"abseiling" poems - Hello Poetry

The slipped knot of now into will be is such a gentle strand, the braid undoes itself from yesterday as easily as a garment's clasp, as easily as abseiling liana. Can I hold soft the line? To not look back but keep the mountain's imprint emboldened in the eye To unknow the difference from ascent and descent. O day, o cloud: what do you know that hasn't been pressed through my palms?

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Nov 27, 2012

Nov 27, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC

akr

the strand ghazal

The slipped knot of now into will be is such a gentle strand, the braid undoes itself from yesterday as easily as a garment's clasp, as easily as abseiling liana. Can I hold soft the line? To not look back but keep the mountain's imprint emboldened in the eye To unknow the difference from ascent and descent. O day, o cloud: what do you know that hasn't been pressed through my palms?

14

. "The wind rustles the forget-me-nots In the many balcony flower boxes And so the shrieks of foxes lose their distance." She’s inside, finding her bearings. Fiddling her earrings around. ******* cardamom pods White. And smoking licorice black cigarettes Her lips faintly popping as the smoke escapes, Pop, And reflecting how she’s been As lucky as lavender isn’t. "the wind sharpens the beach dunes flutters my tangerine towel," Pop, pop, "fills my little girl's glitter-gel shoes" No, Pop She rubs it out before she sets it down, sharpening her eraser. Settling her glass no chaser. Her cigarette smokes on its own in the ashtray a straight grey line caught in the breezes from the door frame and under the floorboards, like a seismograph recording of a dancer’s hips or like any sound man could ever consider making, escaping up to heaven from the tip of Babel. She takes back her black *** Before any more paper evaporates. -Light- Pop, pop Her poems are great shipping tanker oil spills of vowels, hoping the reader feels their lips mouthing kisses along with it. Pop "no one ever really tastes one another on theirs, or saliva, so weak weak as the smell of potent ***** Now the wind's at the window, disturbing a spider abseiling slowly and inevitably as falling snow Pop into the ashtray. A lifetime of weary acceptance of tragedy. -Stub-

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Jun 7, 2016

Jun 7, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC

harry-randle-marsh

Enfant Terrible

. "The wind rustles the forget-me-nots In the many balcony flower boxes And so the shrieks of foxes lose their distance." She’s inside, finding her bearings. Fiddling her earrings around. ******* cardamom pods White. And smoking licorice black cigarettes Her lips faintly popping as the smoke escapes, Pop, And reflecting how she’s been As lucky as lavender isn’t. "the wind sharpens the beach dunes flutters my tangerine towel," Pop, pop, "fills my little girl's glitter-gel shoes" No, Pop She rubs it out before she sets it down, sharpening her eraser. Settling her glass no chaser. Her cigarette smokes on its own in the ashtray a straight grey line caught in the breezes from the door frame and under the floorboards, like a seismograph recording of a dancer’s hips or like any sound man could ever consider making, escaping up to heaven from the tip of Babel. She takes back her black *** Before any more paper evaporates. -Light- Pop, pop Her poems are great shipping tanker oil spills of vowels, hoping the reader feels their lips mouthing kisses along with it. Pop "no one ever really tastes one another on theirs, or saliva, so weak weak as the smell of potent ***** Now the wind's at the window, disturbing a spider abseiling slowly and inevitably as falling snow Pop into the ashtray. A lifetime of weary acceptance of tragedy. -Stub-

56

They're coming, they're coming Running, jumping, and floating Zooming, racing and abseiling JUST A DOGGARN MINUTE These are not for sleeping They're are not very woolly And not going over fences They're going into my mind What are these varmints I know , yes , I know These are words, sentences Paragraphs , and silly ideas But they'll not help me to sleep ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

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May 23, 2015

May 23, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC

leslie-william-purdy

Bit sheepish, all about the need to sleep.

They're coming, they're coming Running, jumping, and floating Zooming, racing and abseiling JUST A DOGGARN MINUTE These are not for sleeping They're are not very woolly And not going over fences They're going into my mind What are these varmints I know , yes , I know These are words, sentences Paragraphs , and silly ideas But they'll not help me to sleep ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

14

. This morning like the first rays of summer When I open my window Lights like that from a laser sight searching through my dimmed out room A brief moment of confusion but then Afterwards A new map is projected on my bedroom wall Unexplored countries Beaches and seas Ready to climb Abseiling down the world without either crampons or a helmet on my awakened head .

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Jan 14, 2015

Jan 14, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC

nrem

This morning

. This morning like the first rays of summer When I open my window Lights like that from a laser sight searching through my dimmed out room A brief moment of confusion but then Afterwards A new map is projected on my bedroom wall Unexplored countries Beaches and seas Ready to climb Abseiling down the world without either crampons or a helmet on my awakened head .

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