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when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic

2

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

3

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

4

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go

2

she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings

2

i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away

3

she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico

4

the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths

5

she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******

2

her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall

3

she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie

4

tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it

2

she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide
K Balachandran Sep 2013
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.

None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.

I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.

Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the  fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Malayalee    - A person belonging to the southern most Indian State, Kerala, whose mother tongue is "MALAYALAM"(note the palindrome).As water is plenty here,  cleanliness is a near obsession for denizens of this land.
Heavy Hearted Dec 2018
An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.

Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-

Thank you for giving us a place
to share what we believe.

I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.
brb
Being male, I wander
Mom dares not wonder
What kind of monsters she birthed
She brought her own equipment
I was aggressive but shy

Her womb is the most magnificent
Temple I’ve ever visited
There is nowhere else I want to be
Sister insisted
I stiffened then gave in

Children tease, squeal, scamper
Adults know unspeakable reality
Dizziness of first love
Mayhem, ******
Solemn whisper of infinity

After an uncertain age,
No one wants you anymore
Old women bond
Confer their anger
Old men tread alone

She knew from moment he laid eyes on her, she had him. She wore no make-up, anemic complexion, chin and jawline slightly broken out with red spots, cobalt blue irises, aquiline nose, hair dyed dark, fuzz-balled scarf, light blue fluffy sweater, big buttons, canvas shoulder bag, skinny jeans, leather boots, little boney black dog with ashen appointments. Instantly he fell in love. He confessed, “Your Chinese Crested pup stole my heart.”

In ******* position, neither lover sees other’s face. The top sees backside. The bottom sees what? He didn’t know.

She unlocks the door. He enters room. She tells him what to do, making demands. He follows her orders. She questions, “Why do we dance to these tunes?” He answers, “I want to smell your smells, ****, drink your darkest juices.” She articulates, “Stay,” then kisses him goodbye. She wakes wearing his ring, around her neck. They are each other’s slaves. Ceiling leaks, floor creaks, light beams through window as they waltz arm in arm.

She demands, “I want roast rack of lamb, or thinly sliced Serrano ham on buttered toast for dinner. And then I want to go home alone. I need some down time, away from you. I don’t belong to you, god-****-it!” Deep in financial debt, he hands the waiter his debit card.
Skendong Apr 2015
Shyly curious you smile at me.
Tender, delicate I lightly stroke you,
friction ridges of long index finger
brushing fine hairs to attention.

A sensory meeting, pupils contracted,
I impress upon your pale skin
from the glenohumeral joint to your elbow,
Then our mouths align, entwined,

Soft lips parted, eyes closed and tasting;
Your worldly generous thighs slightly ajar
pressed apart by a firm hand, the sensitive
multifingered extremity searches out,

Reaching for where you’ve been waiting for years.
Beautiful, wide-spread in close proximity,
Touching and sizzled by that sweet odour
from your neck, pleasing the soul,

I do not ask for more delight
Upon slipping into your wet and woven silk.
But you suddenly unglue our lips and ease me
back with a firm hand,

Your voice articulates a silent pause.
There’s a fierce and undeniable attraction here,
Tempered as I sit back for a moment,
Excited, quiet and praying for nightfall.
Vernarth leaves and articulates in them to guide and accompany them with this imperishable itinerary, coming from the undivided becoming that was normalized with its evident parapsychology, creating certain polycellular substances in the accentuated multi placebo effect by injecting them with clinical blindness, to then reactivate them in the ejido of Bethany as a path of going and death, back and Life, with whom they revived from the anginal dizziness, that even some faltered when they saw Bethany full of Borricos who led them with the allegory as if the real world had just been made in a variety of towards a speculative problem and its limitations. Vernarth could glimpse with his glances certain affected areas of some who were with the entourage, essentially in the wear of their pancreas, hormones that were launched with radiant flashes of celestial suns, with extracts of muscles varying with irradiation in super stocks, inhibiting radioactive parts of Cinnabar that finally brought them all together when the phase of Cinnabar that was deployed as an aid to the cutting of the heads Speleothemes or Speleotomies, becoming radioactive by generating concentration in large eminences of snatched electrons, in order to begin to open the layers of the bathyal zone at four thousand meters of depth without light, up to the Neritic where large cemeteries with whale mammary arteries flowed back, and together with toxins from sea snakes. The hypnosis that Vernarth exercised towards all those who absorbed aspiring to have enough dynamics, and generate prayers of all kinds for when they reached the Metelmi tunnel of the Profitis Ilias. With the management of the visualizations of her emotions, meditation and prayers were rewound after a neat trajectory of wealth and well-being Venusiana.

The power of their unified minds has been successfully adhered to for hundreds of years since they were fostered. From the first hypnotic third with the mesmerism of the chiroptical, rather of the four species of Vlad, Fruit Chiroptera, Vampire, Indiana, Egyptian, which would mainly be the carriers of fertilization of the lands of Patmos, and their pollination together with the Lepidoptera, also gave them the magnetism in this way:

Says Vlad Strigoi: “Eventually it suggested to me from the hypnotic trance that led us to varieties of suggestion in the dermis, which it branded us as suggestive ectodermal. Under the keys of the nervous system if I have to have a conscience or exquisite wisdom for all the blisters that in frugality it is convenient for my species of chiropterans to shelter them, and not my human comrades. So I got over the death of my older brother, and then I succeeded him, where I went some time to moan him on the Danube. I was exiled in Edirne, and from there in my second reign, I went to Wallachia, many episodes happened and early in the morning I was visited by the rest of the Boyars' bats, fleeing from themselves, there were thousands and thousands I had to take care of from them. Later I went to Valdaine, Chauvet. Welcoming me to Wonthelimar so that one day we would regain the true kingdom of manumission in the darkness of Wallachia with my monastic brother Vlad Calugarul "

