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Nazrana Kalil Sep 2018
You fill me to the brim
Like coffee on a Sunday morning.
Ive always loved that about you, you never gulped, you never rushed.
You paused inbetween, inhaling the brewed coffee beans.
You dipped into the cup with love and wonder,
Always took little sips to make the feeling last longer.
Mauren Sep 2018
.1. when I said I had a odd sum of days clean
she said "I count on your days the way a catholic counts on rosary beads"
but I'm no saint and I'm destined to let you down again

2. when I have nightmares it's just my dad crying over my dead body
and she wonders why I never call when I never know what to say

3. I started skipping my meds again because I got sick of feeling normal
now I'm starting to see my dead mother every time I look in the mirror

4. I think my point is life is becoming a very morbid place to be
and I think about killing myself every time I wake up
but what if the last time I hugged my dad was dripping from the shower that he wrenched me from and outfitted in steel hand cuffs

what if I never hear her say she loves me again
pm Jun 2015
The first time my eyes laid on yours,
I knew, oh I felt, every blood
that had rushed through my veins
now I understand why it is called fate
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
I rush for love against time
And bleed blood by design
My heart floods for my crimes
When my mud attracts flies

I felt a rush
Through the brush
Of your skin so lush
I turned to mush

My heart began to gush
When I felt your rush
It became too much
And I exploded prematurely
Though it's normal you assured me
Could it be that you had cured me?

We rushed through our adrenaline courtship
While I rushed through your adorable hips
I was ****** in by your surge
Until your love was purged
You grew bored of my rush hour
So you exerted your push power
And I became a fastidious learner
That you were an insidious burner
After I became the sole recipient
Of your attitude that's flippant

The pain is a rush
This pain when you flush
Disdain when you crush
Me to pieces
Between your creases
When you keep talking feces
It's something that never eases
When your rush turns to breezes

You're a rush in my heart
Like the rush when I ****
It's a relief that you're gone
But something seriously stinks
It's a relief you were wrong
Yet I continue to sink
Nicholas Fonte Aug 2018
Look at everything I've done
There is no forgiving this
Even still, all I did was run
I ran from it all
I'm gone
I departed to a new place
Where no one could know
This dreaded face
I spent my time on the train
Afraid

Time has come to Fall
The color red was all around
Each leaf is a memory hiding
Things that shouldn't be found

The wait comes to an end
Where I will take
The first step
Towards a new life
And right away
"Welcome to our town!"
"There's no need to frown!"
"Come on, let's be friends!"
Rushed by all the villagers
"Hey, I'll show you around."
The young miss
Said to me.
So then she went off, guiding me.
This was the next step
In this life

No
Is this forgiveness?
The world has given me a
Second chance
This is a new life
A new Me
I'll turn over a new leaf
I can make the change

Past, present, future
Past doesn't matter
And we live in the present
Fighting for our future

"Hey, miss,
Let's strive forward in this town...
Together."
This is now my town
Our town
Something far greater
Than even destiny.
Ha ha an interesting take on this game. Wish I put more references in to there but hey, I love how it came out.
elizabeth Mar 2018
i've wanted to be a mystery for as long as i can remember. my whole life, i ached for someone to wonder about me, to need to know more, to write pages of poetry for me, to feel love songs in their body when they saw me. i desired words of love and lust and wonder to describe me. i never understood what i was doing wrong, why i wasn't receiving bundles of pink, heart-shaped valentines full of adoration, why i couldn't seem to make anyone curious about who i was. i'd watch others only share small pieces of themselves to capture the hearts of random lovers, and i so wished to do the same. i know that, deep in my core, that's not who i am. my heart is tattooed on my sleeve, and every emotion that goes through my mind appears right across my face. i feel too much, there's no way around it. no one will ever wonder about a girl if you can easily see what she's feeling. i've tried to crush that part of myself, tried to drain my body of all the excess feelings. it refills though, like a river after a drought. the water always returns, most often in storms. the feelings rush into me and make it impossible to mute them. i've come to the conclusion that i will never be a person that a stranger on the bus sees from across the aisles and thinks about for the rest of the day. that those who want to be wanted rarely get that. that i will forever be the one who writes poetry about someone, and it will never be the other way around. it hurts, but i've realized now that no blurry, rushed words about a love for me will ever grace a page in a diary, even if that's the only thing i need.
jcl Mar 16
Animals have an intuition about danger. Men have “gut feelings.”  I should have listened to mine.  The first time I saw her, I knew she was dangerous.  I could feel it, and it excited me.  She was a predator, a tigress, a seductress on the hunt, a wild, untamable savage woman who destroyed men.  She would destroy me.  I saw it in her eyes the first time I saw her.  She was walking by with her girlfriends, laughing and giggling. She looked up, caught my gaze, and my world suddenly froze. A thousand feelings were expressed in the blink of her eyes.  She told me I was prey.  She told me I would die. She smiled, releasing my gaze.  My world rushed back into focus with the abrupt harshness of a slap in the face.  I was sweating. I was afraid. I was excited as I  watched her disappear into the crowd. That was the first time I saw her. How could I forget.
... continued
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3075774/seraphine-2-gare-de-lest/

Written May 13, 1998 Paris, France while sitting at a bistro
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Night filled glittering skies
Cloud bright trimmed in lines
Sloe-eyed music pops and fades
Drones straight edged across the lies
Drugged up players in a lit up world
Smooth cries fill the ears of hardhearted rituals
Flashbulb strobes beat the pace
Fist raised groups of hazed out praise
Rushed up feints in the days of the lost
Last light shines as sloe-eyed music pops and fades

cc2011
Jasmine Aug 2017
I am the shadow of trayvon martin
Lying on the ground just as he did
I'm black just as he was
I wasn't planning to die that day either
I wasn't threatning nobody either
that day
The gunshots echoed
just as loud
when I was shot down as Mike Brown
yet his name echoes through the streets years later still
mine followed me to the grave
They don't care about me it seems
If I cried "what about me"
Who would ever see?
because my hashtag has even been drowned so deep in the depths of R.I.P's that I can't barely breathe anymore
When we think black brutality
Why do the names of trayvon
Mike
Tamir
Sandra
Rush to our heads just as fast as blood once rushed to theirs?
Does my black life, too, matter?
I can't blame you
That there have been so many deaths due to oppression and police brutality that they all seem to sound the same
No matter how loud we scream Black lives matter
We will never be seen as the living
But the potentially dead
We cry for justice to a system that's no longer built to accept us
A president that tries to forget us
A black voice will always be too loud to a world who never intended on listening
Who am I?
Besides a hashtag and a t-shirt with my face on it?
A black lives matter sign and a melanin fist?
A statistic?
I am black excellence
Regardless of how much sin you may see in my kin
A piece from the perspective of Black oppression victims unheard
KiraLili Apr 2015
Is elegance lost in these days we live?

Movement is no longer so anymore but rushed and agitated

Design has forgotten the simple lines

Poise has been replaced by abject hustle

Fashion has forgotten its place replaced by the everyday

Nature the only reminder at times of stoic beauty

Not merely aesthetics has waned but the mannerisms the pace of it

The tastefulness and savoured selections of elegance and the feeling

It goes past the decorations of this day for elegant things last and endure

So much more than style elegance has virtues and grace and timeless qualities

It is beauty and gracefulness of that way of being

Is it lost or just outnumbered and drowned out by noise ?

Or are we too busy to see it ?

Simple virtues so beautiful should be easier to find

Elegance.....
Is it lost?
Yaser Nov 2017
On an odd and restless night
when the stars were all but gone
I lay my head in search of sleep
and sought to see the dawn
I closed my eyes
awaiting dreams
but far from me they fled
and faces born of fleeting thoughts
stirred strange within my head

Then I heard it sure enough
my name out of the dark
It found its way into my soul
and there it left its mark

My eyes flickered hastily
and I rushed out of the door
Oh! How I wished to hear that voice -
to hear that voice once more!

A breath of wind did bid my leave
from my chamber nigh
A breath of wind that called my name
with a silent sigh

I walked beneath an empty sea
hidden to my eyes
For not a light hung in that sky
Not a light hung in that sky

I stood there then with open ear
'pon firm and lifeless ground
I stood there, still to hear it clear
That endless swirl of sound

Oh how it howled
and stirred about
that strange and eerie hour!
I knew it then that I'd stood before
an eve of rouse'd power

She sung to me
She sung to me
her silent lullaby
and with each verse
she birthed anew
the stars within the sky...
Steve Page Oct 2018
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Route Master = a London bus
Hackney Carriage = a black cab
Boris Bike = rentabike
Chelsea tractor = an oversized suv preferred by families who can afford Kensington & Chelsea
Cindra Carr Jun 2011
Hard light and star struck breath
Pinched corners filled with stifled cries
Rash rushed hands in tangled hair
Heart fought racing growing frenzied
Flashing lips tapping tripping touching
Pulling tearing rough handled love
Frantic touches in lost time
Stolen fevered passion crushed together
Harsh rasps gasping in ears of flushed faces
Tight hot lives against the wall
Pitched cries smothered and lost
Falling hands bunched against lush hips
Running lights lingering on glistening cheeks
Sultry lingering brushing back errant hairs
Hands snaking out while looking both ways
Lost in the traffic of people flowing by

cc030711
Carter Ginter Jun 2018
White steam from green tea
Old school rap echoing across the walls
I ordered my own food and drink
What I wanted instead of a rushed decision
I feel free
Starting conversations with strangers
Holding good ones with my partner's partner
Raising my hand in class and
Actually sharing my opinion
Without the fear of judgement
Holding me back at all
Äŧül Apr 2015
A three-year-old boy in Cleveland,
Himself a very young little kid,
Shot a baby dead on Sunday night.

The bullet hit in the face of the baby,
Then it was rushed to a hospital,
But was pronounced brought dead.

Who is to be blamed now?
The kid toying with the gun??
Or the irresponsible parents???

I think it is the society's fault,
Needless are the guns in homes,
Shouldn't the society repair itself?

But are the blames enough now?
Can blaming bring the baby back to life?
No. A big NO!
Very saddened by reading this appalling piece of news in today's newspaper.

Profit is to be made, agreed.
But at this cost??

Gun laws need to be made extremely stringent & strict everywhere to avoid any such incidents again in future.

Guns are needless tools of hatred.

My HP Poem #836
©Atul Kaushal
Marla Sep 2018
Eyes having opened,
They were met by an infinite blue.
Deeply rich and sapphire-esque in tone,
The sea rushed into the mouth that was held agape
By both marvel and fear.
At first instinct was the will to resist,
But then came the strange comfort of allowing the passionate Blood that once boiled
Chill itself to a painfully distant frost.
It was ecstasy and torture coexisting within
A circular harmony of sensation.

This order of solace was short lived.

With a shimmer,
The once reserved and vibrant sea of blue transformed
Into an abyss of clarity.
The briny and familiar taste shifted in nature to something other. Something potent, something repulsive, something sinister.
At once,
The calm oasis turned into a scathing hell.
His inferno incarnate.
A body that at past times swam with jubilance
Now sank to the fiery depths,
Having already lost both the spirit and the ability to fight.
Crisped,
The corpse felt an enormous pain.
But the mind felt none for there was none to speak of.
Marla Dec 2018
All alone,
Sitting there in her pain,
She strums a guitar
And smokes away the day.
Phone calls come in
Steaming with disdain.
She's broken now,
Her heart's stop beating again.

Out and back home,
Rushed away to the ER.
No one comes to visit,
Their jobs are all too far.
All alone,
She thinks it's time to die.
Her last words shown:
"It isn't Suicide if you cry."
OC Aug 2018
At preschool last morning, when first class began
Our teacher Miss Fortune, has entered the den
And promptly asked us, the pure younglings
To write on the devil that make us do things

So teacher sat down, and we tykes got engaged
And committedly filled page after page
As we took up an oath, us the urchin, the youth
To speak the whole truth, and nothing but truth

So first rose the young boy Timothy Veet
And confessed all the text that he etched on the sheet
How last week he attended the birthday of Sheila
And got high on some hemp, and two shots of tequila

As he sat, quickly stood his companion wee Tom
And he told how he broke to the principal’s home
Where he gingerly snatched, like a cat burglar
A computer, some cash, and antique silverware

But who took the whole cake, was shy Rosaline
As she stood up and gestured to Billy, her kin
And with timid resolve, and an ear-to-ear grin
Said: “He is the devil that makes me do things…”

Miss Fortune, chalk white, and clearly distressed
Was rushed on a gurney, to the ER no less
Our innocence wither, like a flower well hidden
So why keep insisting on calling us children
An old piece by my old man. Thought to lighten the mood a bit by translating this one. Hope you enjoy.
KiraLili Apr 2015
Slow waking and slower coffee's
The haze of Saturday clears.
Every thing settles in from the week.
No set agendas for this day.
Plans change fluidly and often.
Bodies rest more and minds process.
Food tastes better and conversations aren't rushed.
Sunday.. The goal of every work week.
It's the charging station for the week to come.
The one day where one can take it all in. Sunday.....
alexis hill Nov 2014
I still believe there is good
in everyone.
even the most evil

I think it started
slow where sliding down
the esophagus the hallucinogenic
melds with the pills and meds
melts with the elements
around us

and I know we all
can't help but feel
like we're  sitting on a notion meditating
on a thought

but I refuse to be a
tragic backdrop to your
midnight sky

I think it started
With those deep entrancing eyes.
remember THAT
so when we judge the worst people in the world
remember that they're all bad
for very different reasons

that they all started off slow
I swear.
but somewhere rushed it all
somewhere things went awry
and I still believe there is good in
everyone

Reason 1. We are born equal
Reason 2. We all tried our best
Reason 3. We failed to meet the expectations

maybe because no one believed we could be good enough
maybe because no one cared.
And we rushed through life on auto pilot

no there are no bad seeds
Just beautifully grown trees and
Iridescent waters in which we stare at our reflections
a ripple effect of expectations

and I cast a stone across the surface of the sea
there is good bad
black and white
right and wrong

but I still believe.
Alice Lovey Jul 2018
Infectious laugh,
Untamable anger,
Excitable stories,
Well-hidden anxiety.

Misdirected blame,
Unwarranted shame.

Blue eyes.

Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints.

Smiling...

After work.
In the middle of the night.
In the mornings.
Saturday afternoons.

Rushed calls or
A day’s worth of together.

Nightmares as dreams,
Nights without sleep.
Coffee, drugs, caffeine.
Scars.

Hopelessness.
Grief.

Aspirations.
Full of life.

Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart.
An eye for nature’s beauty.
An eye for art.
One for me, occasionally.

Insecurity. Arrogance.
Compassion. Detachment.
Weak yet enduring.
Unmoving yet learning.

Intoxicating.
Aggravating.
A liar struggling to lie.
A suicide debating to die.

Lustful gaze.
Manipulative ways.

Who were you
And why couldn’t you stay?
Vague, memories.
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