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#morn
Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025 <•> For later, forecast proclaims: snow showers for much of the day, but in our temperate clime, rarely do we get inches or feats of accumulation, but it will be chill enough to turn my heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its whiteout version, where the flakes individually attach themselves to to fat fabric for self-preservation, displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a gallery of me… assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled, in nostril and open mouth, as I employ all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain, to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that welcomes every flake as a long lost son and daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence I anticipate the taste of snow to be a multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian spices, on a riverbed of Italian red peppery tomato sauce, the crusty spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared but I am by myself, sensibly refused companionship by others, and my voyaged meditation now, well ended, well recall, Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:                            “**You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self**” join me?
0
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
left-foot
This Sabbath morn, I shall go walking in snow showers
Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025 <•> For later, forecast proclaims: snow showers for much of the day, but in our temperate clime, rarely do we get inches or feats of accumulation, but it will be chill enough to turn my heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its whiteout version, where the flakes individually attach themselves to to fat fabric for self-preservation, displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a gallery of me… assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled, in nostril and open mouth, as I employ all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain, to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that welcomes every flake as a long lost son and daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence I anticipate the taste of snow to be a multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian spices, on a riverbed of Italian red peppery tomato sauce, the crusty spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared but I am by myself, sensibly refused companionship by others, and my voyaged meditation now, well ended, well recall, Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:                            “**You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self**” join me?
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38
i love that word, puttering, my adjective of early morning rambling, world examining, in the early AM, treading barefooted from room to room, a list prestablished, + tidy up the prior evening’s laziness, unload with complete silence the prior nights dishwasher, homework, prep the couch back to pre~beat~up presentability, make the first 16.5 .oz of Blue Mountain Hawaiian coffee, in my art history McIntosh mug(1), prepare the first of the day’s bitesized edibles, a:k:a, Kashi crunchies, so the coffee all falls down  to a well~recv’d internal welcoming the timing is off, the clock has changed, it is early but not really, I’m constantly recalculating ‘real time’ until confused, substituting the internal locked-in clocking that ultimate divination of right and wrong, the betting app informs us of the under/over hours really slept line set by Las Vegas oddsmakers but as usual, the digression omens come fast and furious, up in the sky apartment is an oasis of cloud quietude, (where the latitude and longitude inter-sec, where the cleansed sun softly) ah quietude, an envelopment noun favored over the pedestrian quiet, my ears, fulfilled by music via noiseless earbuds, fills the soul, it is the milk in the morning coffee brew of the crossover silence, tween the skyed division check on the woman, deep asleep, (pronouns: she/her/mine) her arm thrown across my empty pillow, as if holding my place in line, like besties in second grade, a warning to other potent interlopers, so withdraw silent to finish the routine that is so comforting, the polit~noise chatter has not yet invaded, all of its associated malice’s tumult, kept away at bay with forethought, and instead, thus, I, write, in this quilt of solitude, not alone, write of this companioned morn~born~rituals that will be one day, be renamed, as a mourning ritual, when when life ruefully states in its arrogant ~ don’t ~ care, no ways, now that, When, one of us, be sleeping permanent, and the silence be reformatted, recalculated, the coffee will taste different, and the footfalls no longer unsqueaking, no need, cause the solitude is just renamed as loneliness, and though the tears emanate from same tear ducts, the causal reasoning is reversed, no longer celebratory, and with no one to show it off, to share, no punch in the arm gasp of loving recognition, *I perforce new habit, will read this puttering, now stuttering poem* someday as a new summary, a substitutable morn chore, absent a chorus of a singly singular beautiful quiet but only memorized, silenced applause
