Best Hb Poems
I have fallen into a very deep well
Where darkness and despair do dwell.
There's slime and mildew on the wall
How I got here...I don't recall.
Somewhere I hear water trickle
The sky above, no bigger than a nickle.
For when you're in a well so deep
All you do is sit and weep.
You wear the darkness like a cloak
Touch the pieces of a life that broke.
You and the darkness become as one
There are no reasons left to run.
Up there people are having fun
Loving and laughing in the sun.
They do not hear my inner plea
Do not see the cold in me.
As the walls pull closer still
Somber memories my heart do fill.
For in this well I cannot win
You see the darkness...is within.
So I curl up very tight
Await the passing of this night.
Maybe in the early dawn
I again will be reborn.
This poem inspired by a book that I read. Clinical depression is a devastating
and often misunderstood disease. HB
Categories:
hb, angst, depression, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
I am from the Birch and Pine,
my brothers and I--a single frame.
Some labeled two and others nine,
they call our home an assembly line--
We are clothed in Orange and Blues,
and shaved from end to end,
and used to report the news,
and lost like worn out shoes--
Our purpose is never made clear--
children break us with a Snap!
but that is not my greatest fear,
for we grow shorter year by year.
They wear us out, such evil Men--
press us hard against their desks.
We never really expect it when,
our faces crack again and again--
Wooden remains are all tossed away,
the hour of lead--as Dickinson would say.
Behold! retribution for literary slaves,
Men will be sharpened to their graves.
Categories:
hb,
Form:
Number 2 HB, Number 2 HB, Number 2 HB,
I have know you all my life.
Your slender ORANGE silhouette, dressed in a neat fashion.
Tight laced, tightened up, and tarnished.
So put together.
You break easily under pressure.
SNAP!
I break easily under pressure.
SNAP!
The melancholy, the LEAD, the dread.
Sharpened is my mind like the point, DULL is the enemy.
We are quite the same you and I,
we both unravel after every transgression.
Smaller and smaller we become till there is NUB.
Where are you number 1 HB?
Categories:
hb, fear, introspection, life,
Form:
Straight from the human's heart
Charging into the fabrics of every nation
Why stop it from its spark
Melting away its extravagant power of creation
It could be a mustard seed or gigantic rock
Manifesting at the snap of a finger or great effort
Yet we completely defile its tremendous content
On zero gravity, it waits for our utmost intent
It is the substance of things hoped for
The exalting evidence of things not seen
It holds the pillars of the supernatural world
It never succumbs to anything
It is faster than the fastest bullet
Richer than the fattest wallet
Stronger than the heaviest mountain
Smarter than the dearest machine
It is hidden within US..... It is FAITH!!!
Categories:
hb, faith,
Form:
Free verse
Sometimes, the pernicious
is just desserts like alveoli
losing pink to a ciggy devil
Love - an enterprise astral
yields to blemish: mockery
Garish sentry sneers, reflecting
on a visage muting its boo-hoo
on a traverse still willed in woo
Silly teeter-totters with serious
editing tears that dampen a life…
(10/31/2020: Gibson HB, DMS)
Categories:
hb, allusion,
Form:
Free verse
I had my eye on him since the third grade, but I never told him how I felt
Back then girls were girls, they were never meant to be cheeky or bold
He sat behind me in math class, while he counted numbers on the board
I counted the beats of my heart each time he leaned in to ahum, cheat,
"I love the way your hair smells like rain"
he'd half whispered into his copybook
As he copied another math answer
he sent me thoughts laced with love
I was just a beginner with no flowery words or poems for Carlton cards
dad always said a good girl should be sensible and be good at accounts
As my daydreams accumulated like daisies on a windblown field of gold
I began to scrawl his name with a HB pencil, on my composition book...
"I love the way you smart me over "
he whispered a little octave higher
as he gleamed and then tried on his own
the intricate equation of math's design
I grew up and left to live in Nevada. For years I never set eyes on Enzo again
then one day I happened to open a magazine and there he was all grown up
He had become a bank tycoon with a boat and a car and a big orphan house
So, I wrote him a letter and inside I added the first poem I ever wrote.
"I love it when you lean over my shoulder "
for some reason that I cannot fathom
I get visions of you and me it a vat of grapes
If you did not exist, I'm sure I'd make you up
as for the poems I never wrote, well, after all our years together,
when I look into his deep blue eyes, I know he knows each one by heart...
Oct 6 2022
ps: This is not for contest, the length of it did not meet the criteria,
I hope you enjoy it anyways.
Categories:
hb, childhood, love,
Form:
Free verse
HB,
Steam stretches and stirs
in the great expanse
of her pearl opulence
clear succumbs
and clouds
the mirror mists over
I shower in the remoteness of love
each droplet dancing
naked
drowning upon my chest
painted lips cull
echo and envelop
the heartbeats
dripping down
a cut apart mystery
lights flicker
I see the spots
encompassing
a demure desire
filtering and flourishing
in the cracks of my soul
you sit at attention and sing for me
I kiss the wind
holding you in my mind
in my mourh
in each solumn breath
I exhale
sleepless sullen serene
our senses remain still
the sun awakens
and rises
Categories:
hb, love,
Form:
Romanticism
They knew by instinct what I have known for more than 50 years.
They were being informed by their maker that someone very special
resided due North of The Gulf of Mexico, not far from their Winter nest.
As the day of her birthday approached, a signal went out to the
Southern hibernating birds, preparing them for Northern flight.
They knew that the 13th of March was a bit early for Spring,
a little risky for their Northern flight. Nevertheless, the signal
was very clear about their mission to sing for a special lady.
The closer they came to her birth place, the louder they sang.
The sparrow and humming bird, blue jays and red birds too were
all drawn to her. Even hawks and birds of prey; they all sang
on her birthday. As an aged eagle flew high in the sky, she looked
down in wonderment. With her great vision in the distance,
she came to realize the meaning of the blessed affair.
I tell you, to the special lady below, that high flying eagle threw a kiss
as she flew bye with a smile. As I beheld such beauty of vision and sound
in the sky, I was overwhelmed and began to cry. Deep within the heart of me, I have known the beauty of the lady who made me believe I could fly.*
031122PS
*HB to wife
Categories:
hb, bird, birthday,
Form:
Personification
I am a pencil
i have somany names
but actually
i have no name
everyone call me
HB or Camel
i want to be a tall one
but all make me short
i will became
short and short
at last; i will die
insted of me
they will put; another pencil
all children use me
all need me
but; when i die
nobody will remember me.
Categories:
hb, childhood, life, me,
Form:
Light Verse
Collaboration With Di11y Da11y
I see you there beneath the sheen
From high atop my neck I lean
Reflect upon the waters glare
Beneath the sheen, I see you there
Keep me stable, inverted trees
In stillness to just be at ease
I exist without judgement or label
Inverted trees keep me stable
In pensive thought, shadows cast
I turn my back to futures past
Uncertainty behind me fraught
Shadows cast in pensive thought
In ivory dreams, in feathered whims
We're not born to contemplate our sins
Don't stagnate, follow rivers, streams
In feathered whims, in ivory dreams
DD/HB/HB/DD
HB/DD/DD/HB
DD/HB/HB/DD
HB/DD/DD/HB
Categories:
hb, dream, introspection,
Form:
Ekphrasis
THE WOMAN WHO COULD EAT WOOD
Who defied science?
The Woman Who Could Eat Wood had.
How and why at first no doctor could say
to her mom and dad.
Years later the doctors had discovered that after a test
special micro-organisms helped the wood in her guts digest.
‘Perhaps B can survive off wood because of some unknown power,’ her father had said.
‘I agree 100% with your thought,’
her mother had said.
‘A superpower I don’t have
All I can do is eat wood. That’s good.
But no one gets saved!
So I’m not special,’ B had made understood.
Sometimes she worried like crazy
that she was different. Sometimes she didn’t worry that she was different like crazy.
At first the cruel media (and some did too on Oak Street) teased her, hated her,
was terrified this kind
of “natural ability” could occur in her.
Quickly they lost interest,
forgot about her.
At Elmwood Primary school some people
ate for lunch sandwiches and fruit.
She ate doors and drawer knobs
and the occasional wood flute.
Some people
in the beginning
were scared that her
bodily functions were strange and not prizewinning.
‘She c-can d-d-i-ig-g-ge-s-st-t-t w-w-woo-d. As b-b-beav-v-ers d-do!’ a classmate had said, not grinning.
‘Friends, Pleeaasssssssssse DON’T be scare of me!
You’ll soon come to understand me. You’ll see.’
‘And YES. I eat like a beaver.
But I don’t cut down trees with my teeth to build
lodges and dams. I don’t eat layers of tree bark.
It’s totally impressive how quick they can build.’
After a long while
most people just accepted she could eat wood. Sure there were a few meanies of guile
who teased her and her parents to tears
for awhile.
She made some friends
and she even had some boyfriends.
She actually loved the taste of wood
that’d make most sick. That she liked to admit.
'I have no choice but to,
I guess,’ she’d admit.
She never felt sick or put on any weight.
Skinny as a HB pencil she was, but not unfit.
Her poos were wood when she didn’t pig normal food when she asked for it.
In fact she preferred wood.
It was free and it
saved her parents a load of money and too,
saved on dentist bills because her teeth never split.
TO BE CONTINUED ... IN PART 2
Categories:
hb, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Your green eyes are pools of bliss.
Your smile so beaming and full of gleam.
Your wavy hair you keep bone straight,
Kept so soft and shiny.
Your body you feel is wrong,
But I see as oh so right.
You bring light to the room whenever you enter.
There is never a dull moment when I am near you.
Categories:
hb, beauty, color, green, hair,
Form:
Free verse
It's a Dixon Ticonderoga HB#2
This pencil, still my favorite,
Still ties me back to you.
I'm so distant as of late,
In my mind, in my heart,
It seems there's too much on my plate.
I've been selfish in my time
And stingy with myself,
Thinking I'm passed my prime.
I don't know who I am
Now who you ever were
Nor who we should've been.
Anxiety is crippling me
Today is not my day again
Nor is any next day I foresee.
I'm tired of being here.
I want to, please, go home
Before home turns into fear.
Remind me who I'm not
By showing me who you are
All the demons I have fought.
Categories:
hb, identity, lost, mental health,
Form:
Rhyme
Moss
On Sundays I make myself familiar with
the moss on
the oaf of
rocks adjacent to
the driveway on
the west side of
the house.
They’re always keen to know if
I prefer the last letters or
do I prefer the
first or
the middle that form a
word or
a
proverb.
Too they’re keen to
know how many lines do I
write each time I’m at
my dark oak desk (my desk is named
Something Done) writing with my
HB pencil in my
snot green-spiral notebook my
horror short stories live in. I give them a
different answer for
both questions each time.
Categories:
hb, humor,
Form:
Free verse