#rigid - Hello Poetry

_Peace abides in the gentle velvet folds of patient time; When industry is forgotten and rigid right angles Give way to soft currents of inspiration; Lacking definition, judgement or expectation My yardstick shrinks and disintegrates into nothingness... Inadequate to the task of measuring infinity._

0

Mar 13, 2021

Mar 13, 2021 at 1:00 AM UTC

annh

Measuring Infinity

_Peace abides in the gentle velvet folds of patient time; When industry is forgotten and rigid right angles Give way to soft currents of inspiration; Lacking definition, judgement or expectation My yardstick shrinks and disintegrates into nothingness... Inadequate to the task of measuring infinity._

6

Sometimes my rigid thoughts turn to glass on the way up my throat, slicing my voice box and chipping my teeth. How does one speak when the words are doing nothing, but mangling my mouth and flooding my brain?

0

Feb 19, 2021

Feb 19, 2021 at 1:12 PM UTC

grxy_n_cloudy

Sharp Words

Sometimes my rigid thoughts turn to glass on the way up my throat, slicing my voice box and chipping my teeth. How does one speak when the words are doing nothing, but mangling my mouth and flooding my brain?

7

We are naked when born Choosing our place among forlorn ancestors After death, a structured life denotes our span Our modern thinking will not save the hunger pangs For the meals are crisp, delightful as religious rites are Born are we to serve our fathers Who give everything to their fathers Living a life of servitude Never striding next to kings What of the princes knowing no solicitude We are only mere classmates In a college of wisdom Wizened by the plight of our teachers To lead a nation or cure cancer We are naked to ourselves, as we are simply accident-prone If we linger on in this blue planet Life most come to a tragic end Where the followers of the chapel proceedings Get the most out of this age-old tradition Often divorcing logic from religion

0

Jul 4, 2020

Jul 4, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC

aditya-roy

Followers Of The Burning Chapel

We are naked when born Choosing our place among forlorn ancestors After death, a structured life denotes our span Our modern thinking will not save the hunger pangs For the meals are crisp, delightful as religious rites are Born are we to serve our fathers Who give everything to their fathers Living a life of servitude Never striding next to kings What of the princes knowing no solicitude We are only mere classmates In a college of wisdom Wizened by the plight of our teachers To lead a nation or cure cancer We are naked to ourselves, as we are simply accident-prone If we linger on in this blue planet Life most come to a tragic end Where the followers of the chapel proceedings Get the most out of this age-old tradition Often divorcing logic from religion

20

When dreams are so vivid, all my memories get rigid. As I don't know which are real, but nothing has ever been ideal. So I'll simply write about thee As I sip my confusion smoothie.

0

Jun 4, 2020

Jun 4, 2020 at 4:19 PM UTC

Forever_a_ghost

Confusion Smoothie

When dreams are so vivid, all my memories get rigid. As I don't know which are real, but nothing has ever been ideal. So I'll simply write about thee As I sip my confusion smoothie.

6

Trees turning late September Leaves nosediving the ground I know I should be changing too Think as evening comes around Fighting my shifting demons Dropped to shaking knees Autumn's knife struck my heart Chill spreading like disease With eyes shut in cold apprehension Underneath a waning moon Dreams Sunshine Disappear and are replaced By fear of Winter coming soon Wrapped tight in blanket of desperation Colors switch to dull from bright The nights steadily grow longer See less and less clinging daylight Making pathetic attempts Lift myself off the floor To transform like the weather Wishing to not be the same anymore But heart remains frozen solid The months continue on Seek a metamorphosis Still meet resistance each dawn Temperatures decrease little by little Doubts and insecurity rise Avoid facing the bitter wind Everything in nature dies Animals go into complete hiding Have to admit I relate Sleeping in to escape the world A way I also hibernate I try climbing towards my goals Instead like seasons dizzily Fall down Stripped barer than naked jagged branches Forced beneath icy feelings to drown Frost covers each surface Departs as morning wakes Dew remains as evidence Like shavings after erased mistakes Not long until snow layers earth Buries all white touches I couldn't bury flaws as well Bad habits caught in my clutches I stand rigid as an anchor Though it might sound strange Time ages all surroundings Somehow I don't change

0

Mar 24, 2020

Mar 24, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC

AmandaKayBurke

Unchanging

Trees turning late September Leaves nosediving the ground I know I should be changing too Think as evening comes around Fighting my shifting demons Dropped to shaking knees Autumn's knife struck my heart Chill spreading like disease With eyes shut in cold apprehension Underneath a waning moon Dreams Sunshine Disappear and are replaced By fear of Winter coming soon Wrapped tight in blanket of desperation Colors switch to dull from bright The nights steadily grow longer See less and less clinging daylight Making pathetic attempts Lift myself off the floor To transform like the weather Wishing to not be the same anymore But heart remains frozen solid The months continue on Seek a metamorphosis Still meet resistance each dawn Temperatures decrease little by little Doubts and insecurity rise Avoid facing the bitter wind Everything in nature dies Animals go into complete hiding Have to admit I relate Sleeping in to escape the world A way I also hibernate I try climbing towards my goals Instead like seasons dizzily Fall down Stripped barer than naked jagged branches Forced beneath icy feelings to drown Frost covers each surface Departs as morning wakes Dew remains as evidence Like shavings after erased mistakes Not long until snow layers earth Buries all white touches I couldn't bury flaws as well Bad habits caught in my clutches I stand rigid as an anchor Though it might sound strange Time ages all surroundings Somehow I don't change

50

His hand on mine, Guiding the pencil lines He chuckled at my scripted joke Destructive structure

0

Nov 4, 2018

Nov 4, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC

Porto-graffiti

Essayed

His hand on mine, Guiding the pencil lines He chuckled at my scripted joke Destructive structure

4

I stare at the temporary sky I wonder when it will fall down and apart Time is rigid, it won't bend, so spend Each moment in the present close to your heart

0

May 17, 2018

May 17, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC

AmandaKayBurke

The Temporary Sky

I stare at the temporary sky I wonder when it will fall down and apart Time is rigid, it won't bend, so spend Each moment in the present close to your heart

4

I wasn't there most days skipping that class at school I didn't like assignments made they struck me, mean, and cruel Don't use so many commas dear why didn't you use the colon? gestapo English causing fear my brain inflamed, and swollen I survived the curriculum barely passing, with a D teacher proclaimed, incorrigible and threw more words at me Too this day I wander back wondering what might have been attentive in my English class turning out, my pen both sharp and keen

0

Feb 21, 2018

Feb 21, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC

TemporalFugue

The Author I never was, or ever will be

I wasn't there most days skipping that class at school I didn't like assignments made they struck me, mean, and cruel Don't use so many commas dear why didn't you use the colon? gestapo English causing fear my brain inflamed, and swollen I survived the curriculum barely passing, with a D teacher proclaimed, incorrigible and threw more words at me Too this day I wander back wondering what might have been attentive in my English class turning out, my pen both sharp and keen

17

take it. go ahead, take it. it won't harm you. i dare you. The evil serpet lies as it slithers down my back. It's hiss and whispers send chills through my body. I am stiff, I am rigid. I said take it. You will achieve great happiness. *Just outstretch your arms, and it will be yours.* Mind turns to greed, My eyes turn red like the blood of the serpent's prey. I open my arms, letting myself feel the power hit me, knocking me to the ground. See here, For you have taken what wasn't yours. You have played my little game, and for that, you shall pay. I lay on the ground, blinking in confusion. My eyes. They fill with water, they drain their color. I cry red, hot, fiery tears that burn as they roll down my face. This. This is the least pain I deserve.

0

Nov 4, 2016

Nov 4, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC

addisonmay

Temptations

take it. go ahead, take it. it won't harm you. i dare you. The evil serpet lies as it slithers down my back. It's hiss and whispers send chills through my body. I am stiff, I am rigid. I said take it. You will achieve great happiness. *Just outstretch your arms, and it will be yours.* Mind turns to greed, My eyes turn red like the blood of the serpent's prey. I open my arms, letting myself feel the power hit me, knocking me to the ground. See here, For you have taken what wasn't yours. You have played my little game, and for that, you shall pay. I lay on the ground, blinking in confusion. My eyes. They fill with water, they drain their color. I cry red, hot, fiery tears that burn as they roll down my face. This. This is the least pain I deserve.

24

Everyday people say things like this: You know Marie, Every child is a blessing--- but It's such a cliche thing to say. There were 3 pregnancies... Mine included Only 1 prevailed I sipped my liquor; She ate her dinner. Although diluted... ...so I disputed. This is what 'they' really wanted. Meanwhile, I already birthed 3 kids. A happily Married couple vs. A woman who was simply supple! I still Wonder why This pregnancy survived.................

0

Oct 20, 2016

Oct 20, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC

jinn-prashanti

Unfortunate

Everyday people say things like this: You know Marie, Every child is a blessing--- but It's such a cliche thing to say. There were 3 pregnancies... Mine included Only 1 prevailed I sipped my liquor; She ate her dinner. Although diluted... ...so I disputed. This is what 'they' really wanted. Meanwhile, I already birthed 3 kids. A happily Married couple vs. A woman who was simply supple! I still Wonder why This pregnancy survived.................

18

School is just a prison. White walls. Strict rules. Itching souls. School is just a prison. After all, we're told what to wear, when to eat, what to do, what to say, how to behave. School is just a prison. What voice do students have? What power do we hold? What checks and balances exist by us? Like prisoners, all we can do, is bow our heads and just take it.

0

Apr 11, 2016

Apr 11, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC

hailey-ngo

Food For Thought

School is just a prison. White walls. Strict rules. Itching souls. School is just a prison. After all, we're told what to wear, when to eat, what to do, what to say, how to behave. School is just a prison. What voice do students have? What power do we hold? What checks and balances exist by us? Like prisoners, all we can do, is bow our heads and just take it.

19

Muscles are a network of steel cables. Winding together forming the landscape of the body, Coiled to spring, convolted and twisting. Rigid and strained, beneath the skin. Taut. Tense.

0

Jan 17, 2015

Jan 17, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC

chloe-chapman

Tense

Muscles are a network of steel cables. Winding together forming the landscape of the body, Coiled to spring, convolted and twisting. Rigid and strained, beneath the skin. Taut. Tense.

5

Winter song. Fall passing. And too with so many like this. When she is not there- Vibrations after the battle, footsteps breathing deeply into the cotton beds and privy the shrews of their slavery. Heavens' toll after me, brine and abalone shimmering. Cast in a shadow of half-arched feet, slender narrowness shimmering crystals obfuscate the fury of the ringing; Every evening when I wake she shakes her bell. It ripples like food coloring droplets undulating in a dixie cup on the mantel of a kitchen sink. The elbows sprout out first, then the head stridently strikes upwards catapulting the arms and wrists to the sides, and then at last when all is deep ****** blue, the raw hairless legs unmask themselves and fold out into the edge of a postcard and the reddy, cerise snowflake stain brands the juicy signature of an incredible beautifully imprinted star. And still she is not there. Into the white rooms the insects crawl, at last the cacophony of their bedeviled stridulations eeking as if from a broken and collapsed jaw. A necessary end to every inch of hoarfrost strung across their elliptical hoot-shaped jowls- These are the marks that time encrusts upon disheveled and dilapidated Spline. In dark matter there are Spline. In shifty daytime television sitcoms, Spline saw at our ears and cost us trillions of migraines each year. Three Splines sit on a log, another four on a fence. They race each other in elevators, make inappropriate gestures, make airplanes disappear into the Indian ocean, and steal the breath right out of our lungs. Spline cannot come any closer. Spline are the dreary minutia which separate friends, they are the sentence that never makes it off of our tongues, the anger we leave curled into our fists. She is not here and the fevers are burning. The languages are deafening. It is almost impossible to believe words like these were ever spoken aloud. She is not here and the jeans don't fit, the dogs are shy, and the accidents keep happening. There is never a glimpse at perfect and hot happiness. There is nothing here but the spotty ash-pocked masked faces of the Moon Men, hurrying and scurrying. She is not here and the sea is drying up. The war is in the street and in the streets the men are dying. Everywhere is dross and cataclysmic end-dust, desiccated hours and dandelion seeds. Inside of the room the music plays softly. Glass's solo piano Metamorphosis Three and Satie's Gymnopedie. It has been only six hours since she left, but When we see each other I am superman

0

Oct 4, 2014

Oct 4, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC

martin-narrod

For Kristine

Winter song. Fall passing. And too with so many like this. When she is not there- Vibrations after the battle, footsteps breathing deeply into the cotton beds and privy the shrews of their slavery. Heavens' toll after me, brine and abalone shimmering. Cast in a shadow of half-arched feet, slender narrowness shimmering crystals obfuscate the fury of the ringing; Every evening when I wake she shakes her bell. It ripples like food coloring droplets undulating in a dixie cup on the mantel of a kitchen sink. The elbows sprout out first, then the head stridently strikes upwards catapulting the arms and wrists to the sides, and then at last when all is deep ****** blue, the raw hairless legs unmask themselves and fold out into the edge of a postcard and the reddy, cerise snowflake stain brands the juicy signature of an incredible beautifully imprinted star. And still she is not there. Into the white rooms the insects crawl, at last the cacophony of their bedeviled stridulations eeking as if from a broken and collapsed jaw. A necessary end to every inch of hoarfrost strung across their elliptical hoot-shaped jowls- These are the marks that time encrusts upon disheveled and dilapidated Spline. In dark matter there are Spline. In shifty daytime television sitcoms, Spline saw at our ears and cost us trillions of migraines each year. Three Splines sit on a log, another four on a fence. They race each other in elevators, make inappropriate gestures, make airplanes disappear into the Indian ocean, and steal the breath right out of our lungs. Spline cannot come any closer. Spline are the dreary minutia which separate friends, they are the sentence that never makes it off of our tongues, the anger we leave curled into our fists. She is not here and the fevers are burning. The languages are deafening. It is almost impossible to believe words like these were ever spoken aloud. She is not here and the jeans don't fit, the dogs are shy, and the accidents keep happening. There is never a glimpse at perfect and hot happiness. There is nothing here but the spotty ash-pocked masked faces of the Moon Men, hurrying and scurrying. She is not here and the sea is drying up. The war is in the street and in the streets the men are dying. Everywhere is dross and cataclysmic end-dust, desiccated hours and dandelion seeds. Inside of the room the music plays softly. Glass's solo piano Metamorphosis Three and Satie's Gymnopedie. It has been only six hours since she left, but When we see each other I am superman

13