"newbie" poems
Naalala ko noon, Hindi tayo nagpapansinan,
Hindi tayo nagkikibuan,
Hindi tayo naguusap,
Lumilipas nga siguro ang isang araw na wala tayong pinaguusapan.
Pero hindi mo lang alam kung gaano kita gustong mahagkan, masilayan, mahaplos ang iyong mga kamay. Noong mga araw na kapiling pa kita.
Hindi mo alam kung gaano kita kamahal, kasi abalang abala ka sa ibang bagay. katulad nalang ng 'katext' mo
Hindi mo alam kung gaano kita gustong kausapin.
Hindi mo alam yun.
Hindi.
Hindi.
Kaya ngayong wala kana :( tanging hiling ko lang naman kay bathala ngayon ay ang:
Ibalik ang lahat.
Ibalik ka nya.
Ibalik ang mga araw na gusto kita yakapin.
Ibalik ang mga araw na gusto kita hagkan.
Ibalik ang mga araw na gusto kita kausapin.
Pero alam kong malabo pa sa mata ng mga lola natin na mangyare ang ganung bagay.
Kaya, eto ako. Kontentong kinakausap ka sa PUNTOD mo.
Niyayakap ka sa Hangin.
Kinakausap ka sa Dasal.
Iniiyakan t'wing sasapit ang hating gabi.
Hinahalikan ang LAPIDA sa PUNTOD mo.
Pero alam kong alam mo na.
Kung gaano kita gusto ng makasama ullit :'(
Alam kong alam mo na.
Gusto na kitang sundan dyan. pero hindi pa.
Hindi pa.
Hindi pa NGAYON.
Dahil naasa akong, MABUBUO TAYO ULIT DI MAN DITO SA LUPA KUNDI SA KABILANG MUNDO
#newbie
#IMissMyMom
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.
the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.
recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:
do not self-chain,
let the words take you
where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.
I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.
<•>
People stop rhyming...
When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem
or a barrel of
crackles
If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine
And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A
In your Teacher's pet grade book
My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***
That Ain't No Poem Neither...
And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself
You think you can write?
Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout
**Hallelujah *******
Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?
Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)
G' nite!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
It was hard to miss Jerry
in the corner
holding court
over the bran muffin.
Flurries of judgement and wisdom
flying across coffee dappled pages
as he sentenced a large cup of
Paruvian Dark Roast
to be ******
7 am Dan never flinched
steeling his tenured chair at
a spot one section of stir sticks away
calculably just out of reach
of the regularly scheduled tantrum.
An auburn-haired newbie
fanes camoflage
peeking over two pages of Obituaries
she never intended to read.
Her raised and nearly detached eyebrows
hover above the dateline like a magic trick.
And on every table fall
scattered leaves
of press print trees
unsorted and littered with intent
by careless absorbers of trivia.
Disconnected
ear-budded
footnotes of humanity
see nothing
hear nothing
using the disarrayed World News as
enormous coasters
unmoved by hyper-ventilating compulsives
pushing panic buttons through
desperate quests to uncover
one alphabetically organized set
of local news.
Of the papers not strewn
the remnant holds anxious
on a distant wall
a throng of flopping
rabbit-eared
step children
dangling precariously
from unaccomodating magazine racks
like smoky orphans from
windows in a fiery building.
Disordered.
Disrespected.
Discarded...words are
Jews in the holocaust.
Death of a voice.
We are irreverent in our silence
diminishing genius through apathy
put off by the imposition to be challenged
choosing disposable principles
above responsible knowledge.
Everything is disposable - cameras, cars,
relationships, loyalty, babies...and wisdom -
crumpling Pulitzer prize authors
and discarding WW2 veterans
just to get to the cartoons.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
the newbie failure complex(ity)
the poems come torrentially,
hurricane, waterfall & tornado are working adjectives
worthy of the task, yet unequal to the unlimited army
of the written dead of unread poems and poets
that occupy the nether of blog, podcast, and poetry sites,
orphan stars in the un-salvaged junkyard galaxy of verbiage
a faceless wight, once alive, now permanently dead,
we shuffle march, chanting each our own newbie poem,
onward soldiers to ignominy and glory so fleeting,
we are forgot before we are remembered
*this is life in poetry,
or better yet,
the worst of it, (sigh)
this is the poetry of lives*
all for nought,
nought for all,
at least we pass our prison time
in the company of fellow strugglers*
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Those people who thinks of themselves as the ultimate
Thinking that they are those who create
A world without even a single flaw
For they bark and scratch you with a claw
As if you're the most putrid human they've seen
As if this phase was a place they've never been
If I may remind you
You became a newbie once too
So don't talk to me as if
You became the GREATEST
In just a blink of an eye
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
*everyday chores
wake
eye-crusted
weep
hoping
to free-falling freedom
maybe
splash
words of encouragement
let them
dry
*untowled and untrammeled
upon expressionless lips*
routinize
squeeze
*out the poem
reforming repeatedly*
write
of everyday chores
sleep
go to, to go,
*half awarding awaring
that newbie tears new pooling
will by morn
old crusting creating
and
everyday chores
never ending
I am earth
crusted
no matter how deep
daily*
dug
the untitled
everyday chores
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
Like whisky to a newbie
She said *** with her is so amazing,
Should her lovers take her words for granted?
to the echo chamber, an invitation of uncertainty awaits
on the others side of love.
Just like any property a ****** is still a risky investment
Just like any investment could be,
Another extremely shameless plug
As she pumps up the volume,
Like a female rebel on the run from the law
They love everything about this Island beauty
Like whisky to a newbie, her poetic euphoric vibes
take them higher and higher, as her fans dance the night away
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jgf_I9vepDo
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
Been on this forum just a short time
Found amazing talent from all kinds
Makes me wanna dub this creative flow
As the greatest ever, if you don’t know
Thus my admiration has been sparked
To write mad verses with a flaming mark
You are the ingredients of this unique brew
That I’m now calling the “Quintessence” crew
So here’s to the “Q,” your words have weight
More than silver and gold, ’cause you’re my mates
Here’s to the eyez of earth’s celestial Angel
X-raying minds to diagnose and become less tangled
Here’s to the fury of the beast, a.k.a. Animal
Ripping at the life we sometimes take for granted
Here’s to the western gunslinger, holla Pug
Blasting us with the creativity from them slugs
Here’s to the sweetness of sista Sara
Walking the mule as a humane barer
Here’s to the Feminine heart of a special Poet
Grounding us to reality, a toast from a glass of Moet
Here’s to the petals from the Y2K1 budding Rose
Missing the nectar to feed the bees and in those…
Here’s to the shiny armor of gleaming love, the Arhanghell
Giving us adventurous tales, ready to drop more coins in that well
Here’s to the food from the Miller they call Keith
Dropping them verses like tender, tantalizing beef
Here’s to the endeavors of the newbie, a Creator of Love
Soaring the clouds fiercely with the freshness of a dove
Other members of the “Q” are still missing in action
Hope you come back to be part of this elite faction
So this dedication will continue to be unfinished
Not whole, but waiting to be no longer diminished…
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
As a newbie, we are unaware
We go through life as if we care
Incompetent inept go here or there
Thinking that we know it all
Inevitably comes the fall
Then we slowly realize
As it begins, the End
of our demise
we didn’t compromise
However, it’s more
Than just the fall.
We thought
We were
Impervious
10 feet tall.
The older we get
The more we realize
The ignorant follies
Of the less wise
Pride before the fall
Comes towards us all
We paid no mind
To the warnings call
Greed, Lust,
A wild ride
Envy Wrath
Look inside
Gluttony, Sloth,
Our Guilty Pride
Don’t let this list
Be your guide
It’s OK not to know everything
It’s OK to be a teen in between
It’s OK to misread a panic scene
It’s OK to admit your wrong
Do the dance,
Sing the song
Don’t act wise,
Apologize
Pretending
you know it all
Inevitably
The jig is up
Never ready For the call
Will you learn the lesson
of the fall
knowing you don’t
know anything at all.
There is always
a lesson.
To endure
It’s OK not to be sure
we were all
once an amateur
The difference between
a young adult
Sprung on life
And a middle aged
Disillusion lost soul
Is our experiences
The lessons learned
When It’s your turn
To be on top
Oblivious
Ignorant
Acceptance
There will be a time
When you’re not
It’s not how high
You climb
It’s how you endure
After the fall
Wisdom
comes to us all
Will you ignore it?
