offer
Would reveal it, though it's soft and flat
Won't repeat it, cull and coffers that
For the soffit, hang this homeward
Pry it open with your love
Sending lost and alone standing offers

It is steep, it is stone
Such recovery
From the daily press, the deepest nest, in keeper's keep

All the news at the door
Such a revelry
Well, it's hocked inside of everything you said to me

It was found what we orphaned
Didn't mention it would serve us picked
Said your love is known
I'm standing up on it

Aren't we married?!
I ain't living in the dark no more
It's not a promise, I?m just gonna call it

Heavy mitted love

Our love is a star
Sure some hazardry
For the light before and after most indefinitely

*Danger has been stole away

#love #alone #lost #christ

tash vaux Jan 2016

Baseball Caps

Baseball caps remind me of you.
Not because you used to stand in the outfield with your mitted palm facing upward, patiently waiting for the ball to hit your glove.
Nor because that ball once hit your face, causing your nerves to jumble. And now when I stroke your cheek,
I coincidentally tickle your lip instead.
Not because you went to a Yankee game on the same day that you ****** her.
Or because I hide when I think you are near, with the same success of a celebrity avoiding paparazzi on a crowded manhattan street corner.

But because his birthday fell on the day that I thought I might love you.
I called to say I was outside.
You opened the backdoor of your building wearing a tattered hand-me-down baseball cap that darkened your eyes.
As I got closer your eyes emerged and met mine from the side of the brim.
I sat up and we both reached for my blouse.
But I kissed you goodbye,
And I ran home to him.

interpretations are welcome, im looking to convey something and id like to know if its coming across clear.

BSween Oct 2020

Passing season

.
On a sweet apple crisp cold day we walk
When the air is acrid with distant wood smoke
And bright Leaves fall with determination
Creating the season’s rich tapestry.

I run to keep up
Your science makes me grateful
For the rest
I notice still
My loose-mitted hand tentatively held out
To all manner of wonders that
My own hasty glances would have missed.

The stream, now
A sweet musty rug of russet rot,
Rambling with red and black fodder
For urgent little colonies of foragers
Who wait for wonders of the earth to be passed

There are days like this
Stopped
To sip sweet tea from your flask
The ecstasy of the smallest thing
Remembered.

#autumn #parent #child #memory #smells #outside #love

Sam Temple Nov 2015

winter review

icy winter on the afternoon breeze
gives pause so the sun can lie
and encourage children out of doors
only to kick up vengefully
chapping lips and watering eyes
while simultaneously giving cheeks
a rosy glow –
frosted lawn greets the day
altered dew rests glisteningly
subdued bird song breaks the silence
and my own breathe distorts the image
exhaling clouds
liquid vapors instantly freeze
and fall to the cold ground below –
slapping mitted hands together
and piling up six pieces of fir and elm
I return to the safely of my enclave
arrange the sticks in a 1956 potbelly
and light the match
which will combat
the change in seasons –

Vladislav Martynovitch Dec 2020

Conscio-Teleo

Conscio-Teleo
Conscio-theory –
Teleo-being:
Raising of chimery
Vividly seeming,

Handsome of beautiful,
Wowsome in stream, –
Mainly so rude in fool,
Scarcely so grim!..

Building, erected trans-
Mitted from glimpse:
Thought so of known – last,
Permanent – least.

Translated mutedly,
Scribes parenthood
To boiling bullying, link
Casting to mood…

Knowledge supposes all,
That through exists, –
So rich in pose and stall,
So poor in mist.

Set of proportions tends
There to expand:
Conscio-being amends
Of theories tele-demand!..

vienna bombardieri Aug 2020

Christmas Dreams

If I close my eyes its almost as if I were back there again
standing in a field of snow mitted and scarfed to the chin
Front window frosted from our breath iced fingers scribing
yes I can almost remember the exact smell of snow...
A winter hat edged in fur, warm and fuzzy round my neck
big fat snowflakes falling gently while inside, electric heat
father appearing from a distance buried in a snow squall
mother with her rosary praying for his safe arrival , me
tucked under a blanket sleepy eyed and tired praying,
I hope Christmas comes soon, and then I fell asleep.

— The End —