0
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 5:43 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
the puttering quiet of a Midtown Manhattan Sabbath Morn
i love that word, puttering, my adjective of early morning rambling, world examining, in the early AM, treading barefooted from room to room, a list prestablished, + tidy up the prior evening’s laziness, unload with complete silence the prior nights dishwasher, homework, prep the couch back to pre~beat~up presentability, make the first 16.5 .oz of Blue Mountain Hawaiian coffee, in my art history McIntosh mug(1), prepare the first of the day’s bitesized edibles, a:k:a, Kashi crunchies, so the coffee all falls down  to a well~recv’d internal welcoming the timing is off, the clock has changed, it is early but not really, I’m constantly recalculating ‘real time’ until confused, substituting the internal locked-in clocking that ultimate divination of right and wrong, the betting app informs us of the under/over hours really slept line set by Las Vegas oddsmakers but as usual, the digression omens come fast and furious, up in the sky apartment is an oasis of cloud quietude, (where the latitude and longitude inter-sec, where the cleansed sun softly) ah quietude, an envelopment noun favored over the pedestrian quiet, my ears, fulfilled by music via noiseless earbuds, fills the soul, it is the milk in the morning coffee brew of the crossover silence, tween the skyed division check on the woman, deep asleep, (pronouns: she/her/mine) her arm thrown across my empty pillow, as if holding my place in line, like besties in second grade, a warning to other potent interlopers, so withdraw silent to finish the routine that is so comforting, the polit~noise chatter has not yet invaded, all of its associated malice’s tumult, kept away at bay with forethought, and instead, thus, I, write, in this quilt of solitude, not alone, write of this companioned morn~born~rituals that will be one day, be renamed, as a mourning ritual, when when life ruefully states in its arrogant ~ don’t ~ care, no ways, now that, When, one of us, be sleeping permanent, and the silence be reformatted, recalculated, the coffee will taste different, and the footfalls no longer unsqueaking, no need, cause the solitude is just renamed as loneliness, and though the tears emanate from same tear ducts, the causal reasoning is reversed, no longer celebratory, and with no one to show it off, to share, no punch in the arm gasp of loving recognition, *I perforce new habit, will read this puttering, now stuttering poem* someday as a new summary, a substitutable morn chore, absent a chorus of a singly singular beautiful quiet but only memorized, silenced applause
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82
Poorly holding up to the harsh assault Mal reggendo all’aspro assalto well, if that's so, aight, and this is the test, we took it, what would ya thank for that, eh? Heavy metal, anvils are the archetype, before Iron Horses and world tying steel industrial spirit to try like hell to move a mountain told to move, ai, we had a form of free press, indeed and steam, bound in cylinders ground and smoothed to specs a micron or two from perfectly round, squared center to edge, by pi, the idea, we need to make compassion, compass me round about, and think me mad, with deep and sensitive gentle assurance, ai, we made the crossing, we're on the other side. I'm not, I am a little drunk. Rare state, feels familiar, kind of rejuvenating. Wisdom smiles on those who try, and try again. Remember all this is after we won heaven, by being invincibly ignorant as to why not.
0
Oct 24, 2024
Oct 24, 2024 at 10:10 PM UTC
kenpepiton
Verdi's Anvil Chorus, a reaction
Poorly holding up to the harsh assault Mal reggendo all’aspro assalto well, if that's so, aight, and this is the test, we took it, what would ya thank for that, eh? Heavy metal, anvils are the archetype, before Iron Horses and world tying steel industrial spirit to try like hell to move a mountain told to move, ai, we had a form of free press, indeed and steam, bound in cylinders ground and smoothed to specs a micron or two from perfectly round, squared center to edge, by pi, the idea, we need to make compassion, compass me round about, and think me mad, with deep and sensitive gentle assurance, ai, we made the crossing, we're on the other side. I'm not, I am a little drunk. Rare state, feels familiar, kind of rejuvenating. Wisdom smiles on those who try, and try again. Remember all this is after we won heaven, by being invincibly ignorant as to why not.
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25
raw April morn, daffodils be looking prematurely silly, now a May morn, daffodils no more, irises blooming though May itself a hybrid of twixt and cousin tween, coldish morns, summer afternoons, evening gusts winter reminders yesterday, walked 50 blocks in 80+ Farenhot, sweaty much and hypocrisy now reigning, oh my summer man you your self, selfishly forgot, forgot the other side of the coin, thinking hot hot hot Not, cranky old codger man, yup, yup, yup.
0
Jun 6, 2024
Jun 6, 2024 at 2:44 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
East River Spring Morn
raw April morn, daffodils be looking prematurely silly, now a May morn, daffodils no more, irises blooming though May itself a hybrid of twixt and cousin tween, coldish morns, summer afternoons, evening gusts winter reminders yesterday, walked 50 blocks in 80+ Farenhot, sweaty much and hypocrisy now reigning, oh my summer man you your self, selfishly forgot, forgot the other side of the coin, thinking hot hot hot Not, cranky old codger man, yup, yup, yup.
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26
Retro Morn: Re-Reading Jenny (1.) and Her Purple Hat, (2.), Listening to Vonda Shepard I am a beautiful woman, and reliably informed so, by handsome. men, lustful fools, and one too many sideward glances in a difference place, musical needs call me out to retro smooth me away from the waves of nausea of news repeats ingested, the lesser qualities of human beings basic basest nature, I inhale subdued Jenny’s defiance of life’s expectations and Vonda’s voice smooth my discordant emotive candles that won’t stay lit, add in a touch of melting Joni & Divine Ms. Bette, gets me slow kickstarting and I have not reached the lofty plateau of twenty five years of age *but my mom, the  Queen Regent, reminds me royalty possesses very old souls, which Is why I’m caught out listening, dancing awake to the music of her youth* and hear her discreetly humming the tunes, even though the phone connection broken minutes earlier she signed off with a practised Elizabethan airy disturbance royal wave of her hand, instructing this raining (no, not reigning) Queen to  “darling go write a poem…” don’t we all listen to our mothers?* my name is brandychanning music inhale subdued kickstarting a poem
0
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 12:35 PM UTC
brandychanning
Retro Morn: Re-Reading Jenny and Her Purple Hat, Listening to Vonda Shepard
Retro Morn: Re-Reading Jenny (1.) and Her Purple Hat, (2.), Listening to Vonda Shepard I am a beautiful woman, and reliably informed so, by handsome. men, lustful fools, and one too many sideward glances in a difference place, musical needs call me out to retro smooth me away from the waves of nausea of news repeats ingested, the lesser qualities of human beings basic basest nature, I inhale subdued Jenny’s defiance of life’s expectations and Vonda’s voice smooth my discordant emotive candles that won’t stay lit, add in a touch of melting Joni & Divine Ms. Bette, gets me slow kickstarting and I have not reached the lofty plateau of twenty five years of age *but my mom, the  Queen Regent, reminds me royalty possesses very old souls, which Is why I’m caught out listening, dancing awake to the music of her youth* and hear her discreetly humming the tunes, even though the phone connection broken minutes earlier she signed off with a practised Elizabethan airy disturbance royal wave of her hand, instructing this raining (no, not reigning) Queen to  “darling go write a poem…” don’t we all listen to our mothers?* my name is brandychanning music inhale subdued kickstarting a poem
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22
<6:36 AM> ~for Joanne Louise Veronika~ patches of light, snatches of sleep, cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia, detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping who cares! new commitment, self imposed! greet the early ones with sooth and java, a combination, “all across the nation,” ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams, to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points, etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration the smoke haze bad dream departed, sun rays warmth for the invisible innards, waves look like the EKG of human at peace, resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet and I laugh at myself, preposterous! this is my secret path to restoration, please laugh at me, join the raucous joy of not-taking-yourself too seriously, meaning of a new light, fresh waters, of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective, a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality, a two-word~poem of meditative perfection: calm sheltering
0
Jun 10, 2023
Jun 10, 2023 at 7:05 AM UTC
whereshelter
Early Morn Meditation: Day-Lights-Hours
<6:36 AM> ~for Joanne Louise Veronika~ patches of light, snatches of sleep, cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia, detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping who cares! new commitment, self imposed! greet the early ones with sooth and java, a combination, “all across the nation,” ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams, to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points, etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration the smoke haze bad dream departed, sun rays warmth for the invisible innards, waves look like the EKG of human at peace, resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet and I laugh at myself, preposterous! this is my secret path to restoration, please laugh at me, join the raucous joy of not-taking-yourself too seriously, meaning of a new light, fresh waters, of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective, a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality, a two-word~poem of meditative perfection: calm sheltering
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27
Paved roads of cars that roam Are sure to grow weary on my bones. And there’s a high hill close to home Onto which I seldom venture alone. How I recall those many days of yore When we’d go fresh out in the morn; And up that hill now far across the globe Would stare for short eons into the fog.
0
Mar 21, 2022
Mar 21, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
solav
Float Along the Hills (2022)
Paved roads of cars that roam Are sure to grow weary on my bones. And there’s a high hill close to home Onto which I seldom venture alone. How I recall those many days of yore When we’d go fresh out in the morn; And up that hill now far across the globe Would stare for short eons into the fog.
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8
"STUNNING MORNING" A beautiful day is nothang but life, for a beautiful soul makes a beautiful morning. As the daylight appears it make obvious how beautiful and ravishing you're. The light in your eye is as bright as the sunlight sunlight. Wishing you a stunning morning as you really are. Good morning honey. Thinking about you. #C9_fm
0
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 6:44 PM UTC
cloudnine-fairmane-c-9-fm
STUNNING MORNING
"STUNNING MORNING" A beautiful day is nothang but life, for a beautiful soul makes a beautiful morning. As the daylight appears it make obvious how beautiful and ravishing you're. The light in your eye is as bright as the sunlight sunlight. Wishing you a stunning morning as you really are. Good morning honey. Thinking about you. #C9_fm
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3
atop the east hills an outer edge of sun rays were seen early this morn
0
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 7:39 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Haiku
atop the east hills an outer edge of sun rays were seen early this morn
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3
New Moon Melange (for Harlan Rivers originally, and now for Aparna, who reminded me how I used to write in the golden era of seven years of plenty, so long, so ago...)                          <> The softest cotton, Wears ever softer with every use. Contemplative introspection, Like digging a castle & moat in the sandy beach, You dread and joy, the knowing, Incoming tide will arrive destructive inevitable, Yet fill the moat, protect the kingdom, Till is undone and returned to the blocks of minuscule, Grains of sand. Answers found, maybe lost, once more, Necessitating questioning, non-stop processing, And a rebuilding tomorrow... Pas de choix But softer each time, easier with practice. Even if convoluted, it is still a revolution. Like twelve new moons, recycled. (occasionally a lucky thirteenth appears) Some of us are special chosen, To essay, to assay, the condition human, With a rock axe, tiny slivers chipped off, And yet new moon stones uncovered, needy of Cataloging, introspection, You can change the day, The month, The moon twelve, thirteen times, Hell, You can change your **** hat, But don't fool nobody, You are one of the special, You job to paint the verbal paintings, And to ascertain the meaning interior. For in doing so, you do all of us service. For your eyes see it ever so differently, For you, task, paint and reveal each New Moon’s Melange, your unchosen gift. to you
0
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
New Moon Melange (Sept. 2013)
New Moon Melange (for Harlan Rivers originally, and now for Aparna, who reminded me how I used to write in the golden era of seven years of plenty, so long, so ago...)                          <> The softest cotton, Wears ever softer with every use. Contemplative introspection, Like digging a castle & moat in the sandy beach, You dread and joy, the knowing, Incoming tide will arrive destructive inevitable, Yet fill the moat, protect the kingdom, Till is undone and returned to the blocks of minuscule, Grains of sand. Answers found, maybe lost, once more, Necessitating questioning, non-stop processing, And a rebuilding tomorrow... Pas de choix But softer each time, easier with practice. Even if convoluted, it is still a revolution. Like twelve new moons, recycled. (occasionally a lucky thirteenth appears) Some of us are special chosen, To essay, to assay, the condition human, With a rock axe, tiny slivers chipped off, And yet new moon stones uncovered, needy of Cataloging, introspection, You can change the day, The month, The moon twelve, thirteen times, Hell, You can change your **** hat, But don't fool nobody, You are one of the special, You job to paint the verbal paintings, And to ascertain the meaning interior. For in doing so, you do all of us service. For your eyes see it ever so differently, For you, task, paint and reveal each New Moon’s Melange, your unchosen gift. to you