The blisters of thousands of Vlad's Chiroptera burst when he referred to his brother Calugarul, beginning to fall from the upper angle into cheesy leagues of flying animals, who wanted to control the pain of man, all protected by psychic mental waves emancipated from the presumptuous angle of Vernarth, and of the laziness of his spasms, and migraines that we're frightened of some by the entrails of the physiology of the platform. Upon reaching five hundred years, there were four hundred left to approach the quantum borders that the Souls of Helleniká transferred to them, the entire timeline was covered with a tunic that was moistened by turbulent water that appeared from overseas, producing dramatic conventional meteorologies, where The line of sight of the horizon lay three times where it was, to indicate that the humid plain of the tunic was in concert with the setting Sun. From this regulation plan, the prime time was counterpoint, for a link of half an hour before approaching midnight, before reaching the Profitis Ilias, specifically the Metelmi Tunnel in the Raedus Codex. Many species were unable to tolerate the immunity of such an event as they emerged to the surface and began to collect cells that revived engulfed in themselves, to later become impregnated with Wonthelimar's entourage and then predisposed to enter the geological cavity.

The collectivity of time was dissipated, all the nature that was of a coherent past was beginning to visualize itself towards a state of immunity mechanism, due to the trances that deprived it of hope of living in a new beginning before reaching Patmos. From Agios Andreas, expulsions of malignancies that were expressed with the Apsidas Manes were still felt, being very well alternated by Marie des Vallées who deconcentrated conventions and individualities towards the lacerated that still did not form outgrowths on their bodies removed from Spinalonga, while she continued as always In its most absolute darkness and exile, only portraits were enough to project itself on a populated island, which would be rescued from involuntary excretions and depopulation, being a human settlement. More than a hundred experiments were missing to scale the island to a superiority that was far from a medical shelter site, which excludes it from knowledge of prevalent and invalidated concepts of a miraculous life that was beginning to be written in Agios Andreas. The power of Faith self-healed in the bodies that had yet to be awarded the healing intentions of collective minds that flowed among all, when they were guided by the Saint of Normandy after having clear evidence and for how long they would be on this islet, for also rejoin the investiture of the Himation of Vernarth in the Áullos Kósmos, indemnifying the intervals of the Vas Auric and the Cinnabar. All prayed inclined towards a transformation of the permutations that inspired a quantum healing, that moved the waves of the seas in unison with their prayers, that creating a quantum healing atmosphere in all channels, and for all their atoned intentions. Telepathy apprehended all their emotions, prevailing the vital energy that contemporary in the prayers of the new earth field that greeted them became at their astonished feet.

The hospitality of Agios Andreas had Theus and Vikentios defined to be with her, to have total compassion with the Saint and to recover their ancestors with a focus of energy that were invaded by hyper healings similar to an ultrasound, which emanated from the hands of the Santa, for each of the individuals who remained to be definitively healed and then redistribute them in the new spheres of execrations, which hung from the indigenous Manes on the island, which delimited the improvement of many human beings who lived long periods here, overcoming dimorphisms in the reproductive organs of ancient cavemen, with leprosy in the ***** of their ******, but the testimony of dimorphism motor skills will lead to species totally free of this scourge of the ***** bacillus, to perfectly synchronize a field of healing energy, from the magical thought of the Saint who assisted them permanently, to prepare themselves in the new regions before they had what to make the last decision to integrate in Patmos. The membranes of the nuclei of the sun that healed them and reconvened themselves from the molecules of an energized level of matter celestially congruent, with the sensitivity of the affected organs, until some cells imprisoned in the cells of lost morbidity, hypnosis was reinstituted bilocate de Vernarth who assisted them from his eclectic Portal before superior hypnosis that led them to mutate their bodies into astonishing birds, which were retransformed with the Birds of the Stymphalus.
Stymphalus  Birds
Brent Kincaid Nov 2017
I want to paint a picture with words
So you can see what I see.
Let you see all of the art work
That hides here inside me.
The darks and the lights that glisten
I want to share colors and shapes
And the music, so you can listen.
They make up my internal landscape.

My canvas is time, sight and sound
And the aromas of my world.
I want you to see the way the smoke
And all the clouds get curled.
The hills and the valleys have views
That make you want to be there.
The trees and the flowers delight;
All inside my memories somewhere.

The stories would keep you transfixed,
And the people, creatures of fascination
Would make you laugh or maybe cry
If you could only see my imagination.
I am using rhyme and meter to depict
As the artist in me articulates dismay
That these simple words must transmit
As I can only tell you about it this way.
st64 Mar 2013
Meet the Whisperer....
(Oh, and you will want to, promise :)


1.
He can shape and mould
To aught pleasure he desires.

When he calls them at will
Supple compliance at his command.

Yes, they come like twitching magnets
Real easy beck and call.

Such happy slaves are they
Very few recalcitrant ones.

He twists and trims their sides
Makes them kneel before his want.

He will harness their might
Bend them sweetly to his gratifix.

Perchance, skittish on occasion
Yet they serve their master well.

They can spread to furthest capacity
Turning dried veracity into well-loved fable.

He whips them to submission
Insanely alive, they need birth certificates!

Yet tenderly, he caresses, explores
Renders dramatic echoes in outrageous lore.


2.
They melt like marvelous putty, toffee in deft hands
Makes them caress YOU sensuous, everywhere...

They reach deep, tap in and touch your core
Delight or thrill....or equally meet your mind.

Yes, they can stick you with bruising truth
Move you, or bring you to your knees....

They can furnish context with telling content
And with stunning detail, woo the sox off thee :-p

He articulates every brief encounter
With sage and timeless passion.

Molten liquid drips from his entrancing tip
In gilt carriages headed your way....

When the whisperer appears, best be ready
To receive what he may see fit to flay on you!

If that's too tall an order, it amounts to
Clipped wings, falling sadly short of flight.

Be willing to taste that mesmerising lilt
Indebted you'll be to the lack of crude reality.

Oh, reader...retire not spirit of droll mind
Revel eager in rich spark for riveting trips.

Yes, he is the one, your...
One and only word-whisperer.


(Enchante, cher lecteur :)

bows




Star Toucher, 28 March 2013
Only words, you guys....lol
Shhhhh.....!

Words...mere purveyors of thought, not so?

Yet you must admit.....
Appointments with terrific words and the broad mind can lead to......zippingly cool romps and staggeringly impressive mental empires.

Yes, to submerge the mind in an endless sea of tremendous words and well-turned phrases....if you learn to swim well there....oh, what wonders await there .....open your mind....

Well.....hope you don't turn down the (actually, androgynous) whisperer...should you be so lucky to have a chance encounter or two....lol
when he looked at a woman he searched for qualities that attracted him because he wanted to desire her yet this tendency created an imbalance or disadvantage he was rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealized self-realizing this propensity he looked away from women years of disappointment neglect changed him he became afraid of women gynophobic

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about the future she looks at her face naked body in the mirror her stomach churns feels a sad sickening remembers a time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of the other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi
Kayla Snow Jan 2013
dancing with a four year old will teach you how to live.
waltzing with a miniature princess standing on my toes I learned the value of going backwards
you count the music in threes
and that’s how many lifetimes I want to spend locked in her pocket-sized embrace
I turn cartwheels in her irises
she carefully catalogues the world there with perfect honesty and I don’t need anything else.
I don’t want to grow up, I want to grow in.
so I keep twirling with her hand full of pinkies in my palm

but after we skip miles in circle after circle my calves start to ache and my motivation starts to drip onto the floor in our footsteps behind us
I slither my fingers out of hers and hope she keeps going without me.
but no one gets left behind
she turns back to  demand incredulously why I left
I mumble about achy knees or her blossoming independence, but her bright eyes lock mine and she calmly articulates,
“but you’re not tired yet”

so I slide my hand back into hers and stoop to the empathetic three foot stature
together we glide in circle after circle, her cheeks rosy as her outlook
the minute hand of a clock usually so unforgiving echoes your pattern, but it doesn’t matter

and when life seems to slide in circle after circle,
leaving me scrambling after the tale
about the homogeny someone said brought happiness
I start to stumble without the guidance of hand who only knows about holding and picking things up.

and when round and round I go, and the days and faces start to blend together
and I start to question if this merry-go-round full of animals only dragging lower is worth it
she isn’t tired yet
and try as I may to convince myself that I’m not either, somewhere along the way I stopped letting caffeinated happiness ooze into my bloodstream

tracing the outline of her fingernails my heart starts to crumble as I see where the fault lines in her own will form.

she might have her heart stomped on, and know what it feels like to have inspiration rip you apart from within
and
she might jump through hoop after hoop to end up only tangled in the net with no one to unravel it and help her down.
worst of all she might confuse cutting herself loose with cutting herself open
and bleed dry waiting for someone to sew her whole again with a smile.
then she might be so awake that it hurts
but I  hope she always remember that awake is synonymous with alive.
and if she wears the knives in her back like a cape and her only superpower left is not yet drowning in her tears
she might want nothing more than to curl up and let her dreams take over,
and then when life paints her that jaded, I’ll implore her to  remember that she’s still not tired yet,
because there’s a four year old out there who only wants to dance with her.
Sharice Frieson Jun 2015
Life is beautiful
Life can be beautiful
An easy mix up of words
that can lead to confusion to the mind
When you don’t know the type of waters you are testing
“IS” is a mere perception
“CAN BE” makes room for decision
“It is head”
versus
“It can be heads”
Because it leaves room to be “tails”
Food for thought
We paint a picture in our minds on
how we “ought” to be
Time is endless
But we have this idea that we are wasting time
Then wait!
What time are you running by?
Is it the time of your life?
Because any split second your death is unknown
and all human beings know with life comes death and that is our destiny that we cannot run away from
but to live in adventure
But the adventure is crushed by the story-teller of your life
Story tellers tells you to believe in a religion, that God does not like ugly, that women should obey their spouse, that people should procreate, marry and eliminate all human beings who does not meet qualifications or expectations of the story-teller
The story-teller also insist on telling you that you have to go to college, make a living, make status, make money, buy a house and make kids to do it all over again. You must live your life based on these certain structures because this is what it is and shall be
The story-teller is merely one perspective
and it is their own perception of their life’s book
How can it fit for every single human being?
Life is beautiful
Life can be beautiful
Is the same unasked question of life
“Life is beautiful“–deters the idea of being anything more but just beautiful
There is no ifs, buts, should, could, would, or nots than what it just is
There is no room left for a decision because the decision is already made
Without the interference of others thinking another
Life is anything you perceive it to be
That’s why “Life can be beautiful”
Because it articulates what the mind faces to overcome
everyday of our lives
We bring our experiences, circumstances, ideas, creativity, talent, and etc
to draw conclusions or shape one’s own views
Whether life is good or can be good is determined by your perception and experiences
It is determined by whether you packed up your good and bad experiences to shape your overall thought
and leads you to react in a certain way depending on a situation.
My Voice of Wisdom & Knowledge:
Life is beautiful to me
I do not believe it is anymore than beautiful because I don’t want to open any cans of possibilities for it NOT being “beautiful.”
The “can be” allows room for it to be full of other possibilities other than beautiful.
When I say it is, it is PERIOD
This is my truth!
Life can be so easy as having great conversation, mental stimulation, ***, more ***, fun, love, and adventures in nature.
Conversations are meant to spark thought
I don’t think it is there to offend or make people uncomfortable unless that uncomfortable person feels “a way”–then it is merely their own issue
Those who do not converse on certain matters is COOL too because they still can actively listen to the conversation and make their own input in their minds
Everything in life CAN BE peaceful and loving
But we get so caught up with our own view and perception
that it doesn’t make room for DIFFERENT angles
I WANT TO BE ONE WITH ALL
Because we all are unique snowflakes
Every unique snowflakes have one thing in common, which is
Being a SNOWFLAKE
coming from one source
People are nothing more than eye level to me
Nothing more, nothing less
No superior and no inferior
Peace, harmony, love, happiness, and enlightenment
We think we know but we are far from knowing
This is all the beginning
We need to put all the pieces together and work the mind, body and spirit
by connecting BACK to SELF
SELF centers YOU
SELF helps YOU understand others
SELF has many offerings
SELF is what it is
And those in the exterior looking at YOU can appreciate or hate YOU
because they view themselves as such!
Life is beautiful is my decision
YOU can continue to decide whether Life CAN BE beautiful.
Emma Zanzibar Jul 2011
We have a brownstone townhouse kind of love
The kind that we can cover with the murals of our madness
With the paint of our perfection
That's built on the floorboards of our expectations

The number always changes but the people never seem to

I would like our love
To not be measures in square feet,
But with the creeping doors and narrow staircases.
The closets stopped hiding the things we asked them to
And my skeletons lay sprawled
All hip bones
Vertebrae
and rib cages
What has become of me?
I asked myself
and your look said unfamiliarity
and an animosity
Which I never thought possible.
Your smile spelt out greed
And your vocal chords never articulates the syllables I wanted them to.

You used me.
An I fell for it.
Is love just muscle memory?
Are we all just reacting the same way we did the first time?
creates our universe
our gods
makes armies clash
defines our world
    always again and new
names everything
   we then can talk about

lets politicians sound as if
    they were our saviors
lends voice to protests
    also well-phrased obedience
articulates all complicated laws
    and sometimes even makes them clear
makes us hate people
    or fall crazily in love with them

more difficult, it seems,
is to find words for our hearts and souls

    how to express your love
    appropriate to the occasion

    or to describe a painting by Degas,
    Rubens, Kokoschka, Michelangelo,
    the impact of a symphony
    or a performance on the drama stage
    
to catch the words for what we feel
is much more difficult
than to imagine those for what we see

it is the poets’ challenge to give shape
to all the hopes, loves, fears, and phantasies
in our lives

so we can make the power of the word
the power of the world
Big Virge Jan 2020
Articulation of Thought ...
Is A SKILL … Fa Sure … !!!!!
  
And A TRUE Art Form When It Is Performed … !!!  
It's A Style That's Born From Taking Your Thoughts …    
From A PRIVATE Place Like Say Your Brain …    
    
Then Expressing Them Like SKILLED Craftsmen … !!!  
    
Whether On A Page Or On A Stage …    
Or Like Craftsmen Through The Things They Make ...  
    
To Articulate Through The Things You Say ...  
Can Entertain As Well As STIMULATE Brains … !!!!!  
STIMULATE In Ways That Some Might Say ….  
    
Could Influence Or Make A Difference …    
To Women Men And Our Children … !!!!!    
    
And Give Guidance To Those NOT BLESSED … !!!  
With ARTICULATE Thoughts That Pose Questions …    
    
Like … What is War … !?!  
And WHAT Is It ... GOOD FOR …. ?!?  
    
Does It Help The Poor … ?  
Does It Have A Cause … ?  
  
And If It DOES …  
Does It Help Humans … ?!?  
    
Thought Waves THAT … I …    
…… ARTICULATE ……  
    
Do Not Promote Hate … !!!  
Or Try To … Segregate … !!!  
    
But Question Much In Todays' Systems …    
That SEPARATE On The Basis of Faith … !!!  
And The Basis of … RACE … !!!  
    
Those Employed By Those Who Voice …    
Their Wish To STAY AWAY From Us ….

...... " DARK SKINNED Boys " ...... !!!  
    
Well That's Their Choice But Listen Up OKAY … !!!!!  
I'm A Man With A BRAIN Who … " Articulates " … !!!!!!    
I'd Be HAPPY To Escape Your … " Slavery Chains " … !!!!!!  
    
The Rules of The Game …  
May Have Slightly Changed  
But Basically ... REMAIN THE SAME … !!!!!  
    
BOTH Black And White Plan To DIVIDE .....    
To Get Their Slice of The DEVILS PIE … !!!!!!  
    
Those Who CONTROL Remain …. " Unknown " …. ??!??  
    
Somewhere Underground ….. ???  
Are They Human Trolls Someone Must Know … !!!!?!!!!  
    
Articulation of … " THOUGHT " …  
Seems To FRIGHTEN Their Clones ... !?!  
    
Who Run Around Town …    
Doing What They're TOLD … !!!  
Like They've ALWAYS DONE … !!!!!  
    
Articulation of THOUGHT …    
These Fools Have … NONE … !!!!!  
    
So YES … They're DUMB … !!!  
    
NO Brain Functions Or Common Sense ... !!!  

IGNORANT HEADS ...
Whose Thought Process Defends Bloodshed … ?!!!?  
    
The Type Who Live For VIOLENCE … !!!  
And POINTLESS STUPID Arguments … ?!?  
    
ARTICULATE Ones Are USED To Speak …    
While Those With Guns And Weaponry …  
Appear To Run The World To Me … !!!  
    
Just Watch … TV … !!!  
    
They … CELEBRATE Them … !?!  
From Cowboys To REAL LIFE Hitmen …  !!!  
    
Knowledge Is POWER … So They SAY … !!!  
But A Bullet To The Brain Puts An END To That Saying ... !!!!!  
    
What I'm Trying To Say ...    
Or ..….. " ARTICULATE " …....  
    
Is … Articulate Brains Seem To ENTERTAIN …    
Which Seems A Lil' Bit Strange At The End of The Day … ?!?  
    
When There's So Much MORE … !!!  
They Could Do To … GET PAID … !!!!!  
    
Like EDUCATE Through Artistic Displays …    
Or ARTICULATE Thoughts And … " Edu-Tain " … !!!!!!!!    
    
I'm Smart Enough NOW To … " KNOW The Coup " … !!!  
Articulate YES ... But AVOID The Truth … !!!!!  
    
Then People Will Choose To ….  
………. " Follow You " ……….. !!! ? !!!  
    
Otherwise ENFORCE And Be BRUTAL … !!!!!!  
Then Power Becomes Your … " Personal Tool " … !!!!!  
To Confuse And Abuse … Then DIVIDE And RULE … !!!!!  
    
If You …. Articulate ….    
But DON'T Bite Your Tongue …    
    
And Choose To Spread KNOWLEDGE … !!!!!!  
And Words of … WISDOM ...  
You May UPSET The WRONG Someone … !!!!!  
    
See When I Started This Piece …    
It Was Meant To Be … FUN … !!!!!  
    
But REALITY'S Bite …    
Has Bitten And STUNG … !!!!!!!!!!  
    
I Believe In Being TRUE When Airing Views ...    
And ARTICULATING Thoughts That Give You PROOF … !!!  
of ... What's At The CORE of THE TRUTH And MORE … !!!!!  
    
Well THE TRUTH Is … THIS … !!!!!  
    
New Age Racists Have Got The People SCARED …… !!!!!!  
of ARTICULATE Crews Who DISSECT The News …    
    
And Are Prepared To …    
TALK THE TALK … And … WALK THE WALK … !!!  
    
And NOT BE SOLD ... And Then Be BOUGHT … !!!  
    
This Poem Is …    
Bound To Well … " OFFEND " ... !!!!!!  
Those Who KNOW They're IGNORANT … !!!!!  
    
Because It's Born ….    
And It's Words Are Drawn …    
From A Mind That ... Exhorts …    
    
.... " Articulation of Thought " ....
It's a beautiful thing, that we could with a lot more of right now !
Debra A Baugh Jan 2013
evening alights, finding love
assailing poetry's tongue;
kissing parchment's fragility
fluent in dark of night, resonating
deep within her heart

and...

curlicues of light stream in
facets; shone upon her soul
as whispers beckon in song;
twining body and mind in things
unforgotten, eyes bedazzled
in poetic grace

fore...

love prevails in the wisp of
time; leaving heart to vibrate,
as he articulates to an open
heart, breathing her space;
tracing the poetic beauty of
her face
a faded picture
consumed by hopes
softly entrusted
to the wind
a music
far and slight
played by a record
scratched by dust
and time
as the weight of your naked body
over mine
it is now the oppression on my chest
for the lack of  who
should touch it
as the beating of your heart
under  my face
rubbed on your skin
rough and hot
it is now the  arid ticking
of a clock
that relentlessly  articulates
the minutes of our us
without you
as your scent
harsh and intense in my coilings
in my flesh
it is now the salty smell of my tears
impregnated into a pillow
cold and crushed
by the weight of my desolation
as the strength of your back
who supported  my weakness
it is hard today
the regrets wall against which I slam
to escape from the fog
as  your sweet whispers
slipped on my skin
in my hair
it is now icy and lonely
the breath of the night
that  invests me with its petty hissing
as your soft caresses
that insinuated  into my expectations
burned by your touch
it is now violent the hassle
of a  crumpled sheet
that brushes me
wilted and warm
of an unknown  heat
my eyes closed
I meander
lost and exiled
in thoughts imprisoned
in the pages of a diary
tattooed on my skin
until the penultimate page
and then again from the first
in a circle
vicious and delicious
of passion and love and obsession
who lives and relives
until the dawn of a sunset
that should never get
until a last page
deleted
don’t read the end
Charles Leonard Oct 2014
From the bottom up;

Through the physical differences
That both separate us
And allow us to join;

And through that which marks
Where once we were joined with our Mother,
From which separation,
We shall know our anger;

