"accenting" poems
"lie still and let it wash over you, the was and is and soon to be.
How frightening yet effervescent the next 24 hours. The lust, and musts of future days revert to the ancient past..."
patty m.
><
the irony!
when I am stilled,
the effervescence of me
unbounded, unleashed, and the torrential rain
of words fulfilling and departing from my interior
I am
a Grand Central Station
of trains labelled
"the was and is and soon to be''
all moving in an unscheduled mayhem,
but never crashing. never accidenting,
only accenting my racing against time,
my oldest and fiercest Super Villian,
and one just knows, never can you beat time,
time, that old rascally up his sleeve card magician,
who when shuffling the deck,
he knows
what was,
what is,
and here his red eyes gleam with satisfaction,
soon to be...
He and I,
old familiar adversaries
addicted to living.
never leave the table,
never leave a *** or
a poem on the felt,
and having always felt,
firm believed,
there will always be one more,
one more gamble, another day,
to write another poem
and turning my cards over
to reveal, to revel,
in my Royal Flush of creativity,
when time, smiling face,
with his
wild card,
**** time,
who trumps me for
it,
in possess of a Five-of-a-Kind(1)
~'
and the new players,
the young poets,
slap me on the back,
saying I had a great run,
but they don't know 'bout my
secret stash,
preprogrammed to appear,
long after these fingers
cease their tangled tango of tap dancing,
my dust,
my lusts and musts
will unstilled yet be
blowing, floating in the
soon to be
so ha!
nml
6:30am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
*So young and trite is the day
Born from this new light
Creatures of the dark and mist curl and wither
Only to return by midlight
The rose afar rises and stretches
Bloodshed velvet bleeds its regal glow
Smooth tips and enticing fragrance
Dark greens, stiff and sharp as spines
Beads of water glisten and shimmer
A blood’s true jewel
Thy shadows came in thy’s slithery way
Enveloping Devil’s Beauty
Charcoal webs and silver-black imprints
Spiral and intertwine, death and blood a dangerous omen
Thy Beauty’s velvet lips decay
A cancer slow moving and fast changing
Taking over thy body in one gulp
Last, final tips of red appear before swallow
Accenting and tracing its last magnificent life
Midlight turns to midnight
Bloodlines disappear
As the wind wails through the dead
A song, chilling, unnerving to us all*
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Contemplating life
over a hot bowl of soup,
my mindful mentor
passed me
the pleasure of oyster
to mix in with
the pain of chilies
stirred together by
chopsticks held in my hands.
There he taught me
the lesson of humanity
and the person's potential,
pointing at me
and then back at the bean sprout,
fiddling it in his chopsticks
as if he were God,
mentioning to me
"This sprout and you have plenty alike..."
"What do you mean?
How am I like a vegetable?"
He smiled and nodded to disagree,
"Life is not always physical.
Think for a second,
open your fragile closed mind.
Imagine this soup not just a bowl
but instead a cauldron,
the mixing of different elements,
sensations seared by heat
to create the luxuries we call
the world where you
are a mere bean sprout."
Looking at the small, colorless
tasteless, inferior plant,
I wondered, confused and asked:
"Am I so inferior in this world
that I cannot compare
to the rich flavor of beef,
to the nurturing noodles,
to the accenting spices,
but instead am no more
than a flavorless root?"
Yet my mentor laughed,
and patiently passed:
"You worry too much young one,
too much on yourself you blame.
Instead, take upon consideration
that the bean sprout is small,
fragile, tasteless like water;
there is nothing you can change
other than size and color,
but lower it into the soup
and patiently stir,
allow it to soak up the world
and obtain its potential."
I repeated his actions,
placed myself in the world,
sat patient and absorbed its essence,
and then removed it,
placed it to my lips.
Surprised that what I later discovered
was not a bland taste of disappointment arose
but instead what lingered to the tongue
was the sweet taste of near perfection.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC
endearing words and suggestive eyes brightened the room / accenting conversations that flowed smoother than honey / souls spun / quickly approaching and nearly colliding / unravelling like two ribbons / one maroon / one ebony / until one day / ebony suddenly curled back into itself / maroon was suspended in air for years / as if steeped in time / but dense air weighed maroon down / so maroon descended / letting go / when ebony came back in its unraveled glory / maroon curled back to itself.
