corset - Hello Poetry

Phantom Itch A Poem by Corset Right there... ...and... not... I've got that itch again, the one that Amputees know so well... He always loved the color of my eyes after tears, you would laugh at me and still court the silence process the cold without me. Sing off key without fear... brave the holidays but still remember you were once a part of me Phantom Limb that was loved. A soul ache of compassion the severed branch untouchable, the occupied empty.

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Feb 13, 2017

Feb 13, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC

Phantom Itch

Phantom Itch A Poem by Corset Right there... ...and... not... I've got that itch again, the one that Amputees know so well... He always loved the color of my eyes after tears, you would laugh at me and still court the silence process the cold without me. Sing off key without fear... brave the holidays but still remember you were once a part of me Phantom Limb that was loved. A soul ache of compassion the severed branch untouchable, the occupied empty.

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All Roads lead to Salvatore A Poem by Corset On the way to Salvatore I was cracked A diamond with her head down pops another piece of gum makes light of the crest makes the sign of the cross across her window pane breast forever more Gooseberry products only she swears the scratch of her voice a sonnet of fingernails on chalkboard "there are no teachers here " says she only nightmares of agriculture" and the slow lonely climb, limbs bowing to the knees. acquiesce of leaves holding on in vertigo skinny dipping the night air. Bertram tells you to ram it his balcony tilted like a slot machine a glimpse of clothes drying on a Taiwan breeze ran into a tree "don't be afraid" says he "it won't feel a thing" You keep your voice down still it drowns the radio while fashion jewelry lift their pointed legs it's pepper on a dying mans steak we dare to be sub-standard people are shouting we will do our best to make sure promises are not kept, to honor the test subjects we will build a barn threaten the faculty with time honored contingency and look forward to the ***** side of fact. We shall take our time, scoffing behind our hands we know if a person can not be themselves they tend to be someone else... suffering., surely there must be a way to pin this tail on the donkey, or at least the blunt blonde official, when you get a close up you can tell how old she is.

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Feb 1, 2017

Feb 1, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC

All Roads lead to Salvatore

All Roads lead to Salvatore A Poem by Corset On the way to Salvatore I was cracked A diamond with her head down pops another piece of gum makes light of the crest makes the sign of the cross across her window pane breast forever more Gooseberry products only she swears the scratch of her voice a sonnet of fingernails on chalkboard "there are no teachers here " says she only nightmares of agriculture" and the slow lonely climb, limbs bowing to the knees. acquiesce of leaves holding on in vertigo skinny dipping the night air. Bertram tells you to ram it his balcony tilted like a slot machine a glimpse of clothes drying on a Taiwan breeze ran into a tree "don't be afraid" says he "it won't feel a thing" You keep your voice down still it drowns the radio while fashion jewelry lift their pointed legs it's pepper on a dying mans steak we dare to be sub-standard people are shouting we will do our best to make sure promises are not kept, to honor the test subjects we will build a barn threaten the faculty with time honored contingency and look forward to the ***** side of fact. We shall take our time, scoffing behind our hands we know if a person can not be themselves they tend to be someone else... suffering., surely there must be a way to pin this tail on the donkey, or at least the blunt blonde official, when you get a close up you can tell how old she is.

59

She follows, she follows... A Poem by Corset It's Christmas again we try to try and we confess to a kind of madness we gather the smell of your skin dangling like lost stars while millions mass entitled to our sick days Tree top swing eyelids sweating in white pulse 'cause you do not understand intimacy until you have shaved your wife in the wilderness of cowboys and the dust settled dawn hoof and mane remain the same conversation I try to remember the sound of your laughter, I can only recall mine, it is meant to be only a few moments ago Christmas Eve like a thirsty rabbit went into his hole drank him deep asleep into the floor our working class demons can't look at each other without a pick axe and all I can think is "I hope you got tailgate" and she follows, and she follows the one, that my brothers and sisters call "the missing" dream.

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Dec 25, 2016

Dec 25, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC

She follows, she follows...

She follows, she follows... A Poem by Corset It's Christmas again we try to try and we confess to a kind of madness we gather the smell of your skin dangling like lost stars while millions mass entitled to our sick days Tree top swing eyelids sweating in white pulse 'cause you do not understand intimacy until you have shaved your wife in the wilderness of cowboys and the dust settled dawn hoof and mane remain the same conversation I try to remember the sound of your laughter, I can only recall mine, it is meant to be only a few moments ago Christmas Eve like a thirsty rabbit went into his hole drank him deep asleep into the floor our working class demons can't look at each other without a pick axe and all I can think is "I hope you got tailgate" and she follows, and she follows the one, that my brothers and sisters call "the missing" dream.

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You can not be a window sealed, Eden dreamt Bara bara eleven years of December Spirit wedded bliss soul promised pushing a name love light divine non-negotiable, the elephants never cry (not like they used to) not into king sized kisses not into water buildings and I am past my grid show her the pain of a dead whistle pure veined pride Where does your soul go when you are sleeping why be afraid to close your eyes? I wanted to be your hero raised arms outstretched dashing across fields of daisies I wanted you to bed the person I imagined you to be, a heartsease river of soliloquy.

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Nov 27, 2016

Nov 27, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC

Refrigerator

You can not be a window sealed, Eden dreamt Bara bara eleven years of December Spirit wedded bliss soul promised pushing a name love light divine non-negotiable, the elephants never cry (not like they used to) not into king sized kisses not into water buildings and I am past my grid show her the pain of a dead whistle pure veined pride Where does your soul go when you are sleeping why be afraid to close your eyes? I wanted to be your hero raised arms outstretched dashing across fields of daisies I wanted you to bed the person I imagined you to be, a heartsease river of soliloquy.

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Soap Box "B" A Poem by Corset Be an American. Be brave or stupid Be hetrosexual, or not Be Married. Be a woman, Be a Man Be what you want. Be any beautiful shade you are Be of sound temperament Be loved by the same faces that loved you yesterday Be together. Be brave, Be young and Be passionate about politics Be your country Be democracy Be on T.V. Be a selfie Be destructive Be rebellious Be arrested. Be on the pill or iud Be responsible or Be pregnant Be proud of your choices. Be Haiti reconstructed Be the billions with nothing to show for it. Be the tin house you live in. Be the private bank Be the education it builds Be the proof of education. Be corrupt, Be rich Be a woman bent for president Be his wife Be hacked Be downloaded Be incredulous Be hopeful Be ridiculous Be Crass Be honest Be charismatic Be belligerent sober Be incumbent. Be remembered Be relieved Be backed up with Pence Be pleasantly suprised Be concilitory Be loyal Be humbled by enormity Be a drama queen Be insulted Be a star Be a model Be a first lady Be the love that tr(i)ump(hs) over hate Be a good loser Be all the American you can be... be politically correct Be legalized Be ****** Be familiar with the first admendment Be a reporter Be citizen Kane Be an American Be diverse Be accepting Be welcome Be of any ethniticity, race, creed, religion or of ****** orient But first you have to be a citizen, so, Be One. Indivisable. © 2016 Corset

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Nov 12, 2016

Nov 12, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC

Soap Box "B"

Soap Box "B" A Poem by Corset Be an American. Be brave or stupid Be hetrosexual, or not Be Married. Be a woman, Be a Man Be what you want. Be any beautiful shade you are Be of sound temperament Be loved by the same faces that loved you yesterday Be together. Be brave, Be young and Be passionate about politics Be your country Be democracy Be on T.V. Be a selfie Be destructive Be rebellious Be arrested. Be on the pill or iud Be responsible or Be pregnant Be proud of your choices. Be Haiti reconstructed Be the billions with nothing to show for it. Be the tin house you live in. Be the private bank Be the education it builds Be the proof of education. Be corrupt, Be rich Be a woman bent for president Be his wife Be hacked Be downloaded Be incredulous Be hopeful Be ridiculous Be Crass Be honest Be charismatic Be belligerent sober Be incumbent. Be remembered Be relieved Be backed up with Pence Be pleasantly suprised Be concilitory Be loyal Be humbled by enormity Be a drama queen Be insulted Be a star Be a model Be a first lady Be the love that tr(i)ump(hs) over hate Be a good loser Be all the American you can be... be politically correct Be legalized Be ****** Be familiar with the first admendment Be a reporter Be citizen Kane Be an American Be diverse Be accepting Be welcome Be of any ethniticity, race, creed, religion or of ****** orient But first you have to be a citizen, so, Be One. Indivisable. © 2016 Corset

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Tomb Raider A Poem by Corset ..."and if he's got a tomb you should go in" "But you can't knock..." "on the door; the door's wide open" A singing budget cut. B Movie, cheap thrills "I'm going to FXXK with her"... "you are going to die"... ..."why do you say things like that" "you know I heard you just now" ..."Oh sorry" "beautful"... ...Contentment. (smirk)... Mid-way house... (she turns over and flips her hair away from her neck.) ..."you said no..." ..."I was afraid"... ..."only half way there"... ..."there are circumstances" "to over come"... ..."like this knife"

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Oct 30, 2016

Oct 30, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC

Tomb Raider

Tomb Raider A Poem by Corset ..."and if he's got a tomb you should go in" "But you can't knock..." "on the door; the door's wide open" A singing budget cut. B Movie, cheap thrills "I'm going to FXXK with her"... "you are going to die"... ..."why do you say things like that" "you know I heard you just now" ..."Oh sorry" "beautful"... ...Contentment. (smirk)... Mid-way house... (she turns over and flips her hair away from her neck.) ..."you said no..." ..."I was afraid"... ..."only half way there"... ..."there are circumstances" "to over come"... ..."like this knife"

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There were trim grains in the wood that framed the streaming light from a window early bright which bent with a firm bristle forms from a sweet morn. Strokes of a strong hand, "he's painting" I said to the pillow. to none, was I explaining but he was there, with his Modigliani oils laying his soul bare. Medium streaming thumb in the mouth of palette in cool colored thoughts of blue-eyed mysticism, Avocado hues and the many, warmed robes of Saratoga.

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Oct 23, 2016

Oct 23, 2016 at 12:26 AM UTC

Robes

There were trim grains in the wood that framed the streaming light from a window early bright which bent with a firm bristle forms from a sweet morn. Strokes of a strong hand, "he's painting" I said to the pillow. to none, was I explaining but he was there, with his Modigliani oils laying his soul bare. Medium streaming thumb in the mouth of palette in cool colored thoughts of blue-eyed mysticism, Avocado hues and the many, warmed robes of Saratoga.

18

Budapest A Poem by Corset Eucalyptus Push me in, be as tall. No one out there is going to sing pro bono. Slow down and look at where it's at. One is fast and more dangerous ask her... Turns out a mixed nut in the right cup. Clean out the closet, polish all those pretty bones bleach them white as a faded memory unlike Budapest, who gnaws the edges, but never lay down your pen.

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Oct 16, 2016

Oct 16, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC

Bud..a..pest

Budapest A Poem by Corset Eucalyptus Push me in, be as tall. No one out there is going to sing pro bono. Slow down and look at where it's at. One is fast and more dangerous ask her... Turns out a mixed nut in the right cup. Clean out the closet, polish all those pretty bones bleach them white as a faded memory unlike Budapest, who gnaws the edges, but never lay down your pen.

26

Palm Kiss, my spooky little ***** house at Halloween, you are amazing. I am aware of that... and, and, and I'll be thinking of you... at the moment, I can't. That's a waste of time. Our finest words hit her bathroom sink, I know you can't see the afternoon right now... not with the Hinterland gleaming a mustard seed slope with stems of bushy brown all aglow where the sun slants into heaven's gate. Love has a selective memory murmuring an opuscule melody, when the sky slides into droplets, broken- beaded chain playing in the dripping golden pediment blushing red feathered veins into the autumn leaf. I will be thinking of you... though at the moment... I can't, That's such a precious waste of time.

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Oct 13, 2016

Oct 13, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC

Un-strung

Palm Kiss, my spooky little ***** house at Halloween, you are amazing. I am aware of that... and, and, and I'll be thinking of you... at the moment, I can't. That's a waste of time. Our finest words hit her bathroom sink, I know you can't see the afternoon right now... not with the Hinterland gleaming a mustard seed slope with stems of bushy brown all aglow where the sun slants into heaven's gate. Love has a selective memory murmuring an opuscule melody, when the sky slides into droplets, broken- beaded chain playing in the dripping golden pediment blushing red feathered veins into the autumn leaf. I will be thinking of you... though at the moment... I can't, That's such a precious waste of time.

35

Pitt A Poem by Corset How could anyone mistake her for a Pitt Bull? Those soft jowls and square headed wrinkles Sweet Mana-T, we are the Walrus Koo Koo ka choo... Pops with his skin on fire, a real hair -hell-raiser we didn't buy that white castle no moats, no boats no tight sunned mailman at the door pony tailed to his *** what... I'm old, ... not dead. makes the Buddha smile it does... She went and got herself all God polished, cartooned very High and very mighty, it's the only way to hang incognito, Sometimes overcome with joy, he is writing somewhere, like a lovers bite to the breast black and blue like bruising...like hickies tickle it makes him happy. in return, it makes me happy ...and weird **** just keeps ...happening... we should talk. No, Now I live on top of a garden, a virtual Gnomes paradise, the owner of this garden is a wrinkly Lady Gaga-Gnome centuries old thumping up to my door at three A.M. duct taping the bad news to the dark of my vacuum-less door. "You, ma'am- are breaking the rules" She; who thinks the homeowners association should KNOW about my extremely "timid hide under the bed at the slightest movement" This sable mini Shar pei-looking Pitt Bull- steel jawed Staffordshire Bull Terrier trembling at the reflection of her ferocious self. Newsflash: This just in...daughter... terror stricken...out shopping for handgun.

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Oct 10, 2016

Oct 10, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC

Pitt

Pitt A Poem by Corset How could anyone mistake her for a Pitt Bull? Those soft jowls and square headed wrinkles Sweet Mana-T, we are the Walrus Koo Koo ka choo... Pops with his skin on fire, a real hair -hell-raiser we didn't buy that white castle no moats, no boats no tight sunned mailman at the door pony tailed to his *** what... I'm old, ... not dead. makes the Buddha smile it does... She went and got herself all God polished, cartooned very High and very mighty, it's the only way to hang incognito, Sometimes overcome with joy, he is writing somewhere, like a lovers bite to the breast black and blue like bruising...like hickies tickle it makes him happy. in return, it makes me happy ...and weird **** just keeps ...happening... we should talk. No, Now I live on top of a garden, a virtual Gnomes paradise, the owner of this garden is a wrinkly Lady Gaga-Gnome centuries old thumping up to my door at three A.M. duct taping the bad news to the dark of my vacuum-less door. "You, ma'am- are breaking the rules" She; who thinks the homeowners association should KNOW about my extremely "timid hide under the bed at the slightest movement" This sable mini Shar pei-looking Pitt Bull- steel jawed Staffordshire Bull Terrier trembling at the reflection of her ferocious self. Newsflash: This just in...daughter... terror stricken...out shopping for handgun.

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