"pomes" poems
To excel is like climbing a mighty mound
So dreary it seems trudging the desolated road,
But I've grown too weary doing inconsequential things.
Lazy to walk, craving for a comfy abode.
Though it's only disinterest that crosses my way
Like a torrent of the mountain creek,
Drowning me in trifling thoughts,
making my journey all the more bleak.
Hope I could find a tree along,
Bloomed with evergreen pomes
Of passion and perseverance.
I'd love to nibble at them for sure,
And regain my lost endurance.
I know I could transcend my limits
And ascend this arduous rock,
If only I took the first step
And started to walk.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
you have to be careful
what you put in your pomes
and how you word your critiques
some poets are unique
and their retorts
are silenced
like their critics.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Hello Poets.
I received a copy yesterday of my good friend Timothy's new book "Reflections in Short Poetry". An excellent book with some of Timothy's finest poems. Many of you are already familiar with his work. The book is very affordable and now available at lulu.com (by Timothy Salter). I highly recommend it. Congrats to Timothy for getting off of his **** and doing what many of us would like to do. Check his work out here at HP, too, if you aren't already familiar with his writing.
r
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
A blue guitar, twelve pieces of silver-
ware, some feldspar, an essay on The Art
of War, two pine bookshelves, fifty-four books
about the past, a stone axe that must have
belonged to the last of the Mohicans, fifty more
books about bones, stones and famous pomes,
a sliver of glass from a mirror that shattered
the last six years like they didn't matter
plus one to go, a shitload of old liquor bottles,
a fossil of an inner earbone from a killer whale,
a spear-point older than 12,000 years+plus,
a tooth from a shark as big as a ****** bus,
dust marks from missing pictures of us.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
I hate dull poems with no point
That makes no cents at all
I intend to laff it off and
Blame the alcohol.
Yes, Jaegar Bombz and Jello Sots
As far as i can tell,
Are fool fuel to propel my work
George Strait to Poem Hell.
I was gettin’ almost sober, SO
Had another Jaegar, and a beer (or two)
Lean closed to George and whispered in his ear
I’m here for a good time – juss like u
Yeah Iss country singin’ at is best
If u king n rite the kind that sell
But I get;n kinda sleepy
Stink my peom bombses swell.
SO moreally the story, if you right pomes wen yur drnuk
Beddter wate till til the mmornnimg lite
To post it post it post it tooo
That Hallowed Pomes site
LwP$@Qx)911 ^^(
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
***** alleys weeping garbage (fish heads)
40s (alhambra) for 1 euro & a new leather
jacket;
football games in parks
carpeted broken glass/kids laughing.
sun like a strange shimmer 'yond th'mountains rearing
like
jagger's wild horses ,
liquid spanish smiles in little bars all w/th'same signs.. words
words
words like birds ...
(birds that take off
in th'park in raucous flights
if yer talkin' too loud.)
eat minute fried fish outside over 6 glasses strong beer.
almost fall off stool twice's'many times scrutinizing passing girls.
go home & write pomes 'bout cig'rettes & running,
call it "oxymoron" 'cause doing both in same day
is bad ******* news for the guts.
go to the university campus
for cheap coffee
& conversation
w/a girl from the bar (the bartender)
write a poem while she talks & call it
"terra nova"
that one's about nothing.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
Do you love the grit of my teeth,
True caressing sweet nature,
Slowly engulfing you…
Love‘s venom taking over us,
Never to let you go free,
Nor leave a simple clue…
Symphonies of dreams distorted,
No one to crave you but thee,
Savings for catacombs…
Who to find you of buried love,
Your skin melting of ***** wealth,
Reeking of ****** pomes…
Shake alive your casket of limbs…
Of ground the crying violins…
Jan 6, 2022
Jan 6, 2022 at 3:03 PM UTC
Underneath the painted rock
you'll find a key
I ain't much for hiding
but that's just me
There's a book of pomes (yeah, pomes)
beneath my pillow
You might find one or two
to your liking
But that's a'right if you don't
I wrote 'em
for you, any ol' way
Come September
if I don't remember
where I hid my key
That book of pomes'll be
still beneath my pillow
If you care
to take a read.
r ~ 7/12/14
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
Where I abide presents colossal trees
Stretching out like continents.
I am with a caravan of explorers/ artists.
Flower children adorned in green garments,
Upon it, heavy brocade
We are the kings and the queens
You have ordained us to become.
We gallop through your woodlands,
Plunge off of great bonds,
Clamber your mountains,
dream in bountiful verdant shades,
Smoke your fine leaves,
Bathe in the river of wine
And frolic under the feathers of the sun.
I sweat in Egyptian musk and lavish myself in fruits and pomes
harmonic melodies and symphonic winds breath in my ears
I read the books of the waters and the air
i sing the odes of the stars
I swim in your legion of seas
with the divine poetic creatures
The women with the eyes of sapphire and diamonds
Full Garnet lips that taste like mint and rose water.
We are thee queens
We call upon empires within you.
Your lands are ours now.
We Bathe in silk and pearls you have birthed for us
We Feast on lokum
our naked bodies like Venus
Sit upon bowing thrones,
Chanting hymns to the mother.
-Arizona
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
et id me borfday toodai
we ar so happi dso bee 16 yodqay
we wouldn lik to t6hank qaqdam rylander
he had ben a grayt heelp
i wood lek jew also fank solari
he liked mee pomes and amde me go trending
if yoo cood chair dis wev ur frends and mak me famoos
i wood be appy
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
Hey!
How're you doing today?
I have to say
(If I may)
That I intend to write a poem every day!
"What?!", you say,
"That's baloney!
There aren't that many poems to be found anyway!"
Oh yay,
Indeed there are, more than all the stars in the skay,
(You'll note a bit of poetic license there)
If there's anything I've learnt it's to never say nay.
Infinite poems exist, you can keep counting away,
But a considerable more that don't rhyme.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Some pomes stick to the wall like spaghetti,
And filch meaning from better poets.
So take not the dower of my time,
And I'll make no obloquy against ye petty scriveners.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I will not mime
for the sake of belonging.
Moon albino, gives
a piercing cry. Why did you
look like solar eclipse?
When you intend to borrow
love, in parenthesis, I will
go mad.
Light filters from
the chips of your armor.
Essence was nearly invisible.
An insane encounter,
took place once. A red tailed parrot
landed on the pretty pomes.
A face lost in crowd,
floats again in my poems.
Don't you open the blank
pages, where your name
was watermarked.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
The best thing about teaching poetry,
And being a poet,
Is that you can show the children,
That sometimes what you write is AMAZING,
And sometimes it is *******
But it all involves scribbles,
And considering every word,
And what is ******* to you,
Speaks to somebody else,
And what is AMAZING to you,
Is AMAZING to you. (and that's enough)
Oh and it doesn't have to rhyme.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:12 PM UTC
If poems could keep secrets
They would be bare
There would be no red rose
No tears of devisation
No vast fields of color
No love or hate
No emotion
No anything just a bare feild abanded
The words would fade
The sentence would run away back into the pencil you hold
Pomes can not keep secrets all pomes reaval something
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
Siht si hgih dne fo wol
my
life
intro
is
backwards
Riffes
made
of
Grief
let's keep it brief
No body gonna read into your
tear apart eyes
No body gonna seal love
deal with thirsty lips
She said : isn't love the only true ?
I said : For that Love must be true
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
What could you do
when the donor fatigue
is on display? And stops the succor?
You are no more hungry.
A Buddha sleeps nonchalantly.
Small, blue grapes leave
their mark on the plate.
It will take decades to unknow
the ****** orientation.
Breathing in the incense,
the cannabis rules.
You were inhaling the history.
A unisex quality
in the seedless pomes.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
12 am
My brother called me
He told me he was bleeding out
Those where his last words
Still my tears don't fall
So let the liquor keep Pouring down
Keep that barrette playing
Its feels like home to me
Lost so many Homies to the game
I dont know when I lost my soul
Im trying to change my ways
Its getting hard every day
Never felt in so much pain
Half my pomes
My tears don't falls
Just writing this
my tears just pour
Im trying my best
But half I not
Where am I posted to go
If im lost
in the back of skull
I got a pack full of thoughts
That I can't control
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC