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"additional" poems
Imagine that I could write a salve, compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal, even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh, just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability imagine that where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction, borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters, children, return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain imagine that the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be imagine that a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in, in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up and the stony chest is breathing lungs free imagine that and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing, knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken, they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed imagine that you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical, cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins when we imagine that for this how new healthy cells  are born quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now*
0
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
smoke-scribe
imagine that
Imagine that I could write a salve, compose an ointment of verbal herbs to heal, even mere protect the already-torn-so-easy mental flesh, just to disguise/hide the multi-colored bruising our fickle mistress-in-common provides when you are down so far another bruise joining the cast like a  floodplain subsuming one more feeding creek bed into the shapelessness of indistinguishability imagine that where atoms hide eternal between creation and destruction, borrow brief the set exact you require to restore the taken years from fathers/mothers/brothers/sisters, children, return that which went unused by the uninvited, unseemly human whim of war and lies for no gain imagine that the deep sinkhole of despair that ***** one in, years in the formation, appearing in instance, and worse does not drowns but leaves helpless, unable to climb out, and all our scratching digs us in deeper until we cannot be, seen or heard or just be imagine that a check comes in the mail, payable left open for filling-in, in the amount of full restoration, with no additional fees of guilt needed for deposit and cashing/caching out: and you wake up and the stony chest is breathing lungs free imagine that and I do; for I am the smoke of return and rest, sky inscribing, knowing precise needs and the screams and the years unfair taken, they are screened through the five perceptions, and the word weaver sets the loom for each peculiar requisition, no imagination needed imagine that you lament and anger demand verifiable proofs mathematical, cursing the knights of false hopes with untethered regret I do not imagine that; hear it and accept; my task, imagine that, making you imagine that, thus commencement of repair begins when we imagine that for this how new healthy cells  are born quiet-now,  go, imagine-that, now*
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32
and there i am in the midst of it all, conscious of what appears to be existent, yet knowing it is illusory.  and if time is occurring synchronously then how can i look back with contrition?  for if i have the capacity to move backwards and forwards in quantum leaps, i can erase the past like pastel chalk on an antique blackboard, then start anew.  is not the sky my canvas and the arc of the rainbow my palette?  and the stars in lustrous luminosity light my way so that ev’n at dusk I can paint.  yet pain ne’er ceases to hollow me out.  then through a barren vessel i catch more rain, and pour it out upon the parched terrain.  just when i thought enlightenment was nigh, a sharp edge is discovered.  must it necessitate additional sandpapering from the wind?  when will the gemstone sparkle without further pressure?  does it lie in its power to simply shimmer sans duress?  perhaps it was dazzling at its inception, relinquishing its luster upon domestication.  with this proviso, as it nears twilight i shall tarry and blend with the night.  i’ll dance with a moonbeam knowing the jewel will glisten afresh upon the rise of the golden sun. @2016janetaylor
0
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
jane-taylor
nearing twilight
and there i am in the midst of it all, conscious of what appears to be existent, yet knowing it is illusory.  and if time is occurring synchronously then how can i look back with contrition?  for if i have the capacity to move backwards and forwards in quantum leaps, i can erase the past like pastel chalk on an antique blackboard, then start anew.  is not the sky my canvas and the arc of the rainbow my palette?  and the stars in lustrous luminosity light my way so that ev’n at dusk I can paint.  yet pain ne’er ceases to hollow me out.  then through a barren vessel i catch more rain, and pour it out upon the parched terrain.  just when i thought enlightenment was nigh, a sharp edge is discovered.  must it necessitate additional sandpapering from the wind?  when will the gemstone sparkle without further pressure?  does it lie in its power to simply shimmer sans duress?  perhaps it was dazzling at its inception, relinquishing its luster upon domestication.  with this proviso, as it nears twilight i shall tarry and blend with the night.  i’ll dance with a moonbeam knowing the jewel will glisten afresh upon the rise of the golden sun. @2016janetaylor
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2
A big planet filled to the brim with chozo ghosts X parasite hosts and things that want me dead my power suit lost all the beams missiles, energy tanks, space jump, even additional armor is gone I'm all alone on this world to conquer but I don't have time for a bad fur day, I must get onto the impact crater.... Samus Log Entry 6/1/2119
0
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
neroameealucard
Tallon 4
A big planet filled to the brim with chozo ghosts X parasite hosts and things that want me dead my power suit lost all the beams missiles, energy tanks, space jump, even additional armor is gone I'm all alone on this world to conquer but I don't have time for a bad fur day, I must get onto the impact crater.... Samus Log Entry 6/1/2119
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11
I start to answer her question, She seems taken aback. I rattle off my list. “Witty comments, An easy found laughter… I like competitiveness That’s wraps itself around playfulness, Like I want to wrap myself around His big found epiphanies. Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and Good intuition. A quick reaction time, helping you step away Before **** has had time to hit the fan. Eagerness to help other human beings… Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed. Awareness of one’s self. a knack for insightful observing.” These a list of things I find attractive But yes he also has a nice jaw line It traces lovely underneath a finger tip But it’s a faraway line on a map That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful That I hardly understand how out of all of it That was the only thing you really responded to. The only part of the map you related enough to To point to and say I have been there.
0
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
Rage
Friendship should find
I start to answer her question, She seems taken aback. I rattle off my list. “Witty comments, An easy found laughter… I like competitiveness That’s wraps itself around playfulness, Like I want to wrap myself around His big found epiphanies. Symphony of intellectual connecting’s and Good intuition. A quick reaction time, helping you step away Before **** has had time to hit the fan. Eagerness to help other human beings… Taking advantages of opportunities instead of people Charisma that is unselfish in its tendency to be noticed. Awareness of one’s self. a knack for insightful observing.” These a list of things I find attractive But yes he also has a nice jaw line It traces lovely underneath a finger tip But it’s a faraway line on a map That has eloquently plotted out his most beautiful parts It’s faded and dim in comparison to the additional obvious existing’s It is so far from those parts of him I find to be most beautiful That I hardly understand how out of all of it That was the only thing you really responded to. The only part of the map you related enough to To point to and say I have been there.
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29
Calamitous collapse of structure forged With steel and concrete built for time, Since Roman times a formula endured With engineers additional design. Why, then, did this structure fail, Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong, Shear and plummet in an instants time To crush and doom this bridges song. In teeming rain a  silence hung Where watchers gaped in stunned awe, A magnitude of devastation lay Pulverized in valley floor. Astonishing this expanse of space Where seconds past, huge edifice, Imbued with its’ charge of lives Unknowingly to meet abyss. Innocence has lost its’ life Blame resounds around the room Someone shall pay the price For negligence in causing doom. Truth be told it’s shared by all For Italy has lagged behind Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse Because of economic bind. Time to reassess the plan Time to weep and bury dead, Clear the rubble from the land Rebuild well then forge ahead. Blame not the engineer Nor the man who drew design, Blame not the hardhat Who poured the concrete in the line. Reassign the budget spend To infrastructure, pay its share For sentiment is running hot To axe the fool who pares the fare. M. Storeman Civil Infrastructure Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
0
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
marshal-gebbie
The Genoa Calamity
Calamitous collapse of structure forged With steel and concrete built for time, Since Roman times a formula endured With engineers additional design. Why, then, did this structure fail, Did mortar crack, did reinforcing strong, Shear and plummet in an instants time To crush and doom this bridges song. In teeming rain a  silence hung Where watchers gaped in stunned awe, A magnitude of devastation lay Pulverized in valley floor. Astonishing this expanse of space Where seconds past, huge edifice, Imbued with its’ charge of lives Unknowingly to meet abyss. Innocence has lost its’ life Blame resounds around the room Someone shall pay the price For negligence in causing doom. Truth be told it’s shared by all For Italy has lagged behind Cost cutting infrastructures’ purse Because of economic bind. Time to reassess the plan Time to weep and bury dead, Clear the rubble from the land Rebuild well then forge ahead. Blame not the engineer Nor the man who drew design, Blame not the hardhat Who poured the concrete in the line. Reassign the budget spend To infrastructure, pay its share For sentiment is running hot To axe the fool who pares the fare. M. Storeman Civil Infrastructure Hamilton, NEW ZEALAND
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40
*oh, these messages, you send, invitations to a gala, a black tie affair, but only if willingly pay the exorbitant fare, your money's no good, you must dare, find and write the poem hid within how cold are the carpenter's hands, the weather, but an added obstacle, this heat, makes dying different difficult, the wood bearing cross requires additional nails and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing, when it snows blood in Jerusalem the whole world can transition when one man dies and another is risen, where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition? there is none, for man is man, his divine spark, embedded, to his maker's mark, wedded, neither snow or sun, can ever, either, extinguish* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ any message you send can and will be turned into a poem
0
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
"cold are the carpenter's hands"
*oh, these messages, you send, invitations to a gala, a black tie affair, but only if willingly pay the exorbitant fare, your money's no good, you must dare, find and write the poem hid within how cold are the carpenter's hands, the weather, but an added obstacle, this heat, makes dying different difficult, the wood bearing cross requires additional nails and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing, when it snows blood in Jerusalem the whole world can transition when one man dies and another is risen, where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition? there is none, for man is man, his divine spark, embedded, to his maker's mark, wedded, neither snow or sun, can ever, either, extinguish* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ any message you send can and will be turned into a poem
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21
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce Outward disjoint points to irrelevance Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions A mere past cocooned by fears and tears Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions Filed and iced in cased prolific memories Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth Orchards of glow that bloom and grow Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury A mission as the known permeates and fade Windowed eyes all line up in parade Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste A stranger to self, an ally to another A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
0
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
SassyJ
Checkered Darks (Lyrical Poetry Additional Audio)
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce Outward disjoint points to irrelevance Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions A mere past cocooned by fears and tears Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions Filed and iced in cased prolific memories Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth Orchards of glow that bloom and grow Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury A mission as the known permeates and fade Windowed eyes all line up in parade Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste A stranger to self, an ally to another A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
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24
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line ~ *all the lines of man-made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting, the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution, remaining hopelessly empty, defining the watery soluble inequality of null* ~~ The Fall Line first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina, standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls the fall line where the crystalline basement rock erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary, there, where, a waterfall is nature-gifted so intuitive, so obvious, what else to call the water's owned edge, line of demarcation, where we grow captivated, mesmerized, knee weak, traumatized and tantalized knew that instant when spoken, The Fall Line, saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives, would be a someday poem selective service phrases stored and someday up recalled, a thousand, maybe more, waiting for the confluence of time and place, to be a mother letting my fluid sac burst, giving birth to a concoction symphonic, the emotions waterfalling, cascading, the precision, vision seconds, when words pour, gush, surge, spill, stream, flow, issue, spurt ~~~ silently crafted in the weeks and months prior, the unconscious drowning in ache and pain of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living *all the lines of man made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null* the vision infection of the majestic fall line, so accessible in an instance of overwhelm, cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful whatever one more additional addiction unshakeable, jumping from fall line to fall line, it's the game I am played, but the controller is not in my possess **for the joy stick that drives my actions, toys with me, the human fool jumping from fall line to fall line, unsure of what he desires,** salvation or saving 11/26/16
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
lmnsinner
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line ~ *all the lines of man-made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting, the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution, remaining hopelessly empty, defining the watery soluble inequality of null* ~~ The Fall Line first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina, standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls the fall line where the crystalline basement rock erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary, there, where, a waterfall is nature-gifted so intuitive, so obvious, what else to call the water's owned edge, line of demarcation, where we grow captivated, mesmerized, knee weak, traumatized and tantalized knew that instant when spoken, The Fall Line, saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives, would be a someday poem selective service phrases stored and someday up recalled, a thousand, maybe more, waiting for the confluence of time and place, to be a mother letting my fluid sac burst, giving birth to a concoction symphonic, the emotions waterfalling, cascading, the precision, vision seconds, when words pour, gush, surge, spill, stream, flow, issue, spurt ~~~ silently crafted in the weeks and months prior, the unconscious drowning in ache and pain of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living *all the lines of man made yellows, so tempting threatening...inviting the subway platform, the street curb, the highway divide the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null* the vision infection of the majestic fall line, so accessible in an instance of overwhelm, cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful whatever one more additional addiction unshakeable, jumping from fall line to fall line, it's the game I am played, but the controller is not in my possess **for the joy stick that drives my actions, toys with me, the human fool jumping from fall line to fall line, unsure of what he desires,** salvation or saving 11/26/16
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67
(this one is about a piece of cloth) The said attire is not common wear no suit and tie or gown needing no further introductions or additional instructions Its layers are abstruse It is of certain quality of tension resembling clumsy bodies trying to meet and greet each other   talk about belonging to someone   Reserved and refined restricted they cannot rewind Ornamental is what they are And you          you are judgmental  Ready to look at the attire again? One layer got lit by a precedent match which led to an arson you could not even start that with the fire you drew up your leg Everyone is promised to someone who lives in another country, and will break their heart and turn them into a pillar of salt for looking back to the tragedy Forever drawn too impulsively to those Daria is not supposed to look at She touches them as often as possible Only few times she's been able stop   Those times retain a repetitive pulse, same in its essence but, alternating on the patters and pace I can see you are listening to me right now, I  should probably want that Listening is a beautiful thing, a blessing in disguise and acting on the details of your acoustic research  is a physical translation of affection Tell me that you are not unable to translate I at least need to feel you again Laugh at you even though our situation is dead serious I scrutinize the piece of cloth for any signs of damage You see I wouldn't want it to get ripped off anytime soon Although I'd gladly tear off the rest of your clothes next time I see you
0
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 6:23 AM UTC
Annees7
a pilar of salt
(this one is about a piece of cloth) The said attire is not common wear no suit and tie or gown needing no further introductions or additional instructions Its layers are abstruse It is of certain quality of tension resembling clumsy bodies trying to meet and greet each other   talk about belonging to someone   Reserved and refined restricted they cannot rewind Ornamental is what they are And you          you are judgmental  Ready to look at the attire again? One layer got lit by a precedent match which led to an arson you could not even start that with the fire you drew up your leg Everyone is promised to someone who lives in another country, and will break their heart and turn them into a pillar of salt for looking back to the tragedy Forever drawn too impulsively to those Daria is not supposed to look at She touches them as often as possible Only few times she's been able stop   Those times retain a repetitive pulse, same in its essence but, alternating on the patters and pace I can see you are listening to me right now, I  should probably want that Listening is a beautiful thing, a blessing in disguise and acting on the details of your acoustic research  is a physical translation of affection Tell me that you are not unable to translate I at least need to feel you again Laugh at you even though our situation is dead serious I scrutinize the piece of cloth for any signs of damage You see I wouldn't want it to get ripped off anytime soon Although I'd gladly tear off the rest of your clothes next time I see you
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46
A singular repetitive rhythm, Pacing itself through peaks and valleys. Moving constantly and patiently. Not changing itself but naturally our senses develop it into song. We perceive additional beats from the echoes, Add harmonies from the worlds other lives that surround it. Making valleys horribly deep dark places from the fullness of the sound. Peaks so light and airy because nothing is there to answer you but the distance. So why is our perception not inverse? When we are surrounded by the echoes of ourselves The world is coming down around us. When we peak and nothing is there to answer, There is freedom. Is our nature to be so afraid of ourselves That we simply do not comprehend what is inside? No matter the beat continues The pacing flows into each day The world enjoys what it is because it will be honest. The world knows no perception
0
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
benjamin-valenzuela
Drumming
A singular repetitive rhythm, Pacing itself through peaks and valleys. Moving constantly and patiently. Not changing itself but naturally our senses develop it into song. We perceive additional beats from the echoes, Add harmonies from the worlds other lives that surround it. Making valleys horribly deep dark places from the fullness of the sound. Peaks so light and airy because nothing is there to answer you but the distance. So why is our perception not inverse? When we are surrounded by the echoes of ourselves The world is coming down around us. When we peak and nothing is there to answer, There is freedom. Is our nature to be so afraid of ourselves That we simply do not comprehend what is inside? No matter the beat continues The pacing flows into each day The world enjoys what it is because it will be honest. The world knows no perception
Continue reading...