Or answer Life’s call
Inspired songs;
My life 1978
Billy Joel
Don’t fear the reaper 1976
Blue Oyster Cult
Signs 1971
By Five Electrical Band
Bridge over troubled Waters 1970
By Simon and Garfunkel
Both sides now 1969
By Joni Mitchell
Foot note
This was written for a seventh grade grandchild going through life on stress levels. She creates herself. She says this to herself now it’s OK to be wrong. I don’t have to know everything.
I’ve always said to the grandchildren, you have two ears, and one mouth listen twice as much as you speak
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 3:49 AM UTC
You were a newbie to a city and caught my eye when you stepped off the trolley.
Had to know **** lady all sailors and suits were falling all over each other to assist.
Call me your stalker, followed you as you stood there gazing like a child at H. Plaza.
Needing to know my vision wasn't flawed had to pinch myself and Betty you were real.
Watching Ms. Betty Ponder's hips swaying taking that stage was a real treat for eyes.
Felt like the butcher and you walked only for me, no need to haggle you get it for free.
Best and proudest times for me was hearing you make all songs old and new great.
Loved singing along with you belting songs written before your time and tapping feet.
Looking in your gorgeous eyes I still see that special lady with all the qualities I desire.
Nobody can hide or extinguish that bright light that shines in you one whom I love.
I never needed to know where you came from but loved knowing where you were going.
You lovely Pet are a once in a lifetime enigma that most people can't begin to figure out.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
When you come away from home you can be one of many things:
A ****
A partyanimal
A geek
A talker
A listener
A doer
A drinker
A social recluse
An alcohol abuser
A hustler
A bustler
A fanatic
A panicker
A best friend waiting to be discovered
A great lover in the cupboard
The list goes on
But we are all one thing:
A fresher
A newbie
A greenhorn
Streetfighters
Run up quarterbacks
Soldiers of Fortune.
And I realise it can be hard
With everything going on
Trying everything new
Trying to make friends
We can sometimes get caught up
And lose our field of vision.
If I could give one piece of advice
It would be:
Be who you are.
Standup for what you believe in –
People always come round to respecting that
If you don’t do shots
Drink beer
If you don’t like ****
Pass on it in a dignified manner.
I once knew a guy who lost his field of vision:
He ended up firing a rifle out of a second-storey window
Trying to hit the centre of the O’s on roadsigns.
It might have been the exuberant amount of alcohol
He had consumed that night.
I just don’t know.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 3:47 PM UTC
strange enough,
that word choice,
******
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men
they get on
their knees,
so eager to please
write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers
but
the trick employed
is transference
they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"
their kiss
Pass
laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox
The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers
the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.
so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you
it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously
know this in advance
each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you
years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection
that audience is you
write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you
your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers
they will find you,
of that,
be assured
amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?
for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee
if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough
poetry is ego
no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world
let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,
but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
His Grandpa writes poetry in the tub.
(See the banner photo, please)
His Grandpa writes poetry in the tub,
Clearly a skill and ability
that has been passed
to the next generation.
For who could conceive successfully
Of writing something so exquisitely
Joyful as his smile,
A poem par excellence!
I am sure it is but a matter of
Days and weeks,
After the newbie begins to post
His œuvres écrites,
Here on HP,
That the debate will commence
Who is the better poet sweet?
No worries.
My conceit has already conceded.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
As our States go into a state of confusion
In the passing of their passing of laws
Saying now that all their fine citizens
Can freely lay out and get ******
As a matter of fact haven't they been doing that
For years if my minds working correctly
I guess the difference now when they lounge around
They can freely puff on it legally
So let's all take the bongs out of hiding
And add some fresh liquid to it
Invite over the neighbors you've never talked to
To share in a neighborly spliff
It'll certainly make everyone happy
When we come together and roll up a fatty
Don't worry if to this party your a newbie
Here take a hit off this doobie
We'll order out pizza
And crank up Netflix
Watch My Little Pony
And laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and...
Wait...now where was I? Oh Yea!
So let's take all the bongs out of hiding
Hold on...have I already said that?
Dude, this is freaking me out! Lol!
Oh okay, here we go...
You can now grow your own
On your very own farm
But instead of deep in the woods
It can now be your front yard
Of course all the neighbor kids
You'll have to watch
As they pass by your place
And pick from your crops
So then you'll have to invest
In a scary guard dog
To keep them at bay
And out of your plot
But of course you'll be ******
And forget that he's there
Where he'll end up hungry
And start eating his share
There goes your profit
There goes your crop
Plus all the time you'll spend behind the dog
With a baggy waiting for doggie do do drops
But then again the government
May not let you grow your own stuff
As you wait for the F.D.A.
To authorize all your drugs
And we all know when you get
The government involved
Bureaucratic common sense
Too often gets lost
Maybe this legalization thingy
Is not the best of ideas
Things seemed to run smoother
When we all kept our *** hid
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
*Newbie to this lathe
Don't wince at expositions
See lame gits as dust*
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
*the elbow comes to rest in the soft
skin coverage of my essence
in the dark, it's easy and free to weep
but still never cheap
everyday is still a word, an everyday struggle word,
echoing like a scream in a cavernous void
her elbow comes to be buried in my chest,
preference for an unavailable, sleeping soft cheek,
this elbow sharpened from years of work, worry &
baby carrying
on this day, of pointing,
take-a-hint-to-be-remembering,
the simple honors life bestows
comes like a pointy elbow poke,
across vastness of a bed of whiteout cotton,
freshly filling up
as I am writing,
with thankful years and thankful tears,
already recording newbie memories
freshly forming up
welcome this sharp goodness
all the days
of our lives,
even those everydays
of our lives
nothing greater than being grateful,
and the re-gifting to others
the blessings of plentifull*
5:26am Thanksgiving Day 2016
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
It’s Friday night and a group of us, the ‘university summer fellows’ (Quinn, Jammie, Monique, Lisa and I) are going groovin’. Quinn, a Harvard man (we’ve shed our jaundiced opinions of him), assured us he knows the Boston bar scene. We’re going to test that.
We told him we wanted to sway to whimsical beats and chase vivid, neon lights across dance floors, like a bunch of cats - till the hours get wee. His plan is for us to pop-in the “touristy” places, like ‘the Havana Club’, ‘the Manray club’, ‘Garage Boston’ and ‘The Grand’, we’re so 111. As usual, Charles is our party mom, escort and driver.
When Peter and I were in Saint-Tropez, earlier this summer, there were beach clothes - dresses, skirts and men's shirts - where they’d woven micro-LEDs into the flowered, dry-wick, fabrics. I think the effect is amazing, friday, and joyous. I got two skirts for everyone (all of my roommates). Tonight Lisa and I are wearing a couple of them.
Funny. I’ve mentioned it before, but Lisa‘s an audrey. Her school friends and roommates are all used to it, we’ve been exposed, we have built up immunity. But Quinn’s a newbie, when Lisa came into the living room, LED glittered and lookin-right, he was literally stunned. He froze, for a microsecond, his face went blank and his fingers wiggled, as if disconnected from his overloaded central nervous system.
*** Jammie said, having just turned around, “holla at ya brooke!,” he declared, shaking his head in admiration. “Umm mmm,” he added.
“I’m sure.” Lisa said, starting to transfer things from her everyday bag to her glittery clutch, the girl cannot accept a compliment. Quinn, coming out of it, cleared his throat.
We’re ready. Let Friday night begin!
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 12:12 PM UTC
I wish to be free to thinkWithout limitsBirthed again without sin in the unique place I rest my headOnly with no thoughts but my own wild dreamsTo be released into this world as a dreamer and ******* of branchesAs a newbie donning the cape of ignorance and embracing the sword of naivetyA knight or chivalry not know to this generationA pallium to imagine to wildest and purestAn arrow to the sky propelled by desire to fly
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 9:56 AM UTC
Im a newbie with everything.
I cant play instruments or video games
i dont sing or play sports.
i can barely cook.
And here you are,
having tried and excelled at almost all of it.
you, my love, are amazing.
and here i am.
a newbie at even high school.
what caught your eye?
what made you love this girl who does nothing but laugh at everything?
