#vocabulary
I'll never tell,
Because between everyone, everything,
Someone wanted to remember home,
Before arms got scars,
Dreams lost forever,
Feel normal again only different.
You're late,
Nothing,
They'll speak until broken lungs,
Break.
Good people hear anything,
Next thing that's being left behind.
Find anything-
Stop, before things can't close.
Deep doesn't look enough,
Even sleep didn't last.
Soul against mind,
Try something bad
Keep being beautiful, girl.
Fear meant failure.
Don't love myself, think maybe...
Whole thing...
Sorry...
Forever lost,
Hands without fingers always die.
Falling hard against every floor.
Taken away,
Those legs sit well, around stars.
There's tears, pain.
Child should wake, live.
Hours turn,
Words trying.
Eyes, heart, still mirror breath.
Hate thoughts.
Feeling made chest need ground.
Anymore weight wasn't worse, better
Days inside,
Little room that's supposed why,
Every matter, moment,
Life put off,
Well hair knew
Blood
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 12:49 PM UTC
With hands tied behind back.
Shallow breaths as air turns to fire
Lungs burn starved, body quakes jerks, and fear takes hold, panic froze mind looking for any sweet relief from poison air, savagely i thrash around, nothing has meaning until i can breathe, body tied down, survival takes hold, Lungs seize, body seizes. I drown on dry land.
.
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
I ordered a blazing Bordellino and mescal
what's that you say, why it's an alcoholic drink made with the
fruit of a wild tree, typically flavored with orange peel
I was sat next to a Pilator
that's a person who guides someone or something
this guy was the father figure of political science
it's not the same as a mentor, no
his name was Mitchell, and Mitchell was his name
His wife was an Amarrat
in case you are not aware, that's a
woman who is an Honorary Dame, ranked above a
Privy Council or Baroness
Martha was her name, and her name was Martha
I must admit they both had
something of the Snarper about them
Pilators and Amarrats tend toward the snobbish
While sipping our Bordellinos we were offered
some Compugns which, I'm sure you know, are
small edible drums with antennae
found in tropical and subtropical regions
This alarming snack was followed by a
hearty slab of Terraea, the Argentine cheese
which derives from dried sambalaya
Mitchell and Martha, their mouths masticating the Terraea,
confided in me that they were Paulpaul quartees.
That was their Snarperish way of confessing
they had a keen interest in wine
They longed to impart all they knew
as part of their Praecological - 'it's more
than merely educational' - mission. Indeed they
insisted on being known as world class
Praecologicalists, even when they
were cross-eyed on Bordellinos and frothing with Terraea
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 2:27 PM UTC
I have logolepsy
I love learning about
all these new words
expanding my vocabulary
tenacious
quiddity
eclectic
capricious
psithurism
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:26 PM UTC
I've got a real honker,
Of a vocabulary.
Many ****** words,
Hairy statements,
Merry installations.
Whacking through words,
Like it's chopping wood.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
Commit it,
If loving me is an act of treason.
I love you,
And I want to rest in your prison.
Your heart,
May it reflect all of my emotion.
Your lap,
I will rest my head with devotion.
Your hair,
They would obfuscate my vision.
This love,
It will shine brighter than the sun.
Just 'coz,
True love is a two-way phenomenon.
Oct 29, 2024
Oct 29, 2024 at 7:13 AM UTC
I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past
crumbling at the edges
eroded over time
aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor
once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow
it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night
now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware
new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”
a litany of tests are conducted
let’s begin with a blood test
maybe a ***** sample
we can schedule an MRI
is this a heart attack
there is a CAT or CT scan as it is known
what about the C word, cancer
let’s do an ultrasound
ff that doesn’t find it there is always
an endoscopy or colonoscopy complete with biopsy
the realization that life’s destiny is prevailing
is the end nigh
the relic you have become
looking at you in the mirror of life
Andreas Simic©
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 6:12 AM UTC
They speak to the madman,
Suppression, subversion, detraction,
A vocabulary of ‘less than’.
They speak to the madman,
To the loveless and the wounded,
The self-doubting ego.
They speak to the madman,
A consort of shadows,
Recurrent with paradox.
_Until...uncertain as to the integrity of my own thoughts,
Understudied by self-censure and distrust,
I pause to listen in silence to the silence which listens back._
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:39 AM UTC
goodnight,
as you shut your eyes
let all the pressure melt away
gently drift as slumber sets
dream gracefully as I know you do
and when you rise
with euneirophrenia kissing you softly
I'll only hope that I took part
in creating your bliss
the way you continue to create mine
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 8:14 PM UTC
Writing a chapter full on mystery,
with a few needed twists and turns,
like a fresh rose out of many thorns,
it is my own self that I need to lock horns.
Describing you in detail,
to walk through your life trail,
doesn’t matter if my love for you was frail,
all I need to do is set sail.
Wish I had your vocabulary,
I know my wisdom about you is temporary,
I love to make it our new dictionary,
for when you search for me,
you will always find me even if I was imaginary.
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
I don't write them anymore
I say I've lost my words
But in truth, they never left
Bubbling under the surface of my lips
Like sweet blisters of hope, confusion and rancor
I am really [only] a living dictionary
My thoughts like a river
My mouth like a hose
But you always say stop.
So they just sit, drying up
While I breathe through my nose.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 3:24 PM UTC
trill giant, bean, money supreme call me hero scheme...
explosion bigger then herosheme beg pray an plead, seed...
mounted talled then then everest crest on my arthur sword...
wont take your word my voice is command an this may end....
end the desitile an destruction of this so called universed paradox...
you pave the way burned an let it combust pollute an ****
my breed fiends, soul survivors, ready for war free will...
buck buck...
if you believe i have faith in that freedom we will reposess...
the lands ours so why pay when it grows naturally? killin labels...
riot riot migrate mass congregation considual concentraion...
illistrating demonstrating contemplating praise the cricifex...
look at an illusion an repent poetial habitation accept fact...
whats out there is bleak random an not factually explained...
news media major coorperation all ask for a tax you cant afford...
when will the truth in society face you an massivly move society...
sorry you heard it from me
make fiction fact
create true vision
precision
precise choice
a freedom paced
adapted
at war from peace
a war that should end
a stress we dont need
THE END
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 12:17 AM UTC
BREATH
the wisdom infused air of gift available in quiet.
PEACE
the liquid gold for the soul.
DREAMS
seeds that flower in heart.
FAITH
vine that flowers within with focus.
LIGHT
the positive energy that fills lungs in breath.
PRAYER
the expressions of need that angels, and God, cannot ignore.
HEARTBEAT
music that plays as divine song of life.
NEGATIVITY - dark energies meant to integrate for peace.
JUDGEMENTS- the absence of self love and disconnection from Gods shower of love.
ABUNDANCE
the present everywhere and a birthright
COMPASSION
quality buried but forgotten inside all humans.
COURAGE
the attribute inside of everyone.
EGO - the tool to reprogram all the doubts and fears in order to realign with heart
REJOICE- spark that makes cells and heart dance
JOURNEY - earth stage for healing s and grand experience for eternal soul.
ETERNAL
the self as beings divine.
THOUGHTS
the opportunity to shift ones reality for joy and bliss.
MEDITATION
pond in mind that, inside quiet mirrors serenity
FORGIVENESS
act of reconnecting to ones own greatness as a God-child.
SUPPORT
the blanket of love placed on one by spiritual world as they recall they are not alone.
HOPE
the tool used in mind to initiate miracles.
MIRACLES
Gifts around everyone activated when one believes.
LOVE
fuel that takes us back to God.
GOD
THE ENERGETIC CORD THAT RUNS THROUGH ALL.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
We are all dictionaries;
Collections of words,
Defined by our commonality,
Refined by our uniqueness.
We edit and omit,
Abbreviate and compound,
Expanding our vocabulary,
In the hope of rewriting our yesterdays
Into a best-selling tomorrow.
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 12:39 AM UTC
This is a true, but amusing tale,
Hope your laughter does not fail,
'Tis a saga of a cockatoo,
Of life, he held a jaundiced view,
At the going down of the sun,
Cocky embellished his own fun,
And at the rising of each dawn,
Cocky's catharsis our ears did adorn,
The parrot kept talking, none listened to he,
Cocky had such a vivid vocabulary,
All starting with "F...ing C...'s"!
We heard his morning matins, you see,
His vespers were hard to believe,
'Twas sociolinguistic acquisition, prithee,
His jaded look at society,
Swearing is cathartic, but so lazy......
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:00 AM UTC
A forgotten language of love.
So oafish a man, I could not be,
Except when speaking of ones love for thee.
For I have not in my use of vocabulary,
The words to speak of the way I do feel.
No word do I have to describe my ladies eyes;
So enchanting though thou are, me myself I do despise.
As do I the language of my place of birth;
For no sentence is so profound that I may speak it to her.
And show with conviction, my devotion for this woman,
So my words are seen false and lost in translation.
This is my ode in the language of old,
Thou no teachings has one been given,
One simply writes from the soul;
The heart, the buxom and the mind,
For such beauty I cannot describe, using words of this time.
But one does hope with the use of T.V.,
One has learned enough to speak.
And to speak to thee is ones only wish,
For about thee is all one can think.
And possibly through the use of poetry,
One will be able to speak of ones fondness for thee.
Thou may not be convinced that this truth is real,
Yet I shall not lie to thee.
