#miasma - Hello Poetry

Urges, we never said... Were the time, the thoughts of open bother Of a sleeping prophet, with silence to lead: A care into the limelight, with heaven to hover A brassier share, in the need of promises Sent from guarded selves, a world which delves Integrity is mine for a shall and a swallow of vices That remembers you, when patience looked for life's health Speaking of hell... Strange invaders, strangers in the mystery of this yarn Weal no more, than a crash of existence, we know so well Letting mercy see my upset, a habit has me by the toe I shall learn... Is it me, or did I just wake up? City's of strength, and the embarrassment of delicate poise Have opened their doors, to a solitude that has become a covenant With the voice we add, is silent warnings of another's choice? Tell me the story, comes my conscience A hap of retribution in the same, the shadows of a scream I have made, a promising God, a sign of the times to presence That has looked, and seen our terror, the bitterness of a demon... Save me from a stone of kinship, with a kiss...? Proper shape to a wish alive, in sordid chance, a wind Of guidance and justifying malevolence, that has stolen my wish From the heart of me, a stare of pining finish to a lie to mind... Pillows make fast friends, if shade is forever cool, intrepid... Interest in a careful window, is many to fathom a liberty in shyness Acts and paces of facts, run faster than all of the powers that are, hid When children dance, the seed of specialness is a call to wisdom's bless...? Care for another, victim of insincerity? Long truth's and the tomorrow of interim Has a rather chosen, possession of sardonic not, the charity Of privilege run so far, for a wicked dream to lend... Cough, cough; palpable Anecdote to share a legend, no man has let live Longer than a kiss in the heat of a kindness to **** Seeing is believing, even when our hope in a purpose above, a world in love with what we give...?

0

Nov 2, 2023

Nov 2, 2023 at 9:21 PM UTC

david-hilburn

Waking Up With A Broken Television

Urges, we never said... Were the time, the thoughts of open bother Of a sleeping prophet, with silence to lead: A care into the limelight, with heaven to hover A brassier share, in the need of promises Sent from guarded selves, a world which delves Integrity is mine for a shall and a swallow of vices That remembers you, when patience looked for life's health Speaking of hell... Strange invaders, strangers in the mystery of this yarn Weal no more, than a crash of existence, we know so well Letting mercy see my upset, a habit has me by the toe I shall learn... Is it me, or did I just wake up? City's of strength, and the embarrassment of delicate poise Have opened their doors, to a solitude that has become a covenant With the voice we add, is silent warnings of another's choice? Tell me the story, comes my conscience A hap of retribution in the same, the shadows of a scream I have made, a promising God, a sign of the times to presence That has looked, and seen our terror, the bitterness of a demon... Save me from a stone of kinship, with a kiss...? Proper shape to a wish alive, in sordid chance, a wind Of guidance and justifying malevolence, that has stolen my wish From the heart of me, a stare of pining finish to a lie to mind... Pillows make fast friends, if shade is forever cool, intrepid... Interest in a careful window, is many to fathom a liberty in shyness Acts and paces of facts, run faster than all of the powers that are, hid When children dance, the seed of specialness is a call to wisdom's bless...? Care for another, victim of insincerity? Long truth's and the tomorrow of interim Has a rather chosen, possession of sardonic not, the charity Of privilege run so far, for a wicked dream to lend... Cough, cough; palpable Anecdote to share a legend, no man has let live Longer than a kiss in the heat of a kindness to **** Seeing is believing, even when our hope in a purpose above, a world in love with what we give...?

36

Oily flowers Slap faces like an angel Simply twain, simpler powers Sit in the sun, like a smile for the devil Agony, of an oily smile Sit to once, upon nothing more... Hap and adage, require you, of a while Meaning no-where's step, for a curious war... Anything, everywhere at once... A promise to shed, a tear Through and through, before life begun The love and misery, is a magic, to fear? Sated...? And shown to chew the thought Is a mystery, of reality, so fated? When poor is such, aren't we a death sought? Oily more... We said the cope, of another world Suggesting only, the question's we were Given pride's notion, specialness's devotion; is a fears lover, ever early?

0

Jan 29, 2023

Jan 29, 2023 at 6:38 AM UTC

david-hilburn

What If A Bruised Ego, Is Dinner For Tonight?

Oily flowers Slap faces like an angel Simply twain, simpler powers Sit in the sun, like a smile for the devil Agony, of an oily smile Sit to once, upon nothing more... Hap and adage, require you, of a while Meaning no-where's step, for a curious war... Anything, everywhere at once... A promise to shed, a tear Through and through, before life begun The love and misery, is a magic, to fear? Sated...? And shown to chew the thought Is a mystery, of reality, so fated? When poor is such, aren't we a death sought? Oily more... We said the cope, of another world Suggesting only, the question's we were Given pride's notion, specialness's devotion; is a fears lover, ever early?

