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some where in neverland
sadness will swallow you whole, its kind of like a sickness slowly making itself present and after time it breaks you down until you can …
Poems
lucifer very very very 1st
Nov 2020
love is a pose of power
power is a pose of power
power poses power
love poses love
a pose of thinking is a pose of power
a pose of thinking is a pose of love
thinking is a pose of thinking
thinking is a pose of memory
memory poses memory
thinking poses thinking
memory is a pose of power
memory is a pose of love
memory is a pose of memory
love escape love
love escape a pose of love
love poses its escape
escape poses love
escape poses escape to its love
thinking escape thinking
power escape power
power poses love
power is a pose of power
power poses power
love poses love
a pose of thinking is a pose of power
a pose of thinking is a pose of love
thinking is a pose of thinking
thinking is a pose of memory
memory poses memory
thinking poses thinking
memory is a pose of power
memory is a pose of love
memory is a pose of memory
love escape love
love escape a pose of love
love poses its escape
escape poses love
escape poses escape to its love
thinking escape thinking
power escape power
power poses love
my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc… this poem is about a thinking is a thinking of pose,power,and love. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Left Foot Poet May 2018
sleep poses
Left Foot Poet
May 2018
human revelations in our sleep poses
she sleeps with both arms back, murmuring,
flung over her hearing head,
as if she is surrendering
nightly
me slip away for a few, only to find
her left hand ****** by her arm crook'd,
fit to her temple, as if to bear the weighty weight
of a heavy head plein des thoughts, dream-mares, tales and talks,
too dense to contemplate
without assistance,
armed support to hold on, hold up,
fighting/ accepting as a unwanted outcomes
or retrying old misdeeds
(no, no, oops, that’s me)
stirring,
she swift motions/crisscrosses her arms into an X,
a human parts tiara atop, on blond tresses, that fully messes
any remaining daytime efforts and her nighttime wild dancing^
no one reveals me,
none inform on me what positions
my containership adapts, adopts when my woke-guards
are dismissed/released and
lay unprepared to disguise my innermosts exposures
ow, early am resting comfortable with a six poem-pack of
slept hours on my tool belt,
so far this weekend one shot fired before the day officially
is belle rung and these poses thoughts
are upon what my eyes alight
can’t decide if knowing how I dance in the bed at night,
reflationary, deflationary, worth fact facing,
for this is no secret
my sleep hours are colored,
admixture of moving pictures,
punctuated with
stills of past and future,
the poses
of how to greet, were greeted,
withstood upheld ran from wept, murdered,
faced up, faced down, go unrecorded
and the
poems residuals
and the
poem prophesying-
both!
fearful confessions for acts
committed and foretold
Decision: I don’t want to know
she sleeps with both arms back, murmuring,
flung over her hearing head,
as if she is surrendering
nightly
me slip away for a few, only to find
her left hand ****** by her arm crook'd,
fit to her temple, as if to bear the weighty weight
of a heavy head plein des thoughts, dream-mares, tales and talks,
too dense to contemplate
without assistance,
armed support to hold on, hold up,
fighting/ accepting as a unwanted outcomes
or retrying old misdeeds
(no, no, oops, that’s me)
stirring,
she swift motions/crisscrosses her arms into an X,
a human parts tiara atop, on blond tresses, that fully messes
any remaining daytime efforts and her nighttime wild dancing^
no one reveals me,
none inform on me what positions
my containership adapts, adopts when my woke-guards
are dismissed/released and
lay unprepared to disguise my innermosts exposures
ow, early am resting comfortable with a six poem-pack of
slept hours on my tool belt,
so far this weekend one shot fired before the day officially
is belle rung and these poses thoughts
are upon what my eyes alight
can’t decide if knowing how I dance in the bed at night,
reflationary, deflationary, worth fact facing,
for this is no secret
my sleep hours are colored,
admixture of moving pictures,
punctuated with
stills of past and future,
the poses
of how to greet, were greeted,
withstood upheld ran from wept, murdered,
faced up, faced down, go unrecorded
and the
poems residuals
and the
poem prophesying-
both!
fearful confessions for acts
committed and foretold
Decision: I don’t want to know
7/20/18 7:08am
^(tango-ing with both, familiar and the unexpected men
who are she-allowed to lead for few minutes,
her cover up pose
expertly rigidly flexible, but her head thrown back to say
this is how far you will be allotted, allowed to dance/take me)
^(tango-ing with both, familiar and the unexpected men
who are she-allowed to lead for few minutes,
her cover up pose
expertly rigidly flexible, but her head thrown back to say
this is how far you will be allotted, allowed to dance/take me)
Bo Burnham Nov 2015
Flowers
Bo Burnham
Nov 2015
On the third of June, at a minute past two,
where once was a person, a flower now grew.
Five daisies arranged on a large outdoor stage
in front of a ten-acre pasture of sage.
In a changing room, a lily poses.
At the DMV, rows of roses.
The world was much crueler an hour ago.
I'm glad someone decided to give flowers a go.
where once was a person, a flower now grew.
Five daisies arranged on a large outdoor stage
in front of a ten-acre pasture of sage.
In a changing room, a lily poses.
At the DMV, rows of roses.
The world was much crueler an hour ago.
I'm glad someone decided to give flowers a go.