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em Oct 2015
When my heart hung in the stars
I'm convinced
my better parts got lost
on the dark side of the moon.

the doctors say I'm dreaming
but I could swear to you
that the man on the moon is crying
asteroids and wilted flower petals.

we revolve around the same sun but
our revolutions although
intertwined, are chasing
different horizons longing for unfamiliar faces.

the stars are in my eyes
but it will take years of staring into
broken mirrors before I find the planet
that my smile resides on.
I don't really know about this one. I wanted to try something a little more abstract. Please please please leave feedback, I want to do everything I can to mature as a writer.
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;

The Abyssimal Sea?

Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
The primary reason I came to Hello Poetry is that every single publishing house I could find on the internet rejected every poem I sent them. Since my work is deemed to be worth nothing I gave it all to you for free. It seems that in a digital world where people can share this easily there will always be more content available for free than for a fee. One would think publishers would know this. I have seen some seriously good poetry here and some pieces that are extraordinary.
I hear a revolution
If it's not here already
I hear it approaching

I heard it today in my car

It
Sounded a
Lot like my radio
Playing Taylor Swift,
Telling everyone to calm down
While I drive in Heber
Where I grew
Up

Where I was too
Afraid to come out
The closet and
Idolized
Suicide

But its bigger than
That small delicious taste
X96 gifted me today

It spans every
Genre

In fact
It's  killing the
Very concept of genre

What the **** is a genre?

What is rock?
What is rap?
What is hip-hop?

I see people at concerts
And I swear Lady Gaga
Is a prophet like any other

Prophet
Goddess
Mystic

Alive today and more
Influential then any
Not married to Jay Z

When I listen to the
Words kids are singing along to
I hear snippets of a future

Cardi B
Post-Malone
Kesha

Love or hate them
Their music is pulsing through
The masses like mountain

Dew mixed with
A RockStar Energy
Drink, sip

And from what I
Can here from the shapers
Things are going

To get worse
Than better
Janelle Tanguin Aug 2017
I've learned my ABCs at one,
learned to read by four,
constructed my paragraphs at six,
a know-it-all reciting parts of speech by seven.

Letters assembled themselves ready for scrabble.
Rocks, paper, scissors,
I never learned to let go of the paper.
And grew up with dry fingers caressing books.
Breathing in language and literature.

They say you can only love something so much
until it leaves you empty.
But I've only ever truly loved a few things about life,
and first was how words strung empathy.

The way I wrote about tying yellow ribbons on trees for a hero at eleven,
wrote about anything that won me passports to a passion I had to sacrifice a few years later after fourteen,
wrote about the boy who broke my heart at seventeen,
wrote about the monsters in my head at nineteen.

I don't know how words always found me
whenever I tried to run away from the world;
how they kept my sanity along with melodies for as long as I can remember,
and made countless others feel less alone.

What I love is a weapon
that has sparked revolutions, waged wars.
What I love is art that built acropolises from embers
and most the world's wonders.

It rushes euphoriant through my veins as much as it does through yours,
yet it is neither blood nor oxygen.
It is all the words burning as we keep them hidden,
dying for us to give them meaning.
Patricia Arches Sep 2013
Choices

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e

because

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many

Choices

Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this

One

story

For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men

*****

And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the womb

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you

You

Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,

unexplainable,

brilliant,

grand,

intricate,

lovel­y,

merciful,

gracious,

holy,

divine,

choice

is all for you
lila Feb 21
writing words of revolutions
with the real stories
scribbled out between the lines
encased in beautiful metaphors
hidden in plain sight
1/30/2019
Jaden May 2018
why am i to spend 12 years of my life
learning the same history 12 ways
each year getting more into depth
about how straight, white, and cis,
"all" of history just happens to be
when in reality anything that was ever
deemed abnormal or harmful to america's image
just doesn't get taught.

all these years of being sheltered from the truth
about america the great
has left me with questions i'm scared will go unanswered
and so

I'd like to know which group of old white men
decided erasing history was a good idea
If i'm stuck learning about these so called achievements and revolutions which only came from the self proclaimed superiors
i'd like to know whose idea it was to forget about
The whips cracked in to bleeding black skin
Making it known that my ancestors were no more than a tool
No more than what white men, white masters made them in to
No more than a slave until 1865

I want to know who made it possible for my history teacher to ask me what my opinion on slavery is since i’m the only black kid in sight
When will they teach me why it’s okay for the 20 white kids in my class
To call me their ***** but it’s not okay for me to get mad about it

Please tell me how these people figured out
who all they should kindly choose to silence?
maybe they thought it's too much to cover in class
Since we have to have time to be taught about manifest destiny
And how Americans had every right to take land and lives
Because white men deserve to take what doesn’t belong to them
or maybe it's been deemed inappropriate
because they're too scared to admit
That America would rather hose down black kids
waiting for our skin to become clear and
praying for our melanin to wash off just so they would stop having to look at the skin they deemed sinful
than admit that America loves to make black people fearful.

When are we taught about who chose to write about all of
america's triumphs and good times but
somehow seemed to forget about the scars passed on to me from over 100 years ago
But didn’t know i had until i was ten years old.
And honestly that no longer surprises me i mean
America only speaks of cishet white guys.
and I bet you didn't know about very first gay pride.
It was a series of riots started because America decided
Loving who you want makes you unequal
And the only way to fix that is using force that’s lethal
Force that would leave lovers lives laying in the street like the never even lived
Force that led to June 28th through July 1st becoming riots that didn’t need to happen but the police couldn’t keep their privileged fingers off of gay people
But it’s fine because ignoring that part of history has become an American steeple.

At this point I know all the answers to every test asking about the history you feed us
In attempts to hide the truths of this country that wishes it never freed us
so stop teaching me the same
cis, straight, white history I've already
been taught 10 going on 11 years of my life
because i don't care about the men who wanted to keep my ancestors bound
Or the country that keeps trying to tell me that my love isn’t allowed
i care about the history they'll continue to ignore and erase.
i care about the history America begs me to forget.
DivineDao Apr 2016
Choral and gospel babe's reciting a poetry
in a modern way. She is a choclate griotto
wrapped up in a southern comfort gown.

He guessed her amazingly hot origin from musicality in her velvety dark mane, in her ****, humming womanly voice. Appealing much as her bountyful body.

The excellerating vocal interpretation gaudied the lingering air surrendering to those poetic sounds coming from her to us, over and over again. If you want! Reciting some of the longer Jim's poems. In a dark room, remembered, spoken, where the cardinal curtains were shading the late afternoon beams. To get the genuine gut feeling ~ that"s something marvelously mysterious ~ as poetry ~ per se ~ is reeling all around. Having the great impact on the listeners.
               In another room across the Atlantic, just about few seconds before he saw her; quite an awkward idea have popped up : how identity unmistakebly identifies with the one-self in relation to relatives according to the grand relativity theory blurring a lot who's who among ancestor's honey glued lineage ... sprited like a helium baloon taken off the ground, up, having fun in the wide open bolstering from one white puffy figure grown out of the wildest indigo and cerulean heaven deeply falling in the prodigal fractalistic mannierisms dancing through the ultimate void as franticly beautiful Shakti having a blast with her Primordial man. Shiva the Creator ! Who poured, burnt and purred the poem's punctuation points into the poet's heart, tongue, soul and sprinkled them in between insightful words on the vintage parchment.
            Calligraphy images painted delicately in black ink on and have succesfully enhanced the artistically written haiku poems. In a book of poetry of another Author. From the land of sushi, robots and hi-tech dreams. The differece of being a straightforward contemporary creator to the one who sits silently under cherry blossoms beauty. Accepting the roots, harsh cosy tree trunk, breathing winds and the revolutions, sanities and insanities of mad Sun eruptions, spots and freckles on cute girls marching into the bright light, day after night, might after fight. The Inward diving.

Abstract phenomena. Silences. Was it any good!? Life has thought me about the cunning words. Happy random words like kiss, miss, beau, slurp, ice-cream delight, giggles, wonderful smiles, cherry lips, cherish your beloved ~ dear darling ~ la lingua. But please, never say that I should love difficult, occult words as purge, purgatory, creteins etc.  
                   Swear, baby - if you want it! ****! sweet *****! Move your hips, pointilists would point your *******, and made a swooshing swing, gladly tightening the narrow silky ropes around those fabulous moving hills.
                 What's the point of this poem!? Finding the existentialist in Finnland drinking a deliciously innocent yoghurt. Crashing into a Canadian household having the burglar tools pined up to your belt, not knowing about the utmost honesty of   the  open  doors  and  hospitability. Surfing on effervescent waves along Seyshelles, being outsmarted by a slick dolphin taking your gigantic wave. Transcending from a cop to a couplet master.

Poetic friends! Being a poet is *****! A total ******! A ***** Wonka going ballistic! A postcard from hell send through transgression, transforming living cosmic beams and  biiii bi bips. . . . Reaching beyond the larva and a cocoon stage.
I am. Stars we admire. Stars we praise. Stars who aspire. The union. The Bellevue. Be bop was kinda cool. Was not my thing... Be blogs. Be brave. Bear. Beer. Be on. Neon. Liberty.
Strange Musings Upon Many Begotten Realms
People commit suicide when their soul is dehydrated
When thoughts outside a solid wall can not be gyrated
All embers grow cold and vacant like they've been sedated
Or maybe caved in because once inflated to a certain extent
There's no room to be sated when only knowing wicked intent
A body needs to be caressed and let a broken bone mend
To make it flexible and elastic -first shown how to bend
It's nothing fantastic but merely a lesson on how to cope
How to watch yourself rebound from any and all hope
How to break down and realign then redesign the entire mind
Seeing being beaming retreating
screaming at you
with NOTHING inside

And how that harrowed hole bores into how you're defined
And how time is the only place left to fill an empty space
So hollow at this point it feels like it can just be replaced
The following revolutions come one second at a time
If you can't find the courage for evolution
You're destined to rewind
It manifests as a habit building pressure in your mind
Until one day what's filled up has pressed your luck
Because guess what? it was the same as the last grind


The only healthy circle comes from an innate sense of being
When you reach within all you've been and all that you are seeing
And when you find the epitome of all that you have sought Remember all in practice & nothing that lasts is bought Overcoming tragedy found through glory and no retreat
While marching to the sound of your heart's personal drumbeat Will be lost to you over and again yet returns at a single thought It's no predisposition but practiced, understood, then conditioned When you open your ears and truly listen

Not all times do diamonds glisten.
No footprints are left behind without a vision.
No wisdom is borne without decision.
Nothing changes without remission.
No fault is known without admission.
No script was written without revision.
No skill ever mastered without precision.

So when you spend time wondering how things could have been different.

You'll do yourself a favor instead wondering what it all meant.
Lovely Nobody May 10
And they don't even get views to get the revolution started







XDXDXDXDXDXDXDXDXDXDXDXDXD
And **** like this might actually trend

XDXDXDXD
Rohan Press Apr 24
Remember the headrest—muted
and pasted to your arms.
How it felt to smother in voicelessness.

Remember hair stains, decade-weary leather.
Remember the revolutions around ourselves.

Remember as inky sky purples from sunlight;
Confront the oppressive curls of memory.
Kanishka May 20
I wish I was an aurora.
My performance will be a blissful rare site.
I'll dance from sky to sky unhindered at night.
My manoeuvre making spectators gasp.
Witnessing me sing will render luck bright.

I wish I was an aurora,
My lovers would camp despite freezing just to peek.
They'll try to touch me but fail.
They'll hold me dear only to lose me instantly.
I'll be their memory, remembered vividly.

I wish I was an aurora.
I'll be the goddess of dawn.
I'll be the chariot of light in darkness.
I'll harbour revolutions in lives.
I'll enlighten everyone as my own.

I wish I was an aurora.
I'll be valued and worshipped by some.
But I'm not an aurora,
I'll die insignificant and glum.
You are not coming home
You're only visiting mine
The path I've carved to the bone
With my blood and sweat
When you left me behind

We're expecting connections
From two dead cells
Yet there's not a flickering light
No prospective spark to find

I want the best of both worlds
Knowing I've driven you away
While coping with the anger and confusion That leads me astray

I don't want restitution.
I don't seek retribution.
Here I see no resolution.
Let there be no delusion.

