Syncopates poems on Hello Poetry

Windsor I Guadalupe Jr Jan 2016

Revel in space, yet not darkled, still
the **** and span of things that breeds
airlessness; The trees are evenly cut,
and their overgrowth seems like a forethought.
Where I am from, we eat fish with
our bare hands and our furniture, from bodies
of sandalwood, crushed with the scent of
peregrines. The morning makes you conscious
of space, and altogether the height of trees
syncopates to a nauseating stillness. In the awning
hours, leaves punctuate the ground – the cicada
with its machinistic song prowls, spills like
water from a broken vase toppled by me
years younger, raw, agile, deftly windless,
  wounded in love, lovingly wounded,
perhaps if there is a word for it, then let me
have my way, easily fraught with its meaning:
   a casualty. Sometimes the timeworn folks
would light cigarettes underneath the canopy
of a mango tree to banish ants and send them back
  to their queens – roosters in their wrinkled stations
croon in stasis, a song for the somnolent. I become
what the seasons evict. Constancy. Rearing weight
and gravity from nocturne. Tears are communal.
They make us aware of the weight of the Earth.
Somewhere, a funebre stilts through the silence,
and the jangle of little pieces spells out fortuity,
men in huddles mending pain by the sleight of hand,
a toss of a card, spinning in its imaginary axis: fate,
   feigned and fine-tuned to belief that it is controllable,
a variable, or a tabulation marred by frailty. From where
I am from, people stride through the streets naked,
soldering baskets filled with fruits gossamer from the
harvest, children suckling their mothers, the music of sweeping
metastasizes throughout the afternoon, and the same clouds
contort themselves to afford wry proposition: it is a day tender
with wonder, its allure overwrought, its sheen unremarkable.
  The funebre leaves with a necessary abundance of absence.
All the leaves depart from their mothering boughs,
  collapsing on the dreary back of the loam like penitence.
Like how once when you were young, you tinkered with
the fresh scab of your wound and felt the pain confine
  itself there, a part of you, that has now healed, but is still
      available for the world to break once again.

#love #poem #poetry #pain #sadness #death #loss

Don Bouchard Jan 2012

Syncopated

Slip into a syncopated
Yaw that staggers some,
Never touches others.
Come back home if you don't have the chops, or
Open up to ranges
Pleasant...
Awkward...
Totter some and Tatter some.
Insiders,
Outsiders
Nestle or Negate whenever Music syncopates.

Glenn Currier Aug 2018

Unbalanced

Missed a step of the stepping stool
smacked the sidewalk with my face
felt like a blithering fool
what happened to my grace

First parched earth of drought
now we’re so soaked with rain
the birdseed’s begun to sprout
dare I holler or complain

I think I need a change of scene
boredom cries for the next valley over
to smell the new scent of green
hear honey bees buzzing clover

They say hearing voices like yours
can be soothing and cozy
but too much harmony bores
and I think a little stink can be rosy

Living life in extremes
isn’t for me and isn’t sound
maybe it’s about stretching the seams
but not to be unbound

I don’t know if balance is my fate
Yes, equilibrium has its uses
but I like a tune that syncopates
and enough spice to excite the juices.

That recent fall where I hit my head reminded me of the delicate balance of life that is so easily taken for granted. Grateful there was no concussion or any internally serious problem. The external wound already healed. I'd been trying to find a new balance in my faith journey and some of my relationships so the co-incidence of the fall and the other stuff finally emerged into this poem.

#balance #unbalance #drought #rain #equilibrium #stretching #harmony #dissonance

Kaylee Toki Pytel Dec 2015

Lucy im hooomeee

Neon stripes and wide marble eyes
****! the walls turn to fractals and got me ****** hypnotized.
My step syncopates to neuron transfers and heartbeat
I can feel the grass alive beneath my two right feet
Even light wants to follow my hand
You feel comfortable in your insignificance as you take 100 foot strides in playground sand
Heavy man you're breathing liquid air
Drowning in beauty so elusive for a taste of what it's truly like to have the wind dance in your hair.

Megan Sherman Mar 2017

Is There Time

Is there time, Love, is there time
To take sanctuary from the world
And go into the wilds, unfurled
In my heart, affection swirled
If there is time, Love, if there is time

Is there time, Love, is there time
To indulge the heart and all its whims
For its the most cherishable of things
When it syncopates it sings
If there is time, Love, if there is time

Is there time, Love, is there time
Could we traverse passionate frontiers
Before fate creeps up and life disappears
For touch of you my spirit sears
If there is time, Love, if there is time

Julian Caleb Aug 2019

By Mistake

I remember when I texted you, hastily heading home with Nikki,
In the busy streets of a lively city.
Standing in the façade of a high-end mall,
Constantly texting the number whom I thought was Grab.
A notification popped,
battery critically low
I frantically borrowed Nikki’s phone,
Sent my last text, instructing him to shout “Lily” when he arrives.
As Nikki bids goodbye, my heart started beating unbelievably brisk.

I remember when I met you, in the middle of the night,
under the bright light of the moonlight.
A matte black Corvette lit up my whole face,
Still processing the thought of a Corvette being Grab,
The debonairly-dressed man stepped out, and shouted, “Lily?”
His words, ringing in my ears, deep as an underlying tone in my favorite song.
His illuminating beauty syncopates with the moon’s aesthetics,
Left me freezing, unable to utter any word.
He shouted once again, “Lily?!”
But this time, it was full of annoyance.
The exasperated tone struck my reflexes, causing to raise my hand,
neurons fire without purpose.
“Get in.” his expression was bland and unreadable.

I remember when you told me, words of regret you feed me,
Words you thought would destruct me, but I found it atypically addictive.
The pain you inflicted sensualizes my wounded psyche.
Subconsciously, I was craving more.
I tried to converse with you, but all I receive was hatred.
You discharged bullets of abhor,
But I threw them into the stream,
and persevered to alter your feelings.

I remember the first time you laughed,
Science was your forte, and mine was in the comical aspect.
I kept bombarding you with science-inclined humor, hoping to connect,
And later on, you found yourself battling in the arena of emotions.
You taught yourself you can’t be in love with me,
But it was contrary to your actions.
You started replying to my nonsensical chitchats,
You started talking about me.
Everything seemed perfect until my eyes became clear of what you were doing,
and reality hit me.

I remember when you broke my heart,
Did you deserve all the romantic thoughts I have of you?
Maybe we don't belong together, maybe I'm just desperate and delusional.
The imaginary love was so sweet, it makes me sad to see it crumble away.
But maybe all you are is a boy, who wants her girl back.
And all I am is a girl.
And maybe we are just people,
Searching, searching for something we have yet to find within ourselves.
So I will let go, I will let it sail into the wind
All that poetry, all those thoughts.
And I will learn to love myself,
First.

I remember the time you came back,
We were about to get lunch, when you shouted my name amidst the crowd.
Reluctant, I declined and proceeded to walk past you,
But you were different that time.
You held my hand tight, with certainty,
As I look upon you, your eyes were filled with solitude.
Your face painted a peculiar type of persona,
And with that, I have depicted the real you.

By Mistake, I found the love, the best I could have, until the end of time.

a spoken poetry
—j.c.

#love #mistake #spoken #poetry

hlynnn Jul 2020

by mistake

A spoken poetry

I remember when I texted you, hastily heading home with Nikki,
In the busy streets of a lively city.
Standing in the façade of a high-end mall,
Constantly texting the number whom I thought was Grab.
A notification popped,
battery critically low
I frantically borrowed Nikki’s phone,
Sent my last text, instructing him to shout “Lily” when he arrives.
As Nikki bids goodbye, my heart started beating unbelievably brisk.

I remember when I met you, in the middle of the night,
under the bright light of the moonlight.
A matte black Corvette lit up my whole face,
Still processing the thought of a Corvette being Grab,
The debonairly-dressed man stepped out, and shouted, “Lily?”
His words, ringing in my ears, deep as an underlying tone in my favorite song.
His illuminating beauty syncopates with the moon’s aesthetics,
Left me freezing, unable to utter any word.
He shouted once again, “Lily?!”
But this time, it was full of annoyance.
The exasperated tone struck my reflexes, causing to raise my hand,
neurons fire without purpose.
“Get in.” his expression was bland and unreadable.

I remember when you told me, words of regret you feed me,
Words you thought would destruct me, but I found it atypically addictive.
The pain you inflicted sensualizes my wounded psyche.
Subconsciously, I was craving more.
I tried to converse with you, but all I receive was hatred.
You discharged bullets of abhor,
But I threw them into the stream,
and persevered to alter your feelings.

I remember the first time you laughed,
Science was your forte, and mine was in the comical aspect.
I kept bombarding you with science-inclined humor, hoping to connect,
And later on, you found yourself battling in the arena of emotions.
You taught yourself you can’t be in love with me,
But it was contrary to your actions.
You started replying to my nonsensical chitchats,
You started talking about me.
Everything seemed perfect until my eyes became clear of what you were doing,
and reality hit me.

I remember when you broke my heart,
Did you deserve all the romantic thoughts I have of you?
Maybe we don't belong together, maybe I'm just desperate and delusional.
The imaginary love was so sweet, it makes me sad to see it crumble away.
But maybe all you are is a boy, who wants her girl back.
And all I am is a girl.
And maybe we are just people,
Searching, searching for something we have yet to find within ourselves.
So I will let go, I will let it sail into the wind
All that poetry, all those thoughts.
And I will learn to love myself,
First.

I remember the time you came back,
We were about to get lunch, when you shouted my name amidst the crowd.
Reluctant, I declined and proceeded to walk past you,
But you were different that time.
You held my hand tight, with certainty,
As I look upon you, your eyes were filled with solitude.
Your face painted a peculiar type of persona,
And with that, I have depicted the real you.

By Mistake, I found the love, the best I could have, until the end of time.

#mistake #love #heartbreak #sad

The Ragged Poet Mar 2019

Drowning in Blues

Some jazz helps
My eyes see
Focus waver
With such ease.
Some coffee helps
My mind continue
Brooding
Along wayward paths,
Striding
Across evenings, nights,
And Mornings–
Swinging past,
While my torpid head
Lusts over
Something faceless,
Something trapped within
Some facade.

Some leaves rustle
Lifelessly,
Heard along dark alleys,
Hardened in the cold,
Robbed of all tenderness,
A trail of death syncopates
A trilling percussion.
A beat is born,
From the dead leaves
Beneath my feet.

Some magical key
Is held in the air,
Serenading the glowing heads
On scattered street-lamps,
Illuminating the very things
Nature tries to conceal.
Suspended and suspending,
No room for surprise.
Some strange piano-man,
Somewhere,
Plays an eternal reprise.
Latescence looms
Egregiously
In the air
That I breathe.

Splashes of Surreal Jul 2019

Destiny Awakening

Finding lost lamps in the endless river
Finding lost paths in the endless sea of shiny slivers
Superimposed by cherry blossoms looking to get red, falling like the samurai wind
A metaphorical sword in the word of the kicking and rolling with the deracinated punches
Leers and steers, queers and the prayers comin' in the firm hands and the strutting souls that just can't make it through
Trembling and positive rhapsody, heartbeat flows through these terrible feelings with ease and rough edges
That gives me some relief in the ruins of a time past and has gone ne'er to wait on the cusp of time
The temerity of the weak people gets on the nerves of the patient who wait to test time
Loving you is like a trap, and the journey ends up in the faintest memory
These are things that make the spring lust, undermining everything that I remember

The sunset line can be mistaken for this road of hopeful faith
And opportunity comes with it, and some lost souls find their destiny awakening
Impression and departure, it's just case of arriving somewhere but here in the future of adversity
Fickle lady luck you've made my life, a metaphorical world
Just for a metaphysical girl, in case I just forget
How funny it is when life is times in perspective
Adding a soundtrack too can make it or break it
etudes, classical violins and broken dreams in this town of blue notes and thick smoke and purple groove
Haze doesn't work as a substitute for connective interfaces
Freedom to bucolic cygnets too truant to dream desire and demean
Swimming in the pool with the same ducks and ugly as cracked places
Traces of you, smoldering smitten semaphoring thoughts of someone close to you

Killjoy, repeat joy, you don't say; tell me more about your bebop and hip pop
Hip hop doesn't stop, until the groove is gone and the night as right
I guess I'm to blame for that rap music
Trepidatious isn't it being surreptitious, sounds silence in the dancing dark
Your mountain dog helps you awake in mended ways of a villainous version of systems and resuscitated governments
Of hootenanny, heralding the vernacular and jokes and veritable wine of aged humor, the dogs of the military take it all
Sharing it with the slightly avuncular makes it singularly appealing

Like a rat crossing the vegetations to look for slavery
Forging the plots of the bubonic pathos of plagued souls
Logical isn't how the rebirth died with a topical topsy-turvy thing called metaphors and teenage angst
Tranches and branches, stigmatize these sprigs of hovering forest of the streams of streaming rivers through the Conrad lands of radiance and splendor
Reminding of madness, barren words of the baroness, iridescent memory
Telling us only time could wait for us, and tell us to fly above all these vermins and scar tissues
Sermonize and call the heaven-sent, and ask for destiny awakening, in the crimson red, celestial bodies that resemble celadon
Love is true, till is you, that flows through the river in you
I could tell you till my face is a different hue, I dream of a better time in this place called reality
Reminding myself everything is in reverse, and distant memory is just the closest feeling I recount when each iambic meter states the verses of this timeless life
Remember from the blues and the acropolis and metropolitan incriminating, all these people going across like fleeting figures of the literary imagination
I could care less, and leave this city too, this is a thought I keep
If I could run away from this destiny too if I wasn't sleeping at the new kid's place in this town, drinking on the borrowed time of strangers
Trenchant, turpitude and tocsin is the truth when it comes to freely loading all your murderous cases of reprise and flickering lamps
True is just me that thinks it's relevant to this germane generation following the natural order, calling it the new substance
Simply railing through this blazing road, I'm on fire
Intermission and comes transience
This hip hop is old and so is the talk of condolences, shot rappers for gold and fake names
Riches from rags, to make homes out of the outbound trembling time that scares common time
And talk of immediate memory, and thespian and tulips blossom similarly
Putting on an act, like the midnight pretenders bending midnight spoons
Surmise and I suppose to be yours if I could get over these brighter stars of the darkness
Make your magnum opus with the correction and subjective precision, that you would show an etherized patient
Terse and cursory, you're spontaneity only syncopates with the silence
The redaction of statements would be criminal and I would rather like your writing on some stolen notebook
Grasping and gaping Centauri, releasing gases like the solar chrome horses
Inane and intermittent, aren't these sunshine beams, God wouldn't want me to be a sagacious beam
In the unforgiven law of the supposed religious belief and the dream weavers, make of the same sky we share
They might mistake the distance of the Sun, for God's light shining on cues
So, says the man who sold the world, to the cumulus accord that governs the capricious desert
Surpassing this law takes some law and serfs, breakfast is served by the smurf-head
The sun shines on us all, especially those who have mouths to feed
And don't understand boulders, unsteady tears, and cologne
They revel in the thought of seeing sunshine on their weary shoulders the coalition of the hollow men
Country roads, hitchhiking, I'm lost on road called sunset free street, the straws burning
People ask me, why I never appear on this trailblazing cars and find a hilarious lintel saying "This way for Love."
Suppose, I should tell them that I'm famously private and I don't take rides from strangers and don't lend hands to those without money
Love talkin' about that sometime, honey
Sometimes is never and some semblance of the past that was fiduciary
Smug and shy, I'm not sure that guy brings me some childish dreams and inspired, stirring, and compelling stories

— The End —