pounding working a sweet sweat up
toiling the ground of earths' belly
plunging as far in as possible
as deep as deeper going goes
as the pressure builds from down under
trying to stay aware of a gusher
or a pre-mature *******
the drill spinning the earth reeling making
groans that emanate from way down deep
the temperature with each ****** spin ******* rising,
higher louder from deeper from somewhere
hidden until now, then, releasing the earths' buried treasures
the earth filling the sky the horizon with releases.

might I better feel in prosody
defined by iambic pentameters
or weight of a dactyl or spondee
stress patterns or
a sequence of feet
or is my line enough
a pattern qualifying through
or is emphasis
too often stressed as following
the pattern
of the compulsory

it tickles lifts silt around my toes
and washes downstream melancholies
as much the red painted sunset often does
into a future turn of bank around a corner
my hopes and dreams sit still
with feet dangling from the limb overhanging
the tributary, One step more I wish, to take
and feel her flow, all over me,
take me there.

for we all fall into love, sin , life
into abominations which our fathers
might scold,  

we may fall into darknesses ,
where the only light
is so dim only one star

light might find us, there
so few of us escape, the blind
rage , the animal instinct

among the others caged the same,
we might mistake sameness
for right for reality, and

for the few , who manage to climb
out with skin wedged under
our nails think ,

there is one of a million,
that one who saw the light
of the one star

it's brilliance as not sanctifying
brutality , who , then
saw more than one star

but heaven, saw man's potential
truly, his sins as nature,
and his future

of the world growing
more godlike, more
forgiving

betrayed the rest,
to climb out using them as
ladders,

for our sake, for our
future, nurturing
like a mother and her baby

peace , sanctity
in man, in nature together,
in abandoning

the past, for
what grace does the past
remember?

with dripping elegance
the Venus' Pride
the False Indigo
with proud long stem protruding
the Blue Curls dew
covered extend
roadside curtsies to all
who pass by
dancing
like cultured pearls
in the morning
light.

on a demented chorus
I began
I entitled
soberly
of moon and body
speaking of green
or ales
I have not imbibed
in  the last 1 hours
but I hear tweets
from mockingbirds
chasing gliding swooping
down from the nests
I guess
i threaten.
So, this message mis-titled
a chorus mis-guided
sails into the air
as a chirp chases me,
hiding,
I need a beer.

we did feed, on pine cone nibs
wild onion and garlic under a lonesome willow tree,
we fed good on unconditional love,
woke up with sun listening to doves
and Mulberry trees grew all over us a ruby
red berry fed us  then
in an unconditional like love
ourselves giving  in to the shade
the dream of a willow tree providing us
magnificents cool on a hot day,
breezes wound us up and deposited us like
dust
on a fertile field,
wrapped around nature wrapped around
each other
then.

and it is beautiful
the snow fall making a winter blanket
for all the trees
meanwhile
on the other side of the world
a child in his bed gets his leg blown off
or just dies with nothing but hunger and pain
so I went about hanging lights on the
two evergreens in my yard
and the fake plywood santa
in his sleigh and all eight tiny reindeer
and had a realization again
of a boy and a ******* the streets of downtown Atlanta, Chicago
Detroit, or New York or Daleville
with no home, trying to live out of a small chevy or Ford or
Dodge , while Chevy and Dodge, got government help?
And they have no books , and their mom has bruises and
a broke arm and tries to care for them and cries while they sleep in the backseat and knows she could have done better and
is against the windshield in her hating herself
ashamed with not a bit of hope,
and I sit the star on top of the Tree and the glow lights the lawn and santa
winks in a pattern and Rudolph's nose glows red,
and it is all so beautiful

