bg-hermitt - Hello Poetry

Dissipating into the gaps of memory A mark on a perpetual bar inside the heads of others hard to see easy to feel, hard to feel when it’s easy to see a mark so small measuring the norm of us instead of The Norm A flexible thing with beginnings undefined

0

Mar 25, 2015

Mar 25, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC

The Norm

Dissipating into the gaps of memory A mark on a perpetual bar inside the heads of others hard to see easy to feel, hard to feel when it’s easy to see a mark so small measuring the norm of us instead of The Norm A flexible thing with beginnings undefined

17

Braving lapses in neon dreams You don’t like the look of air max 90’s Besotted language intercepted not digested The babble of youths who don’t talk correctly Basking loosely in nonchalant demise The **** on the floor, what a mess Buttoned lips insinuating nothing decisive You are hard eyed from men outside the pub, you look away at Bluebottles lying inside neatly dead Get me off this ******* bus. Black lines, interrupting nothing deep Why always black and never red Broad landscapes intrude narrowness, delicately But you close your eyes and hum the cure Breaking laughter, ignorant nuisances drain I wish they all were quiet and tame Berating loud intuitive noises, djembe Banging hands against the glass Banging, lightning, ignored, deleted There’s a fight going on, you will stay seated Buried liquidized imagery, naturally dancing The reflection of drama in a window behind you Because listening is not done You think about dinner and where you will buy it Because light is no fun You again close your eyes and think about home Busy lovers inseparable never daring You enjoy your thoughts Being left in near darkness You enjoy your thoughts Watching interesting things happen Eventually yelping even shouting trill howls After the watch, offset retina kicks

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Mar 28, 2013

Mar 28, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC

Bus

Braving lapses in neon dreams You don’t like the look of air max 90’s Besotted language intercepted not digested The babble of youths who don’t talk correctly Basking loosely in nonchalant demise The **** on the floor, what a mess Buttoned lips insinuating nothing decisive You are hard eyed from men outside the pub, you look away at Bluebottles lying inside neatly dead Get me off this ******* bus. Black lines, interrupting nothing deep Why always black and never red Broad landscapes intrude narrowness, delicately But you close your eyes and hum the cure Breaking laughter, ignorant nuisances drain I wish they all were quiet and tame Berating loud intuitive noises, djembe Banging hands against the glass Banging, lightning, ignored, deleted There’s a fight going on, you will stay seated Buried liquidized imagery, naturally dancing The reflection of drama in a window behind you Because listening is not done You think about dinner and where you will buy it Because light is no fun You again close your eyes and think about home Busy lovers inseparable never daring You enjoy your thoughts Being left in near darkness You enjoy your thoughts Watching interesting things happen Eventually yelping even shouting trill howls After the watch, offset retina kicks

33

sharp and sweet I imagine That I must burn a smell up the inside of your nostrils just where the bridge of the nose meets the eye but you let me in and inhale it all a tangle of life edging to the back of your throat flavouring your tongue

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Feb 25, 2013

Feb 25, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC

Cinnamon

sharp and sweet I imagine That I must burn a smell up the inside of your nostrils just where the bridge of the nose meets the eye but you let me in and inhale it all a tangle of life edging to the back of your throat flavouring your tongue

11

you reside in the silver lining silence of my darkness

0

Dec 3, 2012

Dec 3, 2012 at 9:10 PM UTC

Don't Worry

you reside in the silver lining silence of my darkness

3

Cured meats hanging hooked veiled in shadows, flies resting on pink salmon flesh and a tall long bearded man wearing dark denim in the Jewish Quarter talking adventures, jumping vibrant, Bold questions and stares, the woman screaming in the Great Hall Market escorted out, back of the throat slapping smells on the train from Budapest to Bucharest Stories from a tired man aging wearing a musty coat no bag, complaining about wild children near the dead sea throwing rocks at his sinking house Hands beckoning in between white flapping cloths - white sails everywhere high up, sleeping in the Hare Krishna temple with mosquitoes ******* my legs, fishing for mussels and eating grilled corn, 6.am grey skied Istanbul, Morning prayers, the setting up of stalls The shouting, the tasting of honey thick with the bees still immersed, the tasting of cheese wet and dry brânză de burduf, chubritza, soups, the hash and the ham. Escorted out The juice leaking from tender meat A sweating brow Pockets full of coffee beans

0

Dec 3, 2012

Dec 3, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC

In a Moment

Cured meats hanging hooked veiled in shadows, flies resting on pink salmon flesh and a tall long bearded man wearing dark denim in the Jewish Quarter talking adventures, jumping vibrant, Bold questions and stares, the woman screaming in the Great Hall Market escorted out, back of the throat slapping smells on the train from Budapest to Bucharest Stories from a tired man aging wearing a musty coat no bag, complaining about wild children near the dead sea throwing rocks at his sinking house Hands beckoning in between white flapping cloths - white sails everywhere high up, sleeping in the Hare Krishna temple with mosquitoes ******* my legs, fishing for mussels and eating grilled corn, 6.am grey skied Istanbul, Morning prayers, the setting up of stalls The shouting, the tasting of honey thick with the bees still immersed, the tasting of cheese wet and dry brânză de burduf, chubritza, soups, the hash and the ham. Escorted out The juice leaking from tender meat A sweating brow Pockets full of coffee beans

23

hoping to be hit hard in the mouth with lucidity knocking back the sweat of dark spirits tapping the ash of the last draw onto our knee caps songs suppressed by nothing suffocating under the breath you look up, a silver eye lashed kitten Burning 21

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Nov 15, 2012

Nov 15, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC

Burning 21

hoping to be hit hard in the mouth with lucidity knocking back the sweat of dark spirits tapping the ash of the last draw onto our knee caps songs suppressed by nothing suffocating under the breath you look up, a silver eye lashed kitten Burning 21

11

racing through everything that is from your toes to the tingling skin of those finger tips that grip hard ousting your eyes from their sockets before bursting you cut off from the system with electric still running through your veins and the room will spin and the room will spin till what ever was in it is flung out and it will feel like coming back to where you forgot you came from

0

May 6, 2012

May 6, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC

Out

racing through everything that is from your toes to the tingling skin of those finger tips that grip hard ousting your eyes from their sockets before bursting you cut off from the system with electric still running through your veins and the room will spin and the room will spin till what ever was in it is flung out and it will feel like coming back to where you forgot you came from

14

The fingers on my hands belong to you and to the hairs of yours that settle in-between the curves of them You stick to me like glue even when I peel you off I haven’t strips of extra skin, covering mine a film of curiosity smiling in the night Lines of harmony I cannot stress Only hum them off the top of my head

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Apr 30, 2012

Apr 30, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC

The Issue of Attachment

The fingers on my hands belong to you and to the hairs of yours that settle in-between the curves of them You stick to me like glue even when I peel you off I haven’t strips of extra skin, covering mine a film of curiosity smiling in the night Lines of harmony I cannot stress Only hum them off the top of my head

12

I pulled the arms off my clock It stopped waving instantly And became silent Leaving only Meaningless numbers That I could never call And all the time in the world Whole Undivided

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Oct 18, 2011

Oct 18, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC

Room

I pulled the arms off my clock It stopped waving instantly And became silent Leaving only Meaningless numbers That I could never call And all the time in the world Whole Undivided

9

Origami swan elegantly folded into a delicate infinite being sit on this table forever and grow old with us

0

Oct 17, 2011

Oct 17, 2011 at 3:16 PM UTC

Diane Cheng

Origami swan elegantly folded into a delicate infinite being sit on this table forever and grow old with us

4