"submissions" poems
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
There’s a time and season for every reason
no cookie bakes itself
cherries don’t burst on their own
cherries don’t burst ************
a bottle doesn’t empty itself to full/fill
breaking clocks is a wonderful way to **** time
ironic glory hole of blood and glass
running out of test tubes, the ***** too tight
**** reason!
INVEST!
Admiration is the state furthest away from understanding
pawns don’t need details
******** with teeth make ******** meaningful
smashing the cow softens it, …digest it well
meaning is derived from screening STD g string
of a starry eyed ******** that drowns in a sea of ******
obtuse and absolute are the only submissions
failure to comprehend results in ***********
cuckolds worth….
IMPROVE!
Lexicon laxative
this antipathy won’t last
stimulate thinking with cankerous drinking
***** ***** need no season or reason
to drown ****** who never show
the tears of heaven that understood
misled admiration and adolescent aberration
that silently candle deplorable fornication
time stays unchanged
counting doesn’t prove progress in this game
falling short… half beat hesitation
ITERATE!
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
I posted this poem a few days after I joined HP. As is oft the case, poems you are especially proud of, fall to the wayside, under the onslaught of the constant waterfall of new submissions. With the usual exception of Ms. Lori C., one of the two unofficial High Priestesses of HP, in my estimation, this one, was pretty much overlooked. Despite some comical jaunts of late re bras and beds, real inspiration has escaped me ever nice I penned "Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay (Razor Blades, Pills, & Shotguns" last week. So, with your hoped for solicitude, I resubmit it, hoping it finds a wider audience and dedicate it to those of you who I number as friends (you know who you are!), despite the fact that our only shared embraces have been techno~electronic, and yet the quality of your kindness is beyond measure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Numerical Quality of Friendship
The quality of friendship is non-quantitative.
Yet, I ask you to number it, and me, this way.
With tape measure, determine that:
The length of my arm's embrace will always be
longer than long enough, and when distance magnifies sorrow's gains,
my shoulders measure wide enough to pillow your wearied head.
The depth of my pocket is finite for by definition,
a pocket is but an open doored, three walled shelter.
My pocket of shelter is forever open, forever deep,
and forever is infinite.
Trust that when bowed and bent,
upon my shoulders climb and together we will be tall enough
to touch the season's new fruit upon the tree of life,
and with one tongue, taste the unimaginable!
Do u think that mercury can measure
the warmth of my tears when love sears my heart,
or the heat of thy skin when it heals and cauterizes
wounds salted by the mistreatment, by the bitters of the weak ones,
who rejoice when they scald others?
Size me up.
What is my volume?
What are the boundaries that
length X depth X height
state must limit my capacity to cherish, to heal,
and even to forgive those who deserve no forgiveness?
If you measure me well and proper,
if I meet the standards that qualify me to be called friend,
then friend me here, friend me now,
friend me for the qualities I posses,
and number us a unity among the few
who are truly blessed
by a quality of friendship that cannot be measured,
for there is no scientific instrument that can quantify
limitless.
March 2012
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
I’m the worst **** in the world
No one is worse than me.
For my next bride,
I shall marry the Queen of She
Ba (Academy presents her majesty.
Nominee gushes.
Audience applauds exhaustively.)
She will manhandle me,
Liquor on her breath,
Feathers framing ******
Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions
She told me to delete
The photographs,
Even though there were many
Caught her beauty in amazing graces.
She hated me
For putting up so little struggle,
Obliterating her splendor
Indifferently.
I wanted to prove
Deserving of her love.
she dilly-dallied, distracted.
I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?”
Chain of events to nothingness
My desolate existence
One deficit after another
Honed to fragile cutting-edge.
I wanted her to pleasure me
With subtle painful tinge.
She brilliantly found fault
Every conceivable way to blame.
She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.”
She was the true artist,
Dissatisfied with the sound
Of my heart beating.
You want to play hardball with the big boys?
You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity.
You complain about
Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing.
Nothing makes you happy.
I will always love you no
Matter how impossible.
Looking back,
You were an impossible chance.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
they said he should submit this
make submissions and do readings
this is the way it’s been done
for many years
but he didn’t really want to
a couple of rejections left him weary
and he’s a writer not a performer
the contests say “all styles and subjects”
but surely they have criteria
not this one
not this one
this one
the all inclusiveness is a lie
the judges know what they want
he wished they’d be up front and specific
but it’s all about the entry fee
they pretend to be seeders
offering everyone a chance
to grow and bloom
but they’re actually weeders
quickly quashing poems
rubber stamped with doom
they never really stood a chance
because it’s all about the entry fee
“Don’t self publish”, they said
“You’ll regret it”
he did the design and layout anyway
“Can ‘we’ make changes to the cover?”
who the hell is “we”?
this is his book?
sure he wanted sales
that’s what publishing is about
but sink or swim
he wanted his book, his way
especially his first book
and he’s a stubborn *******
the internet is accommodating
this IT age makes it easier
the process has been long
with glitches and obstacles
doubt and procrastination
but the would be destination was worthy
available at amazon
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
members you'll note
a new event on the club's blueprint
which was so cleverly devised
by the committee's mint
all entries are to be marked
I really crave popularity
so ensure you write this
in letters of clearest clarity
the most original piece
shall garner the prized first place
those that are too ho-hum
won't receive any grace
the council of jury
want to see
compositions stating
look at only me
they should have
a bragging tag
with the lionization
of unique flag
it's time to get
your submissions in
as the competition
is there to win
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 5:10 PM UTC
meeting you was drowning without water, i didn’t know i was already dead
my body was stronger before my tongue tasted your name
and kissing you was like cliff diving to meet cement
your fingerprints left bruises without a warranty, i can no longer find my skin
somewhere between lost and found, your hands are ghosts around my throat
i choke on my own steps
you stain the bathroom tile like i’ve had too much to drink
loving you was like eating a cereal box of sea glass, and still searching for the prize at the bottom
my fingertips bleed broken promises
sometimes i sleep on the couch to avoid the absence of your shadow in my sheets
my sheets still ask about you
so do my parents
i rehearse words you’ll never hear
my insecurities crawl out of your one-word responses and tell me i’m not worth more
for your love of multiples, i could have been anyone
your hands carry the baggage of “ew she’s my best friend”
i’ve lost count of all the ‘shes’
you were not searching for my heartbeat when your hands groped my chest
i’ve had trouble finding my pulse lately
i need a receipt for our memories but they’re stuck to me like a shirt i can’t get over my shoulders
i can’t get over your smile –
the way the corners curled like bare willow branches dancing in the wind to our song
it was running your parseltongue through my veins, and i’d run out the high for days
i think i’m still running, but my feet are stuck in the same **** city we met
your face is plastered post-it notes on all the places we had our firsts as if i need reminders you used to look in my eyes and mean it
i visit museums to remind myself beautiful things have history too
no one ever tells you that goodbye tastes like empty air, tastes like looking in the mirror and not being able to swallow yourself
i bear the scars of your touch, poetry scratched into my skin like tattoos
i remember the first time you hit me
your palm crashed my cheek like a chance seismic stamp and i liked it
you told me, “run while you can i’m dangerous,”
but i stuck around to be buried in the dirt of the grave you dug me with “hello”
sometimes i’m convinced we only hug so you can check my hands for a shovel
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
I meditate upon shore of thoughts;
washing over my countenance, caressing
my soul.
as he forms verses in syllabic count, fore, his voice
ebbs in tidal waves, teasing with submissions of
cognitive chains of thought; where bated breath
pounds against my peninsula
open to laps in hunger, tasting passions complaisancy;
each rush, mouthed in a sauntering flow; touched
in currents of his thoughts; I absorb bittersweet brine
as there's no lack of verbiage, threatening consumption
of uttered articles of enticement
like driftwood floating; his words glide as tides drag
mind, to and fro with each affluxion, I acquaint
thoughts in odes
his sung ballads brush against me like seaward
breezes and I consume his melody in swelled seas
of delicacy
in harmony and bouyancy of song; I surrender
within his thoughts, relishing serenity; upon his
island of passion, wrapped within his poetry in thought
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Shepard in a field,
crucified upon a wooden fence
Your grieving flock was scattered
worldly
Liberty's book was swiftly plunged into
the blood of bigotry
Fascism laughed in tones of red, white and blue
Land where our fathers died
Land where our bigots hide
I say to you Amen...
I love Jesus;
you must too
resounded these hollow
words
Hate is now the doctrine
intertwined morph-boiled into fear and hate,
being poured over enlightenment
in destruction of green lands
engulfing
youthful sprouts
in destructive steamy waters
The book of Leviticus
is the demise of reason
fractured from critical thinking;
allocated to the current pulped-swine,
swaying in hypnosis listeners of these pulpit-swine-beasts;
they embark with twisted trepidation's disdain
Shepard in other fields of life
into brute submissions
you will succumb being baptised
in your own red pools,
being smitten by the pulpit-swine-listners
of ancient prophets
The dirge, the slow dirge is heard
throughout our delicate land
Ooh sweet brilliant Oscar, we still suffer
as you had
my brilliant Irish lad
I love Jesus
you
must too
My country tis not for me
sweet land of bigotry
to thee I sing, to thee I sing...
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Standing tall take on all challenges
Ready to over come this opponent
The next obstacle so I can achieve greatness
Take this test win be the best and better
Every punch you comeback for me
They try to trap you on the mat you escape
Give them your all and some more
The body weak and sore but loves every minute on the mats
They throw a punch you come back with power
Refuse to lose or stay down never quit
Choke outs submissions regardless of pain never give in escape to survive
Gain a win to stay alive
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Hey Fragments! a Haiku Contest!!
Spring is everywhere.
We want everyone to contribute to the first, "Quarterly Season Greetings Haiku Contest!"
We will select a panel of judges, who will send me their three favorite haiku submissions. The haiku with the most selections will be declared the "winner" and enjoy a warm feeling of satisfaction.
Please, have those haiku in by the end of May
No limit on the number of submissions. Your haiku should follow the traditional form, but as always, the poem is more important than strict observance of form.
Write Every Day!
John and LP
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 7:22 AM UTC
Remind me, please
Write me one more letter
One like letters 16 through 53
The golden ages
Write the last paragraph
Like you don’t want it to end
Squeeze out the lines
You were planning on holding back
Like you did
For those 37
Teach me how to fall asleep before midnight
Again
Teach me how to wake up without hangovers
How to wake up with ideas
Show me everything
Like our poetry collections
Volumes 1 through 3
When we alternated days
And submissions
For 188 straight days
Minus the 14 days
We wrote four-letter poems
Remind me, please
When the bar was a date
And 1.75 liters was a dinner party
Not a Tuesday
Make me pay you back
The $65.00 in make-up
That I used to paint
“You’re too beautiful for make-up”
On the bedroom wall
Make me buy your little brother beer
For painting over it
Put 7,640 new songs on my itunes
Because these 7,640 are played out
Make sure we see every movie
Nominated for best picture
Before your cheesy award show party
It’s up to ten now, you know
Stay with me
For nine more minutes
While I hit snooze
Awake and right at it
Like ’04
Baby snores and blanket wars
Like ’05
Up before the alarm
Like ’06
Or at least in my dreams
Like ’07
And ’08
Rub it in my face
For the umpteenth time
By taking extra good care of me
When I’m sick
Even though
I never get sick
Pose for me
While I paint
And stare
Like that one time
When you were feeling so brave
Let’s spend our last $8.00
On yellow tail
Our last $18.00
On Sebastiani
Our last $38
On Veuve Cliquot
Because every day is a celebration
*******
Let’s reminisce on the 414 times
Our bodies became one
And the 671 times
They were at least in the same bed
Inspire me
Call attention to my capabilities
And caution to my chaos
Instigate that ******* in me
That made a jealous appearance or two
At christmas parties and night clubs
Hum me all 162 times I teared up in ’06
At the exact same time
Like a drumline
Of being lost
Because baby i’m lost
Point me
Point me in the right direction
Send me on the right path
You know, the one with you at the end of it
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC
My first rejection Email arrived today
during a rainy day at work
My phone vibrated once in my pocket
We are sorry to inform you
due to an influx of submissions
we will not be publishing your piece
we wish you luck in your future writing endeavors
the staff
of course,
me being me,
my first reaction was to be ****** off
a child not allowed that really sweet action figure
because
"We need food"
but after stewing on it a while
I realized
I need this
because it's not success which defines us
a lucky guy can succeed
it's how we respond to defeats
the big ones
the small ones
the oh my god why don't I just quit
failures
that they'll write in the book of judgement
long after we are just dust
trapped inside of a coffin
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
Hello my fellow poets
I would like to say I've enjoyed writing and reading poems on this site and will continue to enjoy through my days.
Alas I will soon be going on a hiatus and will return after awhile, but before I go I would like to issue a challenge to all my fellow poets.
It's a collaborative poem challenge
It's very simple two poets pair up and write a poem no restrictions.
The rules are simple and are as follows:
1. The submissions will be from today till the end January 25th
2. The fellow poet has to be on this site.
3. Whoever uploads the poem their partner has to share it.
4. They have to be mentioned either in the title or side note.
5. Once the poem is uploaded send me a link so I can add it and you and your partner to the collab poem collection
6. What's a challenge without a prize, the winners will receive a notebook a pen and a hat
7. How do you win you ask. Well after the 25th I will tally all the views on February 2nd and message the winners.
Have fun writing and I hope to see many interesting collaborations
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
I mouthed beer breathed approbation
at the invited wonder of your sister's sweatered *******
the tableau set then,
for such delicious beginnings and shaky revisions,
once I left the "look but do not touch" misgivings
amongst the litter of a thousand such instructions
I borrowed that hazel eyed angel for a night
rescued from drowning in a clear bottled wasp trap
the fattened marital photo was covered,
alternating friends corrected and reassigned
their alibis and frightened lies
while heaven was briefly in our sights
and we shook and screamed the clearing of our names
from every future Christmas list
and yet
clearance comes only once inventory becomes stale
and folds around your wintered house,
offers no plan to buy or stamp a route to someplace else
slow submissions rattle my pen
this is no season for love and there is no reason to begin
other than there, in the shadows, where portraits breed desire
and while mirrors shall dream of falling
I am not through looking yet
for while fun and feuds begin with *******
an ending always screams attention
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
by Arcassin Burnham
Society wants to keep bending us over and have their way,
Like cracks in the living room,
throwing Molotov's at the windows,
let it burn,
we must not only take back our america,
But we must stab the man where it really hurts,
Aiming Mack 11's At park benches,
the news feeding us consumerist garbage and false Submissions,
tumbling Over cars just for fun of independence,
We Must Fight
Random Acts of getting the messege out,
too much desperation will bring too much doubt,
No brotherhood,
Just the enlightenment Of seeing them Fall is all,
so **** your arrangement,
**** your penny pitching,
And **** your cold world,
We Gotta do whats right for our world,
Do whats right for our people,
Do what the great people that made america what it is today Would have wanted us to do.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
You make me feel like a fool
You have me thinking I'm crazy
You **** me with your eyes and act like its nothing at all
You were never one to kiss and tell
But you tell me no and kiss me senseless
I don't know why I'm still here
Burning up and cooling down every time you hold my ear
Three times I love you
Three times no
Too many masqueraded intentions and submissions
If only you'd open up and let me know
Nothing matters more to me than the trust
The tryst was fun but the mystery is enough
Kiss and tell and hold my lips
No more talking, no more lies, I plead
Gift me this.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
Let free your muses
from iron shackles
and submit your poems
to feed the jackals.
It is noble,
It is just,
to release your words
into the cosmic dust.
And who knows
perhaps you will be famous
for sending your poem,
and reach once more to greatness
[email protected]
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
Poets/Writers/Artists! I have started a literary journal called 'Sun and Moon' and submissions are OPEN. This is a space for new and emerging writers. Send your poems, short stories, and/or visual art to [email protected]. Feel free to inbox for more information!
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
Submissions to the Annual Musical Torture Experiment for 2017 are officially open!
Submit your five songs by emailing them to
[email protected]
"BUT WHAT IS THE MUSICAL TORTURE EXPERIMENT NICK?"
Well me, I'm glad you asked.
The Musical Torture Experiment was started in 2013 by yours truely, Nicholas R Coulombe.
Where I asked everyone I knew, met, or saw on the street, to hand me 5 songs that I would add to one playlist,
listen to that playlist on a loop
AND NO OTHER MUSIC
for an entire month.
I have continued this tradition each year
recruiting Willing victims & voulenteers
to listen along with me.
These victims have many different lives, interests, and genre preferences,
but there is one thing they all have in common.
The blissfull escapism of living in their headphones.
This gaggle of Tune-heads who use their music as a fundamental life resource, a coping mechanism, an escapist fantasy or meditation.
These people offer their body and spirit to music.
Now, for a whole month, they are relinquishing control of their music.
Shotgun no longer shuts their piehole.
For an entire month.
Listeners will not be able to skip or select any music other than
YOUR SUBMISSIONS!
This is the perfect opportunity to force someone to really find whats so amazing about those artists we culturally hate.
Or maybe theirs an oldy that your grandkids Refuse to consider music because there is static or twangy voices instead of bass drops.
Maybe you talk about your love of skrillex and a hipster spits their kombucha in your face.
If you have songs that DESERVE the light of day.
This is your chance to indulge in their exhibition.
want to voulenteer yourself as tribute to listen along with these crazy ********
keep tabs on what is being added cause you think its kinda interesting?
Or contribute YOUR five songs?
Just
Send an email to [email protected]
by the end of August to participate!
Go check out the playlist itself here:
https://open.spotify.com/user/124409443/playlist/2TAdzDUKx7sfW1uJrqMS7K
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
i have a rendezvous with rhyme
with only the lyrics of this orchestra
my cadence is only for rhythm
free-verse in its purest ingenuity
I ache for quarterly submissions
of my essential need to write
the autopilot poetica of my
last kaleidoscopic vision strange
a musical hopscotch of surrender
a mystical milking it of thirst
muse & fate here relaxes
for a final teasing and tasting
of the plump record of odes
and the promise of exhaustive cadence
that reaches humming pentameter
stares organic pink into utopia
requesting documentation from the stars
in how to be a poet, as legends burn
martyrs in their alien worlds
a last dynasty of awkward prayer-rituals.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Let's have a worldwide election for Peace on Earth forever! We're all Citizens of the Earth. Why not let everyone on Earth vote at the same time for the way she or he want the world to be. We already have the technology to do this. Do we collectively want world peace? Do we want to exercise our natural right to determine our own future? How many of you would vote for War--any kind of War, even World War III--that would destroy Earth and all living creation on it? Or would you prefer a world of equality, of kindness, of love? Would you prefer a world of letting everyone do her or his own thing, but do nothing that would cause harm to anyone else? All equals. No class system. No deprivation of food, good housing, great education, total freedom of religion (but no attempts to try to convert others). Citizens of Earth--all 8 billion of us--would be the government of Earth. There would be no president of Earth. Citizens of Earth would send their ideas and submissions to members of the General Assembly (around 200 elected for one five-year term by Citizens of Earth from districts that formerly were nations) who then would form them into proposals to be voted on by Citizens of Earth during the last two weeks of every month. Everyone worldwide would have access to smart phones (with one's own personal ID #). No more nations. No more borders (the world's air and water don't give a **** about them! Nor does the pandemic, with all it variants). We shall come to delight in our differences. We shall come to celebrate the variegated colors of skin, the different cultures, the different customs, languages, foods. No more aggrandizement, no more profiteering, no more money. No more wars, no more killings, no more *** trafficking. No more corruption, no more dictators, no more weapons of any kind. Just love and Peace on Earth forever. It's utterly doable! Think about it. Talk to your family about it. Talk to your friends about it. Talk to strangers on the street about it. It's our world, after all. Let's have an election and create a world in which we all can live without fear. Peace on Earth forever.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 8:05 AM UTC
Everyone is standing, staring at the front.
Here i go, I have to.
It's me.
Be abnormal in the norm.
Everyone stares thinking Im going to say something, is it going to brilliant? Sassy? Witty?
I exit to the left with no words spoken, no attempt to entertain those around me.
This is me.
This is who I am.
I am not an entertainer. I am not someone to stare at, to gawk at, to perceive as special, to want to be.
I am me.
I am the one that spent years finding out who I am, I am the one who doesn't like being told what to do or who to be.
I am the "Me" you wish you could find in you.
I am the freedom that makes you scream
I am the voice you keep disciplined, hiding inside like a frightened child.
The voice you fear will one day collide with the reality which you live day to day.
I am Me.
I am the Me, you wish you could be.
I know myself, I know my "Me" and I know "What" I can be.
I have handled and grew from my past, i have dealt with my submissions of self hate and removed my disguise.
I have been in front of the wall and felt the cage that surrounded me, how else do you think i found the me in "Me"? I broke free.
I have witnessed my life be someone else's, I was trained to obey, but now these days I am ME.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
Dear dog:
it may be suggested
I write on paper of rice
the better to be digested
since your critique's so nice
I notice you baulked at the stamp.
Should I enclose a bone with future submissions
begged from my midnight lamp?
I suppose it could have been worse,
at least the dog has devoured my verse!
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 7:06 AM UTC