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44
Today was my sister’s birthday But a day that turned gray A day that we were celebrating But took a family member away This day happened so fast A day that made everyone in my family gasp But this day was going to happen sooner or later On this day my lovely grandmother past I woke up in the morning I saw a text She’s fine That’s what I thought in my mind I panicked inside I hoped in the car with my two sisters and I While my dad Oh my dad stayed behind We drove with silence in the car with no one speaking But what we did not know was that my grandmother was already sleeping We pulled up to her neighborhood When my dad called my sister He said girls please come back home We rushed back as fast as we could My dad stood out front   Tears streamed down his face Trying to keep it all in As I quickened my pace We ran up to him with our arms wide open As we cried along with him No words needed to be spoken But this day was going to happen sooner or later On this day my lovely grandmother past
0
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 10:06 AM UTC
cece-2
March 12, 2017
Today was my sister’s birthday But a day that turned gray A day that we were celebrating But took a family member away This day happened so fast A day that made everyone in my family gasp But this day was going to happen sooner or later On this day my lovely grandmother past I woke up in the morning I saw a text She’s fine That’s what I thought in my mind I panicked inside I hoped in the car with my two sisters and I While my dad Oh my dad stayed behind We drove with silence in the car with no one speaking But what we did not know was that my grandmother was already sleeping We pulled up to her neighborhood When my dad called my sister He said girls please come back home We rushed back as fast as we could My dad stood out front   Tears streamed down his face Trying to keep it all in As I quickened my pace We ran up to him with our arms wide open As we cried along with him No words needed to be spoken But this day was going to happen sooner or later On this day my lovely grandmother past
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31
A gift from above Made with love Life to be had Too bad it was sad Hard to deal Never feeling healed A messed up head Thinking alive or dead Can't do it anymore Hell what life has it store Not Saying Goodbye But It's time to fly Now time for peace Life treated like a lease Wait why so many tears They didn't know about my fears. They shouldn't feel sad about my leaving I'm at peace and they are grieving.
0
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 1:09 AM UTC
Sunshine_666
Life Lease
A gift from above Made with love Life to be had Too bad it was sad Hard to deal Never feeling healed A messed up head Thinking alive or dead Can't do it anymore Hell what life has it store Not Saying Goodbye But It's time to fly Now time for peace Life treated like a lease Wait why so many tears They didn't know about my fears. They shouldn't feel sad about my leaving I'm at peace and they are grieving.
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18
An albino crow, On a fogless winter morn! Nature spells wrong!
0
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 10:00 AM UTC
k-balachandran
Nature spells it wrong!
An albino crow, On a fogless winter morn! Nature spells wrong!
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3
My gold and blue my dance and breath my heart content. As dawn does cast its warming flames my thoughts departs to kiss thy lips, to land on you and feast your soul. You are this love, you are this scent the one I wear and makes me yours. You are this life, the one we share. We spelt the word our souls now live. You are this morn, my every morn in us i am.
0
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Poetikitty
Good Morning Thee
My gold and blue my dance and breath my heart content. As dawn does cast its warming flames my thoughts departs to kiss thy lips, to land on you and feast your soul. You are this love, you are this scent the one I wear and makes me yours. You are this life, the one we share. We spelt the word our souls now live. You are this morn, my every morn in us i am.
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14
I met a woman who set flame everywhere she stepped and mourned the ashes that remained your name suits you , I claim no it doesn't , phoenix replies your name suits you , she retorts yes it does, , I agree blowing out her flames
0
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 11:56 PM UTC
latin
your name suits you
I met a woman who set flame everywhere she stepped and mourned the ashes that remained your name suits you , I claim no it doesn't , phoenix replies your name suits you , she retorts yes it does, , I agree blowing out her flames
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13
slowly the night fog creeps through our village's quiet sleeping streets by morn its thick cover shall be a shrouding mass
0
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 8:23 AM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Shrouding Mass (Dodoitsu)
slowly the night fog creeps through our village's quiet sleeping streets by morn its thick cover shall be a shrouding mass
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4
Is this normal- How I feel When I’m thinking of you and your pictures with him on Facebook? Is it nomal- How it fills me with rage when he gives you that little look I don’t think his heart drops the same way when He looks in your eyes- Butterflies can’t compare the way I feel I promise my darling That it hurts When he’s holding your hand and his smile carves your dimples Yeah, it hurts That you can’t love me the same Why can’t it be that simple? You own a piece of my soul so I Could never be whole We all have a pain, Mine has a name because it’s you And I can’t stand to be that man You only call when you’re lonely that He don’t have the time to spend on you- Or almost anyone.. And I don’t think my heart could be more numb than when I’m with you babe We all have a pain- Mine’s got a name. Ain’t it crazy How I’m still Hung over in love that we coul’ve had but missed it? Yes, it’s true I’m fighting a battle you’ve never known existed You’ve got your problems you deal with And I do too We all have a pain- Mine has a name because it’s you I wonder if there’s still a chance For future mutual romance Maybe time could be the key- Or pull the rug so then you’d fall for me And I wish that my three words Could charm your lips to return the phrase “I love you the same”.. But that’s just not our fate I know it’s true It’s only you- The one who’d tear my heart in two Once piece that longs to be happy And one that morns eternally Altogether I know I’m better off forgetting my worst mistake My number one pain Has got a name My pain has a name And it’s insane That it’s you
0
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
AlecAstaire
My Pain Has a Name
Is this normal- How I feel When I’m thinking of you and your pictures with him on Facebook? Is it nomal- How it fills me with rage when he gives you that little look I don’t think his heart drops the same way when He looks in your eyes- Butterflies can’t compare the way I feel I promise my darling That it hurts When he’s holding your hand and his smile carves your dimples Yeah, it hurts That you can’t love me the same Why can’t it be that simple? You own a piece of my soul so I Could never be whole We all have a pain, Mine has a name because it’s you And I can’t stand to be that man You only call when you’re lonely that He don’t have the time to spend on you- Or almost anyone.. And I don’t think my heart could be more numb than when I’m with you babe We all have a pain- Mine’s got a name. Ain’t it crazy How I’m still Hung over in love that we coul’ve had but missed it? Yes, it’s true I’m fighting a battle you’ve never known existed You’ve got your problems you deal with And I do too We all have a pain- Mine has a name because it’s you I wonder if there’s still a chance For future mutual romance Maybe time could be the key- Or pull the rug so then you’d fall for me And I wish that my three words Could charm your lips to return the phrase “I love you the same”.. But that’s just not our fate I know it’s true It’s only you- The one who’d tear my heart in two Once piece that longs to be happy And one that morns eternally Altogether I know I’m better off forgetting my worst mistake My number one pain Has got a name My pain has a name And it’s insane That it’s you
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53
Ain ’t no looking back for me      I feel trapped Lost in a whirlwind      Can’t adapt Boots placed against my neck    I can’t breathe Shackles dragging from my feet    I can’t leave Hands up don’t shoot    I’m unarmed Pray my children wake to see    Me unharmed America the beautiful    The land’s torn Pray for the night to end    Bring the morn.
0
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
KeefTheLastPoet
Bring the Morn
Ain ’t no looking back for me      I feel trapped Lost in a whirlwind      Can’t adapt Boots placed against my neck    I can’t breathe Shackles dragging from my feet    I can’t leave Hands up don’t shoot    I’m unarmed Pray my children wake to see    Me unharmed America the beautiful    The land’s torn Pray for the night to end    Bring the morn.
