#notation - Hello Poetry

The throne room Iconoclast, worldly color To a fashion of wishes, in this gloom We succeed the curt, if not courteous, with valor... Simple irony, in the verse of the sky Spare, succinct, share and relinquish Hold the scare, of a time to rely Upon a salty stare, that does wish: Halves of silence, a waiting egg With two thoughts, to give you A hair is a story, best served in bed A stare is hoary, unless a smile runs into could... A sign on the door, that knew the heat Forever in a swallow of water, that has smelled a flower Show, merit, know, and scare; inspiration... Is a jewel of family's, to understate a certain power Lightning strikes, but luck never does Your chances and ye somberness Is a quieter finish, to a meal to the ingenue of us A weary stare that is, the place of a need's wisdom? How, comes the voice of the king... Sweet as a strive, sour as a stark can be My notion, to feed the forlorn, is a sweaty promise, to mean Is a caring God, the privilege of a charity in couth, or a shallow ****

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Feb 2

Feb 2, 2026 at 1:27 PM UTC

david-hilburn

Noticing God, Spends Time On The Road...

The throne room Iconoclast, worldly color To a fashion of wishes, in this gloom We succeed the curt, if not courteous, with valor... Simple irony, in the verse of the sky Spare, succinct, share and relinquish Hold the scare, of a time to rely Upon a salty stare, that does wish: Halves of silence, a waiting egg With two thoughts, to give you A hair is a story, best served in bed A stare is hoary, unless a smile runs into could... A sign on the door, that knew the heat Forever in a swallow of water, that has smelled a flower Show, merit, know, and scare; inspiration... Is a jewel of family's, to understate a certain power Lightning strikes, but luck never does Your chances and ye somberness Is a quieter finish, to a meal to the ingenue of us A weary stare that is, the place of a need's wisdom? How, comes the voice of the king... Sweet as a strive, sour as a stark can be My notion, to feed the forlorn, is a sweaty promise, to mean Is a caring God, the privilege of a charity in couth, or a shallow ****

24

Attentive student of the songs of birds, No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds Or minor with musicality more skill'd. Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung By birds which yet harmoniously fit. And though the book began in higher throats Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes, (Which often rest them now upon a stand), Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave) Witness thy penmanship on every stave. ^ ^

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Mar 6, 2015

Mar 6, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC

grame-rabbit

To Antonio Vivaldi

Attentive student of the songs of birds, No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds Or minor with musicality more skill'd. Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung By birds which yet harmoniously fit. And though the book began in higher throats Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes, (Which often rest them now upon a stand), Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave) Witness thy penmanship on every stave. ^ ^

15

Hurricane season All throughout my cotton pocket Comfort, such a tricky muse, I found it! Nope.. that’s not it. But it was, a subtle fuzziness, My nerves suddenly honey dipped The sweetest, **** here comes the bees & once again i’m running stiff. Freest when i’m knotted up I gotta bottle up The ****** such and such Until I’m still enough to drift beyond the cusp The same setting sun, The same son will set unsettled. Another silent night, Another fight against the nettles. I need a rest, To feel closer to death. To keep me at my best. It’s like a test, Each time I lay in bed. I have to try my best. To stay there, Blankets wrapping round me Don’t ground me. Still awake, I lay, awaiting sleep to come and drown me.

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Sep 25, 2014

Sep 25, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC

hooflip

Cotton Pocket

Hurricane season All throughout my cotton pocket Comfort, such a tricky muse, I found it! Nope.. that’s not it. But it was, a subtle fuzziness, My nerves suddenly honey dipped The sweetest, **** here comes the bees & once again i’m running stiff. Freest when i’m knotted up I gotta bottle up The ****** such and such Until I’m still enough to drift beyond the cusp The same setting sun, The same son will set unsettled. Another silent night, Another fight against the nettles. I need a rest, To feel closer to death. To keep me at my best. It’s like a test, Each time I lay in bed. I have to try my best. To stay there, Blankets wrapping round me Don’t ground me. Still awake, I lay, awaiting sleep to come and drown me.

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