And through that which beats
At intervals that parallel the cycles of the Universe,
And so makes us one;

Then through that which speaks,
And so, through renouncement, articulates
That which is known;

Unto that which beholds the image of God,
Or that which cannot be known:

Whereby this coiled up energy
Emerges through contemplation

Of all that we embrace, and
All that we release.
All Rights Reserved - 2003
Charlie Chirico Oct 2015
Some may see
me as a writer;
a person who
spins words and
articulates emtotions.
But I'm not sure if
I see myself as
anything more than
a subtle manipulator.
I'll take a feeling
and it will become
a paragraph you can
see beyond farsightedness.
I'm not a seer, but God
help me if I've been
looking for my place
in the world. I'd like to
think that there is more
to my life than the
words I choose.
I've written dozens
of short stories,
and hundreds of poems.
Some say that there is
a novel within us all,
and I'm sure there is,
but that's not what I'm
after. What I'm looking
for is not a snap of the
fingers. Or a bulb
to flash. Not even a
seed to grow. What I
want is a teardrop
that falls in a lake
and creates a ripple
effect that slowly
spreads out. I want
a snowflake to hit
my tongue and not
dissolve from the heat.
Instead what I have
to give is a left hand
pushing a ball point
into paper, disrupting
the flow of the ink.
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
In the silence of my heart I feel this flowering;
budding with every whisper against my soul,
calling; enwrapping me within his ambrosia
as each silken petal brushes against softness,
I bow demurely into his maleness.

Looking out upon the horizon; I glimpse our
silhouettes entwined in the midst of golden
rays, haloed as his lips partake in loves
sweetest nectar and his tongue articulates
in heated breaths, I linger in its aftertaste.

Adoring the twinkle in his eyes as they take
in the beauty of my flowering chasm, awaiting
its calyx approach; slowly impinging in its
fragrance, savoring; hovering and dipping as a
honeybee suckles nectar.

I tremble like a softly blown breeze in his wake;
as his hands glide upon my countenance,
teasing each contoured petal; placing me gently
upon our flowered bed of strewn petals;
languishing in his arms as each whisper hums,
delighting in passion's rose.
Author notes

Description & Prompts
I want you to pen me a poem in 10 stanzas or less but your first stanza must begin with this phrase:

IN THE SILENCE OF MY HEART I FEEL THIS FLOWERING
LJ Chaplin Dec 2013
A beautiful soul
who breathes compassion
and
articulates like **Sylvia
Edward VanHoose Mar 2012
The **** crowed once…

He enters my store
nervously, cautiously examining
the merchandise on the shelves.

At least two decades
stretch between style and his clothes—

His wife follows demurely,
her feed sack dress presents
hand stitching, beautifully done,
to even my unqualified eye.

And then he speaks:
       Hi
followed by presentation of an item
clearly worthless to my trained eye.

We’d like to talk to someone
   about selling this please?

Procedure grants
no empathy, just rejection.

Business is for profit, after all.
And softly, sadly as they leave,
he articulates their purpose:
     We just needed something for groceries.

My chest tightens.
I did not grant them reprieve.

The **** crowed twice…

The lady approaches:
black skin, blue jeans
dingy
shirt and hair in disarray.

I look away.
Insistently she speaks,

     Sir, can I help you
     load those bags?

What's the angle?
     A few dollars is all I ask.
I’m-sorry-the-task-
is-done,
(though clearly I’ve just begun)

My children wait in the car;
I can hear them playing,
when next she speaks:
My kids are hungry.

My heart skips at the quivering lips
before me.
She walks away unfulfilled.

I await the third sounding.
Jinn Prashanti Oct 2016
Somebody wrote for me
A brilliant work of art;
His poetry

The words came from his heart; blue abyss
Validation of greatness
Authentically cautious
Because he actually meant it
Then, now and When; was Sighted and Referenced

Epitome of a promise
His mind a weapon;
Logic
Look how I done him
His love is diamonds;
Ultimate

Articulates yet also shown
I will remain loyal to him and him alone.
Otherwise,
I'll stay a lifetime behind
my way
As he's forced to see me decay
My JRock
every Love poem I write feels like a suicide note, as I let a part of me find another home.
love articulates a passionate soul caged in my ribs
wrestling with every beat to break free.

Some say if U love a flower don't pick it coz it will die, so I planted mine next to yours.
for the roots to meet beneath the Earth's surface.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
~ just the short list.*

Her words, her voice,
the way she articulates
her soul's depths.
Creativity, curiosity,
the things she needs to know.
Smiles and giggles,
a vivid sense of humor.
A mind that devours
what it needs to grow.
Jeans and T-shirts;
sundresses and sandals.
That she appreciates
what it means to be naked
and doesn't flinch.
The desire to touch
and to be touched, often.
The way she can
walk into any room
and fill it up with light.
The mystery of why
she chose me.
Her sense of possibility.
The way she is content
with just who she is.
  ~mce
Of course, this could go on and on...
Quivering insecurities scuttle between her teeth
and a desire erupts
as each and every detail that articulates her life
flows through to him
and with this passage she receives a sense of belonging
a false guarantee that he will cherish
her flaws
and love her
endlessly.
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)

I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
     against misinterpreted faux attempt
     to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet

patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
     where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
     ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
     dutiful, and blissful (or at least

     prior to being sniffed out) innocent
     long time laborer on American soil now get
     ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
     (despite living social
     as law abiding righteous folks) fret

full, cuz unfairly punished, and
     cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
     pained visage non verbally articulates
     at un war rented deportation you bet!

with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
     and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts 

     with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
     and for good measure Mulatto twist,  
     where original writ (signed into law 
     by President John Adams in 1798), 
     historical footnote, aye cannot resist

spooking (like a ghost), those *** pill 
     born south of the border pooped and ******
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave 
     now frightfully get flushed out 

glad to feign dis guise 
     as one among select Geronimo cadre 
     we henchman lubricate 
     wheels of injustice myst
     tuff hie hiding dark shadows 
     (along the edge of night) 

     thence paddy wagon comes 
     to screeching halt nabbing 
     an "illegal alien" name on hit list 
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
     and score a win
     for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated

impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
     fearless to shackle ******* ranked big hest
catch also including ***** prize,
     as you correctly guessed.
Diane Jun 2013
In this world we come in contact with many people
But there are some
                                    With the artistry of language

There is a kind of humor that only a wordsmith articulates
A kind of intimacy that only a metaphor can tell

A type of eroticism that the presence of its descriptors  

                                    Elicit transcendent flames

And the absence of its poetry leaves it ordinary

And there is something about those people who live instinctively
Knowing that their choice of words can

Capture an experience
Encompass an emotion
                                     Bring it to life and let it fascinate

And those people are my starlight
My still night and moon

Those people are my sunlight
My energy and ocean

They breathe me
Feed me

Surge through me
And identify me
                                      And I am drawn to them

By something bigger than myself, inevitably, we see into one another
Understanding the life within the bonding

                                      Is wordless
But would not exist otherwise.
Leocardo Reis Nov 2018
DIGESTION
When the temperature is raised
Particles gain kinetic energy
And collide at a greater frequency.
The more particles that collide
The chances of a reaction occurring increases.
How many times have elbows rubbed
In hallways, no matter how crowded
Yet nothing happens,
Nothing precipitates,
Not even a cough
Or a wandering shot
From the corner of their eyes.
People pass
By or away
And yet hallways are still full;
Full of thoughts of other people
Full of longing
Full of the people who are missing.

USE OF ELECTROLYTE
The addition of an electrolyte
Reduces the coulombic repulsion
Produced by a solution’s ionic atmosphere;
An electrolyte allows ions to interact more freely.
A full bus is void of tension.
A stranger who writes letters everyday,
But crumples the paper before finishing
Is completed by the person
Who eagerly awaits a text on their phone.
A person with a bouquet of flowers
Catches the eye of someone lost in thought.
So many people who compliment one another,
Or an other,
Sit idly on a moving bus
Separated only by people
Who, too, are separated from their second piece.
You meet such people everyday
Who could have been,
Yet are not.

CO-PRECIPITATION
Something that is generally avoided.
An impurity that co-precipitates with the product
Can cause an overestimation of analyte.
Impurities can be caught within
The crystal lattice structure of the compound
Or trapped inside a growing crystal.
It may be hard to understand
Such thoughts still seem foreign
But I, too, have things that I remember dearly.
They are wrapped up with
Lists of groceries, and formulas
About distance and its relation to
Speed and its change over time.
It is all just things that have
Come to pass.
Such memories are hard to keep
When there is only one who articulates them,
But I am sure
Perhaps years from now
You’ll catch yourself thinking
For a split second
And then go about your day.

PEPTIZATION  
The breaking up of precipitate
Due the loss of electrolyte
Which strengthens the ionic atmosphere
Around the analyte.
In line at a bus stop
A glimpse is caught
Of the oncoming bus
And people shuffle
As the line moves up.
Never again
Can the same people
Line up the same way
For the same bus
We are too fragile
To construct ourselves in such a way
Where we can meet again.
Fate is too frail
Someone must leave
Leaves must fall
But someone always stays.
D'Arcy Sahn Nov 2014
I hear a drum beat from afar
It articulates the things I can't explain
Pent up angst, a passive-rebellious heart
It keeps me from going insane

But i can still hear it
Does that mean I'm insane
And I now and I can see it
The musical quirk that launches my
Reign

I can hear the harmony
The joyous accompany my strain
The words seem to escape me
But they sing inside my brain

Cause I can still hear you
You scream for me to ignore the rain
I'm starting to fear you
Cos you might launch me to that plane

Oh why
Can't I let you free?
Because
This forgettable melody
Is the
Reason I pause between sleep
That hope
I'm scared I'll no longer keep

I can see it now
The things that ties me to this place
If I escape it, how
Will I ever look at my face

I don't want to hear you
You want me to follow my dreams
Unless they don't suit you

Cos it's all about you

I can't run from you

Please let me run from you
I would love to hear any thoughts and interpretations. Constructive criticism welcome.
Helen Aug 2015
As my frontal lobe articulates
from the anterior, just under
my forehead, I understand
why sweat beaded upon my
upper lip and my eyes bled

Spilling words onto a sheet
of paper, ink stains shaped
like a swarm of angry bees.
Crisping like raisins too long
in the sun, angling on a hook
that captures May like a
golden sunset dying on a breeze

Messages in Cherry Red reflecting
on the mirror to be read back after
an intoxicating night. Never would
the words remain in the steam of
a quiet shower that washes away
remnants of sorrow or a quaking
knowledge that what the lipstick
says just might happen to be right

A table set for twenty six as only
one will attend to partake of seven
courses of molasses and fake hope
Pacing up and down, rearranging
the letters in a potion of epic…ness
that can only come from plucking
consonants from a burning lava,
scraping the bottom of the barrel
for a vowel in the Alphagetti soup

There is the napkin I blew my nose
into which only had a phone number
on it. It turned into 8 reasons why
I would never bother to call
And there is the corner of my duvet
that I dribbled on but the pattern
resembled all my shattered dreams
that poured out of my mouth while
sleeping and became my greatest fall

Here is the ultrasound that has a few
words that sum up what the world
means to me and a picture of our daughter
This is the 15 scraps of paper that you
wrote 15 different lines of love to me
and they are all in the box, being loved
just as everything else ought to.

There are books and printouts and bits
of cardboard and a piece of driftwood
that I used to scratch a few words in
with a rock along with the photo of
the words written inside a heart on a
beach that was one thousand kilometers
away from you but I was there and
you were not.

There is 3.4 gig on a computer and
a gazillion that are frothing inside a
compartment that is internalized and labeled
Someday To Be Said. No matter where or
how or why or now or latter on paper or
engraved in rock on a elaborately carved stone
or chasing their own tails in their own head
Folded like a paper plane and launched
into a rabid universe words will land where
they will, dressed as they are, happy the party
is still in full swing. They don’t wonder
if the landing is soft, they fall, and then
they become still.

**Happy Landing
so.... I found this old usb in a draw, full of my poetry... old poem, circa 2011, new name :)
Delilah Nov 2015
Yes it's true
There was a time we held hands and cried
There was a time her lights guided us into the unknown
There was a time with the ukulele on the roof
And we all wore those green pants
And vomited while her grandfather slept in the basement
There was a time with sharpie and antiques
Holes in our heads
And babies that were kind
Snow and sun ceased to shimmer
from the yells of rebellion
Bare feet and carpet friction
Pine tree ink on toes
We hushed the fire
The guitar speaks best after midnight
And the fall articulates with a resounding whisper
Of nervous hands touching in your mother’s car
Like once the sun goes down we all go mad
And teenage years squirm out of the grasp
Of slowly stilling blood
There was a time where we all looked up
And saw endless navy
Snakes in lakes
And ignorant love trapped beneath the tide
There was a time
I braided her hair
And told her to never cry over her freckles
We slept on cots and bugs and dreams
In the night the wolves were louder than
her slowly decaying soul
But now three years later
It’s the only song left in my mind
Melody Mar 2019
Distance,
A wonderful craftsman indeed
Upon fate’s request,
Dutiful as always.

Articulates time,
By seconds he fixes hours,
By hours he polishes days,
By days he rewrites years.

For it’s own amusement?
Perhaps, fascinated of
Time’s spontaneous remedies
For the heartsick.
Thank you.
rafsan Oct 2017
As much as I miss the London Tube,
for its grandeur aesthetic,
for its fast-paced movement;

I fear of missing you,
for the way your lips shape up your pretty smile,
for the way your brevity articulates your erudite thoughts,
for the dreadfulness of the warmth,
and the heartbreaks that follow suit.

As much as I fall in love with The City,
for its vintage Victorian era buildings,
for its chaotic hectic way of life;

I fear of falling in love with you,
for your deep meaningful eyes,
for the firmness of your principles and values,
for the dreadfulness of the warmth,
and the heartbreaks that follow suit.

But the fearfulness of life is what makes us humans,
To be in fear, to be wishful, to be hopeful,
To move forward in higher spirits and stronger heart.
Deepali Jun 2021
A man articulates his love through words, but a woman can embody more love through her silence.
°

°
If you want to know about Patience, then look at your mother.

If you want to be introduced to the actual strength in life, then look at the mother of your child.
°
If you want to be introduced to genuine care, selfless love, then look at the father of a daughter.

°
Even if you believe that you have known everything, you can never know a
'WOMAN'
All humans are different, everyone's onus is not same, where a woman's sacrifice is known to all, but man's sacrifice goes concealed.
Francis May 2017
Change

A dwarf sucker of psychological algae,
Paces that demolish a certainty,
Finishing when beginnings have begun,
Comfort ceases to remain a distance.

Peeling an onion that causes me to weep,
A fumigation of sudden nostalgia,
An anorexic of confidence,
Enormity of grief and doubt.

Breakneck motion of existence,
Reasonably unreasonable from fantasy,
Irrelevance drives stability to destruction,
Relevance articulates turmoil.
****
nivek Jun 2015
my inner tongue articulates
as my eyes greedy look
I breath once more
onto a distance near
and the Sunrise bleeds
into me again while I sleep
while friendship is forged
in the most unlikely of places
The Sunset bleeds-out into everything.
He articulates his words
When he tells a tale
A terrific story teller
He succeeds where many fail
He goes on and on about so an so
And he always comes out clear
He has many things he wants to say
And tell to all his peers
It’s already common knowledge
The things he likes to share
But you never know when he’ll say next
So always be prepared
lina S Jun 2018
It's easy to write
I just type it down
On my phone.

Get it all out, in the zone

And its easy to write
When none of the people reading this
Are one's I've known

And a text that articulates my pain and emotions
Is coated in the atheistic of rhyme, metaphore and power
Makes it so easy to write this down

And let me drown.


Cause atleast it paints an interesting picture
Doesn't it ?

And it makes me seem like I know things
But I really dont
I just feel good when expressing things
Like a song.

And it's easy to write this down
But it's not easy to analyze prioritize and take action.
Its not easy to make things happen.
Its very difficult
And sometimes it seems impossible.

But writing it down
... it's easy

— The End —