"snowglobes" poems - Hello Poetry

Our scope of the world.. no, the universe is like being trapped inside a snowglobe thats trapped inside another snowglobe. Once we break the one we're in, we start to see more layers. There is always more to see.

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Jan 13, 2016

Jan 13, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC

swiftdreamer

Snowglobes

Our scope of the world.. no, the universe is like being trapped inside a snowglobe thats trapped inside another snowglobe. Once we break the one we're in, we start to see more layers. There is always more to see.

1

you shunned when the light came through, tousled hair, eyebags hanging loose. you were always good at navigation, your future though was in the opposite direction. your smiles were fueled by smokes and dreams, effervescing in snowglobes of sleepless mist. i was merely a fly attracted to fire, hoping your tendrils could propel me higher. when you learnt that i glowed in the night, eyes shut tight, you extinguished the light. he was a fly who wanted to be a dragon, his gaze held beats of 25 per second. they said it'd sting when he touched me, the devil's needles, they called him. whoever believed in those stories, couldn't be any more sorry - dragonflies can't hurt fireflies, for they're both creatures of the night.

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Sep 19, 2015

Sep 19, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC

fisharedrowning

light/night.

you shunned when the light came through, tousled hair, eyebags hanging loose. you were always good at navigation, your future though was in the opposite direction. your smiles were fueled by smokes and dreams, effervescing in snowglobes of sleepless mist. i was merely a fly attracted to fire, hoping your tendrils could propel me higher. when you learnt that i glowed in the night, eyes shut tight, you extinguished the light. he was a fly who wanted to be a dragon, his gaze held beats of 25 per second. they said it'd sting when he touched me, the devil's needles, they called him. whoever believed in those stories, couldn't be any more sorry - dragonflies can't hurt fireflies, for they're both creatures of the night.

18

Couple peaches floating down the river Fall leaves cool and quiet drift aimlessly Knowing how hard it can be to see You don't understand infinity Such a talent to deploy A town of snowglobes unemployed Such things can be tasted before sunset The moments of crisp light Something you cannot find on the internet

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Oct 25, 2015

Oct 25, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC

ConscienceFalls

Such a Talent

Couple peaches floating down the river Fall leaves cool and quiet drift aimlessly Knowing how hard it can be to see You don't understand infinity Such a talent to deploy A town of snowglobes unemployed Such things can be tasted before sunset The moments of crisp light Something you cannot find on the internet

9

like snowflakes in snowglobes we're falling to p i e c e s. ("'cause when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven.") if i shout it from a rooftop does it become more true? no, and that's why i whisper, "don't hurt me. don't forget me." but it's too late. we've hurt and we've forgotten whom we used to be. and i walk away from the phone muttering, "what's wrong with her?" it's not true. i should be saying, "what's wrong with me?"

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May 9, 2013

May 9, 2013 at 7:54 AM UTC

megan-9

i'm trying so hard i might break

like snowflakes in snowglobes we're falling to p i e c e s. ("'cause when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven.") if i shout it from a rooftop does it become more true? no, and that's why i whisper, "don't hurt me. don't forget me." but it's too late. we've hurt and we've forgotten whom we used to be. and i walk away from the phone muttering, "what's wrong with her?" it's not true. i should be saying, "what's wrong with me?"

19

i knocked on your door and entered your room, the first thing i noticed was the way the sunlight filtered in through your window and the photographs you put on your wall *were these pictures of the people you loved? the places you wanted to see?* i almost stumbled trying to avoid the books scattered on your floor you said it was alright, they didn't matter to you anyway i looked around and found that you tried to fill every blank space of your walls with maps, posters, notes, reminders— did they give you company whenever you felt lonely? the stereo in the corner was blasting tunes from the 90s and i saw the way you hung your favorite jacket on your chair and the way your desk had piles of papers and little snowglobes, your reading light hung right above where your head would be when you slept, your wardrobe was a mess spitting your favorite hand-me-down's, i wanted to get to know you more and that's when i knew i was on holy ground, treading upon a world i suppose not everyone sees... thank you for letting me in.

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Feb 7, 2017

Feb 7, 2017 at 10:41 AM UTC

panaginip

a bedroom of holy ground

i knocked on your door and entered your room, the first thing i noticed was the way the sunlight filtered in through your window and the photographs you put on your wall *were these pictures of the people you loved? the places you wanted to see?* i almost stumbled trying to avoid the books scattered on your floor you said it was alright, they didn't matter to you anyway i looked around and found that you tried to fill every blank space of your walls with maps, posters, notes, reminders— did they give you company whenever you felt lonely? the stereo in the corner was blasting tunes from the 90s and i saw the way you hung your favorite jacket on your chair and the way your desk had piles of papers and little snowglobes, your reading light hung right above where your head would be when you slept, your wardrobe was a mess spitting your favorite hand-me-down's, i wanted to get to know you more and that's when i knew i was on holy ground, treading upon a world i suppose not everyone sees... thank you for letting me in.

35

We will all meet again When time has wound to an end. We will grasp the frazzled, ragged edge And run along it until we find The beginning of time And her twisted hedge. She will clutch us against her silken blouse And at last… We will find our peace in that old yellow house…. Not one foul word will we remember Not one ugly face Not one weeping December. It will all be as if it never took place I won’t remember the cuts on my arm The harm I did to myself… Nor the cuts I can’t see The missing snowglobes on my mother’s shelf….

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Feb 18, 2013

Feb 18, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC

Redshift

We will meet again.

We will all meet again When time has wound to an end. We will grasp the frazzled, ragged edge And run along it until we find The beginning of time And her twisted hedge. She will clutch us against her silken blouse And at last… We will find our peace in that old yellow house…. Not one foul word will we remember Not one ugly face Not one weeping December. It will all be as if it never took place I won’t remember the cuts on my arm The harm I did to myself… Nor the cuts I can’t see The missing snowglobes on my mother’s shelf….

18

Have's verses the have not's. Hickies on my bones In a thousand candlelit rooms Soda pop and snowglobes I haven't had time to loose my mind Fragmented glimpses of solar plexus' Waning gibbous' in the spring Held your bare soul with my eyes closed Catharsis at sundown Sometimes I feel more alone Your hanging words were carved in stone in sleek shards of abalone cold to wrap my ribs around It's a cycle of regressing into the future The consciousness of lack Relapsing memoirs Secrets for the dreaded end to receive silently Watching flowers grow Purity rings or pregnant at 16 A born romantic who lost their virginity to the dashboard light Sidewalk slants like tectonic plates tripping into the night Weary limbed and still wide eyed City to city Passing through the signs of roads has left me feeling like a gypsy Boxes of my favorite things I loose a little more along every place until I've lost everything Receptive to the voices in the rain singing solace to your pain I wipe off of foggy mirrors in hotel rooms Sleeping on the floor "Carpe noctem" and such said slurs under a draped porch sitting on the stairs Black widow spider silk along the wall's and a thousand days faded to setting suns the starry rays all are gone Asteroid belt in a handful Like teeth, a smile that's crooked and bent beneath curled lips chapped and spent filling the spaces between the gaps.

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Jun 14, 2016

Jun 14, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC

bowsnarrows

Watching Flowers Grow

Have's verses the have not's. Hickies on my bones In a thousand candlelit rooms Soda pop and snowglobes I haven't had time to loose my mind Fragmented glimpses of solar plexus' Waning gibbous' in the spring Held your bare soul with my eyes closed Catharsis at sundown Sometimes I feel more alone Your hanging words were carved in stone in sleek shards of abalone cold to wrap my ribs around It's a cycle of regressing into the future The consciousness of lack Relapsing memoirs Secrets for the dreaded end to receive silently Watching flowers grow Purity rings or pregnant at 16 A born romantic who lost their virginity to the dashboard light Sidewalk slants like tectonic plates tripping into the night Weary limbed and still wide eyed City to city Passing through the signs of roads has left me feeling like a gypsy Boxes of my favorite things I loose a little more along every place until I've lost everything Receptive to the voices in the rain singing solace to your pain I wipe off of foggy mirrors in hotel rooms Sleeping on the floor "Carpe noctem" and such said slurs under a draped porch sitting on the stairs Black widow spider silk along the wall's and a thousand days faded to setting suns the starry rays all are gone Asteroid belt in a handful Like teeth, a smile that's crooked and bent beneath curled lips chapped and spent filling the spaces between the gaps.

52

Tic tock the birds all cood The clocks and pendellums swiched and swood He loved his clocks, they kept him company Even to a vampire, immortality gets lonely He was an odd one of his race no doubt The only one he knew who slept spread out Clausterphobia is uncommon to find in his kind But even in his coffin he felt confined He thought it perfectly reasonable though As he paced around his clocks to and fro He always found the coffin dark and stuffy If you had to sleep forever, you'ld choose something big and fluffy More ironic than that he found was his fixation Time to him was an endless execration His fate rung in his mind with every tic A rhythmic reminder beginning to make him sick It's actually madenning listening to every tock Eons have past with these God forsaken clocks He finally decided to pick up a bat And smash every cukoo bird he had outright flat But even as he lay on his fluffy white bed Staring at broken bits and gears, his relief unsaid Still he found the lair a tad bit dry No more company around to keep him by He realized that there was not much to be done He should make the most of his time, and have a little fun But first he had to spruce up the place, making sure it wouldnt frustrate With something that, prefrebably, didnt remind him of his fate He sat there staring at nothing, stiff and perplexed And thought sternly to himself "Maybe snowglobes next"

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Mar 3, 2016

Mar 3, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC

muck-monster

Cukoo

Tic tock the birds all cood The clocks and pendellums swiched and swood He loved his clocks, they kept him company Even to a vampire, immortality gets lonely He was an odd one of his race no doubt The only one he knew who slept spread out Clausterphobia is uncommon to find in his kind But even in his coffin he felt confined He thought it perfectly reasonable though As he paced around his clocks to and fro He always found the coffin dark and stuffy If you had to sleep forever, you'ld choose something big and fluffy More ironic than that he found was his fixation Time to him was an endless execration His fate rung in his mind with every tic A rhythmic reminder beginning to make him sick It's actually madenning listening to every tock Eons have past with these God forsaken clocks He finally decided to pick up a bat And smash every cukoo bird he had outright flat But even as he lay on his fluffy white bed Staring at broken bits and gears, his relief unsaid Still he found the lair a tad bit dry No more company around to keep him by He realized that there was not much to be done He should make the most of his time, and have a little fun But first he had to spruce up the place, making sure it wouldnt frustrate With something that, prefrebably, didnt remind him of his fate He sat there staring at nothing, stiff and perplexed And thought sternly to himself "Maybe snowglobes next"

31

Hiring me to repair and prepare the old rental for you to occupy after you sold our house, I found the collection of carefully selected snowglobes bought for you over years and the original copy of my gift poem left with the tenant's trash.

0

Feb 1, 2021

Feb 1, 2021 at 12:31 AM UTC

joel-m-frye

Paid in full

Hiring me to repair and prepare the old rental for you to occupy after you sold our house, I found the collection of carefully selected snowglobes bought for you over years and the original copy of my gift poem left with the tenant's trash.

10