If a secret must be kept to preserve my dignity,
Or to aid or save thee from my own misgivings.
Then one shall simply hold his tongue,
In order to save thee from any harm.
But if one should speak of ones honesty,
Then know this my Queen; thou are all that I need
And one will not be swayed, by a harlot or *****
One shall offer you my heart and be faithfully yours…
Forever more.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC
Harried, Harassed, Hassled and Hounded-
These are the H-words I work by.
Harpies and Henchmen, Harridans and Heathens-
These are the H-folk I work with.
Hubbub and Hokum and Hurly-burly-
These are the places I do it.
Hoodlums and Hooligans, loaded with Hubris-
These are the clients I deal with.
Heartless and Horrible, Hateful and Hurtful
These are the attitudes around me.
Hopeless and Hapless, Haggard and Helpless-
This is the way I usually feel.
What happened to Happy, and Hopeful and Harmony-
These are the H-words I search for.
Hinder and Hobble, Heckle and Hamper-
These are the Hamstrings that trip me.
Heaven and Harmony, Humor and Honor-
These are the things that I strive for.
Havoc and Hades, Hurt, Hate and Hauteur-
These are the H’s that I have to conquer.
Hope, Help, and Herculean effort-
Is How I will finally get myself Home.
ljm
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
I have mistaken you, for the great wielder of language, that in the times of Caesar my father, my hero, the castle builder in mid-century medieval Spain, he was not. Painting mustard seeds and his mistake, bulbs of garlic for warding off the blood-suckers, I don't think it was his intention, but he could paint potatoes the flavor of want my sister and I so craved when she and I and him, revering in our trident throng forged language before a fading Tuesday night.
A painter is great rarely, but occurs in small, adequate attic-like spaces, empty squares upon squares, readied for the taking of language. Art might be the purveyor of its own bright useless entity, bright ripened similes squeezed out of the Dutch into the Latin vernacular our father failed to remember while poking him at midnight to rile him up to bed.
It was a mistake, the one my Godfather made when he started studying French with himself. No ranking professor can rank himself into his own pedagogy. Language might have lost its roots, maybe it even lost its qualities of being official.
"This is the office of the president."
"The President of the United States?"
"No, the president of the DISH Network."
This is for me, not any president I serve. You could have learnedly observed the words my father would spell to me, each individual vowel and consonant given their own power. However, not my mother or sister could undertake with adequate prowess the tenant of speaking as such, and their tongues suffered as their palates poorly undertook their flustered attempts to enter our philocalist resolve for Caesarian language.
Sadly now, as I think of reading. I think of your fingers and what you must certainly claim to be such grandiose proficiency, your digits and dactyls bring a melancholy hoop of unpleasantries to my eyes. Your mistake has been writing as you speak, and speaking as the free-style spoken-word "artists" attempt to do, in a horrifically insufficient and inarticulate way. I know your mistake when I open myself to read the Associated Press, listen to what Capitol Hill has to say, even coming down from the end of the bar it is a sick knot of undoing that I so wish any children we have will never be privy to.
Except on this Monday night where we can still commit our lives to one another without becoming the indigestible alphabet that has evolved into a toxin around us. What chance does poetry have if sentences collapse in short-dialogues? What will become of our hands? Will they forget the feeling of a pen or pencil in their grip? Certainly, those short notes and scribbles of cursive my mother left for my father, sister, and I will take themselves into antiquity with cuneiform and chalk, whether in Spain, The States, or another place, they have stormed out world with writing and grammar mistakes. He who must pretend to be understood by taking up the thesaurus to talk, will never have the qualities necessary to write without totally ******* it up.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:42 AM UTC
As the water birds lifted from the morning tide,
I found myself being lifted from an unconscious
state to the dictionary by four unfamiliar syllables
like the many poets before me, searching for
the meaning of nomenclature. Interestingly enough,
it could have been me on the other side of a poem
that I would come back to after sundown: an old,
scientific word who first appeared in 1610,
whose roots grew, naturally, like the hidden
interests of a loved one, from the Latin
nomenclatura (the assigning of names).
But instead, I ended up on this side of the poem,
sitting before an empty screen and a dictionary
in a Yankees ball cap and denim t-shirt, slowly
piecing together a poem about a 17th century novel
while trying to include the sudden interest of my
loved one: French parenting literature on healthy
eating, all while slowly tying the loose ends
of a poem without meaning together.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
Keeping positive is hard for me
I do what I'm good at not best at
A shadow of the man I used to be
I say what I think, not mean, I get that
Words are powerful things to see
Hear, ignore, twist and use to interact
I'm not worthy of my vocabulary
Wasting away talents I didn't choose
My life is like this poem, not necessary
Off track and has no real use
...
"If my life was a piece of tapestry, words would almost definitely be the threads to form this picture."
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC