#mares - Hello Poetry

White mares skipping high Fleeting bows of flight A delicate sway and tender— Of nymph water bearers. Grip to the pole— start bending your toes Gritty witty Pointes— slide sailing your stockings Don't be weary— you all weigh like babies. When everyone curves below,— I might cry low The tug of veins,— Twisting my equity All for a share of artistry— That shakes dynamic scaling How can I fly with this? A flock of gnasgabs— Forming on the floor Say, I was bewildered— By such floating nerves I suppose, my anchors would stumble! Muscles shifted miniscules to humongous I learned the arc's way How swans scoop to ponds,— and paddle To split stems without abraded rock scrapes The pricked would never ill still again— For the element of wind,—is a frolicking mentor of mine. What shape is imposed? Is to be trained to sketch enough?— Or to smother crust on feet? A little pinch on my nose— They told me— "Be toned, and not be a cylinder, or you'll be getting misfits." If groom is to groan,— Then unwinding is not an option. Stale eyelids, protrude lips;— With undetermined purple ankles Presenting, the queue of peacocks— Crafted by coned imagery! "Smile darlings, smile.." "Grant them a magical show!" A single blow, I think I would fall,— Or a slip— Brought by fragility A collapsed bud of covert slim blossoming What sot titles be lurking— On this lumpy staging? I see the curtains closing.. Raggle-taggle pearls, no— Just piercing prisms Attach with vessel tubes— providing life Rates and beats,— I am awake— While their pupils start bowing— In a forum with wheezing closed fists I cannot nod for this; so too, I replied —"Let brittle vases be a harbinger for naive pottery makers." "Spin and spin around— Oh stop, I'm not a music box! I love dancing,— but don't treat me like a doll!" I escaped, from dry flower fields Now, I am a deviant— of their snotter lying— of absolute bloom A standard of fixed chains and keys No more attending to an epithet of perfection,— For I will be the motion of my own tides and breeze. I battle to Ballet,— For 'tis as knight with armored strength— of fenced rivals 'til to bleed I risk for Ballet,— Like cliff dancing, even on edges— I am steady,— And tough to dive in lakes and oceans I fall for Ballet,— How Alice fall to the Wonderland— discovering mysteries in every dooorway I compose to Ballet,— As I dwell in the well of written poems and tunes,— I inherit to move.. The wishful dandelions,— Sprawling with honeybees and butterflies,— of me running with ribbons in Spring time I feel my hair is brushing,— As I blew these dandelions,— Sending letters to other gardens— "Dark, Bright, Tiny, or Huge— Anyone can wear a Tulle,— Come and fly, as we're all free and beautiful like dandelions.."

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May 14, 2020

May 14, 2020 at 3:29 AM UTC

fheyra

A Tulle's Journey

White mares skipping high Fleeting bows of flight A delicate sway and tender— Of nymph water bearers. Grip to the pole— start bending your toes Gritty witty Pointes— slide sailing your stockings Don't be weary— you all weigh like babies. When everyone curves below,— I might cry low The tug of veins,— Twisting my equity All for a share of artistry— That shakes dynamic scaling How can I fly with this? A flock of gnasgabs— Forming on the floor Say, I was bewildered— By such floating nerves I suppose, my anchors would stumble! Muscles shifted miniscules to humongous I learned the arc's way How swans scoop to ponds,— and paddle To split stems without abraded rock scrapes The pricked would never ill still again— For the element of wind,—is a frolicking mentor of mine. What shape is imposed? Is to be trained to sketch enough?— Or to smother crust on feet? A little pinch on my nose— They told me— "Be toned, and not be a cylinder, or you'll be getting misfits." If groom is to groan,— Then unwinding is not an option. Stale eyelids, protrude lips;— With undetermined purple ankles Presenting, the queue of peacocks— Crafted by coned imagery! "Smile darlings, smile.." "Grant them a magical show!" A single blow, I think I would fall,— Or a slip— Brought by fragility A collapsed bud of covert slim blossoming What sot titles be lurking— On this lumpy staging? I see the curtains closing.. Raggle-taggle pearls, no— Just piercing prisms Attach with vessel tubes— providing life Rates and beats,— I am awake— While their pupils start bowing— In a forum with wheezing closed fists I cannot nod for this; so too, I replied —"Let brittle vases be a harbinger for naive pottery makers." "Spin and spin around— Oh stop, I'm not a music box! I love dancing,— but don't treat me like a doll!" I escaped, from dry flower fields Now, I am a deviant— of their snotter lying— of absolute bloom A standard of fixed chains and keys No more attending to an epithet of perfection,— For I will be the motion of my own tides and breeze. I battle to Ballet,— For 'tis as knight with armored strength— of fenced rivals 'til to bleed I risk for Ballet,— Like cliff dancing, even on edges— I am steady,— And tough to dive in lakes and oceans I fall for Ballet,— How Alice fall to the Wonderland— discovering mysteries in every dooorway I compose to Ballet,— As I dwell in the well of written poems and tunes,— I inherit to move.. The wishful dandelions,— Sprawling with honeybees and butterflies,— of me running with ribbons in Spring time I feel my hair is brushing,— As I blew these dandelions,— Sending letters to other gardens— "Dark, Bright, Tiny, or Huge— Anyone can wear a Tulle,— Come and fly, as we're all free and beautiful like dandelions.."

65

Maybe you’re mistaken when you think about what’s out there, You attribute ev’ry stimulus to winged things from books, Mistaking accidental circumstances for essential causes, There isn’t really anything that God conveys with looks. Perhaps it is hard to face the truth: we’re just meat bags with will, Which slowly rot away until the day when we’re forgotten Needlessly dissecting every move and every inner thought, Attempting to discover what makes us all so very rotten. Take a deep breath And hold it in Until you feel it all ...Fading away Slowly toward death All of us fall Someday we’ll feel it all ...Fading away Through my goat mouth, it’s true, you can hear me bleating, Like a little lamb who’s lambier than lamby-lambs can be, But yes in fact it’s bike tires, and tin cans that I’m eating, And I feel my goat heart beating and... I want to flee.

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Jul 15, 2015

Jul 15, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC

Brotherjimmy

I Am Goat and Lamb

Maybe you’re mistaken when you think about what’s out there, You attribute ev’ry stimulus to winged things from books, Mistaking accidental circumstances for essential causes, There isn’t really anything that God conveys with looks. Perhaps it is hard to face the truth: we’re just meat bags with will, Which slowly rot away until the day when we’re forgotten Needlessly dissecting every move and every inner thought, Attempting to discover what makes us all so very rotten. Take a deep breath And hold it in Until you feel it all ...Fading away Slowly toward death All of us fall Someday we’ll feel it all ...Fading away Through my goat mouth, it’s true, you can hear me bleating, Like a little lamb who’s lambier than lamby-lambs can be, But yes in fact it’s bike tires, and tin cans that I’m eating, And I feel my goat heart beating and... I want to flee.

32

You mumblers and raspers Of resp'rat'ry rattle: Open your throats! Forsake ye! the gaspers, You quoters of cattle And prattle of goats! Or lay ye with horses Whose tongue ne'er divorces Those ivory choppers, Those sibilant stoppers; You lispers: beware, Whether stallion or mare, While you nibble your oats! Stop your speech-stumbling! Go suckle an udder You dizzy, damp calfs! Restrain your talk-tumbling, And swallow your stutter Nor utter foul laughs! You outspoken nags Mimic bolt-broken stags As you bleed allegations Down paths of my patience And clatter your antlers; What heavy-hoofed ranters For no one's behalf!

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Apr 1, 2014

Apr 1, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC

edwardalan

Four-Legged Locution

You mumblers and raspers Of resp'rat'ry rattle: Open your throats! Forsake ye! the gaspers, You quoters of cattle And prattle of goats! Or lay ye with horses Whose tongue ne'er divorces Those ivory choppers, Those sibilant stoppers; You lispers: beware, Whether stallion or mare, While you nibble your oats! Stop your speech-stumbling! Go suckle an udder You dizzy, damp calfs! Restrain your talk-tumbling, And swallow your stutter Nor utter foul laughs! You outspoken nags Mimic bolt-broken stags As you bleed allegations Down paths of my patience And clatter your antlers; What heavy-hoofed ranters For no one's behalf!

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