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m h John Jun 27
denial:
you tell yourself
they just needed a break
a vacation for the day
until a vacation turns into a week
and a week to a month
then you realize all the questions you have
are left wrapped in cellophane

anger:
your presence to me
was as calm as the sea
until i remembered every promise
you ever made
and then suddenly i become the sea
and these waters are no longer
soothing to me
but are now a violent whirlpool
where all my emotions
end up in the middle of

bargaining:
this is where my “what ifs” come into play
and how my “what ifs”
create a fake imagination
to where it is now a fake escape
from any kind of pain
until i can adjust to what my reality
is now set up to be

depression:
these black out curtains
still aren’t dark enough for me
i can still see your face
sitting in every picture frame
on my walls
with your smile
hanging there picture perfectly

acceptance:
this is the final stage
now i finally feel alive and free
the sun is no longer my enemy
but is now a friend to me
to remind me everyday
that i am alive and okay
i am now content with this
being my reality
break those picture frames, seeing the shattered glass will help make you feel better
Faizel Farzee Nov 30
I try and stay calm but I'm starting to pace,
Memories discarded, a projected sequence
Of broken imagery through my mind start to race.

These demons singing to my soul
I can no longer face, they eating at my being
It's a gourmet meal,
they can't get enough of this desperate taste.

I'm directionless, even times time I waste
Losing myself daily
Even the air that I breathe,
Hates every breath that I take.

Without you my worlds just an empty space
You took my heart with you,
I can feel it faintly beating, in your trash case
Sprinkled with the hated words, floating in a river of hate.

I have to hold on to my sanity
Or it will get lost in this state
Was any of it even real, or was every moment just fake

My discarded feelings
Scattered and misplaced
Constantly searching for happiness
When you left, it packed up in a haste
Now I'm left with the broken shards,
Of a life that was never meant.
The feeling we carry can sweetly sing,
At times it plus at your code
and love start to sting,
the angelic voice, now screeching
Just hold on for dear life, remember
Your heart is still beating.
sparkjams Oct 2012
the evil man funk wobbles in
with a grin the size of a whirlpool
sister, please go back to
the society of your selves
I didn’t even look at him

horse on the bandstand
run for your super lives
you’re gonna enjoy this twisted
this acidic mouth wash solution
your little punch in the mouth all the time
all the long while
I’m building fabulous from the ground down
party in the underworld I’m so invited
m h John Sep 29
after climbing onto the rocks
and to the top of the cliff
he feared now not
feeling the comfort
of the whirlpool
because while standing
above the sea
he found new meaning in life
now that he realized
he is free
Ilia Talalai Sep 2018
when you meet me...
                                     hush my love,
don't tell me that this depth
                               makes you afraid.

That my voice is like a siren 
                           singing on an ocean of words.
                                                          ­                          
A whirlpool
pulling you under
where no light can shine with grace.

Your crashing heart
is yours to cherish tenderly.

In my arms,
                  you will cyclone to the very
                                                               b­ottom of your soul.
My arms
              are here to hold you
                                            while your heartship
                              splinters and cracks
              on its spiraling
downward journey.

Held
in my arms,
you and I will feel it all.

And when it is all over,
when stillness prevails...

from the crumbling shipwreck you
will be born anew.

a mermaid swimming through the ethereal waters of her soul.
Rising up,
                  up,
                         up
                                breaking the surface
                                 to drink her first
                               sweet sip of salty air...

searching for the land
she once remembered
in a time now lost.

when you meet me...
tell me that my arms are as vast as the horizon,
that they are the very water you breathe
holding you through all your waves and ire.

when you meet me...
tell me that my eyes are like the night sky,
that their depth holds the whole universe
within a twinkling facade.

when you meet me...
                                when you meet me...
                                                           ­      when you meet me...
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;

The Abyssimal Sea?

Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.

If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
The primary reason I came to Hello Poetry is that every single publishing house I could find on the internet rejected every poem I sent them. Since my work is deemed to be worth nothing I gave it all to you for free. It seems that in a digital world where people can share this easily there will always be more content available for free than for a fee. One would think publishers would know this. I have seen some seriously good poetry here and some pieces that are extraordinary.
Andrew Rueter Sep 2017
Oh, what I would give to be nine and benign
Because as I grow older the flow of concepts grows heavier
And swirls around me rapidly
Creating a whirlpool
I can feel the world pull
In the gravity of ideas
Given weight by words
That brings down birds

We look up only to see Jupiter
And we live on the Earth's back
Weighed down like mules by it's presence
Carrying conflicting considerations
Ideas inflicting incineration

The rain precipitating from the clouds in our minds
Develops a lofty humidity within humanity
And the leaves on the trees point downward
Erecting walls
To trap us in our gravity garrison
Plotting ways to crush each other
Time becomes the most effective method
As we wait to weigh down wanderers
With a point of view
In our gravitational pull
To make them our mule
Carrying our concepts
To strengthen our impact on the maelstrom

As our brain gets bolder
The water gets colder
But this ocean keeps spinning
Keeping the frigid water from freezing
And the gravity of what we think
Is the gravity that makes us sink

From concept cradle to gravity grave
Tranquil transcendence is what we crave
aSLAM M Aug 14
You can enter
Reach the Centre
Delighted at First
Quench your Thirst
Peaceful and Calm
The world on your  Palm.
Then comes the Sadness
Alone and Loneliness
Unbearable Pain
Making you Insane.
Then you Curse
Wish you could Reverse
The End is Near
Caught infinitely here.
what a waste Nov 2015
Whirlpool of insanity
the beast stands coy
bound to humanity
A sadist and her toy
Fear its brutality

Our fists churn like
tides of a blood-lusted sea
Saliva soaked spite
rhapsodizing over gluttony

It's never enough
we wan't it all
The world we corrupt
a sadist and her rag doll
Matriarch of the puppets
In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.

The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.

The moon,  a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.

The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.

Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!


©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE
Lyrical Dream Dec 2018
Her dark pupils
were surrounded
by a raging silver flame
swallowed by a wave
of cerulean blue

It was as if each shade
swirled into one whirlpool
of exquisite beauty;

The soft petals
of a field of cornflowers,

The electric flash
of lightning during a storm,

The sparkling surface
of a star-stained river
rushing to join the sea

A sea that made it difficult to stay above the waves
Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
              …stirred her iron ***,

Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot,
             …home of death and rot,

Abigail Primpot sewed and stitched a lot.
She produced a sweater that shined like treasure,
                           …and no one else has ever seen much better!

Abigail Primpot learned to cook from old wives’ tales in an old dusty book.

Frog legs, bird gizzard, wolf’s bane, small lizard, one rotten apple and one sharp tooth, …cup of mead, some spices and a bottle of vermouth, a chant and a song and a wizard’s spell, …and a whirlpool in the cauldron that went to Hell! Abigail Primpot likes to stitch ‘cause she is a witch and though she was quite young; she lived with snakes, bees and scorpions and things that stung!

Abigail Primpot would become a Beast when she wrapped herself in her shining fleece!

Abigail Primpot,
              ...her home stunk of death and rot,
Abigail Primpot,
              ...sewed and stitched a lot,
Abigail Primpot,
              ...she had an iron ***,

Abigail Primpot,
Abigail Primpot.
A children's rhyme. The beast, the golden fleece and webbing are all ancient mythological cosmogonical symbols of the rotating stars of heaven. New Mythology
Tash Mar 2016
This Tug of War
An emotional storm
We scream and fight
Slamming doors
Cry and accuse
Throwing out clothes
Opinions forced down
In a whirlpool of abuse
We hack at each other
Around every turn
Throwing our love
in a furnace to burn
till there's nothing left
but smoke and ashes
Falguni Sudan May 2018
Softly and gently, I swim him along
the frail whirlpool of a lie,
He visits like a lamp in the froth of cold
forward towards but shy

I remember to keep my palm onto the cold night's sheet
and tell him how his would fit in,
how every moment of my cold nights would burn
into the arms of his unconscious sin

I canst remember thy face though,
o love, was the dust of snow much.?

Swaying like a leaf in the wind of my poem
skimming on the foam of an immortal stream,
with his perfect structured fingers touching his evening cup,
he flutters like a laugh from the lips of a weeping dream.

A dream.
A DREAM.
O my.! Was this illusory?

Years of long closed eyelids imagining their perfect fit
The word exists the definition doesn't,
Dejection over fancies is dejecting
Perfection is straight where you find true love.
Both girls and boys alike, dream about their "perfect" life-partner from the very beginning of their formative years. This "perfect" illusion seems to surmount over their subconscious self and when they aren't provided with the same revolutionised "perfect" partner, they feel dejected.
"don't be", I say. "Perfect" has no meaning. That one moment when you find true love, It is, nevertheless, "Perfect".
elle Dec 2018
She sits.
The ocean crashes on the rocks.
The memories wash over her.
A boy.
No. Not a boy. The boy.
The one who got her into this mess.
The one who stole her heart the moment she laid eyes on him.
Her boy.
No. Not her boy. Her son.
Her son, who knew nothing but love.
Her son, the one that turned her world upside down.
His father.
Her other love.
A sailor.
She should hate the ocean.
But she doesn’t.
The water that laps around her feet
Is not the same water that took her boy away from her.
No. Not her boy. Her son.
Her life.
A simple trip.
Her son.
Begging to go with his father,
On the big boat.
His father.
Agreeing, for it was the boy’s birthday.
A storm.
Out of nowhere.
Raging, tossing the big boat around like it was nothing.
To the ocean, it was nothing.
But to her
It was everything.
The realization.
When she realized that the boat wasn’t coming back.
The tears.
Flooding every inch of her.
Drowning her.
Oh, the irony.
The waves.
Constantly ebbing and flowing.
She longed to join them.
To be reborn
Of sea foam and salt.
But she didn’t.
She sat.
The waves crashing on the rocks.
Anger.
Anger at the ocean.
Anger at her son.
Anger at his father.
And then
Anger at herself.
She went home.
Slept.
Wept.
She sits.
The ocean crashes on the rocks.
A bird screeches.
She is drawn out of her whirlpool of memories.
She picks up a stone.
Whispers.
And throws it into the ocean.
Letting go.
Breathing.
Living.
Ashley Chapman Sep 2018
Past our past,
Yours and mine,
My soul yearns,
As I walk by silver clad trees; 
A favourite parked orange vintage Saab;
And memories newly raw, too.


I

Then quite extraordinarily,
The Cosmic Whale,
Stirs in my solar-plexus,
And my objectivity dissolves,
As conscious consciously hears:
The song of my inner Gypsy,
And look!
My Narwhal,
Up among the stars,
Beyond days and nights,
Roaming free,
Scything milky ways in half,
Fireballs disrupting,
In infinite timelessness,
Beyond the pull of gravity,
Where no vortex holds:
The 'othering' whirlpool,
That keeps us compressed
- as a collapsed star -
Gone!
At last my Cosmic Leviathan blows
- ALL is released and falls away.

II

Such is my Cosmic Behemoth:
The funnel *****
And inside out,
Is turned.
As at last on course;
Whoo! Whoo! Whoo?
But no-one replies!
The navigation station is empty:
This is motion without traction,
And no acceleration,
Slipping atoms would only slow!
The flow,
No windows either on the view,
As even visual truths are but fleeting,
And words muddy the clear unconscious streaming,
As the journey beyond mind begins.

III

The worldly maze recedes,
A bird's-eye vision steers the empty ship;
No harbours are plotted,
From here on
- endless flight in night,
Without end,
Wings blaze occasionally nearby,
A host of fireflies pattern the cosmic pool,
A whole immensity in which to dance.
Space,
Growing,
Stretching,
Expanding outward,
Not as we would have it, but as it is beyond our eyes.
Where space is born,
Again and again,
And so!
Exults in nothing,
A self beyond understanding,
In silence thrives,
Where sense logic makes no waves.

IV

The Cosmic Whale is off,
All attachments gone,
Like a flake of skin,
A fold in time -
Falls off.
The anchor dropped,
Is not retrieved,
What use is I -
When the clock's monotony no longer counts!

V

The surface disappears,
The ocean depth submerges,
In the cabin
The lights are dimmed to monochrome,
As navigators know,
Blind sees the furthest.
Charts are soon forgotten,
The imagination leads:
Ueah, the Cosmic Mind,
Vast and free
In all directions!
No need to plot a line,
Instead like the humble earthworm,
Who in darkness fertilises:
Beauty, how unimaginable, how unknowingly,
Is by all that envelopes guided,
As from the cracked ***!
Which in Reality was suffocated,
The source is nourished.

VI

As my Cosmic Whale plunges the deeps,
Look to the expanse:

     The eternal behemoth whose flight
     Everywhere provides,
     Guileless and unobjectified.
     A subjectivity that knows no
     bounds,
     Is unto itself unknowable.

In brushstrokes.
The universe,
Is as it rolls Created.
Where logic has little to do,
As all,
Already simply is.
This poem is actually about the ego's death. How I will mourne it, and how the fight to let it go will be immense as it is for us all. Death in life comes in many shapes, not ultimate death, but our relationships, *le petite mort*. Of course, there is life beyond relationship death. Beyond a sense of end; and yes, ultimately all is good preparation for that all consuming final death. This poem was inspired by untenable love for another; by the paintings in bold, almost lurid, but zen-like brushstrokes of a fellow Tunnel member, Genevieve Leavold; and by my mate Chris Godber who alluded to whales. It also has to do with my Gypsy heart and Celine's Salon, in Soho at Troy 22, where we celebrated the traveller's soul. Finally, a YouTube clip of a talk given by Guru Mooji in which awareness is being conscious of conscious.

Bon Voyage!
My feelings for you now
Is like the tide
It comes and it goes
Sometimes the sea is calm
And it doesn't come at all
Sometimes my emotions stir
Like a whirlpool in the sea
Or they become chaotic
Hitting me like a tsunami
My love for you now
Seems to come in waves
Like a gentle tide
That still rushes to you
With feelings not quite the same
syncopation Oct 2018
As the days roll into nights
And the nights back into days
It’s just too easy to have time slip away.

But just as the rivers into the seas flow
For this we have but little control

And as we get older for some reason
Time seems to move faster

But that is a misperception you see
For it is when we have little left it becomes as clear as can be

Just as an hourglass drains
At first imperceptibly slow
Until the final sands of time begin to show
By then like a whirlpool
It seems to succumb to gravity’s pull

Where did the time go
Will we ever know.
Within the whirlpool of silhouettes in the darkened night
there she stood

Burdened with eyes that has seen too many
deaths
it’s all she’s come to know

Streaking black hair that masquerades her
face
the type that makes the moon pale in her white aura

Lithe figure she possessed yet hardened by the life she has so far lead
to a place she wished to have fled

And in the midst of this starless night surrounded by a world of scorned dreams and ground too salted to sprout aspiration

She reminisced
but in her minds eye all she could see were humanities cries
with desires and passions set aside the earth contorted to stone
and yet she still cried

Voices bearing the hailing of lost legacies echoed through the
lonely night
and the girl wondered if she was the only one who heard the sigh


“Don’t breathe,
live”
Allie Nov 2017
You stand here kissing the light.
A halo of red leaves fall past your head
Your lips leave sparks on my cheek
Your eyes are as steady as tree trunks
The touch of your hand,
Makes the wind roar.
Will you catch me if I fall?
I already am.
My shirt ripples like waves in the  sea,
I wish to fall forever.
Because your mountain lion purr is my new favorite song,
I feel that your mysterious mind is made of music,
Each breath is a tune, each word is a melody,
You smell like brown cabins and daisies,
Your naked feet are the mud I am stuck in.
H e l p
I'm going to hit the ground and disappear into your orange hands.

You stand here kissing the light.
The gray skies are meant to be your background
Your rosy cheeks look far too kissable,
While you dance as if it's all you know how to do.
Every glance you grant me is a blessing and a  s i n,
Memories of lip balm and car rides flood my brain.
My dress is soaked, I'm drowning in you,
I wish you were lost in me too.
Your baffling blonde hair blinds me,
I can no longer see where I step.
Caught in a whirlpool, drinking all your thoughts,
Cold evenings, sweaty bodies,
You smell like blue trampolines and bubblegum.
This love is a shipwreck,
Oh God, This daydream has an expiration date,
I can't live off empty kisses and blue eyes.

You stand here kissing the light.
And breathing burgundy words.
Your hands are searching for a spark,
But your touch is as light as a bumble bees.
When you laugh, I no longer feel alone,
Because you make my heart beat again.
I stand on tiptoe and kiss your habitual hat,
Wishing I could be happy in your arms.
You are a sunny serene statue
In this seriously fast-paced fast-racing world.
But, notes passed and dying embers won't save me from
H o l l o w  car rides home.
You smell like warm blankets and hot sauce.
I warn you not to drink me,
I am spoiled milk.
Get out, before it's too late,
I don't love your yellow mind like I should.

You stand here kissing the light.
A rainstorm strikes when you laugh,
Your bare back is the sturdy ship,
I am stranded on in this wide ocean.
I'm stuck in the jungle of your mind,
The story of you is locked in my bones,
You're wild, green, and reckless,
I'm etranced.
Our various vivacious ventures leave me in    r e v e r i e,
craving something I can't quite name.
Yet, smoky rooms and video games
can't protect me from these
black thoughts.
You smell like cinnamon and *****,
In this moment, that feels like home.
But god, I can't tell if I'm healing or hurting,
And I don't know if you'll survive
the hole in my heart,
Still, I'll kiss your brown lips,
and hope that you do
A poem about the three girls and one guy in my life I've loved
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