"agasp" poems - Hello Poetry

He bartered for the remnants of my soul with his blue eyes and quick wit Slashed skin for a sinful grin As though my seared flesh weren't enough And his wicked tongue lapped at my inner being a kitten with milk He said he liked the cobwebs in place of my locks and offered butterfly wings for my lashes Sack of diamonds for a soul Replacing hearts with coal dust and glowing embers straight from the hell in which he belonged And I dwelt He stood agasp when I took the offer and all he held was single piece of dead, dried, flower petal~A

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Mar 12, 2017

Mar 12, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC

amanda-gidgette-byers

The Barter

He bartered for the remnants of my soul with his blue eyes and quick wit Slashed skin for a sinful grin As though my seared flesh weren't enough And his wicked tongue lapped at my inner being a kitten with milk He said he liked the cobwebs in place of my locks and offered butterfly wings for my lashes Sack of diamonds for a soul Replacing hearts with coal dust and glowing embers straight from the hell in which he belonged And I dwelt He stood agasp when I took the offer and all he held was single piece of dead, dried, flower petal~A

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There is no more room to wander, within the wild, blue yonder. All the skies and seas are dead to explore. No new ports, forgotten resorts; a lack of ****** shores for rich men to ravish, in search of riches much more. Sea-faring clime possessed on the backs of child, rode as destiny manifest, wrote during storm, through mild. More words than shores coalesced. But the words explode from me— Like some powerful wave meant only To wash things that should not be, away. Every syllable hovering, quivering At the corners of my mouth— As they carry me to beaches where feet walk less timid, walk with less freedom than I could ever hope to possess. If we must be in hope and wish for probity, in the minds and hearts and waters at sea. Lift from masthead our daughters and brides, so they last instead until martrimony decree. And when vows written in logs of Captain are all we accomplish lead by sextant see. All things are permissible deep in our dreams, yet chapel bell is rung not by sexton, but me. I am my own Captain— Luring those splashing wanderers not to safety— No, I lead them to drown with me. The extra weight needed, begged for So that we may appear as a sixteenth century painting Brushes stroked in the last sip of black tea to mimic some reality Ive only touched myself to in sleep. We are agasp toward bottoms, and fall from heights. Whereas one of us sinks, the other heaves into dives. We are without fathom, as water stings our eyes blind. Struggle, you cannot lack fight, it will happen whether you wish. We are both rats, a Captain between us, forgoing a sinking ship. You abhor tradition in lieu to survive. Set it afire, So we can watch from underneath As through some television screen The world we knew, we know rise up in smoke to signal no one.

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Aug 5, 2018

Aug 5, 2018 at 4:42 AM UTC

jm_him

No more room to wander

There is no more room to wander, within the wild, blue yonder. All the skies and seas are dead to explore. No new ports, forgotten resorts; a lack of ****** shores for rich men to ravish, in search of riches much more. Sea-faring clime possessed on the backs of child, rode as destiny manifest, wrote during storm, through mild. More words than shores coalesced. But the words explode from me— Like some powerful wave meant only To wash things that should not be, away. Every syllable hovering, quivering At the corners of my mouth— As they carry me to beaches where feet walk less timid, walk with less freedom than I could ever hope to possess. If we must be in hope and wish for probity, in the minds and hearts and waters at sea. Lift from masthead our daughters and brides, so they last instead until martrimony decree. And when vows written in logs of Captain are all we accomplish lead by sextant see. All things are permissible deep in our dreams, yet chapel bell is rung not by sexton, but me. I am my own Captain— Luring those splashing wanderers not to safety— No, I lead them to drown with me. The extra weight needed, begged for So that we may appear as a sixteenth century painting Brushes stroked in the last sip of black tea to mimic some reality Ive only touched myself to in sleep. We are agasp toward bottoms, and fall from heights. Whereas one of us sinks, the other heaves into dives. We are without fathom, as water stings our eyes blind. Struggle, you cannot lack fight, it will happen whether you wish. We are both rats, a Captain between us, forgoing a sinking ship. You abhor tradition in lieu to survive. Set it afire, So we can watch from underneath As through some television screen The world we knew, we know rise up in smoke to signal no one.

50

Ode to a Cough 😷 Ahem! Oh cough, that small expression of relief an echo of congestion in the throat. A hack, ahem, that passes through our teeth Emotion swells a lump that I may choke. What calls thy siren to my attention? A blockage thus, of phlegm, a chesty rasp, or narrowing of passage void of breath. The air about you holds itself agasp I fear you are brought into contention and brought about a certain kind of dearth. A cuckoo lays an egg within your nest and harbours you a master of disguise. You tickle and tease, leaving me to guess the nature of your lyrical reprise To fear or not I ask you to discern. They flee, they flee, at what you may become. Such power, I can only show respect, lying low, to elude your stealthy roam. Who are thee to show such little concern, to all the lives you wittingly infect? Your path floats on an air of discernment, moving forward a mutant in our midst that begs me to doff my hat, your servant and smell the poisoned scent that you have kissed. Are you thus a never-ending terror? What distance do you give for me to make? Will your repertoire ever be enough? The future holds such chances there to take. I cannot hide my face from you forever because sometimes we cough, sometimes we cough.

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May 8, 2020

May 8, 2020 at 4:09 AM UTC

carol-chalk

Ode To A Cough

Ode to a Cough 😷 Ahem! Oh cough, that small expression of relief an echo of congestion in the throat. A hack, ahem, that passes through our teeth Emotion swells a lump that I may choke. What calls thy siren to my attention? A blockage thus, of phlegm, a chesty rasp, or narrowing of passage void of breath. The air about you holds itself agasp I fear you are brought into contention and brought about a certain kind of dearth. A cuckoo lays an egg within your nest and harbours you a master of disguise. You tickle and tease, leaving me to guess the nature of your lyrical reprise To fear or not I ask you to discern. They flee, they flee, at what you may become. Such power, I can only show respect, lying low, to elude your stealthy roam. Who are thee to show such little concern, to all the lives you wittingly infect? Your path floats on an air of discernment, moving forward a mutant in our midst that begs me to doff my hat, your servant and smell the poisoned scent that you have kissed. Are you thus a never-ending terror? What distance do you give for me to make? Will your repertoire ever be enough? The future holds such chances there to take. I cannot hide my face from you forever because sometimes we cough, sometimes we cough.

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