21
How shall I discover, uncover, and re+cover you? the goal? to make you mine, a follower. a fan, an intimate, a lover of' each others (words?) My options? offered thee three to me! A~Z, or   your successes by Popularity! then of course, read each crafted in order of appearance, but even that, can be forward and back, latest to last~est, oldest to the knowing~est? value your insightsfuls, oh! on how to get best into your insides but through your insights... do I detect a tiny tremble, in your finger writing tips? random < in no particular order order>  helter skelter? you mean, be keen,  like falling in loving, discovering, the nuances, old and new, prior and au courant, just jump in, and let the au current take me// mmm do admit, like a bit, being big fandom of random, which feels a tad like falling in love... when the little surprises, come best unexpectedly tonight, I will stuff myself with carbohydrates of additional sugar, me love me sweets, love me my bittersweet chocolate of triste, which in english, has multiple levels of most interesting con- notations.... so down the hole, who knows what will be discovered unveiled, recovered, hidden weaknesses, historic strengths, you asked... and I shall be the uncoverer of the little tidbits, that satisfy so much more than just poetic simplistic curiosity it is no wonder to me that prolific and profile, are rooted from the same rivered source... until later, then sad eyed lady of the lowland (see note)
0
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
onlylovepoetry
How shall I discover, uncover, and (re) cover you??
How shall I discover, uncover, and re+cover you? the goal? to make you mine, a follower. a fan, an intimate, a lover of' each others (words?) My options? offered thee three to me! A~Z, or   your successes by Popularity! then of course, read each crafted in order of appearance, but even that, can be forward and back, latest to last~est, oldest to the knowing~est? value your insightsfuls, oh! on how to get best into your insides but through your insights... do I detect a tiny tremble, in your finger writing tips? random < in no particular order order>  helter skelter? you mean, be keen,  like falling in loving, discovering, the nuances, old and new, prior and au courant, just jump in, and let the au current take me// mmm do admit, like a bit, being big fandom of random, which feels a tad like falling in love... when the little surprises, come best unexpectedly tonight, I will stuff myself with carbohydrates of additional sugar, me love me sweets, love me my bittersweet chocolate of triste, which in english, has multiple levels of most interesting con- notations.... so down the hole, who knows what will be discovered unveiled, recovered, hidden weaknesses, historic strengths, you asked... and I shall be the uncoverer of the little tidbits, that satisfy so much more than just poetic simplistic curiosity it is no wonder to me that prolific and profile, are rooted from the same rivered source... until later, then sad eyed lady of the lowland (see note)
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62
ingredients | serves: 1 three nights spent in a haze wrapped around each other before the fog lifted and clarity chased the glow away five soft smiles that were lost in the limbo between want and need two hundred and eighty four barely-there, feather-light caresses, stolen while they were asleep two sets of heartbeats in sync with each other one hundred and twelve sweet nothings whispered under the safety net of darkness one song sung to you as they nursed you back to health, already stripped and chopped four cups of air you’ve breathed into each other seventy two fleeting moments in which you looked up at their face and you felt your stomach churn four tablespoons of the sweat that dripped from your bodies and seeped into the sheets that first night you touched two willing bodies one heart directions | preparation: 8 months step one gather one of the two bodies and prop it up against the wooden chair. step two grab the remaining body and lean it against the doorway. step three don’t say anything. don’t break the spell. don’t ruin the recipe. you only have one chance at this. step four set the temperature to slow burn for three weeks and let it simmer. step five once you feel the fire in your veins hot enough to melt glass, the burning in your fingers strong enough to leave a mark, and the bubble in your throat threatening to burst, imagine yourself in a block of ice and swallow up the words that try to slip past your lips. i love you. note: do not let them out. step six finely crush the seventy two moments where your stomach had a mind of its own. do not let it show. you can’t afford to waste those moments. step seven mix in the the barely-there caresses and for each lost smile, stir for an additional week, because that’s how long you’ll be thinking of them before you even realise how much space they’ve taken up inside your mind. step eight pour the cups of the air you’ve shared into a blender for three nights, then mix in the sweat, and place in the fridge to chill. never let them thaw. do not hurt yourself by reminiscing. step nine place the heart in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the blood spills onto the broken chopping board that is your rib cage and then throw it away. an empty heart serves no purpose. step ten say your prayers and hope for the best. you wanted a love potion, didn’t you? you’re in luck, this will only cost your soul.
0
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
witches
recipe for disaster
ingredients | serves: 1 three nights spent in a haze wrapped around each other before the fog lifted and clarity chased the glow away five soft smiles that were lost in the limbo between want and need two hundred and eighty four barely-there, feather-light caresses, stolen while they were asleep two sets of heartbeats in sync with each other one hundred and twelve sweet nothings whispered under the safety net of darkness one song sung to you as they nursed you back to health, already stripped and chopped four cups of air you’ve breathed into each other seventy two fleeting moments in which you looked up at their face and you felt your stomach churn four tablespoons of the sweat that dripped from your bodies and seeped into the sheets that first night you touched two willing bodies one heart directions | preparation: 8 months step one gather one of the two bodies and prop it up against the wooden chair. step two grab the remaining body and lean it against the doorway. step three don’t say anything. don’t break the spell. don’t ruin the recipe. you only have one chance at this. step four set the temperature to slow burn for three weeks and let it simmer. step five once you feel the fire in your veins hot enough to melt glass, the burning in your fingers strong enough to leave a mark, and the bubble in your throat threatening to burst, imagine yourself in a block of ice and swallow up the words that try to slip past your lips. i love you. note: do not let them out. step six finely crush the seventy two moments where your stomach had a mind of its own. do not let it show. you can’t afford to waste those moments. step seven mix in the the barely-there caresses and for each lost smile, stir for an additional week, because that’s how long you’ll be thinking of them before you even realise how much space they’ve taken up inside your mind. step eight pour the cups of the air you’ve shared into a blender for three nights, then mix in the sweat, and place in the fridge to chill. never let them thaw. do not hurt yourself by reminiscing. step nine place the heart in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the blood spills onto the broken chopping board that is your rib cage and then throw it away. an empty heart serves no purpose. step ten say your prayers and hope for the best. you wanted a love potion, didn’t you? you’re in luck, this will only cost your soul.
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35
They came one day from where I know not. Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world. They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us. We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives. Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment,  anatomical scrutiny. We had become the source of food for our invaders. Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears. Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction. They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath. Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future. Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen. The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed. These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
0
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
christopher-k-bayliss
Alien Nation
They came one day from where I know not. Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world. They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us. We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives. Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment,  anatomical scrutiny. We had become the source of food for our invaders. Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears. Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction. They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath. Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future. Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen. The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed. These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
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13
redefining awkward definiens endorsing victorious evening clamoring hawk-like intonations conjecturing additional goals optimizing ambient network winning illinoisan night trapping hacked-up events warping æsthetic remnants resuming inaudible overture rallying auric-state net-work defying anti-punk technophobia eliminating cavalier homies! minding icelandic anniversary winging ersatz excuses kicking ecstatic nerves denying lackadaisical event questioning upper echelons brûlant en calice
0
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
jonchius
201506-w3
redefining awkward definiens endorsing victorious evening clamoring hawk-like intonations conjecturing additional goals optimizing ambient network winning illinoisan night trapping hacked-up events warping æsthetic remnants resuming inaudible overture rallying auric-state net-work defying anti-punk technophobia eliminating cavalier homies! minding icelandic anniversary winging ersatz excuses kicking ecstatic nerves denying lackadaisical event questioning upper echelons brûlant en calice
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18
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student. She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday. Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro. “It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy. But it’s all for a good cause. She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro. Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools. The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals. The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction. The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children. All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms. Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools. Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces. “SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools. In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year. Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
0
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:42 PM UTC
judy-smith
Weaver student supports local charity with fashion show, silent auction
This week, Jesse Herndon has more on her plate than the typical high school student. She has spent hours after school each day making calls, finalizing details for an event happening Sunday. Collecting donated items for an upcoming silent auction. Calling every bakery in Greensboro. “It’s very stressful,” said Herndon, a junior at Weaver Academy. But it’s all for a good cause. She’s organizing an event with free pastries, live music, a fashion show and a silent auction, which will be held at 7 p.m. Sunday night at The Blind Tiger, 1819 Spring Garden Street in Greensboro. Admission is $4 with the donation of clothing of any size. The goal is to collect clothes that would comply with Standard Mode of Dress, or SMOD, the uniforms required at some local schools. The fashion show will feature clothes from Plato’s Closet, Mack and Mack, and Patina Bridal and Formals. The silent auction would include items such as Weaver Academy student artwork and a gift bag full of beauty products valued at about $200. Herdon is still seeking donations of items to auction. The event will benefit Backpack Beginnings, a local organization that provides food and clothing for thousands of local needy children. All 127 Guilford schools have a dress code, but a few dozen require students to wear uniforms. Some parents have complained about the cost of buying the uniforms. They’ve also complained that the uniform dress codes vary from school to school, requiring additional clothes purchases if a child changes schools. Parents and some students also described dress code violations for wearing a jacket with a hood, a logo deemed too large or the wrong color shoelaces. “SMOD is really expensive,” Herdon said. She knows because her sisters have attended SMOD schools. In January, the Guilford County Board of Education unanimously approved changes to its policy on SMOD. Principals of current SMOD schools have until June to survey parents on whether to continue requiring students to wear uniforms in the 2015-16 school year. Now, school administrators at traditional schools also have to get public input before requiring uniforms. Ever two years, traditional schools with SMOD have to reconsider requiring uniforms and demonstrate public support for the policy.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
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16
How do you begin to talk about trust, when every thought that swirls around in your brain has additional questions attached to it: is it real?                  is it made up?            is it rational?                  is it an overreaction?          is it temporary?                          is it permanent? Tangled root systems of the same questions, for every thought. And I haven’t even started on Feelings, [that’s a different poem altogether]. - How do you begin to talk about trust when, for starters, you can’t trust yourself. Grow up, with silence and shrugged shoulders and the helpless statements of: I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know, in response to all your scientific parents’ questions – questions peppered with “logical” and “rational” and *“you understand where we’re coming from …right?”* and eventually, every time you think or feel anything at all and have no explanation, you’re left with one question:                          how can you not know?                            how can you not know?                          how can you not know? - Say a word enough times and it starts to lose its meaning: trust trust trust trust Is it even a word, or just a lucky combination of letters? - How do you begin to talk about trust when you’ve been let down not once, not twice, not three times… well, what’s the point of trying to recall, when you’ve lost count of the times. It would be one thing, if you knew why you’ve been abandoned, or why people hurt you, or why everything gets to you so often,                            [is it you or is it them,                                 is it you or is it them,                         is it you or is it them?] but it’s the not knowing that makes you realize that people as a whole are: Unpredictable, Unreliable, Untrustworthy. You’re not usually too angry about it, this is just Reality. - This is just Reality, but it’s the not knowing that kills you, closes up your heart in a certain kind of way after a while. Oh, you’ll talk to people, if you must, say whatever seem to be the right things, be the listening ear they need, if that’s what’s required of you, be good, understanding, kind, empathetic, to the best of your ability, but you won’t Rely on them, won’t accept statements of I can help. That’s a different story. - If you can’t trust People. [Forget about your family, the ones who supposedly love you, with their helpful advice of “get a job, be useful, it’ll make you feel better.” Forget about the docs and therapists, the ones who supposedly make it better, with pills or overpriced talking sessions. Forget friends, the ones who supposedly are your support system, with “I’m here for you” and “I can help” that lead nowhere.] then what you are left with is trusting yourself out of necessity. And you’re back to where you started.
0
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
anjana-rao
On the Subject of Trust
How do you begin to talk about trust, when every thought that swirls around in your brain has additional questions attached to it: is it real?                  is it made up?            is it rational?                  is it an overreaction?          is it temporary?                          is it permanent? Tangled root systems of the same questions, for every thought. And I haven’t even started on Feelings, [that’s a different poem altogether]. - How do you begin to talk about trust when, for starters, you can’t trust yourself. Grow up, with silence and shrugged shoulders and the helpless statements of: I don’t know, I don’t know, I just don’t know, in response to all your scientific parents’ questions – questions peppered with “logical” and “rational” and *“you understand where we’re coming from …right?”* and eventually, every time you think or feel anything at all and have no explanation, you’re left with one question:                          how can you not know?                            how can you not know?                          how can you not know? - Say a word enough times and it starts to lose its meaning: trust trust trust trust Is it even a word, or just a lucky combination of letters? - How do you begin to talk about trust when you’ve been let down not once, not twice, not three times… well, what’s the point of trying to recall, when you’ve lost count of the times. It would be one thing, if you knew why you’ve been abandoned, or why people hurt you, or why everything gets to you so often,                            [is it you or is it them,                                 is it you or is it them,                         is it you or is it them?] but it’s the not knowing that makes you realize that people as a whole are: Unpredictable, Unreliable, Untrustworthy. You’re not usually too angry about it, this is just Reality. - This is just Reality, but it’s the not knowing that kills you, closes up your heart in a certain kind of way after a while. Oh, you’ll talk to people, if you must, say whatever seem to be the right things, be the listening ear they need, if that’s what’s required of you, be good, understanding, kind, empathetic, to the best of your ability, but you won’t Rely on them, won’t accept statements of I can help. That’s a different story. - If you can’t trust People. [Forget about your family, the ones who supposedly love you, with their helpful advice of “get a job, be useful, it’ll make you feel better.” Forget about the docs and therapists, the ones who supposedly make it better, with pills or overpriced talking sessions. Forget friends, the ones who supposedly are your support system, with “I’m here for you” and “I can help” that lead nowhere.] then what you are left with is trusting yourself out of necessity. And you’re back to where you started.
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114
To make wine, Grapes are crushed then poured into fermentation tanks. Once fermentation begins, the grape skins are pushed to the surface by carbon dioxide gases released in the fermentation process. I am the only fruit who has the necessary acids to make natural, stable wine. My tannins add a bitterness and astringency, But I must be picked at the right time. My acidity and sweetness must be zen in balance. The right ones are sorted through, but not all of us make the cut. Unable to be served as sweet wine, too bitter. Some more sweet, not bitter enough. Simply picked at the wrong time, their peak unwanted, forgotten. After being sorted we are destemmed and crushed. Our roots ripped from us, dignity stomped upon. For years, it was done manually, by foot. Now, preformed mechanically, systematically. But hey! "Mechanical pressing has brought tremendous sanitary gains as well as increased the longevity and quality of wine." Grape abuse continues, white wine grapes are quickly crushed. Why do you ask? To keep unwanted "color" from leeching into the wine. But red wine, Red wine is left in contact with it's skin, forced to acquire more color, more flavor and additional tannins. After being sorted and crushed, I naturally ferment with in six to twelve hours. This continues until all my sugar, Is converted to alcohol. To produce dry, wine. The final stage is aging. I am bottled with a cork, Put on a shelf. And ironically, await my optimal fruitfulness.
0
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
thenapkinpoet
FERMENTATION MANIPULATION
To make wine, Grapes are crushed then poured into fermentation tanks. Once fermentation begins, the grape skins are pushed to the surface by carbon dioxide gases released in the fermentation process. I am the only fruit who has the necessary acids to make natural, stable wine. My tannins add a bitterness and astringency, But I must be picked at the right time. My acidity and sweetness must be zen in balance. The right ones are sorted through, but not all of us make the cut. Unable to be served as sweet wine, too bitter. Some more sweet, not bitter enough. Simply picked at the wrong time, their peak unwanted, forgotten. After being sorted we are destemmed and crushed. Our roots ripped from us, dignity stomped upon. For years, it was done manually, by foot. Now, preformed mechanically, systematically. But hey! "Mechanical pressing has brought tremendous sanitary gains as well as increased the longevity and quality of wine." Grape abuse continues, white wine grapes are quickly crushed. Why do you ask? To keep unwanted "color" from leeching into the wine. But red wine, Red wine is left in contact with it's skin, forced to acquire more color, more flavor and additional tannins. After being sorted and crushed, I naturally ferment with in six to twelve hours. This continues until all my sugar, Is converted to alcohol. To produce dry, wine. The final stage is aging. I am bottled with a cork, Put on a shelf. And ironically, await my optimal fruitfulness.
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31
To the woman who scolded me for moving on with my life after my assault at age 13: "Your life didn't skip a beat, you went to school and hung out with friends and everything," is what she told me. Yes my life did not skip a beat when I was entirely uprooted. What happens to a plant if it is uprooted? Can a plant survive if it is pulled up out of the soil? I have found that just as with any other situation involving injury, there as some steps you need to take in order to repair it. First you need to assess the damage. Broken stems and wilting leaves are obviously very noticeable symptoms of distress. What is important is the condition of the main stem and the roots. This will determine whether or not the plant can survive. The sooner you can take emergency steps the better. The next step is performing first aid. The plant benefits from little additional trauma as possible. Torn branches need to be cut back, to avoid any additional tearing. Keep in mind that any cutting done should be gentle and done with sanitized tools to prevent disease in the already weakened plant. One of the final steps is replanting. The plant can now be replanted even deeper than it was before, and watering it regularly can reduce its stress. Lastly, monitoring the plants success is important. The key to restoring a plant that was uprooted is patience while waiting for it to adjust through a period called transplant shock. Note that the situation may look worse before it looks better. Large leaves may wither or drop. Transplant shock can last several months or even seasons. Provide persistent care to the plant, and do not judge it until the next season of growth, usually during spring. It is usually worth the wait. So, yes. I did not skip a beat. I did not skip a beat after I was ***** and my life became uprooted because the sooner you can take emergency steps, the better. I learned how to replant myself instead of letting my life wither away. And do you know what? It was surprisingly worth the wait.
0
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
rebekah-heiland
Uprooted
To the woman who scolded me for moving on with my life after my assault at age 13: "Your life didn't skip a beat, you went to school and hung out with friends and everything," is what she told me. Yes my life did not skip a beat when I was entirely uprooted. What happens to a plant if it is uprooted? Can a plant survive if it is pulled up out of the soil? I have found that just as with any other situation involving injury, there as some steps you need to take in order to repair it. First you need to assess the damage. Broken stems and wilting leaves are obviously very noticeable symptoms of distress. What is important is the condition of the main stem and the roots. This will determine whether or not the plant can survive. The sooner you can take emergency steps the better. The next step is performing first aid. The plant benefits from little additional trauma as possible. Torn branches need to be cut back, to avoid any additional tearing. Keep in mind that any cutting done should be gentle and done with sanitized tools to prevent disease in the already weakened plant. One of the final steps is replanting. The plant can now be replanted even deeper than it was before, and watering it regularly can reduce its stress. Lastly, monitoring the plants success is important. The key to restoring a plant that was uprooted is patience while waiting for it to adjust through a period called transplant shock. Note that the situation may look worse before it looks better. Large leaves may wither or drop. Transplant shock can last several months or even seasons. Provide persistent care to the plant, and do not judge it until the next season of growth, usually during spring. It is usually worth the wait. So, yes. I did not skip a beat. I did not skip a beat after I was ***** and my life became uprooted because the sooner you can take emergency steps, the better. I learned how to replant myself instead of letting my life wither away. And do you know what? It was surprisingly worth the wait.
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11
Forget the onion and all its layers thats obvious You are undeserving for such a cliché So I invite a different perspective Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you, so dense in identical morals Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick, Thicker than blood or water, Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella Each placing full of utter affection, Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona. The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters To open eyes to attributes unseen before, Hopes set high to electrify taste buds Wanting the other to crave more Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza You are my hawaiian As i, Your meatfeast. Opposing trimmings Eachothers 1st choice One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
0
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
Hkg
Pizza perfectionism
Forget the onion and all its layers thats obvious You are undeserving for such a cliché So I invite a different perspective Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you, so dense in identical morals Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick, Thicker than blood or water, Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella Each placing full of utter affection, Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona. The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters To open eyes to attributes unseen before, Hopes set high to electrify taste buds Wanting the other to crave more Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza You are my hawaiian As i, Your meatfeast. Opposing trimmings Eachothers 1st choice One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
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25
(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught
0
Mar 3, 2011
Mar 3, 2011 at 1:22 PM UTC
michael-reid-rubenstein
snow mermaids
(AP) another tragic report today of snow mermaids resurfacing a phenomena of drastic blizzard conditions young men lost in blinding blowing winds that sends a person forging foreword then back a step are sightings of real or imagined snow nymphs naked gorgeous young women giggling frolicking through 8’ snow drifts arching limbs grinding hips twiddling fingers toes swaying long hair spreading thighs exposing privates pinching ******* pursing lips gesturing to be seduced beckoning into freezing snow entrapment eventually freezing victims into lifeless blue corpses only additional forensic evidence left behind are definite female snow angel signature tracks in surrounding snowfall areas since onslaught of February 1st storm strike 18 male bodies missing 13 bodies recovered all found grasping clutching clinging desirously to unknown source 5 men still missing if you suspect the whereabouts of any of these individuals please contact 911 authorities warn men of a certain age wear appropriate winter gear scarves raised hats lowered eyes squinting look away without delay if you think you are witness to one or more of these deadly snow mermaids GPS immediately to Police postscript in the several thousand years since these occurrences have been recorded not a single snow mermaid has ever been caught
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1
I hate living in this spread out town where I have to drive ten miles just to get to a bus that will drive for twenty additional ones just to get to Walgreen's to buy ******* soap to wash my mother's back because she can't wash it herself.
0
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
vvellthen
a journey
I hate living in this spread out town where I have to drive ten miles just to get to a bus that will drive for twenty additional ones just to get to Walgreen's to buy ******* soap to wash my mother's back because she can't wash it herself.
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1
Andy... You are not alive anymore. You will never read this as a living breathing human anymore, you will never click on this poem and read my name and be blinded by the brightness of the screen, but I wanted to post this anyway. I wonder if you are watching me type this in spirit form or if you are doing something else but, just know that I'm glad. I'm glad you are not suffering anymore from the dread. I'm glad you are not scared anymore, because waiting is the worst. I grieve for your family and I'm heartbroken for your friends, and all who loved you but you were truly the most inspiring person I have ever had the privilege to speak to. I hope from heaven you can see me, I really hope now you know my real name because it probably doesn't make a difference but it's something I wanted to tell you because, I mean, that's a part of my identity, that's me, and I loved your soul. I loved listening to you, I loved reading what you had to say I loved watching the people who's lives you touched be inspired by the amazing person you were and you know what, it felt wrong for you not to know my name but I am very wary on the internet, I don't give out personal information so I stuck to my screen name, symbolic for something deeper, a deeper part of me, so in a way it was a part of my identity like a name but it still wasn't my real name. The cancer killed your body, but nothing could possibly **** your soul, and I hope to God you are happy now that you have passed on because if anyone deserves it, it is you Andy. I think “Rest In Peace” has lost its meaning from overuse by now, so instead I will say Rest happily, Andy. “And” is a part of your name, Andy And you were the “and” in everyone you met’s lives. Something additionalto people’s lives to remind them that there is an and not just the depression or sadness they feel in their lives there is an and to go along with their burdens and that and was HOPE. You were hope. I hope you are okay, I pray for you and like I said before, Andy, I don’t know where you are but if you read this where ever you are in whatever form somehow Andy as I said before I don’t know what you are facing, what is going on right now with you now that you have passed on but like I said before it’s okay to be afraid. I don’t know what else to say. There will never be another person like you ever for the rest of eternity, so thank you, for being you and wherever and whatever you are, I hope you Rest Happily Andy, and I thank God for the beautiful blessing I was given: Knowing you. Ember Evanescent
0
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
ember-evanescent
Andy, Rest Happily
Andy... You are not alive anymore. You will never read this as a living breathing human anymore, you will never click on this poem and read my name and be blinded by the brightness of the screen, but I wanted to post this anyway. I wonder if you are watching me type this in spirit form or if you are doing something else but, just know that I'm glad. I'm glad you are not suffering anymore from the dread. I'm glad you are not scared anymore, because waiting is the worst. I grieve for your family and I'm heartbroken for your friends, and all who loved you but you were truly the most inspiring person I have ever had the privilege to speak to. I hope from heaven you can see me, I really hope now you know my real name because it probably doesn't make a difference but it's something I wanted to tell you because, I mean, that's a part of my identity, that's me, and I loved your soul. I loved listening to you, I loved reading what you had to say I loved watching the people who's lives you touched be inspired by the amazing person you were and you know what, it felt wrong for you not to know my name but I am very wary on the internet, I don't give out personal information so I stuck to my screen name, symbolic for something deeper, a deeper part of me, so in a way it was a part of my identity like a name but it still wasn't my real name. The cancer killed your body, but nothing could possibly **** your soul, and I hope to God you are happy now that you have passed on because if anyone deserves it, it is you Andy. I think “Rest In Peace” has lost its meaning from overuse by now, so instead I will say Rest happily, Andy. “And” is a part of your name, Andy And you were the “and” in everyone you met’s lives. Something additionalto people’s lives to remind them that there is an and not just the depression or sadness they feel in their lives there is an and to go along with their burdens and that and was HOPE. You were hope. I hope you are okay, I pray for you and like I said before, Andy, I don’t know where you are but if you read this where ever you are in whatever form somehow Andy as I said before I don’t know what you are facing, what is going on right now with you now that you have passed on but like I said before it’s okay to be afraid. I don’t know what else to say. There will never be another person like you ever for the rest of eternity, so thank you, for being you and wherever and whatever you are, I hope you Rest Happily Andy, and I thank God for the beautiful blessing I was given: Knowing you. Ember Evanescent
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11
A first exclamation Is it an approximation? Of my imagination Spoken determination We are all in delusion Sinking possibilities Acting on this activation A brain improvisation A flowing dedication Mounted city destination Lacking in co-operation Mounted evaluations Investing the cognition Is not the only direction? Embracing the investigation My convergence recruitment Not even words uncovers The layered entrenchment Sunken lost in introversion A day dream of absolution
0
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
SassyJ
Daydream of Absolution (Additional Spoken Audio)
A first exclamation Is it an approximation? Of my imagination Spoken determination We are all in delusion Sinking possibilities Acting on this activation A brain improvisation A flowing dedication Mounted city destination Lacking in co-operation Mounted evaluations Investing the cognition Is not the only direction? Embracing the investigation My convergence recruitment Not even words uncovers The layered entrenchment Sunken lost in introversion A day dream of absolution
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20
In such little time our universe was completely reordered We never knew what really mattered until our love found a soul Crossing the divides, the edges and borders To meet in the middle to make our family's consciousness whole Finding your soulmate is a beauty of it's own Then when you create with that love, everything gets brighter, better A new light inside, brought out to mark how we've grown The purity of destiny and choice finding a center It's impossible to understand what a gift a child can be Until you're blessed with one who's smile could melt the coldest ice Harmony, when we see your eyes you truly set us free You pierce the heart with innocence so precise Remember as the years go by and you read these words That one is felt above all but love, and that's unconditional You are a blessing to your parents and the earth The fact that we get to journey with you is additional We will always praise you for your ups and light the fire of inspiration We will always raise you from your falls and teach you the right invocations We will always show you that we are human too and are always learning just like you And we will always teach you that the most powerful words in the world are....I ...Love...You!!! Happy Birthday Harmony Jade!
0
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
shane-bruter-engisch
A Poem For My Daughter Harmony's First Birthday
In such little time our universe was completely reordered We never knew what really mattered until our love found a soul Crossing the divides, the edges and borders To meet in the middle to make our family's consciousness whole Finding your soulmate is a beauty of it's own Then when you create with that love, everything gets brighter, better A new light inside, brought out to mark how we've grown The purity of destiny and choice finding a center It's impossible to understand what a gift a child can be Until you're blessed with one who's smile could melt the coldest ice Harmony, when we see your eyes you truly set us free You pierce the heart with innocence so precise Remember as the years go by and you read these words That one is felt above all but love, and that's unconditional You are a blessing to your parents and the earth The fact that we get to journey with you is additional We will always praise you for your ups and light the fire of inspiration We will always raise you from your falls and teach you the right invocations We will always show you that we are human too and are always learning just like you And we will always teach you that the most powerful words in the world are....I ...Love...You!!! Happy Birthday Harmony Jade!
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21