"nineth" poems - Hello Poetry

On the first day of christmas my teacher gave to me 1 essay On the second day of christmas my teacher gave to me 2 major projects 1essay On the third day of christmas my teacher gave to me 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the fourth day of christmas my teacher gave to me 4 journals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the fifth day of christmas my teacher gave to me 5 binders 4 journals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the sixth day of christmas my teacher gave to me 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 joournals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the seventh day of christmas my techer gave to me 7 laptops 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 journals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the eighth day of christmas my teacher gave to me 8 calculators 7 laptops 6 pencil bags 5 bingers 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the nineth day of christmas gave to me 9 work sheets 8 calculators 7 laptops 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 journals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay On the tenth day of christmas my teacher gave to me 10 mircoscopes 9 work sheet 8 calculators 7 laptops 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 journals 3 text books 2 major project 1 essay On the eleventh day of christmas my teacher gave to me 11 math problems 10 mircoscopes 9 work sheets 8 calculator 7 lap tops 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 journals 3 text boooks 2 major projects 1 essay On the 12 day of christmas teacher gave to me 12 test tubes 11 math problems 10 mircoscope 9 work sheets 8 calculators 7 lap tops 6 pencil bags 5 binders 4 journals 3 text books 2 major projects 1 essay

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Dec 3, 2010

Dec 3, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC

First was a demo. Second was a desire. Third was a demon. Fourth was a disappointment. Fifth was a liar. Sixth was someone who lost me. Seventh was a charlatan. Eighth was a Succubus. But nineth is a different Angel, My Angel.

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Apr 16, 2021

Apr 16, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC

Atul

My Nine Angels

First was a demo. Second was a desire. Third was a demon. Fourth was a disappointment. Fifth was a liar. Sixth was someone who lost me. Seventh was a charlatan. Eighth was a Succubus. But nineth is a different Angel, My Angel.

10

When I was in the fourth grade I thought of it. When I was in the nineth grade, I wished for it. When I was in the tenth grade I dreamt of it, but now I am in the eleventh grade, and I continuously beg for it. I am pleading with whatever God there may be; to allow me to receive my one and only true release from this never-ending misery. An escape from my growing insanity. This is it. I refuse to continue praying for better brighter days, because it seems like The Divine will not answer those prayers for me. Now my prayers have changed. The end of my days. That's what I pray, beg, and plead for. That's what my heart, soul, and mind needs. This, maybe, God can answer for me.

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Aug 26, 2010

Aug 26, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC

corlotta-murry

Answer This For Me

When I was in the fourth grade I thought of it. When I was in the nineth grade, I wished for it. When I was in the tenth grade I dreamt of it, but now I am in the eleventh grade, and I continuously beg for it. I am pleading with whatever God there may be; to allow me to receive my one and only true release from this never-ending misery. An escape from my growing insanity. This is it. I refuse to continue praying for better brighter days, because it seems like The Divine will not answer those prayers for me. Now my prayers have changed. The end of my days. That's what I pray, beg, and plead for. That's what my heart, soul, and mind needs. This, maybe, God can answer for me.

3

Highest point of the construction Site. On this job, it's the roof over The nineth floor. Horizon whispers of the sun. I thank the skies for not raining Right now. I thank the buildings that make Up the skyline for the work they've Provided. I thank the one I stand on this Very moment, for the food it puts On my table. I've been too hungry to take it For granted. I face north And thank my home for its shelter, For each memory that ties itself Unto it. I thank the city of Oslo. She has given me much. Taken too. I turn to where I just might see the Lights of my girlfriend's apartment Building. Hoping she's sound Asleep, enjoying the extra room the Bed surrenders when I leave after Spending the night. Perhaps stretching out across my Side; hand on the still warm Impression on my pillow, Thinking *sleep now, girl. You know He'll be back tomorrow.* I tip my hard hat to the fact, And descend back down the ladder. The sun is almost up, and no Building ever built itself.

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Oct 27, 2014

Oct 27, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC

sgholter

Hand on the Still Warm Impression on my Pillow

Highest point of the construction Site. On this job, it's the roof over The nineth floor. Horizon whispers of the sun. I thank the skies for not raining Right now. I thank the buildings that make Up the skyline for the work they've Provided. I thank the one I stand on this Very moment, for the food it puts On my table. I've been too hungry to take it For granted. I face north And thank my home for its shelter, For each memory that ties itself Unto it. I thank the city of Oslo. She has given me much. Taken too. I turn to where I just might see the Lights of my girlfriend's apartment Building. Hoping she's sound Asleep, enjoying the extra room the Bed surrenders when I leave after Spending the night. Perhaps stretching out across my Side; hand on the still warm Impression on my pillow, Thinking *sleep now, girl. You know He'll be back tomorrow.* I tip my hard hat to the fact, And descend back down the ladder. The sun is almost up, and no Building ever built itself.

33

One day he'll marry me and not just out of obligation itll have been ten years since the beginning of my nineth a decade lets make it milleniums i am loved so wholly my feelings have no holes

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Feb 4, 2013

Feb 4, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC

liz-paola

one day

One day he'll marry me and not just out of obligation itll have been ten years since the beginning of my nineth a decade lets make it milleniums i am loved so wholly my feelings have no holes

9

The seventh of the nineth Seven past nine Such a coincidence I've been wanting to write all day Today was a good day, I remembered Some things made me cry, some things made me mad Some came back and some never surfaced I forgave, but still I can't to forget Seventy nine less tears than last time Seventy nine less memories You won't even recognize the meaning I will always love you and miss you But today tought me well

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Sep 7, 2017

Sep 7, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC

tanyad1

6 years later

The seventh of the nineth Seven past nine Such a coincidence I've been wanting to write all day Today was a good day, I remembered Some things made me cry, some things made me mad Some came back and some never surfaced I forgave, but still I can't to forget Seventy nine less tears than last time Seventy nine less memories You won't even recognize the meaning I will always love you and miss you But today tought me well

13

Monday, the nineth, a special day for you, even when you are not with us, during this day, I want to thank you for all the wisdom you gave, for all the things you taught me, for all your will and sense of humor that made me laugh everyday- consider me, my uncle, as your living legacy. I will complete all the things for which God didn´t let you enough time. and tonight, while i´m holding a candle, that i´ll light in your memory, I´ll just whisper to the little flame, happy birthday, my uncle.

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Jul 9, 2018

Jul 9, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC

ruben-2

Elegy to my uncle

Monday, the nineth, a special day for you, even when you are not with us, during this day, I want to thank you for all the wisdom you gave, for all the things you taught me, for all your will and sense of humor that made me laugh everyday- consider me, my uncle, as your living legacy. I will complete all the things for which God didn´t let you enough time. and tonight, while i´m holding a candle, that i´ll light in your memory, I´ll just whisper to the little flame, happy birthday, my uncle.

18

Movement, as if weighted in a quickly thickening mire Pain so unrelenting, as if pierced with blades of fire Snapping like a bass line in each gesture; in each breath Whispering of days to come, more eminent than death Tugging at the strings, further crippling the dance Bleeding out chaotic rhythmic complication unromanced Leaving me to wonder whether days like these will end This lunacy of hope…is it real, or but pretend? Wading through such torment, longing for the chance to smile Hoping that each instance sweetly lingers yet a while Adding laughter to the madness, leaching pleasure from the pain In the knowledge that such sufferance was not survived in vain

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Feb 20, 2014

Feb 20, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC

DanielSmithFreakMorbidity

Diary of the ****** -- Tuesday, August 20th, 2013 - Nineth entry

Movement, as if weighted in a quickly thickening mire Pain so unrelenting, as if pierced with blades of fire Snapping like a bass line in each gesture; in each breath Whispering of days to come, more eminent than death Tugging at the strings, further crippling the dance Bleeding out chaotic rhythmic complication unromanced Leaving me to wonder whether days like these will end This lunacy of hope…is it real, or but pretend? Wading through such torment, longing for the chance to smile Hoping that each instance sweetly lingers yet a while Adding laughter to the madness, leaching pleasure from the pain In the knowledge that such sufferance was not survived in vain

12

All in, do nothing, or do this line by line imagine-ing, the verb behind what if, the quest ion, sparking attention at the mention cognosis troubler, bull in a china shop, bringer of missile launching knowledge to fight with a fuzzy visioned ****** breed of Andre stature, pinged, 'im. Right between the eyes... imagine doing that on the nineth at Pebble Beach, with a nine iron, poised to smack a pink and white Ping classic purchased on Ebay for six bucks. -- can't get that picture, -- never had the feeling of whacking ball after ball into the desert, for the helluvit... if you missed that you must have a metaphor of your own, for aiming at nothing, and hitting dead center every time.

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Apr 19, 2020

Apr 19, 2020 at 4:20 PM UTC

kenpepiton

I never played golf

All in, do nothing, or do this line by line imagine-ing, the verb behind what if, the quest ion, sparking attention at the mention cognosis troubler, bull in a china shop, bringer of missile launching knowledge to fight with a fuzzy visioned ****** breed of Andre stature, pinged, 'im. Right between the eyes... imagine doing that on the nineth at Pebble Beach, with a nine iron, poised to smack a pink and white Ping classic purchased on Ebay for six bucks. -- can't get that picture, -- never had the feeling of whacking ball after ball into the desert, for the helluvit... if you missed that you must have a metaphor of your own, for aiming at nothing, and hitting dead center every time.

15