Find everyone's escape
Take their advantage away
In the brush
Stripes camouflage
There Shadow's highlights
Mix and fuse
Confuse the mind's eye
Into the whorl of
Leaves limbs and refuse
Into too much data
Therefore I go
Tripping a light
With gray shadow
With an array of quick
Hand moves
Stealthy crawls
The depth calling
Out wild
Inside me without
An
Enemy
Nor friend or foe
But Destiny

lauren elise  Normally I wouldn't instigate like this, but NFL players aren't simply taking a knee for the fun of it. If you want to go as far back as Normandy, let's talk about the forced migration of slaves to the United States, the colonialist division of African nations, and the pillaging and ****** that accompanied that. Let's talk about the forced separation of black families as they were sold off like livestock, the rapes of slave women, the beatings of slave men. Let's talk about the implemented indentured servitude after slavery was abolished, that kept free black people enslaved and poor because they had no resources, no money and no dignity. The lynchings and the discrimination. Let's talk about the de jure segregation that divided school districts, neighborhoods, and deprived people of color of access to equal education and job opportunities. How about the exclusion of black women from women's rights movements? They did not receive the same rights at the same time as white women. When segregation was abolished, how about the de facto segregation, the redlining, the defunding of black neighborhoods that sentenced them to poverty and disqualified them this American notion of "equal opportunity?" What about when the poverty and lack of education increased the crime and drug activity that has led to the mass criminalization of black communities? The school to prison pipeline? Think about the fact that people of color have not been legally "equal" to white people for even 100 years. The police brutality today mirrors the police brutality of the Civil Rights era. Everything that black people face on this day is a result of the dehumanization and discrimination that white people imposed on them from the start. This is not coincidental protest. This is not ungrateful. Our soldiers have fought for our rights from the start, but not always for the rights of people of color. Peaceful protest is an American right. Plus, let's not talk about disrespect for American soldiers and veterans when our very own "President" is the first person to disrespect them.

to be in a hurry,  won't do,
deadlines,
are always there?
Time, is reflective, always
was will be scarce, why rush it?

Slow those hands, push them down to
half past when,
halfway to then.

Seconds,  take reflecting
meditating,  remembering,
hear concentrate on the sounds
of birds,
walk outside now, this very  instant,
briefly feel   awareness-
actually hear-
those birds chirp,  a background
chorus to a most important symphony.

Let the time tick-tock as the rhythm
is the backbeat,
feel that last brief wisp that color
that smile that feeling, let it sink in
mean something more than what needs done.

Don't hurry it. It comes.

This poem which was created by several poets, while abstract , a bit meandering, as any collaboration might become, has behind it a meaning.
My effort, my intent, was not to create a poem that bested Shakespeare, no. I with all my heart wanted to show that HP is for all of us. HP is for us to make a difference, if possible. It is possible.
Put away the transgressions the petty bickering, all.
We may have lost this battle, but we shall win the war.

Now, the poem:

Once Upon I, the warrior skeletal
the eternal darkness
descended
with cracked laughter echoing
serendipity exploding
and unfolding  erase(s)
the expanse of nightfall,
those connected before
redemption,
rustic austerity
peace
for she
dreaming forlorn
liberated
by the sword
sine qua non

In order of contribution I would like to thank :

m i å, SPT,wehttam,Vicki,Harriet Tecumsah Watt,memineI,
Fallen Angel,Reshnia crimson,ryn,Jaxton Tyler Redmond
Sassy J,Eric W,SE Reimer,aivustianumus,lluvia de abril,
Steven Langhorst,Tonya Maria,Sjr1000,Emma Livry,
Aztec Warrior,Renae,brandon cory nagley,Dave Kavanagh,
Adhi Das,Alyssa Underwood,A Lopez,Heather Beth,
and Sapiotextual all for their contribution to the making of this poem
and to the betterment of our community.

his name I don't know, might be Jesus
Mohammed Krishna Buddha Abraham or Luke
or duke for all I know, I never directly talked to him,
I am not sure he is a he. It might be
Luna or Aphrodite, Athena or perhaps Hella.
Hell I don't know whether he or she or it is a god.
It might be a Fairy.
Yet I keep (her him it) secret!
So no one can steal (?) him her it.
We often dream together. We
dream of peace and fairy lands fictionary places.
Ain't that weird?
Whatever this secret friend is ,
he makes me feel, see.

Tell me if I intensify or ratify or eclectically
de-sastisfy or ******* lie or
**** me and stratify artistically mortify
I wanna cry and bend this whole **** thing
over to arithmetically magnify
geometrically articulate and situate
the intensity of the diametrical
opposites
******* the whole ****** thing
claim the reasoning as my own
when it came from
my muse.
Say with me...
Is this real?
can I prove one theory
one thing I know
is I am
deaf and dumb.
Just seemingly
revolving waiting
numb.

woke up late sweaty moist tired
hurried to get my clothes on brush my teeth
ran out without my phone
came back and fed the kids
the labrador and the three musty cats
grabbed my phone
ran out forgot my keys
came back and changed their water dishes
brushed my teeth again to insure
the beer breath was at least minty
went out again started the van
and decided to say **** it all
I have cash
tomorrow I will do the work
today I am gonna
lay around like a lazy cat or labrador and
if someone knocks on the door
I may pant but I ain't getting up

where does this longing arise from?
I have a yearning
has everything to do with ***
and passion

it seems to evolve in the *****
the ***** hanging
and  has  a manly scent and a
obsession

I have seen my Labrador
get in season
and my black and white
cat, it's the reason

we all are bred and why we
have feelings

dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.

The dusk  a cloudy
sty
blackened to blight
the rays
of days
before the fruit lost the limbs
barren- now shake-and
above the **** soaked grass
sanitary
past,
swaying in the memory
of glamour days,
some happily forget.

If you were my lady
I am a carpenter
would you be my babay
tomorrow
I would give up this quest to overcome
loneliness
work my calloused hands to tender sores
every minute
grind away my hardness
wipe away the dirt from my ***
so thee would see my shine
and my true grit.
If I were a true poet
I would have asked you better,

To all at Hello Poetry!
   So many poems are written to woes.
I challenge you all to write humorously,
  lift my spirit.
Make me laugh, because I am in need of, laugh.
    I create now a category a challenge to smile for.
Post and create
       and all smile!

no beginning
we all forget
to send
a forward
or regret
not saying
I apologize
like lemons or
lemmings we follow
to the cliff bitter
better yet we fall off
rather than
say
I am sorry,

So intense listenin'
to CCR
in me headphones
sippin'
Olde English 800.
Brings back memories
of bein' 16
with Joy in me bed(room)
painted bright red, strobe light flickerin'
kissin'
and her
scratchin'
me back.

the greater view is,
too long the disciple
of pessimism will live

excuse the interception Seattle fans you had a win right in that New England guys hands.
Bobbly catch was miraculous.
but with one knee down and seconds left your players could of handled defeat a
little  more graciously.
I realize their are Billions riding on this, but the game was done.
Get over it.
By the way , I really liked some of the commercials.
Kids and lost dogs and coca cola asking all to love and

even Big Mac giving Strawberry shakes for one dance or calling your mama.

Pucker tuck
tuck, squeeze fold neatly
a pucker is unsightly,
drawn up, or is it?
  Pucker up, has no tuck
counterpart no whistling,
no kissing.
whilst tuck
has a rhyme.

tree to tree limb to limb:
                                     would it be a sight to see?
leaves ruffled
             all entwined


the two pines
           in my front yard-
laying together,
                         in the grass


      making love.

she is better than anything
she gave me unconditional love
infinity
the hopes she inspired me
to see the power to see
over the horizon
the courage to
stand tall
to reach it

on what side the bed she may fall out of
when 4 pm comes around,
depends , portends which one of her I come
home to.
She may be Happy hilarious good mood
Beatrice, that
is a day I cherish,
or if she falls off the end she may be sultry all go for it
Sadie , with her world of tricks lined up,
their numbers in her hand,
If perchance she never gets out the stove is cold the cats all
fuss, the dog has ****** all
over the house,
and she is comatose Katie,
She one time got off on her knees,
I came home about ten-thirty for lunch to find
a shrine built out of every ring necklace
pearl she could find piled  up in a heap
by the fireplace , and her in a sarong
chanting, she said she was Bodhisattva,
a nice day is when she arises with healing thoughts,
dresses in that white dress those hose
the comfy nurse shoes, and greets me at
the door with her stethoscope,
I say Hi,  Nurse Ratched!

having to comment on the *******
who find faults like there
is a reward for it
while smoking a doobie
drinking a corona
watching a sun set
on a beach
in heaven
forget them

The ordinary air I take for granted,
clean clear water,
I drink
without thinking.
The Sun that rises in glory,
I often forget to admire.
Or, thank God, for.
My next breath,
a given, or is it?
I will take it deep,
pledge upon it,
I will rise in this dark,
get on my knees, tomorrow,
Thank Almighty for this!

thought of a dream of a poem that barely spoke of
the wind, that wound down through the new leaves strong and young stemmed
securely fastened to the life blood limbs
and peacefully, momentary
soliticited
the workmanship of heavens wonders,
her legend young and strong
commentary psalms,
a reach where I reach reach
my limbs not far enough and hers
a realm reaching
taking my breath again.
My roots dissolving in hope.

clearly, I lean to the left
walk with a pre-existing tilt
that in the halo of the House of Republican's
vote this week, might cause me to be
labeled a high health risk,
they also see me as
Alabama senator Mo Brooks labeled
as antithesis to "people who lead good lives"
and therefore strike me down with cancer or something.
He sees a way to waive health-care mandates
and save money, so those in the top 2% of income
can get a tax break.
Wake up people , rapists are running wild with false rhetoric and
you elected and pay them.
I have no choice in Alabama. The right is entrenched and
the education system is wrecked. Corn fed cows
pigs and ***** guarding the sheep
have more of a conscience than any elected official here.

to air:
cold
or burning hot,

ode to trees,
tall,
green leaves,

ode to me,
small,
alone in it all.

ode to convenience
store workers,
without them,

I may      be
sober.

ode to cemeteries,
all the remembrances
colder.

Ode to family
friend, acquaintances.
I have known.

ode to animals,
pets, squirrels,
possums,

ode  to water,
flowing clean
to her bounty

ode to mothers
******* milk flowing
bountiful

ode to what
ever created this, knowing
dichotomy

opposites
so needing were
to Odes

impressionistic, dabs at life's canvas
trying  the light and dark,
usually  violating the rules,
freely expressing outside  the contours,
the boundaries no limit for me,
I am not tooled
or succinct in the palate
of medieval  details  limiting a
certain number of syllables,
I use adverbs and adjectives interchangeably
try though I may
my write hand  wobbles,
and veers of the course ,
and I see

The annals of Peter Pertuity
so dense complex with impunity one
headed unempathetic saying
how WE feel
and what WE need. One
eyed
blind
genetically disposed
a natural propensity
kindly, we say,
exposing us and you to
raincoats on corners and ladies we think get a
thrill.

We had this conversation
and couldn't even finish it
throwing
clothes to the floor
last Saturday
now we tried to say hi
and are ******* in knots
on the floor
I love hell out it
but tell me
who is your favorite band?

Put your hands up, walk back slowly, suspects of what?

We were driving through Louisiana, returning to Alabama
after  visiting a dying friend.

The Highway Patrol doing, I guess their duty,
got behind us, we saw it coming in the rear-view mirror.

We braced, knowing two black men, only
riding I-20, because of our skin color, in 2014, were suspect.

Stopped, we told our stories, since they were the same,
we were just given a ticket, DWB.

Drivin' while Black.

my no faced poker playing partner
her hands held so close to her chest
I don't see a bluff don't know if
she has a flush or a king
in the hole

Can't even read her when she lays down
a straight to her king
or has two pairs
to my one queen.

She antes and bids so calm
always, I guess I sometimes win,
but I know,
the odds are stacked way so far
against, me.

there are places words cannot go
deep  ravines of bitterness
broken hearts
caverns buried beneath human souls
there are souls places words make amends
true feelings sweetnesses
cloved hooves
batteries of soul most worthy
of gallant meanings
the most over stated comparisons
soul lifting paradoxes
grand statements
it is between that is so barely
ever stated waking up
again . washing dishes
chore like memes
and daily activities,
the world spins round
either way
it just spins slower,
sometimes

KnobNess
By Finnius Dilkington


KnobNess is upon us

Altho my KnobNess is not nu

been working on my KnobNess for some time now

37 years & a few

My KnobNess is incomplete.

Incompetent

untrue

I am certain I have more KnobNess

More KnobNess

more than you

At times you'll see my KnobNess

At the luncheon table and such

I'll tell a joke & mess about

You'll laugh out of politeness

And

"not very much"

My KnobNess is like a steaming plastic packet

fresh ripped from the Microwave

a packet Inside a black plastic bag,

un clean and un true
Here's the the thing that thing I do

Make an insulting racket; Hussle,

Huzzah and harangue too

is my technique

is nothing new

KnobNess in my acting actions

Like the malevolent Sir Richard Chamberlain

fancy in some vile and delinquent role

Dolled up, ****** arresting

With grasping grabbing

Needful hands.

"Yon knobNess is thus"

"And thus"

(wrists bent)

And the dark black circles about his actors eyes

create no illusion

I remain at the centre of my KnobNess

Assured in my self believing belief

frequent feeling of my own genitals Is

no more,

no less

than any others.

These reactions are uncontrolled emotions programmed in me algorithms
running autonomously from my wakened head
passion is evolutionary running in my background
I try to reprogram but they run automatically
I tried to reboot but lost my windows key
and tried Task manager to end but
I don't have Administrative Privilege.

unfolding like a stanza
whirlwind A cappela
A stylistic opera abbreviated Sestina
with no background singa's
A minor sung song
ending in the key of G

my girlfriend wants me
to give her away at her wedding,
I learned Fortran and Cobol
right before IBM made the PC,
the week after I played 2, 11, 13, 20, 29, 38 on the lottery,
those numbers hit,
I sunk my life savings in Enron
the week the Feds raided,
my psychologist told me it's
all exterior, no such thing, she said ,
on her way home walked into the path of a bus,
thank god for my rabbit's foot in
my pocket, and the **** **** hanging around my neck,
and the four leaf clovers I wallpapered my living room with,
I mean , can it get worse?

I thunk or did or said or thought or knew is
in the middle of a guitar string chord plucked
with a background rich of bass drum
the ****** of a cymbal the beautiful
voice of a beautiful band where beautiful
girls dance sensually writhing in tune  to
my heart throbbing a voice singing
as no instrument ever can
trembling my
everything
crying
samba
me

of a sandwich a smoke a beer
at the end of a hard day
a word of praise
a smile from the world

cognizant of the real world
hardness and people's fears
worries
I sit and contemplate

why I feel so god ****** good
getting a Daily
when all I write is simple
heart and feelings and connecting

as much as I might to fellow
humans and their dreams
desires laugh
and try to cry with them

I got rewarded when you wrote back commented hearted
it's more than I deserve to be paraded as the Daily
but it was all of you who made it happen

and I won't forget or take it as my championing
it is ours our dream our sweetness our caring in full view now
the working man
the lone  poet

the songstress alone at her keyboard
a bit of song  a few hellos a heart a word here and there
not a popularity contest
each is equal to me
and deserving

this is your Daily, too
everyone
on HP!

I learned to sleep
   with the constant scratching
at my window pane-
   unnerving though, It got.

Tap, tap, tap
   the evergreen raps
its boughs on my glass
    rap sharp

almost breaking it
    I hide beneath my pillow.
I barricade under
    my blanket.

Screaming silent,
    imagining again,
your fingernails
     down  my back.

oh victory
vivacious as a dandelion dispersed
on wind
air flight far wide high
as wings fly as words sing as minds think
high    get high buzz like a bee
flitter free to and fro
nothing compares   to this
to thy   to my free mind
free to fly and find
soft buttercups in the field a new day a new way
once a closed academy taught to decay
now the nature of a stream flowing
let it be
let me be
I care no more about archaic truisms or static
ways of looking I open
my eyes free trip on fantasims I fear not the
new idealism where truth is peace love and holiness
under these skies I see bluer than ever and newer and more virginal
more loving peaceful a sky
that glows for all
one day I thought of it
just why the **** not love
why strife why fight lets' love all night in the day
all days every night.
I love.
I'm not afraid of love.

a length of rope
bet you thought I might hang me,
no, I would unwind it,
try to figure out how it was made

were I to lose myself tonight
nowhere else could it possibly be
then in your fine skin your sweet smile
your embrace

were I to find heaven
I don't think of any afterlife
I would not see your smile your kind eyes
you and beauty

were I to die tonight
with your memory I would smile
brightly forever more like a sailor
welcomed home

after his long course  
his long time without love
his long journey without shore
be he parched and full of scurvy

the sustenance
without a kind
life without meaning
there on a shore

of little hope
just barren rocks
and harshness
sand piling up in heaps over
his head

so I said my piece
my welcoming
I await yours

into fragments or memories pieces
of this
shards of that
Many broke
*******
yellow
yell
black

white
sight
blinded
sighted
in tiny remnants
on the floor.
It is a travesty
or comedy
trying
to puzzle
this interlocking
riddle, or
solve
and paint the whole
picture.

A poem
is quite like,
a life.