What makes you love me?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Foolscap
now I understand better,
the ironic humor of naming
the plain white paper before me,
where the construction commences,
the scratched surfaces, entrance ways into
the best I can hope to offer and having yet to write
foolscap
laugh out loud,
move over great ones,
this fool had tipped his cap,
betrayed his intention and attention,
he has a kitbag of raggedy jumbled words
as yet unassembled, and had all life to snap them
colored Lego pieces of his own design together in a way
that takes the un from unremarkable and so let this newbie
commencement be a beginning,
not an ending célèbre but a transition to
translating the heart and head and a storied vision
retained therein, treasure chested into an assemblage
pleasing to those who peek over the foolscap's shoulder
the snow has dappled doused my lower legs,
wet, does not creation commence in the wetness,
even slush that is the residue of the brilliance of snow
as a concept, even the slush, disdained and discarded,
***** grayed, from it will come my firsts, my births,
my ***** grayed, my beloved unbeloved,
sculpture of words that resound
across the better days to yet,
yet yet yet yet - a hundred
Yeats yets, sweet vets,
all I need is the first
word, so chosen,
so apropos,
foolscap
Foolscap - a type of inexpensive writing paper
Dedicated to those measured few here who have nurtured me with gentle pushes and sweet perfumed praise to push myself harder yet, push harder than I ever dared.
You know who you are.
Pray I please you.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/596769/poet-in-trouble/
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
She wasn't just a "visitor" she'd been here a while
She sat in her corner chair, word search in hand
She always had a blanket around her shoulders
A big bag filled with snacks open at her side
Some times she'd have company
Out-of-town family maybe or perhaps a friend
They'd sit and chat, drink coffee from a paper cup
But mostly, she sat alone
She'd always leave her corner neat and clean
During visiting hours a "newbie" would never know
That corner chair was taken....that was her chair
After visiting hours she'd stretch out and re-claim her area
We knew though, we'd never take her spot
We some times met at the coffee ***
"How's your husband?" "The same...How's your dad?" "The same"
"Keep praying." "I will....you too."
Then one morning I watched as she packed her things away
With tears in her eyes, she looked at me then slowly shook her head
As she walked passed me, we clasped hands for a moment
"Keep praying" she whispered, then she walked away
Perhaps it was just a coincidence....but
No one sat in her corner chair all day
She was only one person and yet...
The ICU waiting room felt empty without her
The lady in the corner chair
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC
dew drops in the spring
the sun is shining
I'm running towards my mom even though the time has come for me to say goodbye for graduation
I try to focus on the day that is graduation
But everything is a blur
I zone out until my name is called
I walk across the field
feeling proud, accomplished
But I can't help but cry
as I try and not trip on my small gown
I spot you in the crowd
All I can think of at that moment is the memories that we've created
and the way we're all huddled up
I cry one because I'm leaving the group behind
making my way in this word
adulting
still a newbie at heart
learning through trial and error
But know this
no matter where I go in life
I'll always treasure you and the memories that we made
my senior year
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
A newbie down here does not know where to go
Kept on doing crazy poems for daisies out there.
She knows that the line she made were true
True as the sun strikes her dry skin
Asks for a little guide from the older roses
Hey! Please help me and drag me from this grave.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
" Funny how somethings
however different we are
happens with each one of us,
all the time...
Like,
How we can be happy and sad together at one time...
Like,
How we all anxiously wait,
Staring at the notification button
to show a new like, a new follower, a new comment
Like,
How we judge as poets,
that, 'Oh, This guy is a newbie,
'Spare me the broken hearts,
'No, this poem isn't my type',
And the worst -
*Are you kidding me, this poem is so plain!!
No rhymes no metaphors, did I waste my time reading this?
What a pain!!*
Funny,
How we forget as poets,
That the sole reason we became poets,
was because of this itch in our hands...
that arose from our experience,
our past, our conscience
That tempted us to explore our demons
Funny,
How we forget as poets,
that even if someone doesn't have a writing charm,
the whole reason they write anyway,
Is to keep themselves sane
The romantics, the broken-hearts, the amateurs, the no class
Don't worry I shall welcome your poem,
Because I am a poet, a poet like you
A poet writing to feed his demon
A poet writing to keep sane "
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC