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Best Poems Written by Hailey Stinchcomb

Below are the all-time best Hailey Stinchcomb poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Hailey Stinchcomb Poem

L Plus R Forever

True love everlasting is carved into trees, 
Who of the two will eventually cede?

There cannot be question as to which prevails longer,
Bark slowly heals as the heart grows still fonder

Yet heartbreak cuts deeper than knife’s sharp edge can, 
When did Earth’s skin become lesser than man's?

Two losing birds and only one stone,
But at least the tree is never alone

It has brothers and sisters and pathways below,
Though eventually there will come one final blow -

I would be bitter if you carved up my arms,
Withhold my charity from any who harm,

Then where will we be?

Love may be “set free,”

But we still need trees to breathe.

Details | Hailey Stinchcomb Poem

Digital Box Tops

When food and clean water linger moments from lips and anything else at our fingertips,

Quadruple consumption settles to stay and anything paper is just one click away

When they sell us our problems bottled cutely as cures, but the only real answer seems to be 

MORE 

And hillsides are speckled with hot springs caged in now man’s only purpose is to feel like he “wins” 

When invention’s mother shifts from necessity to ease, you get all you want and don’t even say please 

Addiction to dopamine is clawing up throats and it’s never enough for who needs it the most 

When she is raging and screaming and ravished apart and not even this can appeal to our hearts ---


We are broken.


Is there only one shot? 

Not all can be lost

Can we bring back paper box tops?

Details | Hailey Stinchcomb Poem

8 Billion as 1

It’s a peculiar feeling, isn’t it? To be one of 8 billion. To surely be the one and only soul to have unique experiences, immersive suffering, triumphs—

Ha. 

A peculiar feeling to be sure, to be 

Completely
Unoriginal

In every conceivable way, to be one of infinite incarnations; swirling among a mass of consciousness, each entirely whole yet mere specks in the fabric of existence.

You and I are strangers

Inexorably sewn together; each a lone stitch, immeasurably apart but unwittingly and essentially overlapping

We might never know how each of our breaths ripple the air and brush the necks of strangers

We are cloth.

Sewn not by hand, but rather by perfect machine design; each stitch revealing itself as precisely the same size, perfectly spaced, of equal importance

Each an integral part of the fold

And what of a rogue stitch?

The resulting jam is, if not irreparable, then vastly consequential; 

Un

Doing. 

It’s a peculiar feeling. To be so completely immersed in one’s own trials and triumphs; independent and ignorant and indifferent, yet utterly dependent on those of others.

You and I breathe separately, but the earth breathes as



One.