"annunciate" poems
i am a terrible poet.
the words i tied together in attempt
to annunciate
the way your kisses felt
along the soft of my
cheeks were
mediocre and just barely enough.
just barely.
there weren't enough ways that i could describe
the mouthful
of stars that spilled at the seams of my
lips as you gently traced them with warm finger tips.
mm, your finger tips.
your finger tips felt like a personal extension from god himself as
they dusted the empty jars i left untouched
in the forgotten spaces of me.
you held them tightly and filled them to the top
with a breathful of morning secrets
and hidden places to meet.
i found you.
i found you and allowed the words to slip
through my small hands
as you kissed my palms gently and sweetly
and folded them into your own to keep for just a little bit.
(
i could stay here)
i could lay underneath your tired smiles
and messy hair
until stars realigned themselves and directed
me to you all over again.
(
i could stay here)
i could tangle in-between your pale sheets
and make up all the words that
effortlessly translate the way i melted and simmered
at the sheer thought of waking up and knowing you again.
i could illustrate all of the galaxies you whispered
onto the trail of my back with
colors and warmth i never knew
and turn them into poorly strung together,
black and white strings of thought.
you were my favorite secret
and the cause of all of my writer’s block.
(i could stay here)
i’ve lived in florida my entire life
and have spent more days than i can count
under the sun and in the wake of rays that always burned,
but i’ve never felt more warmth than lying underneath
your expired thoughts and eclipsing eyes
as the moon seeped through your broken window blinds.
i forgot what it was like to breathe
until you took my face
sweetly and sincerely
and kissed me.
the paragraphs and ellipses that perforated my parenthetical
sighs of relief
stained the corners of my mouth
and lingered
long enough for me to remember
the after taste of your recycled sunshine
as you left me.
i am a terrible poet,
but a better kept secret it seems.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
May my ignorance blind me.
For I'm a product of the 90's,
Instead of being like Jesus,
we all wanted to be like Mike.
Is that facetious?
Or sound just about right?
Right...? No Left,
Child Act Behind...
they say my dyslexia forever disrupts mind...
my...mind...
He yells louder,
*"Why am I wasting my time
with you Brock?
You don't want to learn,
God ******
Quit staring at the clock!
Now go on read the sentence
and annunciate on that last word,
don't overestimate the time,
It is not going to move any faster..."*
There I sat boiling, as he wagged his finger in my face as he stood behind,
tempting me to call upon my intrepid Power Ranger besieged mind.
I would cut his head off with a swoosh of my sword,
sparks go flying and down goes Zedd-Lord.
*"God ****** Brock it's Lord-Zedd!"* , I shouted in my own head.
So, in my imagination;
I still cannot properly read.
Where will this get me?
No where fast...
I work continually, properly, systematically, honestly, legitimately, every way I can to learn every word I want to know.
That's where I want to Go.
Like I said, I'm a product of the 90's.
A whole generation discovered off the product of:
I find me.
Instead of having the powers given to us, we worked for them.
And that is the difference between Jesus and Jordan.
And that is the difference between Jesus and Jordan.
And that is the difference between Jesus and Jordan.
May my knowledge open eyes.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
I can write about all the ways we miscommunicate
Words and phrases and lack of response
Blank faced with no sense of emotion or displays of affection
Unsure of whatever spectrum we're on
But if we even are on the same one, we're on opposite sides
It's funny how I can bleed out through pen ink but I can't ever seem to annunciate
My words won't translate into how I feel to anyones face and yours is no exception in this case
Barriers I feel terrified to get through
The break downs are rough and like milk you had in the fridge for months
You forgot it was there but when you find it it's spoiled
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
You seem to be setting off some smoke alarms in me.
Every time that I am required to concentrate
On something that is larger than me
(Larger than life)
I hear this perpetual beeping and thick vibrations, so muscular
Come from the tower
And it blinds me.
I’m learning every antithesis of what you are teaching me:
Every syllable that I try to annunciate is an exclusive paradox.
I’ve never been able to put liquid gold on to cold paper before now.
You are the hand of Midas.
And here I am: tearing flesh is a thing of the past,
My ancient history textbook is worn
And worthless and I cannot sell it to replace
What you have lost and for that
I am sorry.
I only want you to **** the marrow out of my dreams
For as long as it takes you to.
Voices from the tower echo throughout my body
And I start to feel sick.
Violently sick, almost.
A war rages.
And the walls become tepid and
I can taste my sweat from the night
Before on the back of my tongue
And you are there too; not consciously,
but your pressure is there.
And something begins squeezing my skull
And I can hear swords clashing.
Oh heavy, precious metal.
I do not want to be frightened by this.
In fact, I want it to last forever.
Well past its expiry date until the nausea fades out.
And we will not be strangers then but
My eyes will be blackened and maybe
You will not remember the waxes we shared.
But I will.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
I sat there in his office, for our first formal meeting and
I thought: what a strange little man
and I thought: thoughts are private, he can't know
but I've no poker face, so as I watched him look at me silently
I was eyeing him like a stained onion under a microscope
Look at the cell wall, the keys dangling from the faded Dockers from 1982
the pale hands with the small sausage fingers
everyone talked about his hands and those small fingers
that would gesticulate and pontificate and annunciate his power over us
He walked from his desk to the table, and it seemed like it took ten steps
and he became smaller with every stride, in the faded wrinkled shirt, made of flannel
like a used bed sheet
there is the nucleus, the papers in his hand I thought and his faded green eyes darted
over at me, and he knew, he could feel it, he knew I thought he was a dork
At last he settled down at the table and I joined him and the sausage fingers
of power shuffled through my evaluations, which were good
before he had that grudge, nursed over the summer
before he let it sink in that he was never good enough in my eyes
that he was always dissapointing me
I would walk to him, like trying to buy good organic food at a seven eleven
and wondering why every time, it wasn't there
He knew he couldn't do anything right in my eyes
He wasn't up to my challenge
I didn't know that he knew
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
the brilliance of the darkness
served only to annunciate
the loudness of the passing silence
While the pervasiveness of the defeated idea
continues to occur in self-[a.s.s].embly lines
The nano utilizes a scope of micro to flesh out the macro
Simultaneous non-being
duly correlates to the emptiness of the tao’s pot-shaped,quantum hat
Possibility is endless, until you enlist knowledge as your retainer
The origin of all particular things is lost
through the knower being zenly slapped,
I just would have loved to help schroedinger's cat
pur.........
what a ***** he wouldn’t even open the box to check her.
Dear ∞ this is my letter to you while I let her be bound in quite comfortably in lazer-light leather.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Oh words that have been left unspoken,
Why must you carry so much weight?
Why can't you string yourselves together
And annunciate or communicate?
The words held in check I do not follow
Wondering about throughout my mind.
But now and again reemerging to remind
Myself what not to say.
Speaking my mind is not an option
The words would be uncontrolled
And my tongue would begin to fold
At the bitter taste of the words that should be left untold.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
How do I make you understand.
The feelings that I struggle,
These battles, I hesitate.
My words, I don’t annunciate.
You feel my push and pull
And yet I feeling nothing at all.
Unfortunately....
To lie,
But for what reason do I have to cry.
I slam a door
The hell was that for.
One day I’m shy
Tomorrow I’m saying goodbye
Then I beg for your caress
While I scream that I imagine my carcass.
How do I make you understand
That this is how I hesitate
And forever may not be our fate
Because I laugh, then cry
And who wants a mutter nearby
Sometimes I’m sweet like blue sky
But I swear the devil sweats beneath these eye
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:43 AM UTC
I think about you only when I’m alone
Distraction is great when you’re inlove with someone who is incapable of compassion
I have the taste of your skin memorized on the tip of my tongue
Every time I annunciate I feel your hand wrapped around my throat then your lips whispering in my ear
hush
I always stopped talking when you told me too but that’s exactly what you hated about me
I’m sorry that the hem on my sleeve has unraveled and my heart is on the floor but we cannot all be broken the same way
The truth is I only need you when I haven’t seen you in months
I only cry for you when I think about you unbuttoning my jeans
The swift movement down my thighs taking a white sock off with them at the same time
I know the fragile curves of my body are imprinted in your unconscious and when you touch other girls your hands smell like my perfume.
We only want each other when we can’t have each other and that’s why I’ll spend the rest of my life with other men.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
I'm wasted on your words
Held hostage by your speech
Hanging on to syllables
Their emphasis and reach
The tone you chose is subtle
Distress unfolds to peace
Annunciate your authenticity
Lest my intoxication cease
© JL Smith
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
a moment of time,
a glance, just enough light,
a thought
a breath exhanged,
between two,
is there reason
is this right
a doubt
a day rearranged,
who knew?
so close to perfection
so choose a direction
so lose yourself
so much to lose,
all in the passion for poetry,
add words,
out loud sounds,
go for the prose,
rhymes, found reason up above,
add movement and it becomes sublime,
don't let it end
don't make it end,
hold on, go beyond the status quo,
let go of the present state of affairs,
in debt to life,
in debted to my wife,
in ******* not free,
what is it that cages me,
the walls, I built
the stalling, the years
it is appalling, all under fear
of failure.
don't be shy
annunciate,
give life a try,
read out loud,
to yourself or the crowd,
climb the mountainous ampitheatre,
is that fear, the smell or some other fetor,
how does a relationship resemble barbed wire?
walk in the forest, among the tall trees, the moss is
soft as you fall to your knees, humbled by what?, Child,
they will find you, you are not lost,
they will find you at all costs, you may not know
where in life you are, where you fit, what is you purpose
this is it,
write, write, write
draw ink it is the blood that pours out
taking poison with it like rain down a downspout,
you are not in the gutter
that is for the utter guise, who mock while copying
your imperfections
that make you human,
some have given you up,
some have written you off,
some have written down,
but they did not expect
to find such marrow in
those bones,
such beautiful bones,
no one owns but you,
so write down to the bones
use that marrow for ink,
stand in the shadows of
the giants you fear,
in a voice that trembles
with emotions, sound the
words that roll like thunder
use words like swords and weigh them
with your muscled tongue,
and those who listen, those who read
will get your meaning...and sorrow that
they did not write with
passion, fire, touch, taste,
there is no down, your words are kindling
to start the pyre,
that will cremate the self you left behind.
Phoenix Rise!
To Write.
©DWE022014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Pandering thought, meander through my essence.
Set my skin on fire, flush me in both flesh,
and genitalia; but redeeming release remains
improbable if not teetering on impossible.
Soundlessly, or so I would like to believe. I
push back the carnal, making desire much more
rabid, and I repeat idioms simply to distract.
"Victimless!" I'm reminded by the operatic
symphony of memories playing in perfect pitch,
on time each grouping strokes my psyche
with feathery simplicity.
Aching, throbbing words so frenetic, to
annunciate them would make this fantastic
pain I seethe for incredibly real.
Maybe I'd rather save the pent up ferocity
for divine intent, but the beast is hungry, and
my resolve grows weary.
Weathering impulse for me, is torture beyond
obscene. Heated breath would be fingertips
upon this urge filled flesh, would be pursed lips
against the nape of my neck, would be fingernails
digging in with malicious intent.
Fervent this pen isn't enough fluid, but watching
it move across these blue lines allows me to
imagine tracing the elegant hairs along her stomach.
All of which without a word muttered.
"The silence is perfect."
How do you not hear the cacophony, the almost
fiendish delicate devil begging for freedom, if not
a chance to lick her leg.
Would it make her toes curl?
Would it make my back ache in effort?
Only thoughts now, my God where is the
silence!?
"The silence you ask? Sweet release."
When it abates I sorrowfully await it again.
Held within its grasp the moments seem cruel.
Once gone, like an addict, I want it more
and more.
Is this a mind-gasm? A well orchestrated plot
to humanize my animalistic thoughts?
I wish for the perfect ending, but happiness
is just as brutal.
Now I reside in my weakening resolve,
coaching it up, if not myself.
I've never stood this close before, I can almost
hear her thinking,
of me, maybe?
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC