"ballads" poems
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard
I wasn’t supposed to call out for your arms in the night
And my lips weren’t supposed to search for yours
As if they would actually be there.
I wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into my pillow at night
pretending that your hands were nestled in my hair
I wasn’t supposed to make small talk
just so I could hypnotize myself with that something in your eyes
I wasn’t supposed to wake up cold in the gray morning
with the strong urge to be bruised and bitten
In fits of slow, languid passion.
Unreal how our bodies match and move together,
Uncanny how our minds meld and play in synch.
My youthful love for life,
Your chuckling maturity, still unsure what life is.
Now I play soft ballads full of aching, yearning,
I can wrap myself in a blanket on the floor
With a mug of tea, and think silently on you
And the shadows I wish I could conjure into existence…
They live inside, dancing to burst free from our guilty bodies
Too ethereal, too beautiful, to be abandoned
When we (artists) know we live for such wonders.
I wish I had any other option but forgetting,
or descending into madness.
(I’m currently choosing madness..?)
And it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard.
I’m so sorry,
My summer love.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines
Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand
and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon
in big pink petals of bloom;
A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (
be gentle, though whispering wind)
Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign
fears,
as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
Consume the years between Here and Now;
Watching from blank perch, among
the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
Sing the branches of experience, to wake
in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
of waking,
ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—
Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;
Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
*He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.
He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.
He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.
He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.
He's no poet.
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.*
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so viveamus per camenam nostram.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
The hour that demands the following day be wasted.
The hour that proves you are irresponsible.
The hour for those under twenty-five.
The hour birds wake to begin their incessant morning clamor.
The hour the body begins to loathe the mind.
The hour focus drifts away on the smoke of tonight's last cigarette.
The hour of what-am-I-doing and how-can-I-live-like-this.
The incorrigible hour.
Chronic, hopeless.
The most degenerate of all hours.
There is little pleasure in familiarity with four in the morning.
If those birds are screaming love ballads to the early morning sun
three cheers for the birds. And let me now lie down to sleep
if I am to go on living.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 9:00 PM UTC
Hey kid, you've been dead a few weeks and I'd just like to say hello. The ground has its first December coat of fragile snow over your dead body and I know you can't feel the cold but I'll tell you right now, I can see my frozen toes, just barely move them, breathe up into the sky, Id be lying if I said I still cry every day. But, I'm lying to myself if I said that I'm not trying to take back your pain every day in a way that won't make your heart start beating again.
I wonder if those butterflies ever drank up the nectar from your blood, probed their soft tongues into the velvet of your cuts, those razor blade ribbons, oh holy romantic, how you bleed like Mozart and bleed like ballads of classic rock stars, how they whip your face with sour sweat and drugs and drugs and drugs until you find yourself half asleep, brain swept under the rug.
Did you know only 1.5% of drug overdose related suicide attempts are successful? Beautiful blonde martyr for an ugly catholic high school in an ugly state in the ugliest of its hearts, how does it feel to be 1 in 100? How does it feel to be a rarity, carbon pressed into diamond? How does it feel to be cry for a week, left in the grass to roll like waves, buried without a name and a face and a grave?
In the latest of solemn sleep deprived nights I press my ear to the chest of the 100th depressed boy I come across and don't feel Vicodin climbing up his arteries, don't feel Klonopin, OxyContin, Ibuprofen. I can't seem to find the one, who knows, maybe you were it and all my efforts really were wasted. All those nights I've stayed up late did nothing. All those knives I stole, all that blood I wiped away with t-shirt sleeves, all the blankets I've put around stupid shaking shoulders, all the bittersweet will this be the last time your skin is this warm hugs, God did they mean nothing at all?
I lock my jaw into a permanent silence, buy back time by putting my money where your knife is. I take bets on when someone will die next. I read the label on every bottle of Xanax. I roll over in my bed again and again, and try to put you to rest again.
Amen.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
1466
One of the ones that Midas touched
Who failed to touch us all
Was that confiding Prodigal
The reeling Oriole—
So drunk he disavows it
With badinage divine—
So dazzling we mistake him
For an alighting Mine—
A Pleader—a Dissembler—
An Epicure—a Thief—
Betimes an Oratorio—
An Ecstasy in chief—
The Jesuit of Orchards
He cheats as he enchants
Of an entire Attar
For his decamping wants—
The splendor of a Burmah
The Meteor of Birds,
Departing like a Pageant
Of Ballads and of Bards—
I never thought that Jason sought
For any Golden Fleece
But then I am a rural man
With thoughts that make for Peace—
But if there were a Jason,
Tradition bear with me
Behold his lost Aggrandizement
Upon the Apple Tree—
5.7k
A song comes out of the speeding bhogis,
Seeta is the one rendering the song.
She chants that her husband has long been dead.
Seeta has two sons, just like her ballads.
One –
Gives rhythm to her song.
Other –
Rubs a gentleman out of his siesta
And asks for a little money.
The bhogis gain momentum (Ignores the station master who shows red to stop the pacing male phallus)
Long away –
A girl lies down, lower than the rails.
**** me, **** me, she bangs her head.
I will, I will, the rails swell the train song in her ears.
Though long away,
Though have not heard the girl,
As if she has heard something -
Seeta stops singing.
And her children dash out.
Two hobos enter in –
As if to sell sizzling peanuts.
Just as to give the body a bath –
Seemingly not pleased just with the rails –
The male train jumps off,
Into the wide sea.
(Whose ****** is the sea, the breeze hums a song)
A thousand crows flutters from –
One’s previous birth,
To –
Another’s next birth.
Seeta, having forgotten all her songs –
Looks out for her kids.
Will arrive shortly, will arrive shortly :
Weary, irked and bored -
Time waits at a station.
(I did remember Rupesh Paul, who drew a simile between the rails and the *** worker’s nights, Anitha Thampi, who wrote about female trains, Latheesh Mohan, who noted down how the train stretches its back, Vishnu Prasad and his poem on the phallus, Prasanna Aryans usage: **** says the wheel and shit-shit , says the rail et al , while writing this poem)
(Translated by Sherin Catherine)
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
I've got poetic licence
So I can right however I want.
Even if whatever I right doesn't make sense
I kan right with whichever font.
I use my poetic licence in whatever I right
An sometimes, de thins I right does not look write
I have de power power 2 repeat rhymes
Over and over countless of times
I use abbreviations in de mst unusual ways
My, commas, and!!!!!, escalations, marks come!!! as they may!!!!
I've got poetic licence cos I am a poet
I use it in odes, elegys, ballads, epitaphs, and sometimes in sonnets.
I am never rong.
And with my poetic license I will remain strung.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
23
I had a guinea golden—
I lost it in the sand—
And tho’ the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land—
Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye—
That when I could not find it—
I sat me down to sigh.
I had a crimson Robin—
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted,
He, too, did fly away—
Time brought me other Robins—
Their ballads were the same—
Still, for my missing Troubador
I kept the “house at hame.”
I had a star in heaven—
One “Pleiad” was its name—
And when I was not heeding,
It wandered from the same.
And tho’ the skies are crowded—
And all the night ashine—
I do not care about it—
Since none of them are mine.
My story has a moral—
I have a missing friend—
“Pleiad” its name, and Robin,
And guinea in the sand.
And when this mournful ditty
Accompanied with tear—
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here—
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize upon his mind—
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find.
4.1k
Harbinger of light, I curled away
From chaste, un-daunting rays.
And cursed the sphere high in the sky
For showcasing my pain
You brought me terms and phrases
That withered on deaf ears
I longed to wrench them from my head
When ballads provoked tears
Your touch? It singed like acid
I yearned to shed this skin
Discard this haggard carapace;
Exhume the girl within.
Your gaze took me to pieces
And plucked a shattered shard
To hold before my wretched face;
Remind me what we are.
I’m stained with shadows where you’re light
And loud where you are soft.
I’m rough, disheveled and clumsy
My company’s high in cost.
I twist and draw away from you
I flee and weep and hide
Everything that makes you up,
Is who I am inside.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
Their hearts beat together as one perfect being
they are so engulfed in love even though they are teens.
They peice together, the halves that make the other complete,
their love burns bright in a passionate heat.
Their love persists even after so long
he still writes her those ballads, those poems, and those songs.
They have been together through heaven and hell,
and today to their children their story they tell.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 4:46 AM UTC
I see you from behind my close'd eyes.
O maelstrom tamed, you swirl in colors grand.
From up above gaze down the stars of man,
Those wise deciders, forgers of the skies,
Mechanics of desire need not rise.
Thine ethos shines a light across the land.
Your voice grants sight to eyes of sordid sand.
thine ballads tempt the burning Sun to rise.
You shake my soul as gales doth shake the trees.
O, quake my bones and shed thine holy rays.
To drown in gazes thine would be to breathe;
The waves flood hues in spotless worlds of gray.
up high you hold me, falling to my knees.
O bloom for me, as flowers bloom for May.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
...Sky Isa Love!!!!
THAT IS ALL!!!!!!!!!