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16
the bright sunny morn induced birds into loud singing the bright sunny morn their chorusing rousing of horn as if they were message ringing a day replete in much shining the bright sunny morn
0
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
The Bright Sunny Morn (Rondelet)
the bright sunny morn induced birds into loud singing the bright sunny morn their chorusing rousing of horn as if they were message ringing a day replete in much shining the bright sunny morn
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7
Cold candy Pop rocks bursting in the morning hail My mouth a mess and mind untested Tired and still The morning reaches out to me But nothing gets better at this time of day I wish my words could carry me Like I carry a them, away
0
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
colmistoirm
Cold Mornings
Cold candy Pop rocks bursting in the morning hail My mouth a mess and mind untested Tired and still The morning reaches out to me But nothing gets better at this time of day I wish my words could carry me Like I carry a them, away
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8
vivid blushes of cerise painted the morn's waking dawn they served as a portent to the coming rains
0
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
ElizabethSquires
Blushes (Dodoitsu)
vivid blushes of cerise painted the morn's waking dawn they served as a portent to the coming rains
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4
*This sunrise is very beautiful With a hue of pink and a rareness which Befits the weariness of red eyes As slowly over the Catskills she Rises and resides Until she can be seen within the sky Pure as almond and ivory   Backed by the dawn and the day alike Who am I to stand here in her way? Who am I to say that she shouldn’t try? I can only trust and occasionally wish That she would honor me with a simple kiss Of morning dew, and a smile wide For that, in this, my morning eyes   Would bring great joy to me in my life*
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Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC
colmistoirm
Miss Sunrise
*This sunrise is very beautiful With a hue of pink and a rareness which Befits the weariness of red eyes As slowly over the Catskills she Rises and resides Until she can be seen within the sky Pure as almond and ivory   Backed by the dawn and the day alike Who am I to stand here in her way? Who am I to say that she shouldn’t try? I can only trust and occasionally wish That she would honor me with a simple kiss Of morning dew, and a smile wide For that, in this, my morning eyes   Would bring great joy to me in my life*
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15
Sweet slumbering, sublime surmise Dreams one source of oblivion, a rendition of her submission Imagined kisses taking her slowly, staring into those eyes Fast asleep, breathing sweetly, lost in purgatory or perdition? A tear falls in the night, forgotten and forlorn A secret relic of sorrow and joy in simplistic form Glorious, but gone, long before morn A moment of clarity, you stir to say goodnight, I weather the storm Of emotion, the joy and the tinge of pain As another night fades away and denies Your touch, the taste of us is sought but I shall not gain A trap in the dream telling me lies Daylight brings the flame of life Mirror full of lost secrets and the end of yet another night Of delight and desire, burning strife Such is the dis-glamour of our union and desire, strong is the bite Bitter but oh so sweet the broken Trampled, mangled, torn asunder, it's a long road to tend That angel who slumbers, still in rest, what rages unspoken... Within' makes me shudder... but mine is to mend Marks upon her heart and soul Lingers long, heals slow Heavy is the toll Great the distance, greater the longing; dealing with all I don’t know I could ramble on and on in poem and prose **** seductive or tender and soft, the words I might find Only the bottom of her heart and soul, knows What limitless bounds, memories and pain that cling and bind Fate and fortune to my will That at journeys end "we" go beyond her history Seeking all that we can, beauty beyond my measure, dreams to fulfill For a moment or an eternity, oh that mystery Lost in moments as I sit and reflect on the words, barely aware Have I finished or simply begun A prologue, composed at 14 after midnight’s kiss, sitting in my chair Past, present, future - matters at hand; one by one Line by line it takes form I find function for each word, making a case Nothing of the norm Each word has it's place, like tender kisses on that lovely face What words, what fate, what shall I do I find myself working, crafting, smithin', my reason sound asleep I wish I was lying next to you If I lay my head upon that pillow, my soul might weep In joy, watching the gentle rise of thy chest Lying next to thee, how divine Bodies, hearts and souls at rest Words to open the story well, hints in each line ~Wes Noneya Lay Me In Your Stead Upon That Bed Of Nails '06
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Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
wes-noneya
Sublime Surmise
Sweet slumbering, sublime surmise Dreams one source of oblivion, a rendition of her submission Imagined kisses taking her slowly, staring into those eyes Fast asleep, breathing sweetly, lost in purgatory or perdition? A tear falls in the night, forgotten and forlorn A secret relic of sorrow and joy in simplistic form Glorious, but gone, long before morn A moment of clarity, you stir to say goodnight, I weather the storm Of emotion, the joy and the tinge of pain As another night fades away and denies Your touch, the taste of us is sought but I shall not gain A trap in the dream telling me lies Daylight brings the flame of life Mirror full of lost secrets and the end of yet another night Of delight and desire, burning strife Such is the dis-glamour of our union and desire, strong is the bite Bitter but oh so sweet the broken Trampled, mangled, torn asunder, it's a long road to tend That angel who slumbers, still in rest, what rages unspoken... Within' makes me shudder... but mine is to mend Marks upon her heart and soul Lingers long, heals slow Heavy is the toll Great the distance, greater the longing; dealing with all I don’t know I could ramble on and on in poem and prose **** seductive or tender and soft, the words I might find Only the bottom of her heart and soul, knows What limitless bounds, memories and pain that cling and bind Fate and fortune to my will That at journeys end "we" go beyond her history Seeking all that we can, beauty beyond my measure, dreams to fulfill For a moment or an eternity, oh that mystery Lost in moments as I sit and reflect on the words, barely aware Have I finished or simply begun A prologue, composed at 14 after midnight’s kiss, sitting in my chair Past, present, future - matters at hand; one by one Line by line it takes form I find function for each word, making a case Nothing of the norm Each word has it's place, like tender kisses on that lovely face What words, what fate, what shall I do I find myself working, crafting, smithin', my reason sound asleep I wish I was lying next to you If I lay my head upon that pillow, my soul might weep In joy, watching the gentle rise of thy chest Lying next to thee, how divine Bodies, hearts and souls at rest Words to open the story well, hints in each line ~Wes Noneya Lay Me In Your Stead Upon That Bed Of Nails '06
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53
In my old house there seemed an old spirit or maybe a mischievous mouse I use to lay in my old room at night tired of the preceding day The house would speak tales of bomp, crattles, and creak and here's what it had to say "Womp, boop, dat, flush, whoosh, and crack" late at night the house would say "Thud, crick, snap, whip, Bang, Bang, Bang, blip" laying on my bed this trip And in the morn when the old blinds were torn here's what the old house had to say "Pop, pop, pop, pop, slam, nick, split, lop" the old house continued to say "Whack, ding, bump, splat, hack, ping, thwump, flap" wondering what made it sound this way And through the noon and into the night my old house chatted all day As I lay here thinking I get the sinking feeling that I'll start making it say "Go to sleep and good night, don't let the bed bugs bite, I'll always have something to say"
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Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 3:54 AM UTC
thales
The House Speaks
In my old house there seemed an old spirit or maybe a mischievous mouse I use to lay in my old room at night tired of the preceding day The house would speak tales of bomp, crattles, and creak and here's what it had to say "Womp, boop, dat, flush, whoosh, and crack" late at night the house would say "Thud, crick, snap, whip, Bang, Bang, Bang, blip" laying on my bed this trip And in the morn when the old blinds were torn here's what the old house had to say "Pop, pop, pop, pop, slam, nick, split, lop" the old house continued to say "Whack, ding, bump, splat, hack, ping, thwump, flap" wondering what made it sound this way And through the noon and into the night my old house chatted all day As I lay here thinking I get the sinking feeling that I'll start making it say "Go to sleep and good night, don't let the bed bugs bite, I'll always have something to say"
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