"steadier" poems
Bamboo shoots grow all two quickly only to diverge two soon.
Resilience comes not easily but is learned, whether rooted in
Earth, rock, sand we have learned to grow through our fears.
Are the hazards of growth greater than the ease of departure?
Keep this in mind, for I do two.
Us. That is something I will fight for,
Planted shallow are the roots, sanguinely sowing steadier
-AM
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
See the Rabbi. See him tormented by choice. See his people. See them wracked by hate. See the others. See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.
On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice. And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth. Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight. More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.
See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word. As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water. See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism. See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.
See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.
See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush. See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust. See it caught, too, and see it see. It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns. It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood. It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference. See it sit in silence.
See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others. And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still. It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale. They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention. So it remains.
See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided. They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals. It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation. See the Rabbi draw to a close. His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead. What is left but Death.
See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy. See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light. See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank. See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.
The daisy stands still.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC
Maybe I don't notice the little things.
Like the way your mouth looks when it forms my name.
Or the way you feel steadier with your hand in mine.
Or even the way your fingernail is chipped from playing guitar for me.
But what I do notice is your eyes.
How they have little golden flecks in the soft green.
Green that's like a meadow in the summer that's more prominent in the sun.
I often stare into those eyes.
Trying to catch a glimpse of what you see in me.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
I'm seventeen.
I have scars lining my ribs, my thighs, my arms and my mind.
I either count my calories or blur them altogether; 500 a day or 4000 a day.
I am not an athlete.
I have no illnesses.
I've never been diagnosed.
I've simply been attempting to be the woman I've been demanded I be.
I'm failing, miserably.
Right now:
My mom is unconscious, failing to drown herself in alcohol.
My sister has locked herself in her room, isolating.
My dad is telling my neighbors their views are wrong,
And I am lying in bed, binge eating.
I'm seventeen.
This poem really does not have a beat.
This poem is a flow,
steadier than my self esteem.
Mirrors lie and pictures steal.
TV taunts and horror is real,
I'm seventeen and
I've tried to die,
I've learned to lie
To family.
I'm no stranger to the sisters death and night.
Death;
gives and takes, reaping the soil with the bodies of the ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
Night;
darkens the world, honing in on those I was promised I could turn to,
reminding them I am no refuge, I am ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
I'm seventeen and
My hands shake at the thought of losing my balance,
Ironic seeing as I won't even be standing
But the thought of disappointing you
Throws me down without hesitation.
I'm seventeen.
****
I'm seventeen.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Stop making me write
of only the sappy tree stumps
that aren't what they used to be.
Just dripping with lust
and longing
making the whole **** thing
sticky.
I want to make words worth while,
of bigger problems,
like a dead forest or two.
But my world has been burning also
with everything
that has to do
with you.
So I guess I'll plant a seed,
water it and leave it be.
Don't cut me down,
or be there to hear the sound,
there's already enough bleeding.
I believe you can make it better
steadier, and tall.
Maybe then these words will live a life,
instead of hearing the sound of
my tree stump mind,
waiting to grow through it all.
-Makenzie.
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 5:46 PM UTC
You paused to look at me as if you were browsing a book shelf
and your fingers brushed ever so slightly across my skin
hesitating, lingering, at my spine.
Then you chose me
you laid me down and opened me up
it wasn’t easy because not many have read me before.
Your eyes looked me up and down, side to side
taking it all in,
engorging yourself.
You licked your fingers before you turned my pages
for a steadier and more meaningful grasp.
You said paper cuts were pretty
and that they were safe with you.
But then,
you read something you didn’t like
slammed the book shut
and shoved it back on the shelf.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
the little games your mind plays, like when daddy screamed about how much he loved the windshield wipers in that old, old car. it is probably a mere scrap of metal now. you spent the afternoon on a bridge, in the forest, now your fingers are slow and a vibrant cold against the warmth of your kitchen. my first memory is a photograph. it gets easier to be alone the longer you are, i have found. we see the same constellation every night, Aryan lined up to greet us as soon as night falls. he takes over her like ivy on trees, wrapping its tendons tight around the skin, suffocating, asphyxiating. they say every person has a mind of their own, the contest between strangers; who can hold the steadier gaze? do your eyes glaze over at the sight of a smile? or do you match it with one of your own? the interaction between strangers is my purest form of socialization, the ease, the comfort.
the little games your mind plays, playing tricks on you all **** day.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
there will always be a part of me
that sighs when I'm happy
and says I-told-you-so when I'm not
because I had the chance
and now it's gone
now I'm stuck
because 3 years ago
I dropped it in my nightstand drawer
and locked it away
with all my conviction
and all my courage
and promised myself never to look back
I open the drawer sometimes
hoping that maybe it came back
but there's a hole in the back of the dresser
and I fear that the three of them
snuck off in the night
looking for a new victim
with a bigger supply
of conviction and courage
and a steadier hand
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
there wasn't much of a struggle, only
a few words exchanged, one
shot fired and
no one died.
my body remains, but I lost
my dominant hand, my left
foot
I learn to write again --
my hand grows steadier
with practice each
day
I lean
a little more to the right
than I used to
& the view from my window has changed.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
It doesn't matter how sweet I am, or how kind I feel that I have to be. All that really matters to me is you, and how based on me you will perceive,
The other men, the other shoes, the many soles slowly passing by. The kind of guys which you might keep, and even ultimately try.
But I hope you see what is truly weak, after sharing such strong arms as these. I hold you now, but not in hand. I hold you still in great esteem.
If only you would esteem yourself, you'd walk on surer, more stable feet. Not into the arms of a tragedy, but into the future which you deserve. Holding tight to a steadier hand than me.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
If I had four feet,
I doubt I'd do much better.
I could run so much faster,
I could balance so much steadier.
But I wouldn't.
If I had three hands,
I doubt I'd do much better.
I could type so much faster,
I could play so much better.
But I wouldn't.
If I had two heads,
I doubt I'd do much better.
I could see so much more,
More of the world I could explore.
But I wouldn't.
I'd just be stuck
Get me out of this warped body
I would scream
Give me a life of normalcy I would plead
Just take away my abnormalities
Until the world
Seemed less unfair
Rid me of this shame
I don't want to play this game.
I would never stop to see
The rainbow that could be
I'd be the devils work
And nobody would be able to convince me otherwise
So if I had one body,
I guess it would still be the same.
Even though I could have two eyes
My body would still be my demise.
I'd have one body,
And along with it I'd get a mind
That would have it's own ideas
And would forever bring me tears.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Hello, I'm Dawnevyn River (he/they), a transmasculine poet living in a country carved from stories not of its own, where the light falls long and thoughts run deep. My work is rooted in the raw terrain of trauma, mental illness, neurodivergence, queer identity, and the quiet astonishment of simply being alive.
I began sharing my poetry on Hello Poetry in 2014, a teenager spilling truth into open space. Those early pieces, now archived, were a lifeline then. Today, I return with a steadier hand and a deeper voice - writing that reflects the growth, grief, and grace of adulthood.
These poems are both survival tools and love letters to the ordinary. I invite you to walk with me through the small, sacred moments we often overlook, and to find, together, a kind of beauty in the everyday.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 11:37 AM UTC
∞ according to the order of operations,
(your name) belongs in parentheses since it is always the first thing i think about when i wake up
which works out, because it also looks just like the smile on my face the instant you walk in a room :)
∞ through all the ups and downs, all the positives and negatives of this fickle thing called love
|the light in your eyes| is the only absolute i'm sure of
∞ i can't calculate how you became an integral part of my life in such a small number of days
nor can i differentiate between the rising sun and your blinding smile
but every moment you're not here reminds me that i can't f(without you)
and i swear there's no limit to the distance i'd travel, whether it be three months or five thousand miles
∞ i get why they use an exclamation point in factorials now
because nothing makes me happier than counting down and multiplying the reasons I fall 4! you every 3! seconds, giving thanks 2! the stars that i somehow 1! my way into your heart
∞ so often, i have found myself divided by the fear of being loved and the fear of being alone
which is still only a fraction of the anxiety i feel when i think about the possibility of disappointing you,
but you are the better half of me,
and i can only hope to reciprocate the endless joy you've brought into my little world
∞ i've spent a lot of time stumped by the different branches of mathematics,
but you are the root of my confusion
for even though your legs stand firm and your arms are steadier than logs,
i can't figure out how your hand fits so gently in mine like perfect symme-tree
∞ i want to hold you so close they call it a sin
cos i love how your body curves around me
and how you never stop listening when my thoughts go on a tangent
and how you have acute, pardon my language, angle-side-side
∞ there are sum nights when i tally sheep instead of sleeping
because you've proven that 1 + 1 equals too much happiness for a heart to carry
but the only thing that doesn't quite add up is how six months can seem like no time at all
yet being with you makes it feel like infinity
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Where do we go from here,
The end of summer again so near,
As luscious green turns to crimson red,
My eyes gaze forward towards the race ahead.
The berries ripen, as the mind depends,
On another chance to rebuild and again a chance to bend,
On steadier ground in a plentiful Land,
A new foundation for a newfound plan.
The voyager gazes, off the end of the dream,
Across the sea and recalls what he's seen.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
When you meet them, you will not see it
but you will feel it
your heart will beat steadier/
your palms will find relaxation
warmth will no longer lie within your favorite winter sweater
and suddenly
their worries will become your own
their pain will flow through your veins
then one night you will lie awake in bed and realize that the soul you're in love with is broken
you will hurt eachother
sometimes they'll cut you deeper
but you will only care to heal their scars
you were drowning in your own cup of water and along came another broken glass
there will be days when the sun won't shine as bright
nights when your bed sheets will feel colder
their eyes won't always sparkle at the sound of your voice
and you will feel it in your stomach,
in your soul
when they cry
your throat will knot first
and the saddest thing is, you will signify their happines
you - who are broken too
but they are not waiting on you to fix them
things won't always be okay
and that's…okay
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
I stepped into autumn rain-
it was cold as it wet my feet
near a rusted black mailbox.
Walking a cracked and weather-beaten driveway,
bent down-
smelled odors of dampened pavement.
Fragrances of autumn when rain showers or pours,
reflect stark distinctions-
from when the weather is warm and dry.
Can't stop wondering, if we're headed toward
a rainy season. That wouldn't bother me as long as
rain-
pattering on surfaces of gray and
blackened asphalt roads and country drives,
spoke of new beginnings-
through observant eyes.
Rain on green grass-
cultivates an aroma of roots and earth.
Pounding down-
picking up steadier momentum,
as it splatters ground.
Soil christened,
by millions of clear teardrops-
streaking faces of clouds above,
rolling down-
refreshing and purifying
deepest roots, buried in dirt.
Everything appears so fresh-
seasons of reinvention,
on the surface of sidewalks and blacktops
represent-
slates wiped clean.
I breathe in-
this autumn air, surrendering
sighs of relief-
as I ponder deliberate ruminations
while listening to autumn rains.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
Today your smile was a little stronger,
A little less brittle than before.
Your hug a little tighter,
Arms encircling my heart.
Your pulse steadier,
Beating to no worries at the time.
I lean in to hear your voice,
Unwavering as you ask me to stay.
I can feel the resolve in your words,
You are firmer in your request.
I long to sink in your embrace,
Bury my face in your neck and let go.
But instead I cling to the past,
The smoky tendrils of doubts I had about your love.
I hold your hand tighter,
Can you feel this thing we have between us?
My body trembles as you take your hand,
I need you so much.
Ask me again, my dear.
I will do anything for you.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 7:17 AM UTC
Cheesy poetry aside,
The feeling your attention gives me
Compares euphoria to ecstasy
Makes me stutter,
And makes my heart skip
I shiver, and choke up
And you laugh
And I laugh
And then it's better
It gets easier
I get more comfortable
I breathe steadier
I stop shaking
I giggle softer
My heart beats like a soothing melody,
And you are the musician.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
You are the reason I keep writing
I love you
Songs are emotions in a bottle
And I'm waiting for you
Whether I'm happy or sad
I'm insane and mad
I'll write songs for you
May the unequal time signature
Lead the beat in my chest
What you do to me is steadier
Than a waltz in a chair.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:44 AM UTC
I'm falling,
hotter and hotter,
I'm falling,
with the stars,
Freer and freer.
I'm throwing,
harder and harder,
I'm throwing
my anchor to the moon,
steadier and steadier.
I'm not going down yet,
staying and staying,
I'm watching from up here,
the snow falling heavier each year,
lighter and lighter.
The snow on the trees,
it always helps me see,
clearer and clearer.
Have you heard,
when the snow falls,
the sounds are soaked,
into each crystal
on the flake.
creating an image
stronger and stronger
than words.
The stars they fall,
The moon it catches,
The snow flakes show,
all the steps to love.
Closer and Closer.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Look away
In Scotland's highland rain,
In a smooth round sheltered cave
(hiding away)
Gentle stream heard above,
So much steadier than us.
Filled with lust and confusion,
Faltering with this possible certainty...
(These hearts could beat as one as they are starting to)
Look away
There's three words I can't say
Lost their meaning somewhere...
Along the way.
The rain is faltering too,
I hear a latent tune
Coming towards us again.
Wrap your arms
Like that firefly confused
About this turn of weather
That came too soon.
Coat my heart once more
Til its beat is all I hear,
You're looking at me so strong
Defined glistening eyes...
Look away
I'm in disguise.
I stare at limp leaves,
Muddy, strewn upon stony ground...
Look away
I catch my breath
It's almost like you knew
Two imperfect souls,
Moving perfectly in tune
Like this summer storm above us
You came unexpectedly - too soon
But I'm still standing here
Waiting.
For one of us to move.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
They come in waves
Each one receding
And a fresh breaker each meeting
To lap against the seaboard
Phases, individually different
Like seasons changing
They bring me reasons
To wish for steadier climates
Markedly too many cloudy days
And frosty iced beaches
Frigid and barren sand dunes
Glossy with the sheen of nothingness
Phases, always redundantly taunting
It cycles with the moon
As the tide rises
Deluge swelling to a riptide
A clumsy waltz, gravity and satellite
Fuller and more violent
With each movement
Threatens to deepen any second
The further it pulls
The farther the tendency creeps in
Shoreline expanding, threshold capsizing
Each pulse a tender beat
I walk barefeet in the shallows
Timid to dare to wade too deep
Past the places I'm comfortable enough
With the feeling water against my exposed skin
And from here I can find stones to skip
Why would I trade leisure for treading
The sunset on the horizon
looks far more beautiful when
You can stand to see it
Phases, they help me remember I'm breathing
Because how can you bear to be alive
If you're not feeling
You're not truly living
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
Delivered to inviting hands
With one breath;
Then sculpted in a parent's arms
To feed on sweet caresses,
Inhaling life with one kiss,
As prologue to her song;
She'll carry on.
Mature. Secure.
Bound and forged
In infant iron.
She hears, listens, then deduces,
To apply their teachings
When cut loose;
Lessons she will reproduce
To set her free,
Unfettered by mediocrity.
Like the Sphinx,
She crawls,
Then stands to think.
At times, we know,
She'll forget
Steadier hands
Held her *****
She will fall again,
Then stand and walk,
Perhaps with Pride;
And should she fail,
She knows she tried.
First steps lead
To stage or field,
And honours
On her battlefields;
Protected by
Parental shields.
She'll receive
These life-long gifts,
Then start anew
At age six.
If she walks alone
She'll find,
Friends can make
The walk divine.
She'll filter them,
Some in, some out;
And trust a few
With her life;
Avoiding others
She's learned aren't right
By socializing,
Not over-protected
Or compromising.
Her early years
Sow the seeds
Of second breaths
And good deeds;
To balance friends
With second looks:
The cover can't
Disclose the book.
Most of all,
She'll understand
She grew and grows
With helping hands.
And when she stands
With womankind,
She'll extend
Her hands
To all mankind.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
It's not to hard to see how everything is
For every action is everything and
wind stays steadier than I.
And life is naught but memories
If we exist at all, while
rumors and scientists both will take the fall.
When time erases all you've done
(the universe expandeth)
you will not know a thing.
For you'll have gone, satisfied,
while bandits rob your grave,
wind forceful at their backs.
I invented the candle, I did,
and look what has been done,
necessity no more.
You are old in my eyes,
and I am old in many eyes
not yet conceived, not yet realized.
not yet conceived.
not yet realized.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC
Your first love burns hot and bright, like a fire made from paper, and when over, only ashes remain.
Your true love is like a well built woodfire. Slow burning, lasts for ages, and even when you sweep the ashes of initial passion, you are left with steady burning coals.
Coals aren't bright, but stay alight the longest and are much steadier. So hang in there, chum.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC