#immobile - Hello Poetry

Might we not linger Longer here a while Within this silken web we've woven All yester's threads cling soft The spindle, rusted & golden, lies This finifugal hold dead hopes oft have Time's sinews blinkering prospecting eyes Might we not linger Convenience sighs

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Sep 25, 2020

Sep 25, 2020 at 4:23 PM UTC

TheDurhamScribbler

Might we not linger

Might we not linger Longer here a while Within this silken web we've woven All yester's threads cling soft The spindle, rusted & golden, lies This finifugal hold dead hopes oft have Time's sinews blinkering prospecting eyes Might we not linger Convenience sighs

9

cellphone to heart, mobile to immobile, electric dead to living you know that sleep and I are but passing acquaintances, when it drops in, to heavy my lids, it is through a cracked window slivered, just enough for a Pan boy to grab me and away me to Almost Neverland when the alarms sound that it’s sleepy time, (quite like that quiet verse) no time to delist the “those pre-shluffy to do things,” cell drop upon my chest, like an open mic, then the raging observatory tapestry begins! the cell lies directly above my ventricular chamber, and communication is live, the brain cutoff switch, well, cutoff all manner of imps, devils, rejected poems, angels and Greek gods and some Indian as well, stand in line for to make free calls via a beating human message call center, utilizing my friends and family verizon plan to register complaints, close out unfinished biz, or just contact, friends, family or other mischievous imps or even you, in other time zone worlds though my brain may not interfere, like the CIA, it records all conversations and give me a list of new poem titles, notions, stories glories and wrenching heartbreaking heartbreak, requiring “fleshing out” when I awake from my three fingers of scotch, glass eye tears drops made me drunk, damning this transmigration chorus of voices that offer up a treasure of divine humankind’s hopes and travails, and the occasional call on the divine’s 1-800 confession line, hear it all, my chewing out by one particular god of mine who does not suffer my criticisms well of his ungodly actions, nope not sweetly and when else would he dare contact me, except when no edgewise words of mine can appear to contradict his mealy mouth excuses did you musty misty mistake my poems as the product of the miracle water wages of my imaginary inspiration, no, not, from the replaying of your desperate exclamations, the cancerous shrieks of loss and prickly investiture of the aesthetics of soft whispers and solitary foot treads, that is where my insanity is bred, and tumbling s-words, sworn don’t consider it eavesdropping as there is no signed rental agreement, consider this unfair warning, if you should secret use my cellular line, your everything is now ****** your genetic material is materialistic mine and my poems yours, this bittersweet sentiment is a measure of our bloods commingling, your tears and impish silliness, are shiny hidden within mine somehow I feel compelled to state this unique statistic: I love you 4:47pm on 3/11 who writes poems like this? silly old boys with gray hair, standing on one left leg. but you knew that, right?

0

Mar 11, 2018

Mar 11, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC

left-foot

cellphone to heart, mobile to immobile, electric dead to living

cellphone to heart, mobile to immobile, electric dead to living you know that sleep and I are but passing acquaintances, when it drops in, to heavy my lids, it is through a cracked window slivered, just enough for a Pan boy to grab me and away me to Almost Neverland when the alarms sound that it’s sleepy time, (quite like that quiet verse) no time to delist the “those pre-shluffy to do things,” cell drop upon my chest, like an open mic, then the raging observatory tapestry begins! the cell lies directly above my ventricular chamber, and communication is live, the brain cutoff switch, well, cutoff all manner of imps, devils, rejected poems, angels and Greek gods and some Indian as well, stand in line for to make free calls via a beating human message call center, utilizing my friends and family verizon plan to register complaints, close out unfinished biz, or just contact, friends, family or other mischievous imps or even you, in other time zone worlds though my brain may not interfere, like the CIA, it records all conversations and give me a list of new poem titles, notions, stories glories and wrenching heartbreaking heartbreak, requiring “fleshing out” when I awake from my three fingers of scotch, glass eye tears drops made me drunk, damning this transmigration chorus of voices that offer up a treasure of divine humankind’s hopes and travails, and the occasional call on the divine’s 1-800 confession line, hear it all, my chewing out by one particular god of mine who does not suffer my criticisms well of his ungodly actions, nope not sweetly and when else would he dare contact me, except when no edgewise words of mine can appear to contradict his mealy mouth excuses did you musty misty mistake my poems as the product of the miracle water wages of my imaginary inspiration, no, not, from the replaying of your desperate exclamations, the cancerous shrieks of loss and prickly investiture of the aesthetics of soft whispers and solitary foot treads, that is where my insanity is bred, and tumbling s-words, sworn don’t consider it eavesdropping as there is no signed rental agreement, consider this unfair warning, if you should secret use my cellular line, your everything is now ****** your genetic material is materialistic mine and my poems yours, this bittersweet sentiment is a measure of our bloods commingling, your tears and impish silliness, are shiny hidden within mine somehow I feel compelled to state this unique statistic: I love you 4:47pm on 3/11 who writes poems like this? silly old boys with gray hair, standing on one left leg. but you knew that, right?

38

I tried to walk I tried to talk I tried to fly I tried to yell But my feet were locked But my legs were numb But my tongue was still And my lips were locked Was I trapped in a dream? A bad dream for sure I mustered no emotion Except fear for my future My eyes couldn't blink And couldn't move My arms, fingers, toes Also locked tight And then as people stared My heart began to glow From the warmth of their smiles Shining on me and my pedestal.

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Jun 5, 2019

Jun 5, 2019 at 12:36 AM UTC

jt-nelson

Locked

I tried to walk I tried to talk I tried to fly I tried to yell But my feet were locked But my legs were numb But my tongue was still And my lips were locked Was I trapped in a dream? A bad dream for sure I mustered no emotion Except fear for my future My eyes couldn't blink And couldn't move My arms, fingers, toes Also locked tight And then as people stared My heart began to glow From the warmth of their smiles Shining on me and my pedestal.

20

Wasted space Borrowed air Dead weight Catatonic stare

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Jul 1, 2018

Jul 1, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC

Emnabee

immobile poem

Wasted space Borrowed air Dead weight Catatonic stare

4

*She is hiding behind the tall pine trees. My thoughts are all twisted. She is calling for me. Her silhouette is now stored, burned into my eyes. She spoke with a voice that disrupted the sky. It’s only her and I in this misty forest, all alone. The path I came from is now gone, overgrown. When I take a step closer, I simply go nowhere. She stands completely still, guiding me like a flare. Everything is quiet, except for all the voices in my head. They scream her name, coloring my ears with red. A distant look is embroidered on her face. She is captivating; I might be in dire straits. I’ve been wandering for so long, in so many years. Now I stand in an awe of her, stuck in second gear. So I’ll just stay here forever, looking at her in despair. Because if I turn around, I am afraid she might disappear.*

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Jun 27, 2016

Jun 27, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC

silverflame

Immobile

*She is hiding behind the tall pine trees. My thoughts are all twisted. She is calling for me. Her silhouette is now stored, burned into my eyes. She spoke with a voice that disrupted the sky. It’s only her and I in this misty forest, all alone. The path I came from is now gone, overgrown. When I take a step closer, I simply go nowhere. She stands completely still, guiding me like a flare. Everything is quiet, except for all the voices in my head. They scream her name, coloring my ears with red. A distant look is embroidered on her face. She is captivating; I might be in dire straits. I’ve been wandering for so long, in so many years. Now I stand in an awe of her, stuck in second gear. So I’ll just stay here forever, looking at her in despair. Because if I turn around, I am afraid she might disappear.*

16

Remedy this. Believe the wound will close. Pray the blood will cease its flow. And when the inevitable happens. Pray that the shattered remains. Will find its form one day. These icy shards feign comfort and warmth. Contort the mind to reach out. And paint by numbers. First encounter. Second chances. Third and so on. Down the list. Until hands have gone numb and colorless. A life less than that of which what stood. Shambles. And somehow still in motion.. Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.

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May 6, 2016

May 6, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC

spikeharper

No Games

Remedy this. Believe the wound will close. Pray the blood will cease its flow. And when the inevitable happens. Pray that the shattered remains. Will find its form one day. These icy shards feign comfort and warmth. Contort the mind to reach out. And paint by numbers. First encounter. Second chances. Third and so on. Down the list. Until hands have gone numb and colorless. A life less than that of which what stood. Shambles. And somehow still in motion.. Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.

18

I'm on the border I'm on the edge I'm over the line I'm going to fall Can't speak Can't sing Can't scream Can't yell I'm going crazy Losing my mind Losing all sight I'm going insane Can't walk Can't dance Can't run Can't move at all Through the silver lining, I've gone.

0

Sep 28, 2015

Sep 28, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC

SnowWolf

Silver Lining

I'm on the border I'm on the edge I'm over the line I'm going to fall Can't speak Can't sing Can't scream Can't yell I'm going crazy Losing my mind Losing all sight I'm going insane Can't walk Can't dance Can't run Can't move at all Through the silver lining, I've gone.

17