"audiobooks" poems - Hello Poetry

It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern. We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless. I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed. I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks. I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive. At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs. musou = one of the darkest shades of black

0

Nov 2, 2023

Nov 2, 2023 at 7:41 PM UTC

anaisvionet

along the harbor

It was 29° (f) degrees this morning with a waning gibbous (¾) moon. Still, as we started our run, it was dark enough that the world was rendered in black and white. Lisa was a sepia print of herself while Charles was a large, quiet shadow, a dark visual noise pattern. We usually jog from our dorm, down to and along New Haven Harbor and back. Lisa and I love the ocean. The wind was in our faces this morning and there were no sparkling moon refractions in our direction, which made the water musou and colorless. I’ve gotten my outfit down to a science, leggings under shorts, four long sleeve, dry-wicking spandex tops (layering is important), a power-wool-earflap-beanie, thermal neck gaiter and quantum, icebreaker gloves (with touch-screen compatibility) - you gotta dress warmly but be able to shed layers as needed. I listen to audiobooks while we run. Right now I’m on book 5 of the ‘The Expanse’ series. I don’t have time to read anything fun these days, so I listen to science-fiction/fantasy while I workout. I love the new AirPod Pro feature that automatically turns the sound down if anyone talks. I wear a fitbit charge around my right ankle and my Apple watch as well - they both track my run - the fitbit is more accurate but my watch sends my workout stats to my siblings - we’re uhh, sort of competitive. At first, as we came up on the harbor, it was impossible to see the intersection of the two dark oceans - the great terrestrial and the greater galactic - but as we turned for home, there was an atmospheric scatter of blue at the edge of the horizon, heralding the sunrise on our retreating backs. musou = one of the darkest shades of black

7

The main reason I've tried around five new recipes a week and all of a sudden enjoy cooking and the reason I've bitten my nails down to bone and texted my good friends way too many times fragmented and weeping with questions and the reason I've listened to podcasts minute after minute and audiobooks and ******* Damien Rice's creepy voice saying the words **** you over and over again and have a wishlist on every overpriced bohemian rag site and entered multiple contests guessing Bon Jovi's lyrics to win 50 dollars to Applebees and the reason I drink red white and blue ****** can after can after hours that end with "AM" and the reason I don't feel like hearing my client's problems and catch myself in fantasies about running away or climbing up into trees and staying there for months and the reason I go to angry slam poetry events by myself and watch Sarah Silverman crying on the television and snorting coke or scrub my gums until they bleed to taste the iron with those perfectly prepared meals I even thought about joining a meetup group instead I just met up with my therapist and noticed she's wearing the same sweater I am What the hell is she going to be able to do for me? Take my seventy dollars and run and I keep edibles harbored in the corner of my cheek saving the ounces for the most destitute of moments when I hear I have to eat lunch with my in-laws at Red Robin and be blinded by their white supremacy That's when I get ****** as **** and find it all funny and the reason I sprint into the woods at night and look up at the stars sweaty and haunted and the reason I keep "getting lost" on my way home from work and stalk my ex-boyfriend's babies on Facebook and wet the pages of Charles Bukowski and then watch his documentary and scream at the TV in horror and the reason I buy bags and bags of peanut butter stuffed pretzels and my laugh sounds unnervingly different every day, as if my role keeps changing from **** to lesbian to raging feminist to kitschy wife lover to Eskimo to poet is due to the fact that I am in a long distance relationship with my own life my own soul my screaming energy and robustness my color and craving.

0

Nov 16, 2015

Nov 16, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC

lucanna

.

The main reason I've tried around five new recipes a week and all of a sudden enjoy cooking and the reason I've bitten my nails down to bone and texted my good friends way too many times fragmented and weeping with questions and the reason I've listened to podcasts minute after minute and audiobooks and ******* Damien Rice's creepy voice saying the words **** you over and over again and have a wishlist on every overpriced bohemian rag site and entered multiple contests guessing Bon Jovi's lyrics to win 50 dollars to Applebees and the reason I drink red white and blue ****** can after can after hours that end with "AM" and the reason I don't feel like hearing my client's problems and catch myself in fantasies about running away or climbing up into trees and staying there for months and the reason I go to angry slam poetry events by myself and watch Sarah Silverman crying on the television and snorting coke or scrub my gums until they bleed to taste the iron with those perfectly prepared meals I even thought about joining a meetup group instead I just met up with my therapist and noticed she's wearing the same sweater I am What the hell is she going to be able to do for me? Take my seventy dollars and run and I keep edibles harbored in the corner of my cheek saving the ounces for the most destitute of moments when I hear I have to eat lunch with my in-laws at Red Robin and be blinded by their white supremacy That's when I get ****** as **** and find it all funny and the reason I sprint into the woods at night and look up at the stars sweaty and haunted and the reason I keep "getting lost" on my way home from work and stalk my ex-boyfriend's babies on Facebook and wet the pages of Charles Bukowski and then watch his documentary and scream at the TV in horror and the reason I buy bags and bags of peanut butter stuffed pretzels and my laugh sounds unnervingly different every day, as if my role keeps changing from **** to lesbian to raging feminist to kitschy wife lover to Eskimo to poet is due to the fact that I am in a long distance relationship with my own life my own soul my screaming energy and robustness my color and craving.

44

I dream I dream of us listening To the radio and audiobooks Curled up, cuddled, holding tight In comfy cushioned crannies, nooks Deep in dream I wistful, sigh dream of our fingers entwined Imagine stomachs full, livers wined I dream A dream of revelry To have your heart beating Next to me I dream Our minds are waltzing, one Having fun Under the sun I write to you You write to me About your dreams In dream I see Your soul laid bare The candor there I dream Of beauty sweet, so rare And giving you perfect care - by Meg 7/03/18, an experimental love poem for the one I love and who has shown me love xo

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Mar 7, 2018

Mar 7, 2018 at 6:21 PM UTC

megan-sherman-1

Dreams

I dream I dream of us listening To the radio and audiobooks Curled up, cuddled, holding tight In comfy cushioned crannies, nooks Deep in dream I wistful, sigh dream of our fingers entwined Imagine stomachs full, livers wined I dream A dream of revelry To have your heart beating Next to me I dream Our minds are waltzing, one Having fun Under the sun I write to you You write to me About your dreams In dream I see Your soul laid bare The candor there I dream Of beauty sweet, so rare And giving you perfect care - by Meg 7/03/18, an experimental love poem for the one I love and who has shown me love xo

27

I'm supposed to pretend that I don't hear Sobbing and swearing in the next room. I usually turn to my ear-buds, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and Ke$ha... But my playlists, So carefully crafted from dreams and moonbeams, are now mine fields - Nearly unnavigatable Without triggering an explosion Of him.

0

Nov 23, 2018

Nov 23, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC

subconscious-on-parade

So... Audiobooks?

I'm supposed to pretend that I don't hear Sobbing and swearing in the next room. I usually turn to my ear-buds, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and Ke$ha... But my playlists, So carefully crafted from dreams and moonbeams, are now mine fields - Nearly unnavigatable Without triggering an explosion Of him.

11