s-e-l - Hello Poetry

Butter I fed an orange today and got butter. Dreaming a quiet hum and they are gone miscreants and perpetrators only later, some see how it goes. A saucer ******* them up in a shaft of cold light away extract memories on far off meteors and drone on: how 'bout a kiss? Grow Old liberties absconded and voices eschewed don't dare grow your own field crush the eggs drain to soil, fresh milk just a lesson to show who's not been good follower: can we kiss now? Wave Sad bad wave, a bad wave breeding crooked hands and sarcastic crooks holding onto the last flanges unravelling free forces knifing another rogue mutt afresh: quit asking again. Crush our confidence, like eggs. Drain away care through the blood of (our) young.

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Jul 20, 2016

Jul 20, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC

Kissing: Art revolving much around

Butter I fed an orange today and got butter. Dreaming a quiet hum and they are gone miscreants and perpetrators only later, some see how it goes. A saucer ******* them up in a shaft of cold light away extract memories on far off meteors and drone on: how 'bout a kiss? Grow Old liberties absconded and voices eschewed don't dare grow your own field crush the eggs drain to soil, fresh milk just a lesson to show who's not been good follower: can we kiss now? Wave Sad bad wave, a bad wave breeding crooked hands and sarcastic crooks holding onto the last flanges unravelling free forces knifing another rogue mutt afresh: quit asking again. Crush our confidence, like eggs. Drain away care through the blood of (our) young.

27

Flakes Come, child. Let me brush flakes against your jacket make you curl inward like a leaf -- insulated. Dachshund, a study in fidelity walks along the dusky road, quiet curving. Light falls in the doorway and drowsy become your eyes the sun is tired, soon to dip. Slip not Swear to make no promises in summer. When those clouds change and wisp away as the words slip out, sentences ****** to the floor, like change from a purse. Slip not in the change. Toes in the sand, and rough skin rides off. Old clauses and old books, much like calluses chafing in delayed surf. Fall down down down Do we die a bit each time we sleep or saunter spots we daren't when awake? There's more than one season of sand running through my fingers and I'm sometimes not so sure what gems I've caught or lost upon clutching closed, so my clenched fist draws solid white. Snail There's never any rhyme or reason whichever may be the season. Wonder who slid down that crevasse frozen in pain and alone, preserved. Grab that hat, tuck away sad songs and inhale this new hue a blue you used to dream of, long snail's paces back of blossoms (and thoughts) like butter -- rich, full, creamy things. You The penny drops. You didn't hear. Never do. You may well throw accolades on me densely before the world, but in the grip of this dance tiers come forth and I slip rapidly ten levels, down. Down the ladder, with heart decidedly heavier than its climb up. Perhaps, when all the letters fly in the breeze the kites will turn the right way round and you taste salt as you lick onto your tongue a sleeping storm. Because I thought we could talk about it, and in the flurry of beehive Better late for some, if not all.........

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Jan 6, 2016

Jan 6, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC

More than one season

Flakes Come, child. Let me brush flakes against your jacket make you curl inward like a leaf -- insulated. Dachshund, a study in fidelity walks along the dusky road, quiet curving. Light falls in the doorway and drowsy become your eyes the sun is tired, soon to dip. Slip not Swear to make no promises in summer. When those clouds change and wisp away as the words slip out, sentences ****** to the floor, like change from a purse. Slip not in the change. Toes in the sand, and rough skin rides off. Old clauses and old books, much like calluses chafing in delayed surf. Fall down down down Do we die a bit each time we sleep or saunter spots we daren't when awake? There's more than one season of sand running through my fingers and I'm sometimes not so sure what gems I've caught or lost upon clutching closed, so my clenched fist draws solid white. Snail There's never any rhyme or reason whichever may be the season. Wonder who slid down that crevasse frozen in pain and alone, preserved. Grab that hat, tuck away sad songs and inhale this new hue a blue you used to dream of, long snail's paces back of blossoms (and thoughts) like butter -- rich, full, creamy things. You The penny drops. You didn't hear. Never do. You may well throw accolades on me densely before the world, but in the grip of this dance tiers come forth and I slip rapidly ten levels, down. Down the ladder, with heart decidedly heavier than its climb up. Perhaps, when all the letters fly in the breeze the kites will turn the right way round and you taste salt as you lick onto your tongue a sleeping storm. Because I thought we could talk about it, and in the flurry of beehive Better late for some, if not all.........

54

award Odd, the need to parade the best. Much like putting on show all the biggest hardons. For all to see. The floppies watch from the sidelines, like stalkers. They know theirs have better toys later to ride out old storms. put it in a letter So says the very sinner, letting the offended leave. Hail false proclamations and now the poor blob runs far away. Crying for the flat tree to watch over royal bratlings. season See now, near a full year. You hold your fort, who knows how, really. Grant the day you quill a line and slant smiles again, like red trails on snow.

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Nov 27, 2015

Nov 27, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC

Red trails on snow

award Odd, the need to parade the best. Much like putting on show all the biggest hardons. For all to see. The floppies watch from the sidelines, like stalkers. They know theirs have better toys later to ride out old storms. put it in a letter So says the very sinner, letting the offended leave. Hail false proclamations and now the poor blob runs far away. Crying for the flat tree to watch over royal bratlings. season See now, near a full year. You hold your fort, who knows how, really. Grant the day you quill a line and slant smiles again, like red trails on snow.

20

Cow You got a good cow? Yeah, this one's got enough shy Won't overextend her *** onto your tongue. Yeah? But she's ready to express. Donkey They killed the donkey who did the donkey work now the flood cannot be stemmed too bad the horse is so ill equipped the donkey work to collapse to plan B: complacency is asking for it. Wife The farmer's wife keeps the trough filled Her family all feed there, friend too Hungry ******** She somehow feeds another via the backdoor. Red The rooms all have this red glow The men degrade themselves A candle drips hot wax, moaning Black leather and tasseled whips Keeping the tapeworm alive. Backstage The visionary talks of truth, talks his head off of hidden things and backstage agenda There's now a fourth world status in the back alleys of overcrowded slums all overdosed on honeyed impressions. Detour High castles for preachers and glass houses for the rest Some contend with deliberate detours to escape dark dreamers in once rustic countryside towns. Abstract Behold the executioner, removes the mask The plot unravels, poor boy blade in gums Coerced to perform things, ends in ***** Head in the desert; one jolt and jump away.

0

Jun 16, 2015

Jun 16, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC

backstage

Cow You got a good cow? Yeah, this one's got enough shy Won't overextend her *** onto your tongue. Yeah? But she's ready to express. Donkey They killed the donkey who did the donkey work now the flood cannot be stemmed too bad the horse is so ill equipped the donkey work to collapse to plan B: complacency is asking for it. Wife The farmer's wife keeps the trough filled Her family all feed there, friend too Hungry ******** She somehow feeds another via the backdoor. Red The rooms all have this red glow The men degrade themselves A candle drips hot wax, moaning Black leather and tasseled whips Keeping the tapeworm alive. Backstage The visionary talks of truth, talks his head off of hidden things and backstage agenda There's now a fourth world status in the back alleys of overcrowded slums all overdosed on honeyed impressions. Detour High castles for preachers and glass houses for the rest Some contend with deliberate detours to escape dark dreamers in once rustic countryside towns. Abstract Behold the executioner, removes the mask The plot unravels, poor boy blade in gums Coerced to perform things, ends in ***** Head in the desert; one jolt and jump away.

40

buckle to the times The young man finds a long chapter ended, awaits another Knowing the wind blasts aught of charity Ennui cavorts random and alienates the helper Many trapped in posts akin to sinking, heavy blocks Till one dash of black wave must destroy the stagnant water pool. bye, little bird Wish well her of shy mind on this strange and hasty trip To impress a panel to make an odyssey out of learning Suture memory with anticipated creme de menthes And liars fall flat, who faltered never 'fessed Upon big, iron wing you fly--bye, little bird. hard Like a Dutch fan with the top of russet, critic to the hug She comes from so far to meet the southern sky A little late, but always arriving in white: trio on the green Sturdy bedrock steadfast in the spiraling crash; salt on lips In the clasp of beach blues, the sun shines hard. Grownup offspring do move on, slips of life Some attend not rushed meteors; start living.

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Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC

In the clasp of beach blues

buckle to the times The young man finds a long chapter ended, awaits another Knowing the wind blasts aught of charity Ennui cavorts random and alienates the helper Many trapped in posts akin to sinking, heavy blocks Till one dash of black wave must destroy the stagnant water pool. bye, little bird Wish well her of shy mind on this strange and hasty trip To impress a panel to make an odyssey out of learning Suture memory with anticipated creme de menthes And liars fall flat, who faltered never 'fessed Upon big, iron wing you fly--bye, little bird. hard Like a Dutch fan with the top of russet, critic to the hug She comes from so far to meet the southern sky A little late, but always arriving in white: trio on the green Sturdy bedrock steadfast in the spiraling crash; salt on lips In the clasp of beach blues, the sun shines hard. Grownup offspring do move on, slips of life Some attend not rushed meteors; start living.

20

The grind Facing the wall again, deep awkward and painful staring at the floor Tittering a laugh, cruelty unintended but the long grind of waiting The stucco church, solid near the bulk shop He started earlier than the rest and they never could catch up He left earlier as well. Where to turn? Well elided turns makes a lazy talker, yes m'am, no sir Carry over from prior months, a horror thick with worry Fish swim no more here, Auriole has been called home And the child she took from autistic streets rakes thoughts together Rugged ones hardly expected success from the slower one Well, surprise. Stone Baking rays, in the shade we climb The spider said to the vine: how art the tidings there? Be told unlike, the searcher's dream wilts slow in a postbox The chart burns, and discrepancy marches again.

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Jan 21, 2015

Jan 21, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC

Back to the wall

The grind Facing the wall again, deep awkward and painful staring at the floor Tittering a laugh, cruelty unintended but the long grind of waiting The stucco church, solid near the bulk shop He started earlier than the rest and they never could catch up He left earlier as well. Where to turn? Well elided turns makes a lazy talker, yes m'am, no sir Carry over from prior months, a horror thick with worry Fish swim no more here, Auriole has been called home And the child she took from autistic streets rakes thoughts together Rugged ones hardly expected success from the slower one Well, surprise. Stone Baking rays, in the shade we climb The spider said to the vine: how art the tidings there? Be told unlike, the searcher's dream wilts slow in a postbox The chart burns, and discrepancy marches again.

18

colossal When did buildings decide to tower so high? perhaps history told truth, civilizations need to be toppled by forces calamitous the machine chews on; sly, colossal horror humanity outstripped. tired I try to keep my eyes open, but I'm so tired there's no quiet spot left Just want to rest my candle, but it blows out; still perhaps, when that lea calls one day I can rest a bit: no more fencing. In the silence You beckon attention with slanted diffidence but indifference puts paid to embraces advancing less. They come to you, insidious and a kind of shunning occurs which numbskull holds the bag of water over your convictions? In the silence of your perambulation, despite bidding a quiet tongue, the hissing from the charnel nearby escaped you; and it was dark.

0

Dec 25, 2014

Dec 25, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC

In the silence

colossal When did buildings decide to tower so high? perhaps history told truth, civilizations need to be toppled by forces calamitous the machine chews on; sly, colossal horror humanity outstripped. tired I try to keep my eyes open, but I'm so tired there's no quiet spot left Just want to rest my candle, but it blows out; still perhaps, when that lea calls one day I can rest a bit: no more fencing. In the silence You beckon attention with slanted diffidence but indifference puts paid to embraces advancing less. They come to you, insidious and a kind of shunning occurs which numbskull holds the bag of water over your convictions? In the silence of your perambulation, despite bidding a quiet tongue, the hissing from the charnel nearby escaped you; and it was dark.

19

fireplace With the child she stands by the fireside, consoling tears fallen branches cannot regrow, save the buds an early blossom all oblivious to the angel standing behind them, a sword in hand lifted high, glory brought forth from a babe's cry the antechamber fills with dread sounds a gurgling no parent should hear her heart was not ready. new shoes In the cool of rain, small sounds magnified new shoes: a callus will form in time it's only mortals meeting in a chamber stiff old air chokes madly games played these days are brutal I will write a letter; the breeze flies. pile One atop another, gawky tries finesse, falls flat pile on pile on pile a range of mountains called my name much like a needle in thick plush pile they never found me tig is lost of flicks and feats possible genius reduced to numbers by idle hands. I don't pretend to know (you), even as you slice up the last quarters I have left.

0

Oct 31, 2014

Oct 31, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC

The last quarters

fireplace With the child she stands by the fireside, consoling tears fallen branches cannot regrow, save the buds an early blossom all oblivious to the angel standing behind them, a sword in hand lifted high, glory brought forth from a babe's cry the antechamber fills with dread sounds a gurgling no parent should hear her heart was not ready. new shoes In the cool of rain, small sounds magnified new shoes: a callus will form in time it's only mortals meeting in a chamber stiff old air chokes madly games played these days are brutal I will write a letter; the breeze flies. pile One atop another, gawky tries finesse, falls flat pile on pile on pile a range of mountains called my name much like a needle in thick plush pile they never found me tig is lost of flicks and feats possible genius reduced to numbers by idle hands. I don't pretend to know (you), even as you slice up the last quarters I have left.

25

trip hardy never weakens pushes over limits, rose over the blue plan under boughs crush the rose, white napkin tea for two last night inadmissably lost crush the rose a rerun of angels' lament, brew of tears

0

Sep 20, 2014

Sep 20, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC

crush the rose

trip hardy never weakens pushes over limits, rose over the blue plan under boughs crush the rose, white napkin tea for two last night inadmissably lost crush the rose a rerun of angels' lament, brew of tears

9

**** before my very eyes right now bottle brush sway dance for me and I get breeze caressed and blades of grass all round me, my lovely quiet friends over two yellow towers, a small wink flits across the way chittering its strange works and seeping in all my veins bugs marvel at this towering stilt aloe of varied height, a neat semi circle round the being protecting all open **** still raw *I can cry out for pain, but I do not I let it sit inside my mouth like a throbbing tongue till it goes away or melt into the soil that mother earth opens for me, in the wings of stunted dreams* I can reach up and pull a branch to me full of foliage, green and brown every leaf a miracle, just for me in this moment nature dust paints much contrast and sensuous texture yellow rose I take your wrists in my hands and you let me to the hasty lines scribbled in short hand patience I had better be quick, catch that pulsing I may miss the already camouflaged code placed between your lips, a yellow rose before the world challenge credence and beat nerve ridden walk and no need to butter up anything what's true, is true I adore you beyond mere words, despite this dry salt survives absent eyes expectations sprain and get crippled, hobble on on crutches made of geranium petals like a half boat on an arduous journey to visit a season on another planet that I hold within this can just for you stem you're such the poem for keeps no poikilotherm stem tubes of beautiful green fluids thanks to the extraordinary sun spill of light in every breath

0

Mar 13, 2014

Mar 13, 2014 at 3:29 AM UTC

rose stem

**** before my very eyes right now bottle brush sway dance for me and I get breeze caressed and blades of grass all round me, my lovely quiet friends over two yellow towers, a small wink flits across the way chittering its strange works and seeping in all my veins bugs marvel at this towering stilt aloe of varied height, a neat semi circle round the being protecting all open **** still raw *I can cry out for pain, but I do not I let it sit inside my mouth like a throbbing tongue till it goes away or melt into the soil that mother earth opens for me, in the wings of stunted dreams* I can reach up and pull a branch to me full of foliage, green and brown every leaf a miracle, just for me in this moment nature dust paints much contrast and sensuous texture yellow rose I take your wrists in my hands and you let me to the hasty lines scribbled in short hand patience I had better be quick, catch that pulsing I may miss the already camouflaged code placed between your lips, a yellow rose before the world challenge credence and beat nerve ridden walk and no need to butter up anything what's true, is true I adore you beyond mere words, despite this dry salt survives absent eyes expectations sprain and get crippled, hobble on on crutches made of geranium petals like a half boat on an arduous journey to visit a season on another planet that I hold within this can just for you stem you're such the poem for keeps no poikilotherm stem tubes of beautiful green fluids thanks to the extraordinary sun spill of light in every breath

42