Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#tulle
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.."
0
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.."
Continue reading...
65