"avi" poems - Hello Poetry

im done learning a language rooted in vanity like I need to take a selfie for my latest avi to go along with that tweet and we're up in arms fighting, but its on the hush hush in our subtweets thinking these anons that ask questions to boost my self security telling friends, give me just an instant to update my insta yeah, we're full of wit spitting captions to gain cheap chuckles lacing 140 characters together to make a point less, we're spending time thinking of a cheap rhyme while in the meantime our headlines are suffering from the lack of attention because if one more ******* person tells me they're gaining fame online with meaningless angles, and pop culture retweeted im going to lose my ******* mind this **** is such a waste of time this shrine made up of the kind of things you call mine and we're washing out the brilliant minds that are taking the time to tell you something worthwhile we're using a shovel as a *** and plowing this tool into the ground when artists all around are trying to dig through the ******** just to show you that somethings are actually worth noticing

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Sep 8, 2014

Sep 8, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC

linguistic-play

social media

im done learning a language rooted in vanity like I need to take a selfie for my latest avi to go along with that tweet and we're up in arms fighting, but its on the hush hush in our subtweets thinking these anons that ask questions to boost my self security telling friends, give me just an instant to update my insta yeah, we're full of wit spitting captions to gain cheap chuckles lacing 140 characters together to make a point less, we're spending time thinking of a cheap rhyme while in the meantime our headlines are suffering from the lack of attention because if one more ******* person tells me they're gaining fame online with meaningless angles, and pop culture retweeted im going to lose my ******* mind this **** is such a waste of time this shrine made up of the kind of things you call mine and we're washing out the brilliant minds that are taking the time to tell you something worthwhile we're using a shovel as a *** and plowing this tool into the ground when artists all around are trying to dig through the ******** just to show you that somethings are actually worth noticing

24

(but will you) love me in pigeon's pose when my tummy rolls over like rice paddies and the dimples in my thighs are as moon craters on that 27th spoonful of peanut butter, orbit on my hips squeeze the fat beneath my arms to relieve all your stress, when I'm singing zee avi in the shower and you realize I once told you a choir teacher said I was a high soprano but my voice is so low on that ceiling mingling with the steam in the silver vents, don't you know that heat rises?

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC

broooke

Don't you know.

(but will you) love me in pigeon's pose when my tummy rolls over like rice paddies and the dimples in my thighs are as moon craters on that 27th spoonful of peanut butter, orbit on my hips squeeze the fat beneath my arms to relieve all your stress, when I'm singing zee avi in the shower and you realize I once told you a choir teacher said I was a high soprano but my voice is so low on that ceiling mingling with the steam in the silver vents, don't you know that heat rises?

23

Dolce e chiara è la notte e senza vento, E queta sovra i tetti e in mezzo agli orti Posa la luna, e di lontan rivela Serena ogni montagna. O donna mia, Già tace ogni sentiero, e pei balconi Rara traluce la notturna lampa: Tu dormi, che t'accolse agevol sonno Nelle tue chete stanze; e non ti morde Cura nessuna; e già non sai né pensi Quanta piaga m'apristi in mezzo al petto. Tu dormi: io questo ciel, che sì benigno Appare in vista, a salutar m'affaccio, E l'antica natura onnipossente, Che mi fece all'affanno. A te la speme Nego, mi disse, anche la speme; e d'altro Non brillin gli occhi tuoi se non di pianto. Questo dì fu solenne: or dà trastulli Prendi riposo; e forse ti rimembra In sogno a quanti oggi piacesti, e quanti Piacquero a te: non io, non già ch'io speri, Al pensier ti ricorro. Intanto io chieggo Quanto a viver mi resti, e qui per terra Mi getto, e grido, e fremo. Oh giorni orrendi In così verde etate! Ahi, per la via Odo non lunge il solitario canto Dell'artigian, che riede a tarda notte, Dopo i sollazzi, al suo povero ostello; E fieramente mi si stringe il core, A pensar come tutto al mondo passa, E quasi orma non lascia. Ecco è fuggito Il dì festivo, ed al festivo il giorno Volgar succede, e se ne porta il tempo Ogni umano accidente. Or dov'è il suono Di què popoli antichi? Or dov'è il grido Dè nostri avi famosi, e il grande impero Di quella Roma, e l'armi, e il fragorio Che n'andò per la terra e l'oceano? Tutto è pace e silenzio, e tutto posa Il mondo, e più di lor non si ragiona. Nella mia prima età, quando s'aspetta Bramosamente il dì festivo, or poscia Ch'egli era spento, io doloroso, in veglia, Premea le piume; ed alla tarda notte Un canto che s'udia per li sentieri Lontanando morire a poco a poco, Già similmente mi stringeva il core.

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1.1k

Giacomo Leopardi

La sera del dì di festa

Dolce e chiara è la notte e senza vento, E queta sovra i tetti e in mezzo agli orti Posa la luna, e di lontan rivela Serena ogni montagna. O donna mia, Già tace ogni sentiero, e pei balconi Rara traluce la notturna lampa: Tu dormi, che t'accolse agevol sonno Nelle tue chete stanze; e non ti morde Cura nessuna; e già non sai né pensi Quanta piaga m'apristi in mezzo al petto. Tu dormi: io questo ciel, che sì benigno Appare in vista, a salutar m'affaccio, E l'antica natura onnipossente, Che mi fece all'affanno. A te la speme Nego, mi disse, anche la speme; e d'altro Non brillin gli occhi tuoi se non di pianto. Questo dì fu solenne: or dà trastulli Prendi riposo; e forse ti rimembra In sogno a quanti oggi piacesti, e quanti Piacquero a te: non io, non già ch'io speri, Al pensier ti ricorro. Intanto io chieggo Quanto a viver mi resti, e qui per terra Mi getto, e grido, e fremo. Oh giorni orrendi In così verde etate! Ahi, per la via Odo non lunge il solitario canto Dell'artigian, che riede a tarda notte, Dopo i sollazzi, al suo povero ostello; E fieramente mi si stringe il core, A pensar come tutto al mondo passa, E quasi orma non lascia. Ecco è fuggito Il dì festivo, ed al festivo il giorno Volgar succede, e se ne porta il tempo Ogni umano accidente. Or dov'è il suono Di què popoli antichi? Or dov'è il grido Dè nostri avi famosi, e il grande impero Di quella Roma, e l'armi, e il fragorio Che n'andò per la terra e l'oceano? Tutto è pace e silenzio, e tutto posa Il mondo, e più di lor non si ragiona. Nella mia prima età, quando s'aspetta Bramosamente il dì festivo, or poscia Ch'egli era spento, io doloroso, in veglia, Premea le piume; ed alla tarda notte Un canto che s'udia per li sentieri Lontanando morire a poco a poco, Già similmente mi stringeva il core.

46

i am the wolf i am the moon i am a butterfly stuck in my cocoon i am the summer gone way too soon i am a pig mud keeps me cool i am a stone i am a jewell i am a fish - always in school there's no tomorrow no yesterday no past no future nothing in our way who needs tomorrow when got today we are the stars we are the sky we are part of everything so we can never die we all are part of the great circle of life i am the wolf i am the moon

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Jul 25, 2010

Jul 25, 2010 at 8:11 AM UTC

whiteydarkhorse

Avi the wolf

i am the wolf i am the moon i am a butterfly stuck in my cocoon i am the summer gone way too soon i am a pig mud keeps me cool i am a stone i am a jewell i am a fish - always in school there's no tomorrow no yesterday no past no future nothing in our way who needs tomorrow when got today we are the stars we are the sky we are part of everything so we can never die we all are part of the great circle of life i am the wolf i am the moon

13

The clock on a wall in a dark room, The sound of its chime filling the silence. In the centre, under the only light, He sits in a world his own, consumed. He stares at the white screen Twisted love begins to take its toll. Wondering if she could've seen, He can't take this silence anymore. And in his head, his unrequited love burns his soul, A girl, faraway can't see him whole. He writes pages and pages of a bleeding story, One, he knows, is an instinct of self pity. Stoners charm, means no harm But can't let go of his mommas arms. Read those words, feel alarmed, Holy cow, he lives in his barn. And with his lonely escapades in his sleep He dreams of something that cannot be. Maybe he just needs his love to be seen But he sure doesn't know what it means. But what it means, is sinister All these advances she didn't consider. Sitting in his lair , one *** offender, where did that come from, I wonder? Drunk on love, looks so cheap His mind on clockwork, working fantasies. And to his stories, he'll add her name, And like a predator he'll stalk his prey. She'll forget him, her mistake, Rejection of beauty, he can't take. In the depth of the night, awake Drunken love, a fools grave. A love letter, from his blade. Unstable Mind, he can't wait, Touches the screen, wipes the slate. Confession, of what he made, Colors of a life led to waste.

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May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC

meenu-madhavacheril

Punch Drunk Love (collab. with Avi isevil)

The clock on a wall in a dark room, The sound of its chime filling the silence. In the centre, under the only light, He sits in a world his own, consumed. He stares at the white screen Twisted love begins to take its toll. Wondering if she could've seen, He can't take this silence anymore. And in his head, his unrequited love burns his soul, A girl, faraway can't see him whole. He writes pages and pages of a bleeding story, One, he knows, is an instinct of self pity. Stoners charm, means no harm But can't let go of his mommas arms. Read those words, feel alarmed, Holy cow, he lives in his barn. And with his lonely escapades in his sleep He dreams of something that cannot be. Maybe he just needs his love to be seen But he sure doesn't know what it means. But what it means, is sinister All these advances she didn't consider. Sitting in his lair , one *** offender, where did that come from, I wonder? Drunk on love, looks so cheap His mind on clockwork, working fantasies. And to his stories, he'll add her name, And like a predator he'll stalk his prey. She'll forget him, her mistake, Rejection of beauty, he can't take. In the depth of the night, awake Drunken love, a fools grave. A love letter, from his blade. Unstable Mind, he can't wait, Touches the screen, wipes the slate. Confession, of what he made, Colors of a life led to waste.

37

O' K AVI MY CONFESSIONS ( LYRICAL) LINK in BIO I wish I was more than what I turned out to be, I wish I was who they always wanted me to be another lie in this sea of corpses hanging on to each other, without any dreams or sight, I wish I was as dark as night, so they could see the flaws in every light, I wish there was no need to pretend that I am no one yet, but they know not to forget, what they once wanted me to be, I wish I was free in this world locked in chains and scars, I wish I wasn't a machine and had a heart, that everything was more beautiful than how they claim, these empty words that fall down on my conscience like winters rain, forming icicles that dangle over my head waiting for me to speak, I wish I was weak, so I could give in to their desire and leave, tear a hole in my head and bleed away every thought they want to ****** I wish I was young again, so, I could be afraid of the things beneath my bed, instead of the voices inside my head, I wish I was dead, so they could stop counting my every breath, I am not, what I have always pretended to be, I am too cold, and they are too old, to see, beyond the rainbow where colours still dance in peace, I wish I could leave, I wish I could breathe, in this hollow they call my home, I'm so alone, wandering inside my head all alone, I wish I could mourn but I won't, it is I who chose not to wage war on the strangers, that have made me a prisoner within my own skin, I wish I wasn't always burning, for I cannot feel the pain no more.

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Jul 30, 2017

Jul 30, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC

aviisevil

MY CONFESSIONS

O' K AVI MY CONFESSIONS ( LYRICAL) LINK in BIO I wish I was more than what I turned out to be, I wish I was who they always wanted me to be another lie in this sea of corpses hanging on to each other, without any dreams or sight, I wish I was as dark as night, so they could see the flaws in every light, I wish there was no need to pretend that I am no one yet, but they know not to forget, what they once wanted me to be, I wish I was free in this world locked in chains and scars, I wish I wasn't a machine and had a heart, that everything was more beautiful than how they claim, these empty words that fall down on my conscience like winters rain, forming icicles that dangle over my head waiting for me to speak, I wish I was weak, so I could give in to their desire and leave, tear a hole in my head and bleed away every thought they want to ****** I wish I was young again, so, I could be afraid of the things beneath my bed, instead of the voices inside my head, I wish I was dead, so they could stop counting my every breath, I am not, what I have always pretended to be, I am too cold, and they are too old, to see, beyond the rainbow where colours still dance in peace, I wish I could leave, I wish I could breathe, in this hollow they call my home, I'm so alone, wandering inside my head all alone, I wish I could mourn but I won't, it is I who chose not to wage war on the strangers, that have made me a prisoner within my own skin, I wish I wasn't always burning, for I cannot feel the pain no more.

43

I like your skin, the rough parts and the soft parts. The moles, bumps and other miscellaneous textures omitted to living on your arms like aliens. I like your back and how different it is, thin and lean with no fat, sometimes I can feel your bones under my fingers, and I’m afraid that during moments of various passions I will peel away what’s left. I like your legs and how pale they are, how you sweat and recoil from my touch when you’ve napped and soaked my blankets. I like the way you fumble for your glasses and fix your hair when it’s not even messy, the way your stomach heaves when you need to cough but won’t. Just cough. I like the way your earlobes connect and how sparse your beard is, how you threaten to shave it as if my compliments burn. All my compliments burn you, in some shape or form. But I give them out freely because they are true, and I want them to live in your heart forever. In some cases you will not believe a bit of what I say, and I appreciate this as well. However, I would like to know why, and how and when you came to these conclusions and why you settle there. I enjoy hearing you play guitar, when it’s not Zee Avi and you’re not gushing about how you saw her in concert. I like that I am jealous of you, and you are never jealous of me. A trait that could pass over, but won’t. I like your capacity for apologies, sorry before, sorry after. You are most sorry for everything that you do, and I am the one that put you there. Should you ever become entirely mad at me some day, I shouldn’t be able to retaliate because you will have had good reason to be so. When you speak, I like your voice. Deep and solid as if something inside you churns warmly. A heavy bellied mammal, a trumpet of some sort. I can hear its footsteps when my head is on your chest, beneath your arm, under the blankets. I like the gestures you used to describe things, and the high pitched sounds you make when I tickle you. I like the way you hide behind your arms when you’re naked, your knees, like magnets stuck together and your lips pulled thin in shame. As if I don’t like your body, you shield yourself. But your defenses are weak and I love the parts you dare not to show. The red on your cheeks, a permanent stain, like your teeth kaleidoscoped white and the scars registered on your stomach. I like the way you don’t let me love you, because I do.

0

Mar 13, 2014

Mar 13, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC

broooke

1/15/2012, 10:40 p.m.

I like your skin, the rough parts and the soft parts. The moles, bumps and other miscellaneous textures omitted to living on your arms like aliens. I like your back and how different it is, thin and lean with no fat, sometimes I can feel your bones under my fingers, and I’m afraid that during moments of various passions I will peel away what’s left. I like your legs and how pale they are, how you sweat and recoil from my touch when you’ve napped and soaked my blankets. I like the way you fumble for your glasses and fix your hair when it’s not even messy, the way your stomach heaves when you need to cough but won’t. Just cough. I like the way your earlobes connect and how sparse your beard is, how you threaten to shave it as if my compliments burn. All my compliments burn you, in some shape or form. But I give them out freely because they are true, and I want them to live in your heart forever. In some cases you will not believe a bit of what I say, and I appreciate this as well. However, I would like to know why, and how and when you came to these conclusions and why you settle there. I enjoy hearing you play guitar, when it’s not Zee Avi and you’re not gushing about how you saw her in concert. I like that I am jealous of you, and you are never jealous of me. A trait that could pass over, but won’t. I like your capacity for apologies, sorry before, sorry after. You are most sorry for everything that you do, and I am the one that put you there. Should you ever become entirely mad at me some day, I shouldn’t be able to retaliate because you will have had good reason to be so. When you speak, I like your voice. Deep and solid as if something inside you churns warmly. A heavy bellied mammal, a trumpet of some sort. I can hear its footsteps when my head is on your chest, beneath your arm, under the blankets. I like the gestures you used to describe things, and the high pitched sounds you make when I tickle you. I like the way you hide behind your arms when you’re naked, your knees, like magnets stuck together and your lips pulled thin in shame. As if I don’t like your body, you shield yourself. But your defenses are weak and I love the parts you dare not to show. The red on your cheeks, a permanent stain, like your teeth kaleidoscoped white and the scars registered on your stomach. I like the way you don’t let me love you, because I do.

7

Blind, white fish are natives here. It’s always been dark so they don’t have eyes. In darkened streams there is no current. Pallid fish in pallid dreams. They’re ugly here, and they swim away from the surface. They live and breed in caves, repelled by light.

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Dec 31, 2015

Dec 31, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC

madelines

To Avi

Blind, white fish are natives here. It’s always been dark so they don’t have eyes. In darkened streams there is no current. Pallid fish in pallid dreams. They’re ugly here, and they swim away from the surface. They live and breed in caves, repelled by light.

13

* My Happy Go Lucky LOVE-fate Innocently unique in your own ways Just stop with me for a while and Tell me where you plan to take me from here I am too crazy in LOVE with YOU Because you are my angelic bird I share & confide with YOU everything You set me FREE from my life and now Why you tease me with so much longings? Take me with YOU, along with my heart In your wings in flight across stars You always say that "LOVE is the most important" You always say that "No one will LOVE me like you do" And when our LOVE happened You really showed what your LOVE is Very FREE, liberal & non-judgmental Very sacred, brave and courageous You showed that - Your LOVE to me is equal to God/dess embracing me with open arms Every bit of Nature taking your form The whole world loving me in every way You have stolen my soul from me But you left your soul within me You are innocently rare and Unusually exceptional That is why I call you You are my "Rara Avis" R-ara avi-Z *

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Jan 11, 2018

Jan 11, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC

melan-of-innocent

RARA AVIS

* My Happy Go Lucky LOVE-fate Innocently unique in your own ways Just stop with me for a while and Tell me where you plan to take me from here I am too crazy in LOVE with YOU Because you are my angelic bird I share & confide with YOU everything You set me FREE from my life and now Why you tease me with so much longings? Take me with YOU, along with my heart In your wings in flight across stars You always say that "LOVE is the most important" You always say that "No one will LOVE me like you do" And when our LOVE happened You really showed what your LOVE is Very FREE, liberal & non-judgmental Very sacred, brave and courageous You showed that - Your LOVE to me is equal to God/dess embracing me with open arms Every bit of Nature taking your form The whole world loving me in every way You have stolen my soul from me But you left your soul within me You are innocently rare and Unusually exceptional That is why I call you You are my "Rara Avis" R-ara avi-Z *

33

avi died a painful death last autumn. he used to talk about it often. never saying a word but his words- well they were rotten. nobody cares though nobody cried nobody died; and he was forgotten. he was here though and he did grow for a minute or two that once- into a forest that was boughten his only begotten. he died in vain his veins, he shot them. took out his eyes and smile- he had just got them. i remember watching him drink his sins and scars from afar, the world filling with howls and his insides with cotton. sun going down and the naked trees, the leaves and him all of them. hitting the rock ******* bottom. avi died a painful death last autumn. and. i am. still. alive.

0

Jul 2, 2018

Jul 2, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC

aviisevil

avi died a painful death

avi died a painful death last autumn. he used to talk about it often. never saying a word but his words- well they were rotten. nobody cares though nobody cried nobody died; and he was forgotten. he was here though and he did grow for a minute or two that once- into a forest that was boughten his only begotten. he died in vain his veins, he shot them. took out his eyes and smile- he had just got them. i remember watching him drink his sins and scars from afar, the world filling with howls and his insides with cotton. sun going down and the naked trees, the leaves and him all of them. hitting the rock ******* bottom. avi died a painful death last autumn. and. i am. still. alive.

34

* *i don't know my favourite colour or the greatest film i've seen i know very little about this world i know even less about everything everyday i wake up and write some of it down and i watch the same people do the same things over and over that's all they know and when they ask me what my favourite colour is i lie and i tell them that i enjoy all colours that my favourite film is a Clockwork Orange by Stanley Kubrick that i read books and how politicians are ruining the society i want them to say you're so great avi you know so much about the world i want them to see more of me so i see less of them and more they see of me the less i care for i know they have a favourite colour i know they know lyrics to their favourite songs and they've seen a movie ten times and remember all of it how bored i am of their constant knowing their constant listening there's no scarcity of men and women who think they know things but have so little to say it's better to not know than be bright and boring better to be miserable and not laugh than to be so mechanical and submissive most people are not free because they know too much at some point knowing becomes a permanent burden too heavy for any evolution to repair that's when you stop to live and start to die and i don't want to die just yet and i don't want to be mundane i don't want the answers or want to know my favourite colour i simply don't want to be boring.* .

0

Dec 10, 2022

Dec 10, 2022 at 11:22 PM UTC

aviisevil

sometimes i write because people are boring

* *i don't know my favourite colour or the greatest film i've seen i know very little about this world i know even less about everything everyday i wake up and write some of it down and i watch the same people do the same things over and over that's all they know and when they ask me what my favourite colour is i lie and i tell them that i enjoy all colours that my favourite film is a Clockwork Orange by Stanley Kubrick that i read books and how politicians are ruining the society i want them to say you're so great avi you know so much about the world i want them to see more of me so i see less of them and more they see of me the less i care for i know they have a favourite colour i know they know lyrics to their favourite songs and they've seen a movie ten times and remember all of it how bored i am of their constant knowing their constant listening there's no scarcity of men and women who think they know things but have so little to say it's better to not know than be bright and boring better to be miserable and not laugh than to be so mechanical and submissive most people are not free because they know too much at some point knowing becomes a permanent burden too heavy for any evolution to repair that's when you stop to live and start to die and i don't want to die just yet and i don't want to be mundane i don't want the answers or want to know my favourite colour i simply don't want to be boring.* .

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