BILL WITHERS - LEAN ON ME LYRICS
http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v;=JR0NZqu6igg
Lean On Me (Live) From a 1973 Concert
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Wpof8s5ZTg
Love potion number 9, The Searchers
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rXhXLsNJL8
White Wine In The Sun by Tim Minchin
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Q
MOTOWN MAGIC!!!!!!
Sa Sa Go Go Go
BEST OF MOTOWN....BREATHE...Sky Isa Love
I Can't Get Next To You, Psychedelic Shack (the Temptations),
Bernadette (The Four Tops),
Everyday People (Sly & The Family),
I just Called To Say I Love You (Stevie Wonder)
Ain't Too Proud To Beg (The Temptations),
Back In My Arms Again (The Supremes)
Build Me Up Buttercup (The Foundations)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=--jWPzNNdN4
Best Of Motown Part 2 Video Mix of;
My Cherie Amour (Stevie Wonder),
I'm Gonna Make You Love Me (Diana Ross & The Supremes with the Temptations),
What's Going On (Marvin Gaye)
Love Child (Diana Ross & The Supremes),
Runaway Child Running Wild (The Temptations),
For Once In My Life (Stevie Wonder},
I'm Losing You (The Temptations),
What Does It Takes (Jr Walker & The All Stars),
Stop In The Name Of Love (Diana Ross & The Supremes),
Reach Out I'll Be There (Four Tops),
I Can't Help Myself (Four Tops),
Get Ready (The Temptations),
Dancing In The Street (Martha & The Vandellas)
I Hear A Symphony (Diana Ross & The Supremes).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v;=VTe06PrXwo4
Top Tracks for Earth, Wind & Fire....
Starts with;
"Fantasy" (1977)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTQJ2QiK4QU&playnext;=1&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9AIdf-oDDL0ZRzIehPw5WY6
Top Tracks for Diana Ross & the Supremes
Starts with;
Love Child!!!!
Beautiful imagery!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IluVWcNtR8&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9BkdB7ckbcLpD9AIriJX-5P
**The Power of Music & Images
Used On One Of The Most Popular
& Most Loved Ballads Of All Time, Enjoy!!!**
***Top Tracks for Chicago
Starts with;***
Hard To Say I'm Sorry
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqq3tW3iACw&playnext;=1&list;=AL94UKMTqg-9ABX4lv1Ast8ZktnOYg-vpB
Okay so double triple down on this!!!!!!!!
LOVE CHILD Diana Ross & The Supremes
***~Sky Isa Love~~
What can I say my first album;***
LOVE CHILD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gets me every time!!!!!!!
More Beautiful Imagery!!!
Afu Ra Ka ALL!!!!! (see note)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2icqNPcNS4
EARTH WIND & FIRE-WOULD YOU MIND
...Sky Isa Love
very beautiful once again!!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2rInQEQ-yUc
A Motown mega-mix mashup: Motor City's biggest hits combined with classic Christmas songs, sung by your favorite Motown stars.
Includes....
"I Saw My Girl Kissing Santa Claus"
"I Jingle That Emotion"
"I Heard It From The Red Nosed Reindeer"
"Claus Get Next To You"
"Santa Was a Rollin' Stone"
"Ain't No Silent First Noel"
...as performed by....
Stevie Wonder
Michael Jackson
Smokey Robinson
The Temptations
The Supremes
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir
...and, of course, the Funk Brothers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNvoSf2389k
THAT IS ALL!!!
LOVE ALL!!!!
Sa Sa Ra!!!!
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
“Though my soul may set in darkness,
it will rise in perfect light.
I have loved the stars too fondly
to be fearful of the night.”
I don the belt of old Orion
and sit atop the great winged Pegasus.
I steal riches from cunning Copernicus
and sing ballads to the lonely new moon.
Look there - my bride! Oh fair Andromeda;
She bears our band fashioned from Saturn’s rings.
Her dress woven from strands of silk stardust,
we read our vows to the watching planets
and kiss under the sun’s jealous blaze.
Starstruck, we ride, comets trailing in our wake.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
I met a girl once, she had french fries for hair and she was pretty legendary. I’ve been trying to explain her in words for a few days now.
But I don’t know how to write that kind of poem, that explains that it’s the smallest things about her I find the most amazing.
Like when she laughs, and her whole body becomes a wind chime, both in sound and sway
Like her walk, how it seems like her ankles are two old sagacious birds that know some secrets about the ground that no one else does, so it seems like she’s almost flying.
How she has basquiat fingers for hips, and every time she moves it’s pure art.
How do I explain that every time she speaks, her lips become two ex-lovers that still have a thing for each other, constantly touching and stopping.
If I could, I would capture her smile in the ink of a pen. I would write sonnets and ballads about the arch in her back. I would write nursery rhymes about each line in her palm, let me read your future. Are you kissing me in it?
I guess sometimes words fail even the best of poets.
Sometimes,dreams don’t do reality justice.
For those that will never hear the wind chimes in her laugh, that will never see the feathers on her ankles.
The best I can say is that she’s pretty legendary.
When the sun starts snoozing its alarm too often, when autumn leaves are corpses under white caskets and the memories of her are nothing but distant car horns. I’d always remember french fries.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Candy-sweet ballads
****** heartache arias
Undying
soulmate
anthems
Everywhere I go
The soundtrack never changes
But no one else
seems
to notice
Red-rose shades of white noise
Heart-shaped confetti stuck in my ears
Jangling
omnipresent
sound waves
The song everyone is singing
Grates against my inner drum
It's not
the kind
I'm looking for
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
the grating voices of neighbors unsuccessfully singing Celine Dion ballads
the monotonous mechanical humming of the metal factory
the squealing of housewives watching an afternoon soap opera
the blaring siren of a firetruck racing with tragedy
the clunks and clangs of a nearby construction site
the roaring of the engine of an overloaded jeepney
the chiming of laughter from kids playing in the streets
the calls of the street vendor peddling sugary cotton candy
the whining of the dog begging to run around outside
this is the music of life in the outskirts of the city
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
love written on palms
strapped in tandem
asked if i wanted to dance in the clouds with you
right beside me
cloudberry you're my beloved
involuntarily bloomed for your bee
the cure of your currant
leaves thoughts that are never vacant
love is abundant
golden fields cover my heart
touch my tongue
followed by the melody of a harp
up in the sky
ballads never quiet
always highly sung
completely
immensely
sprung
flung into young love
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 12:23 AM UTC
My pen weeps;
*It weeps everyday,
upon the rugged pages of my diary.
A rainbow of tears.*
The blue ink sets free
*Dark shadows
Looming in my soul.
Deep;
Amidst the hollow wasteland of my thoughts.
They take me
To the nooks and crevices
Of my past.
A yesterday,
So beautiful, So far away,
Yet*
unreal.
The red ink,
*It paints;
Swollen memories,
That refuse to
Let go of my grasp.
Buried deep within
Yet*
alive.
And Indigo;
*That sketches,
The abysmal dreams.
That scar my mind,
When the world Is snoring,
In it's beauty sleep.
As i slowly slip,
Into a wilderness.
A madness,
Exhausting
Yet*
Infinite.
My words;
*Rain upon the blank pages,
With a ink
so melancholic,
It seems like the tears,
Would never dry off.
Yet*
they do.
*Just like the colours
In my life.
Slipping away,
into pages.*
*How the cage
of my body,
Confines a heart;*
Suffocated
Starved
*That sings like a canary,
Woeful ballads Of freedom.
That begs to stretch,
It's wings.
And taste the dew
Of morning,
Lying upon the half awake
Bud.
A charming
melody,
it weeps everyday.*
Just like my p e n.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
When I was traversing in the alternate universe,
I couldn't stop sneezing.
I couldn't handle newness.
No benedryll for adrenaline.
The stars paved sidewalks
Into the deep depths of a frozen sea,
Straying salt crystals freely,
Caught by the laughing galaxies,
Who played marbles with dreams.
My hands began to twitch
Like piano ballads being spun in the air.
And I when became whole;
I existed, finally.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
You sang hymns of solitude across my shoulders,
uttered summer sonnets down my stomach,
whispered your prayers between my thighs,
all in a language I have yet to translate or remember.
All of it sounds in between the foreign and familiar.
You screamed of ballads of adoration
hungrily against my neck,
confessed your long-hidden elegies on my bare chest,
moaned your blues inside my dry, anticipating mouth.
All of it rings and buzzes and resonates throughout my body.
My body which no longer belongs to me.
And this is the very comedy of our sweet, sudden parting.
But I shall turn over and dance for you this time,
and promise to never stop playing my favorite song for me while I'm at it
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
I hid my love when young till I
Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light:
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place;
Where’er I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love good-bye.
I met her in the greenest dells,
Where dewdrops pearl the wood bluebells;
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye,
The bee kissed and went singing by,
A sunbeam found a passage there,
A gold chain round her neck so fair;
As secret as the wild bee’s song
She lay there all the summer long.
I hid my love in field and town
Till e’en the breeze would knock me down;
The bees seemed singing ballads o’er,
The fly’s bass turned a lion’s roar;
And even silence found a tongue,
To haunt me all the summer long;
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love.
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