Apr 4, 2022
Apr 4, 2022 at 10:18 PM UTC
And there she was
A rough scab on a smooth perfect knee
With a chalky cigarette between bony fingers
Chipped red painted nails
Matching crimson accenting glossy white walls
She knew she was dreaming
Because of the ****** sun in the middle of the room
Chapped lips crack with scarlet, staining teeth
Surgical gloves reaching out from her beating heart
Held in by pale marked skin
Needles pricking gums, calling upon beads of ruby
Incisors and canines fall out one by one
Heavy tongue tastes gory wine
Indifference and apathy sistering one another
Stitches hold right-handed fingers in permanent crosses
Though an opal ring falls through
The shattering crystal lights the room ablaze
Intangible flames lick the ceiling as it rises and the floor sinks
An ever-expanding room flashing over and over in endless continuity
Like a repeating reel of film catching on fire
And then she was gone
Nov 15, 2022
Nov 15, 2022 at 4:12 PM UTC
O youth, vulnerable youth,
Let not thy self be of dominion,
But be the land as thy flesh,
And the waters be thy blood;
An armor of truth and serenity,
Passing forth seed to seed,
Reaching billows, soaring as trees.
O moss, saccharine moss,
In morning glow till night has fall.
The earth is man's account;
With nations each accenting,
and a poet is made to sing.
Saint eve is folly, faded and dim;
Man is rest but a smile and a dream.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
I think of you. Your herpes-touch that crosses my eyelids
with chlamydia fingernails accenting in all the
wrong places. The white powder trail leading like a
highway to your right nostril—the unemployment rate
like a dropped lit cigarette in the ********* apartments available. I think of you.
I think of you.
I thought of you.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Revisited Merak harbor one late evening
a shape of sea fairy and colorful torches
were seen from afar , chattering calls in 4 languages. 4 squalls in once was a plage
their dancing flames asked me to come closer
I hurried along the sleepy shipyards
passing massive warehouses fenced by rusty wooden doors
giant padlocks accenting (reminded me of a fancy cocotte loaded with blingbling)
stacks of oversized containers solidly sat speechless. Sleepless.
The light of each torch lifted into the sky. Seen by another eye
1883 eruption of the Krakatau crater. 130 years later the odor of its curators
I ran closer. I fell. I laid there a while , got up and ran again.
I lost my head and missed my right foot along the way. I did not care.
When I arrived the torches were there in front of me
reincarnated into thousands inhabitants who had lost their lives
bodies covered with revolting cesspit oil
For a second they transformed into torches again. One blazing in my hands.
Regretfully, I had lost my head so I did not understand.
The fairy stared . I wasn't scared.
: come, come, …come purifying Sunda strait
dissatisfying the idiots thought it could all be fixed with tax rate
I moved toward embracing fairy arms
(Possibly, this close hugging love was only for beach-sea friends)
So, I united with the torches
A bit of a breach pushed us towards the petroleum . Demolished it all. Cannonball.
Black fog shrieking that same words : Keep up the struggle . Stay strong !
The alien residents might think I was making choices
but the fairy was leading me around
the torches reshaping the ghost-town
Chattering calls in 4 voices. 4 languages.
Yet, for the officials ears , all were still voiceless. Pointless.
(Pulo Merak - Cilegon - Indonesia )
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Winter, my last friend, thank you for this morning.
Even as your silver cloak grows frayed
With new freckles of azur accenting
The golden, our covenant you have not brayed.
This silent valediction, moonstone rayed
Belies the dying of our Sapphire,
Our council, our secret, our pyre!
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
You're afraid if you come near me I'll hurt you
But you've been hurt by me before
and always asked for more
Every urge you felt,
when you got those passionate aches
We found a place to strip our wares
And feed each other what we had coming
lustful dynamic by way of accommodate
Like a 90s pop song you'd say my name
While accenting your "Oh's"
and trailing off the ****
These were signed, squealed, and notoriously us
From the first time I took off your shirt
Slid your bra down over your shoulder
My vision of your ******* came through in X-ray dirt
Taking away breath in a choking hurt
And that's why you won't come near me
Mentally comparing the moans injected into you sweetly and severely, that made you climb up on top of me with retaliating energy
To
The groans of settled lethargy
So I send to you,
Vibrations of heated vitality,
to knock at my door and I'll meet you on the stairs
If you were hoping to see the bedroom
You'll find all the sliding wetness you seek on those stairs
As I once again remove your wares,
You open wide after I spin you around, upside
Continuously kissing your pink
in the moon shone glare
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
A room.
Need to displace to move.
Arrangement of places you’ve been
******* you in like some Kansas twister that swept you off your porch
just after you open the door for the first time today.
I awake from a dream.
I don’t remember what was said.
Clumsily laying letters over felt footsteps.
A semblance of something too big to tell you.
I cannot move it but I’ll say whatever to mean it.
A body subject to the wind
ringing against the world, accenting the edges in sharp cries
like a dinner bell that never rests.
How’s the sky taste Major?
You think Bowie really cared for karate?
Only superficially because in some perverse way it was a form of art.
A Darwinian heyday exhibition for the human condition.
I’m alive ************ let’s keep it that way.
In every way.
Don’t want to be too narrow.
Need some space to move.
The past that comes to us now,
first came from our future.
Even the ones that wilted under the shadow of satisfaction.
Even the objects flowing through this wicked light show of so much contained in three tiny axis’
Please chart your love according to x y and z without dimensionally reducing the picture.
Don’t worry darling I’ll wait, remember it’s there we first met.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
My femininity is not found in submissive glances to the handsome gentleman standing next to the apples. And as I’m gingerly picking up bananas, hoping he notices how I slowly caress the yellow skin.
My femininity isn’t found in hours spent in front of my mirror every morning putting on a face full of makeup, enhancing my natural beauty amongst the lipstick and perfectly applied winged eyeliner.
My femininity isn’t found in clothes that hug my curves and accenting my child bear hips; inviting you to take a second glance.
It isn’t found in a well placed compliment and a giggle and a smile that’s strokes your ego and make your testosterone burn in your veins.
It’s found in my laugh, my tears, my passionate screams when the rest of the world lay quiet. It’s found in bubble baths and empowering women and teaching little girls that their power isn’t held in the palm of a man.
It’s found in my presence as I walk in a room, unapologetically powerful as I need no compliments from you.
It’s found in my words, nurturing ways and my refusal to let you not be accountable for your ********
My femininity smells of tears, whiskey and cigarette smoke; if it makes your eyes water I implore you to leave the room.
It’s laughs that are too loud, words that are too offensive and a mind that will make you question your ideas of the world.
I smell weakness and I revolt out the back door, I have no use for the likes of small minded individuals. I know my worth and I refuse to lower my standards so your ego can swell.
It’s found in leggings and sweats and braless brigades. It’s found in wild untameable hair that is full of secrets that I guard with a seething vengeance.
It’s found in arms outstretched to my children who I will raise to be good men, who if they so much as make another woman feel uncomfortable will deal with the wrath of their mother and they will be sliced into hero’s. My boys will know how to find a woman, and if found she must be treasured and held to the highest of respect.
My femininity’s foundation is found in power and preservation. It is found in a smart forked tongue with a wild and brilliant mind; you will feel it as I walk through the door and I do not need to prove it to you.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
her nails are a powder blue
each finger adorned with a ring
that has a meaning and place in her life
this one she got in her hometown in the south of france
this one she found roadside leaving denver
each has a story to be told
as if her hand is a roadmap to loves secret places
her delicate hands weave her thoughts
on the air when she speaks
the brass bracelet with her moonstone
and the silver ones ****** softly accenting her lovely voice
her elegant gestures flow and ebb with the conversation
but her soft hand always finds its way back to mine
and in that warm embrace of her tender fingers
where i find such joy and love
i could spend a lifetime telling
you about all the wonderful things i love about her
so let me begin by telling you about
her nails are a powder blue....
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
I want to touch you with my words..
I want to spill myself in verbs...
Creating one sound
About one Noun..
I want these emotions to be heard...
Thought about then felt..
Translated then yelled
I want me to be memories..
Recited scriptures on the tips of your tongue..
I want this to be Fun...
Me explained in dictionaries..
You reviled in song...
I sing of you in rhythm..
This verse...
one untitled song
And you will love it's tune..
Adding power to these feelings
I adverb my love inside...
To many adjectives to describe..
The sight inside my eyes...
I want to create us memories..
Dreams that fall ideas..
Let my words surround you...
Releasing all your fears..
Touching you with every syllable
Accenting every R..
Pronouncing all my Ps and Qs
Our details will be the fuse..
Light the match with your sweet lips
Lets us burn in pages
But our memories and dreams
Are now Ideas
Words thought without a Fear...
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Less ‘ave a spot of fun, shall we?
Sumfin fun to do in ma spare time fo no particula reason,
An’ I like ta share it wif you.
Drop the T’s and pronounce yeh U’s like ew’s
Enunciation is key on heavy consonant words.
Forget practicality an be silly wif it.
Pretending fo a moment,
That there is a glob of peana butta,
On the ref of yeh mouf.
****** ell and bullocks only take it so far,
Yew must remain natural wif towne
But, simply mumble mimzy’s
Followed by ratulsnakes ‘n’ wota fawllls.
Tha best practice comes wif accenting ull day.
An than ull tha kids will think its ace!
Dowent get aggro, jus ease into it.
An fa ***** sake its Herb not erb.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
His Grieved eyes stare down the barrel
Teeth clenched, dressed in flame, she's got a soul to steal.
As faint rays of day trespass
A ravaged passageway
The long forgotten bell tolls,
Accenting this tired tryst,
With the accelerating sunset
Dying the skies a capillary crimson,
Just another piece of scenery
Behind this scene of deceit.
The burnt shrine supports his skull,
As through tears torn tapestry and shattered glass
His vision is over powered by the pin-up with a pistol standing
Point blank.
The dilapidated temple calls for one last mass, one more sacrifice
A fantastic funeral pyre paid in full, with the sins of Helios.
The words escape,
“I love you”
Only her tongue matches the sky
And theres no way to block out her incandescence
His tears of scarlet
Splash against the cold steel his teeth grind
All his hopes, all his dreams...all that he is
Now just organic graffiti
Splattered
All across the neglected floor of a forgotten Church.
With the horizon swallowing the sun,
she vanishes in the dusk,
And as he falls, so too, does her ring.
Two bonds broken, death they sing.
Jan 14, 2010
Jan 14, 2010 at 4:16 PM UTC
I want to hold your hand.
your fingers threaded in mine,
or hands cupped,
either way,
cells touching;
The valleys of my fingerprints
accenting the mountains in yours.
I want to hold your hand
in winter,
to take off your gloves,
and mine,
and warm up your thumbs
with my slender bones
under wine colored nails.
I want to hold your hand
with each digit painted
different shades of blue,
so when your hand meets
the red running down my knuckles,
we make the perfect shade
of violet.
I want to hold your hand
when we’re eighty,
skins of protruding veins,
blinking the dust
from old eyes,
laughing from tired lungs,
because we made it.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
I do not want the solo,
Let me duet with you my dear.
Sweet harmonies, loud soft, high low.
My heart acts as percussion with you near.
A tune so perfectly pitched,
I lose my time, breath caught in my chest.
We pick up speed, entwined and bewitched.
Forte notes echo , regardless of rests.
I feel your pulse, and you mine,
Lost in the moment, our art.
Accenting each note through bar to line,
Aching passion from the start.
There is no need for strings or timpani
For tonight, you accompany me
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
contumacious imagery,
amorous intensity,
prostitution of the heart,
beating off the chart.
a brush of fingertips,
aching for the whisper of lips,
quicksand stare,
vulnerable and bare.
delicate pusillanimity,
accenting my pulmonary timidity
,hemorrhage of thought,
words of devotion wrought.
closure to desperation,
surrendering upon inclination,
innocence tainted by pain,
tears cleverly disguised as rain.
intoxicating appetite for sensation,
hesitation forcing isolation,
my attatchment never satiated,
my soul emaciated.
jilted girl am i,
you are the apple of my eye,
with you i am besot,
,my adoration not forgot.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:32 AM UTC
A dreadful
shadow
moves across the
wallpaper
its twitching
spectral
legs and wings
accenting the
delicate florals
spray it fast
with the can of
Insect Annihilant
or just
smack the ******
with a broom
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 10:51 AM UTC
It is a symphony of distortion
That unfolds before my weary eyes
A complicated but intricate body of work
I fight daily not to reprise
The opening sonata is slow, yet eerily intriguing
Simply starting with a beating heart
Never knowing the tempo each day will bring
Due to inconsistent sight reading from the various nourishing parts
Switching to adagio brings a fluidity of movement
Though the pace is still quite slow
An integration of crux and marrow can be painfully tedious
Thus suspending vital balances and flow
A minuet seeks to pull these things together
The lively dance of mind, body, and soul
While entertaining and fun, it can bring about an urge for perfection
Inciting an overwhelming loss of control
Finally, a sonata-rondo gradually calms the madness within this body of work
Accenting an inotation that is both a bright and hopeful sound
Yet, it still holds tempo, not willing to relinquish
The rigid temperament previously found
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 8:37 PM UTC
My whole life has changed since you've come in, in such a beautiful way.
You're my best friend, the love of my life, and such an abundant blessing to this world.
You remind me who I really am, when I feel lost in my emotions.
You're love brings peace, smiles, uncontrollable laughter, you brighten up every moment that you are with me just by being there.
You make me feel whole, you make me feel like a somebody and far beyond that, you tell me day after day of my worth.
I wanna grow in God with you,
I love praying for you.
For your happiness, for your health, for you to have energy to press through another hard day when you have one, I pray for stress relief over you, I ask God to bring you strength through adversity in your life, for you to have joy that over flows, and so much more!
You're not God and I do not try to replace you with him but I feel whole when I am by your side.
I forget every challenge that I am facing, you give me a reason to want to fight for success, to fight for me when I cant find another.
I brush off loneliness, hatred, impatience, and anything holding me back when I think of you,
because when I think of you, I always smile and I just cant help it but be happy when you're on my mind.
I always hope for the best with you, I will always cheer you on,
always pray for you, because I love you:)
When I think of all the times you've made me smile,
I love you.
When I think of all that we have gone through, pushed through to get here,
I love you.
When I think of every fight we have had,
I love you.
When I think of all the times I have missed you,
I love you.
When you make me laugh,
I love you.
When you say something rude and un called for
I love you
When I am wrong and you put me in my place,
I love you.
When I think of times that you've made a false step,
I love you.
When I think of your adorable dimples accenting your cheeks when you laugh,
I smile:)
When you're mad at me, and raise your voice,
I love you,
Because I do.
Nothing you do could ever change my love for you.
So much lead up to the day I said "I love you"
I meant it.
I was overly confident about knowing my love for you.
I was so for sure.
And i still am!
After every night wee stayed up fighting,
after every time I hurt your feelings,
after every amazing moment that i have spent with you,
after every "I love You"
after every "hello" and "goodbye"
after every kiss,
and after every day,
I am still just as sure,
as the very first day I spoke those words to you.
I love you,
and I always will:)
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
<>
Major Haiku (7-9-7)
The dance of lovers in heat
mysterious communication
Pandora's box of feelings
<>
Standard Haiku (5-7-5)
Green leaves on the tree
pretty in the summer sun
light accenting hues
<>
Minor Haiku (3-5-3)
Time is here
fleeting passing gone
temporal
<>
Mini Haiku (1-3-1)
Bird
on the wing
fly
<>
© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
Picking him up off of the ground
And wiping his little face
The face of love peering into forest brown eyes
Came back again, lost but then found
Wrapped warm in skins and furs
No more tears and deep nighttime cries
A golden morning music filled sun
Nodding awake gently, blue hewn wind
Erasing unquiet, unkempt and wrinkles
Fruit from the ground, food for her son
An escape from dreamland and a roaring buffalo
A trillion stars: flash, elaborate, stun and twinkle
Healing a scar, no more tears, no more blood
Forgotten and sprinkled into the wild fields
Murmuring replaced by silent applause and smiles
A little boy god made from mud
A corn-blue feather at his feet
Dancing creatures, the forest, four miles
Jonotuwa working the light with glass
Pottery, a decorated egg, incensed flowers
Berry red dye accenting glowing skin
And for that night accepting mask
Spied a bird, we sing, we’ll fly
Until we feast and replenish the garden.
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 9:31 PM UTC
Puffing on my third menthol of the night, he looks at me and says "you know, these apparently crystallize your lungs." He's got one between his lips too. But they'll only crystallize my lungs. So I look over to the nearly finished bottle of wine to my left, proud of my handiwork. But as I slip into drunkenness, I know I haven't taken my last puff of the night, so I try to keep my breathing a little shallower, but I end up inhaling even deeper, trying to feel those tiny organs harden.
I talked about myself all night.
Tuned out everyone else's worlds. I've stopped being able to listen. I've become self absorbed, in my cigarettes, in my drinking, in being nineteen and stupid. But the night was warm and heavy, even when the breeze whipped around my dark hair, momentarily obstructing my vision. I was surrounded by people who I perceived to love me. As for me, virtually all love I receive is unrequited. So every work borne from me is about me, is part of me, is all me, because how could I possibly broaden my mental scope when I spend so much of my time alone falling in love with my own decaying reflection.
She really is beautiful though. Those huge, deep hazel eyes. The dark, dark hair juxtaposed to that pale skin. And the accenting dark circles under her eyes from running on four hours of sleep a night for thirty plus days. Self indulgence.
Self hatred.
Inhale deeper and feel my lungs dying.
Giggling at how I still talk like a thirteen year old child.
Laughing at my philosophy that if this teen angst continues into your twenties and beyond, you just become Hemingway.
It's all very funny, really. I truly am a caricature of a real person. I am completely devoid of all authenticity and every ounce of me is contrived.
But this too shall pass.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC