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Alice Wilde Mar 19
The fluidity of words
Consecrating more than
A simple idea
Has slipped away

And what’s left are
Empty hands and
Silent mouths
Void of sophistication
Jessica Dec 2018
One of the hardest challenges with writing
is the honesty in it.

Our whole lives we are taught to filter our thoughts,
make them psss through our minds before our mouths.

With writing, the whole point is to allow the words to come out unfiltered and raw.
We must enable them to come from the heart without passing through too much of our minds.
Ivan Brooks Sr Sep 2018
Daybreak some mouths open to eat
And some open to host only flies.
Some mouths open to gossip or speak  
Falsehood, vulgarity and evil or lies.

Some mouths open only to do both
Yet they accomplish nothing from it.
Some open to display a bad tooth
And emit an odor that smells like ****.

Some mouths open but say nothing
Coherent and productive and actual,
Yet will go poking in nearly everything
Saying something that isn't factual.

Daybreak, some mouths stay closed
Opting to be neutral and say the truth.
These mouths may be mute and bored,
The price of gold these mouths are worth.

Shut up if you nothing to say... say s neural mouth.
I was strolling down the aisle
We were shopping there in style
With my daughter sitting smiling in the cart,
I was stretching out my hand
For the Martinelli's brand
When the apple of my eye gave me a start.

With the bottle in my grasp
I saw, coming toward us fast,
A high heeled damsel, scarfed and towing her caddie
And she smirked as I, condemned,
Stood up to comprehend
The reason, as my child said "Whisky Daddy?"

There was nothing I could say,
To make it seem another way,
To vanquish the conviction so compelling
It was the color you could tell
And the shape she knew so well,
The question that my daughter asked was telling.

Neil Stewart McLeod
This poem is published in an anthology called "A Ship In A Bottle" and is available from this link:
TD Jul 2016
the pealing voice of the meadowlark bounds,
grounded with songs that soar heights and clouds.

Its yellowed breast contrasts the great expanse,
with rays that tell of earthen treasure.
Within grassy folds their silken melody,
plays secrets that only dew-kissed mouths can breathe.
consonance of a sort
Joshua Haines Jun 2016
Dead names scarred onto the mouths of trees,
teenagers as stripped as the bark,
fenced by the flutter of the leaves.
I once loved a girl who loved
to remember the old me.

There's a storm, scurrying across the saffron.
You'd have to ask if this would always go on;
the broken hair, grape jaw, leaky gums.
An embrace, tortured knuckle,
all before the Sun, the bodies buckle.

Incurable beauty explained by the hunting game:
Is there a God who molds the fumes,
escaping from my brain?
I don't want to think, that all my thoughts
are all just the same.
There isn't this, a thing so light,
a breeland sheersand,
to swift good night.
Martin Narrod Nov 2015
The body of a woman's neutral fineness embraces the chords of my steel guitar; laughing about all the points that I've been chasing after. Or just running away- no more for today. Christ, you slipped but lied too many times before, and while you plunge your wrists into your knives, I thought we had a second chance. But that was before, you throw sticks and stones and store your anger in the three fingers of the drink that clinks against our first date when I bought you a 25¢ ring. It was a children's vending machine, that brought me three years of happy things.

I don't want to be fake with you anymore. So go and find your Milky Way. I'm staying dumb, Britni I'm in trouble. All the stakes are different when you are chasing yesterday's killing.

And even the sound of the gunshots don't overcome the voice of the human tongue, in violence and war and all that's abhorred, even the smallest vesper or prayer a whisper of three little words can always be heard, even the faintest whisper can always be heard, as long as the voice that says it is honest and pure.

I was too tight to drive with your hands over my eyes, even in Inverness valley and South Santa Cruz, the wheelbarrow of berries I brought home for supper, ingested in each little bite we cut in half, was the best of the worst time that we ever had. And always we were. In love. In parking lots, playgrounds, at concerts, on airplanes, in bedrooms, custodian closets, laundry mats, and carrying our nap sacks, while we attempted to sleep and hide all night in the Shedd Aquarium. I just should have known better, it'd wouldn't be easy, with you I'm always wrestling sharks with a mirror, your pink sugar perfume from the chains on my wrists ******* across the room. While you didn't trust me I was always at home. Trust isn't love  unless it's enough, unless it's enough to quit drugs. It's symptoms are the same as that of great madnesses.
Rhianecdote Nov 2015
Seems like
Words are failing
Maybe We should use our mouths
For other things

How about kissing?
Right there
On that part of my naval
As I brush your hair

Maybe I'll let out a little sigh
As you linger there for a while
Look up and smile
Pretty eyes got me gazing

Words may be failing but
There's other ways to speak
Your hands gently trailing
got my body feeling Weak

Self control startin to slip
Better watch my mouth
As I bite your lip
It stings
But not the way words do
No need for censorship

This mouths being used for other things

Maybe to let out a laugh,a little grin
As you make your move
To help me relax and
Leave your mark on my skin

Raising the heat
Got me craving!
Tongues may be wagging
In the morning
But ours are for tasting

So what do you say?

Mmm don't speak.
My hearts racing
Legs shaking
As you play your mouth piece


And I
Might just have to pull you in tight
Might just have to have you all night
But don't worry
It's our lil secret, I won't say a thing

Words may have failed us
But mouths don't need words
To do wonderous things

Inspired by spice! Uh huh hunny!
Andrew Tang Oct 2015
You told me when we talk its a risky conversation.
So I imagine
We had embers for mouths
We conversed with smoke signals.
Unable to control our spits
The  bomb ignited
In which neither of us meant to have lit the fuse.
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
shapes of yr many most favorite possessions
people looming in the lintel browsing through the pockets
yr posthumous stare chisels down the bark

280 & Alpine
taking out the post
east alto, west alto
sandwiches and snickers bars

let there be pizza
where beds happily move
and there are no swing sets or cell phones
let there be pizza
eighteen year olds swinging from the rooftops to the pool

no music played to remember it by
yr handlers are too many now
lost in the green lasers and spotlights

there are only two hands to make this memory
the quiet dark does not take it, new mouths do not take it
old words tearing off the night
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