infinitetune - Hello Poetry

So you have us becoming plain. We must divest ourselves before you then. Like guilty children showing shame Until you feel obscene rich enough. In control enough...So We must become plain and cast away Dreams of dignity combined with happiness. Is it true if I had need of you You would pass me to another Department of you Like something beyond me? We do get around.

0

Jan 25, 2013

Jan 25, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC

Plain

So you have us becoming plain. We must divest ourselves before you then. Like guilty children showing shame Until you feel obscene rich enough. In control enough...So We must become plain and cast away Dreams of dignity combined with happiness. Is it true if I had need of you You would pass me to another Department of you Like something beyond me? We do get around.

12

I notice the balloons Hovering over the happy buffoons I like the little purple one All deflated and misshapen. As they dance away the night I keep my eye upon its plight It hisses out more air With each kiss that is mistaken. By dawn it has become raisin. Before I leave too soon I rescue said balloon Place it in my pocket It is my little purple *******

0

Nov 26, 2012

Nov 26, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC

Balloon Buffonery

I notice the balloons Hovering over the happy buffoons I like the little purple one All deflated and misshapen. As they dance away the night I keep my eye upon its plight It hisses out more air With each kiss that is mistaken. By dawn it has become raisin. Before I leave too soon I rescue said balloon Place it in my pocket It is my little purple *******

13

She steps from her bed Pin-tucked sprigged and lacy. Piling her hair aloft she moves outside- Bare-foots along the path Through the evergreen trees. Knowing she has a chance to cool her marrow She approaches the koi filled pool Listening to water entering water. She pauses. Her marrow has been burning For so many years. Now she needs it cooler. As she enters ankle deep Her lips hiss her heat away. The blanket **** greens her and the rain Spits and spatters on her sprigs and lace. As she tumbles her hair She stands stock still among darting goldness As a generation of heat leaves her to her new cold will. Yet still there burns a sun inside her sudden sated. She drips and dances towards her new day Wearing her warm new fancy.

0

Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC

Marrow

She steps from her bed Pin-tucked sprigged and lacy. Piling her hair aloft she moves outside- Bare-foots along the path Through the evergreen trees. Knowing she has a chance to cool her marrow She approaches the koi filled pool Listening to water entering water. She pauses. Her marrow has been burning For so many years. Now she needs it cooler. As she enters ankle deep Her lips hiss her heat away. The blanket **** greens her and the rain Spits and spatters on her sprigs and lace. As she tumbles her hair She stands stock still among darting goldness As a generation of heat leaves her to her new cold will. Yet still there burns a sun inside her sudden sated. She drips and dances towards her new day Wearing her warm new fancy.

22

She stands among the grey scape with So many muted colours inside her. But today is a day of monochrome miasmas- Of grey gulls that skim the pewter river With wings that know such measures. The greyness leeches her to the technicolour World she knew long ago Somewhere down the river. A cauldron of rage wages above her Filled with the bursts of brigands of Grey restless beauty. There's a rainbow now! As it archly Shows its palette she sees the separation Appear ever nearer... Above the rainbow is cobalt Beneath it a merely flat grey. Underneath her umbrella she enjoys The puttered thwacks of soft water indenting Thin fabric with a firework crack. Suddenly she's back Her shoes are black and her eyes are grey. She wishes everyone was a million miles away. She wishes everyone could stay.

0

Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC

Grey

She stands among the grey scape with So many muted colours inside her. But today is a day of monochrome miasmas- Of grey gulls that skim the pewter river With wings that know such measures. The greyness leeches her to the technicolour World she knew long ago Somewhere down the river. A cauldron of rage wages above her Filled with the bursts of brigands of Grey restless beauty. There's a rainbow now! As it archly Shows its palette she sees the separation Appear ever nearer... Above the rainbow is cobalt Beneath it a merely flat grey. Underneath her umbrella she enjoys The puttered thwacks of soft water indenting Thin fabric with a firework crack. Suddenly she's back Her shoes are black and her eyes are grey. She wishes everyone was a million miles away. She wishes everyone could stay.

24

I met Jethro by a stile Howarth way Knee deep in snow and soon talking. He was old but not very and his eyes Were full of reflected glared light. He called me young lady at first Then lass...I called him master then Mister as we stood on his ground measuring. His farm was breaking even but his Beasts and sheep had to eat his money now Which is the nature of things he supposed and As we looked down the moor we saw his wife Unplucking his frozen shirts from a line and waving Us to tea which I wasn't going to ignore... We talked about the Brontes and he showed Me his copy of "Wuthering Heights" that was given To his family all those years ago... The kitchen danced warmly with age then... I asked him if he thought he was rich... He said take a good look around... Rich or poor has no meaning if you Are as mad as a hatter with greed or despair

0

Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC

Jethro

I met Jethro by a stile Howarth way Knee deep in snow and soon talking. He was old but not very and his eyes Were full of reflected glared light. He called me young lady at first Then lass...I called him master then Mister as we stood on his ground measuring. His farm was breaking even but his Beasts and sheep had to eat his money now Which is the nature of things he supposed and As we looked down the moor we saw his wife Unplucking his frozen shirts from a line and waving Us to tea which I wasn't going to ignore... We talked about the Brontes and he showed Me his copy of "Wuthering Heights" that was given To his family all those years ago... The kitchen danced warmly with age then... I asked him if he thought he was rich... He said take a good look around... Rich or poor has no meaning if you Are as mad as a hatter with greed or despair

21

Grey ashes of dead blossoms used to lie Upon the paper waiting for discardment. They died for my pleasure it seemed... Every petal fading and succumbing with the wilt That bleaches the vibrance that cannot live long. Now into the garden I go that we all eventually know- Going past the gaudy full blooms. Becoming happy and slightly Dusty so as to inhale deeply I blow past ashes to the winds. Then suddenly my pockets are raining seeds.

0

Nov 25, 2012

Nov 25, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC

Seeds

Grey ashes of dead blossoms used to lie Upon the paper waiting for discardment. They died for my pleasure it seemed... Every petal fading and succumbing with the wilt That bleaches the vibrance that cannot live long. Now into the garden I go that we all eventually know- Going past the gaudy full blooms. Becoming happy and slightly Dusty so as to inhale deeply I blow past ashes to the winds. Then suddenly my pockets are raining seeds.

9

As the bread is warmed by the sun and Then drizzled with the green oil I straddle The old blue rickety chair peeling this tomato. The juice joins the oil as I add salt and garlic and As I flick away seeds to the earth I feel ready To look more about me but first I must pulp this red flesh. The sunflowers throng about me nodding yes- This is as you thought...here is the breeze from the west Caressing your shoulders. Here is the sun at her gentlest. Unwashed, indolently swaying, barefoot as ever I grizzle a tune half remembered as I pour the coffee. Later when it is hotter than blood and the light is sharp I will look about me and see this field of sunflowers swaying And be momentarily soothed. I should go now, but stay With my feet in the dust watching a lizard emerge.

0

Nov 8, 2012

Nov 8, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC

Sunflower Breakfast

As the bread is warmed by the sun and Then drizzled with the green oil I straddle The old blue rickety chair peeling this tomato. The juice joins the oil as I add salt and garlic and As I flick away seeds to the earth I feel ready To look more about me but first I must pulp this red flesh. The sunflowers throng about me nodding yes- This is as you thought...here is the breeze from the west Caressing your shoulders. Here is the sun at her gentlest. Unwashed, indolently swaying, barefoot as ever I grizzle a tune half remembered as I pour the coffee. Later when it is hotter than blood and the light is sharp I will look about me and see this field of sunflowers swaying And be momentarily soothed. I should go now, but stay With my feet in the dust watching a lizard emerge.

15

It can be expertly done this Placing for reasons. It is a rook buccaneering Over a black stream bed. Magpie turned black Without a hint of white... Sang of the stabs of life Seen in unhued water.

0

Mar 24, 2012

Mar 24, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC

Water Forms

It can be expertly done this Placing for reasons. It is a rook buccaneering Over a black stream bed. Magpie turned black Without a hint of white... Sang of the stabs of life Seen in unhued water.

8

If you present hot Bronzed and fruit filled Perhaps things will not Pounce so hardy. Stand back I have this butter knife!

0

Mar 17, 2012

Mar 17, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC

Teacake

If you present hot Bronzed and fruit filled Perhaps things will not Pounce so hardy. Stand back I have this butter knife!

6

I used to climb so high Those trees that boughed Unimportant limbs to Mere twiglets that seemed Were always budding. How I loved the woods and how Heaths heathers blether now. Blether now. When nature flowed Next to my beck Something sang to me Louder than a lamphrey And I knew fish didn't talk Much but still kept to the bees.

0

Mar 7, 2012

Mar 7, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC

Out Of Ones Tree

I used to climb so high Those trees that boughed Unimportant limbs to Mere twiglets that seemed Were always budding. How I loved the woods and how Heaths heathers blether now. Blether now. When nature flowed Next to my beck Something sang to me Louder than a lamphrey And I knew fish didn't talk Much but still kept to the bees.

14