Perhaps there's a part of me
That will always care
About what you think or how you feel
But honestly it's hard for me to be real
When the wounds never mutually heal

My heart is repealed
Until your story's revealed
Maybe when Hell freezes over
Or pigs grow wings and fly
Suffice to say

I've grown older
Fulfilled in my own ways
Chasing epiphanies and revolutions
I've become colder
Concealed in my own space
Now I've found the ideal solution

Simply (smile)
Give you an illusion
This poem is dedicated
If you ask me, he lit the match that set the Moon on fire
It’s not a myth; I was there, when I had no home
And I walked in Saturn’s ring rain for so long it sloughed off my skin
I marched, trying to flatten the crater I’d made
Because I was ashamed of it
I was the last meteor to hit his heart; the loudest
But that was so long ago
The quietest revolutions are usually the most violent
If you ask him, I smelled like Genesis and Revelation from the inside
******* insatiable
I slathered honey on my cheeks and boiled my blood
so hot until my arteries turned charred black
I licked my wounds from the impact and discovered just what the hell was poisoning me

If you ask me, I didn’t know him last night and I won’t know him on the last night
But my God, he inspires me
Michael John Aug 2018
the peaceful revolution begins with ones-self
so they say
what do you think that means lily..
well, maybe,since most revolutions are
betrayed-
be true to oneself..

like when you do something with pride and love
cooking or sitting on the bus..
and then things for us
will go dot to dot
like a tiny wove

in a great cosmic carpet
that is our collective conscience..
gosh, it´s hot
is there ice..
Stephen James Sep 16
above the waters
we rose from
our souls
and the sky
they become one

cloud connected

where molecules
and vapor
bound with
the dust of
the deep

the product
that begat
human
arms, legs,
and feet

a singular instance
was set off
in the distance
detected through
transistance
we've learned
that this mind
is transcendent

destined to live
among ancestors
who populate
their own
star clusters

the authors
of their own
forces of nature
through
self-contained rapture

we stand
twelve leagues
in stature

previously
we
couldn't
grasp this

where digital code
has been found
in
what was once thought
massless

stellar decryptions
revealed the answers

we're no longer
defined by classes

from the time
we named
the proton
and then
split the atom

we've mastered
the diagram
of strings
that keeps
all things connected
by way
of revolutions
that have proven
symmetric
a poem
AditiBoo Aug 2018
Here is a sinner
Sitting behind a laptop screen

Scrolling down the never-static newsfeed
Trivial scandals now a guilty pleasure
Reading through people's misery, becoming mean
Nasty comments, by restless fingers being keyed

Here is a sinner
Cleansing his wrongdoings with that of another
Becoming a saint by calling out a stranger's error
Finding normalcy in someone else's stripped privacy
Retrieving some sense of belonging in controversy
Becoming nonchalant in the face of his own complacency

Here is a sinner
Judging others on their freedom of expression
Using that same liberty to trigger that prejudice
In this cruel whirlpool of righteousness, everyone is a loser
The issue is not the words we use for this damnation
But the conviction that our words give us a sense of justice

An instilled presumption that we are better
Simply because our crime did not make the paper
A malpractice of opinion only being heard behind a screen
Through the monotonous voice of a mindless machine

Here is a sinner
Writing prose of what gives rise to my anger
Using a keyboard to show my contempt
To those who do the same...in contempt!
Revolutions have taken over the virtual platform
Whilst evolution enters an identity crisis of its reform
Samuel Canerday Dec 2018
Seasons come and go, like the wind
On high
Maybe this time you can stay here
If you will
Nothing is ever assured, I fear, but the
Changing seasons
The world will turn and all my love
Will follow
In revolutions

The sun once set far below the earth
Out of sight
And there it met the moon and thought
What a delight
Is the sun any different, no matter where
It may be
Will the moon still find it as they turn
Somewhere out
In the galaxy

So stay here, alas, my sweetest love
Dear Persephone
No matter how the spring may call
Never leave
Your mother says that I'm no good
That may be
But I'll love you no matter the seasons
So please stay
Dear Persephone
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