20

Drowned world in a miasma of plastic. I turn to love is not just a flash in the pan. I am moody walls and stone borders, eyes on the horizon, the quickening ****** sunset. I try to believe in some heaven that I am here. I should pay more attention. I should bloom like a flower underneath your sun, rewarding you with an infinite unfurling of petals. The night need not crush. It may reveal its stars. The child brides’ shrieks do not always denote pain.

0

Nov 15, 2019

Nov 15, 2019 at 11:04 AM UTC

erin-suurkoivu

some heaven

Drowned world in a miasma of plastic. I turn to love is not just a flash in the pan. I am moody walls and stone borders, eyes on the horizon, the quickening ****** sunset. I try to believe in some heaven that I am here. I should pay more attention. I should bloom like a flower underneath your sun, rewarding you with an infinite unfurling of petals. The night need not crush. It may reveal its stars. The child brides’ shrieks do not always denote pain.

20

You wrap around me, like a fog. Haze of bitter sweet miasma. Smothering. Smothering.

0

Apr 20, 2019

Apr 20, 2019 at 2:55 AM UTC

Simillacrum

FCK 666: "Moorland"

You wrap around me, like a fog. Haze of bitter sweet miasma. Smothering. Smothering.

6

I enjoy words Little words that fit unto tiny cubbeyhole spaces, a word like Key, something you could fit into a pocket, makes other words rhyme and think about secrets and doors. A wooden frame, gateway to another room or someplace else, it opens and closes and clicks and turns and clinks and all from that tiny three letter word. Large words that stretch and yawn and roll around in your brain marble like trying to fathom and plumb their bottoms. A word like Miasma. Miasma Miasma. What does that make you think of. Like a big stinky cloud, it creeps along the ground because it's heavier than air, something soup like, but I've never heard that word used to describe a soup. Or really used for much of anything at all. It's not a word people say or write to each other. Miasma. That's sad. It's a beautiful word. An interesting word. "Normal" words, everyday words like buttons. Makes me think about a button on your coat. Maybe it's blue or one of its shades like cobalt navy or azure. And it's popped off and rolled away under a couch or in a crack somewhere. And we all agreed that that Buh sound was what those round objects made of all sorts of materials that hold your shirt closed, that sound is what that thing is going to start with... buh tuns... or **** tons... how strange. That we all agreed that.

0

Aug 13, 2018

Aug 13, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC

m-eastman

Miasma

I enjoy words Little words that fit unto tiny cubbeyhole spaces, a word like Key, something you could fit into a pocket, makes other words rhyme and think about secrets and doors. A wooden frame, gateway to another room or someplace else, it opens and closes and clicks and turns and clinks and all from that tiny three letter word. Large words that stretch and yawn and roll around in your brain marble like trying to fathom and plumb their bottoms. A word like Miasma. Miasma Miasma. What does that make you think of. Like a big stinky cloud, it creeps along the ground because it's heavier than air, something soup like, but I've never heard that word used to describe a soup. Or really used for much of anything at all. It's not a word people say or write to each other. Miasma. That's sad. It's a beautiful word. An interesting word. "Normal" words, everyday words like buttons. Makes me think about a button on your coat. Maybe it's blue or one of its shades like cobalt navy or azure. And it's popped off and rolled away under a couch or in a crack somewhere. And we all agreed that that Buh sound was what those round objects made of all sorts of materials that hold your shirt closed, that sound is what that thing is going to start with... buh tuns... or **** tons... how strange. That we all agreed that.

4

My stool is black again, I've been smoking She said, "I thought that you quit" I said, "I never meant-" cough "I never meant" She said, "You said you could anytime, anytime" But what's the worth of words spoken, when you never meant, you never meant To give the impression you'd follow through Only to sate the voice of reason in a poisonous miasma of destructive and ambivalent tendencies held too long and too deeply pressed Uh oh Cough, cough, cough, cough . . .Cool.

0

Nov 9, 2014

Nov 9, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC

shychaospatrol

Could Anytime

My stool is black again, I've been smoking She said, "I thought that you quit" I said, "I never meant-" cough "I never meant" She said, "You said you could anytime, anytime" But what's the worth of words spoken, when you never meant, you never meant To give the impression you'd follow through Only to sate the voice of reason in a poisonous miasma of destructive and ambivalent tendencies held too long and too deeply pressed Uh oh Cough, cough, cough, cough . . .Cool.

14