"beatless" poems
I stitch myself into your solar plexus,
red stringed within the
overlapping archways and
runaway buttresses of the body.
It runs white and gray
along the plain of the corporeal,
spires and towers reaching out to form
the webbing of white.
Wandering through the ruins
of the body collapsed,
could you hold me down and
could I make it last?
As a speck I pass
beneath the gates
of aggressive,
bony spears--
fangs ready for the ****
The teeth frame the horror
that hearts often belie,
the nervous flutterings and out of chest poundings
that grab the floor out from under you and
plummet you into a beatless abyss.
The heart is a special kind of stomach,
a power plant ready for digestion
of rolled eyes and recycled emotions
to power the city of the body
and the spires of the soul.
If we carved into that untouched ivory,
that still-hidden treasure
that cowers beneath the flesh
would it be as satisfying
to sew myself to you
and create one of two?
A frosted, glassy figure
encased in a glassy shell,
suspended in its prison,
its home,
its island and
its Hell.
Are they questions only when
pronounced without the period?
Its the subtlety of language
that always tricks me up.
It always starts with
hurried statements and
broken glances
but ends up being
up to chances.
How well do we stack up
when there were never any odds to pile?
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
The trees will leave; when snow arrives
For all the leaves have already left
While we looked right for the Sun.
Once rays danced through town,
Music was unheard; beatless jigs seemed
Devil wrought and the folk screamed,
"What light are you! to have robbed us
Blind we are not! Bare branches hang
Solemn as gallows overhead; what evil
Replaced the green with red?"
Without pause, the rays swung from
Leafless limb to flowerless stem;
Offended and dignified, the rays parted
Leaving the town behind with haste.
Glad were the simple folk; sad, alone.
The gallows flourished in the dark;
Folkless town the leaves found;
Silent -
They rotted in ground.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
The suffocating feeling, as the frayed hairs of the rope burns my skin. Thinking that I have taken my last breath. No struggle, no regret, no remorse, and worst of all... The feeling of fulfillment, the serenity of calming beatless peace. Sight, slowly becoming more and more blurry as it slips away. Speech, unable to scream or cry or even whisper, and accepting it. Silence, the overwhelming negative space that fills my ears with the unrelenting nothingness. Feeling, what was once numb, now pulsing, fighting a battle I have already given up on. Then, consciousness itself is lost in the limbo of mine own meaningless hell. Insanity has beaten down reason, and logic delivered the final fatal blow. No more struggle, no more feeling, no more reason. No more me. And good riddance.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC
People wonder why
I write poetry
Poetry is a rapless rap
A beatless beat
An instrument free song
Poetry Is an express thing
And nothing you say is wrong
Poetry is not judgmental
It doesn't break others hearts
It helps you out
When you have doubt
It is a form of art
This is my canvas
My words are the paint
I make no masterpiece
But in poetry
there is no mistake
So to answer you're question
I'll be concise
I write poetry
because it is nice
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
I've got this ****
in my arms,
cuddled tight.
I could have it forever,
cold and beatless,
my heavy love.
Maybe there's no place to go,
but I feel like there's a place,
that only you know
about. That
seems so long ago.
Don't you know you've got a strong tongue,
and a whiplash heart?
This is why
you always have a boyfriend,
and I lay with you
in a bed that's not mine;
I never tell you I'm hurting.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
I worked my way up the charts
Made it to the top, I parked myself
Along the way, in some over zealous
Shallow right angled sentence, lacking
Full stops. Stripped clean, washed of
Thought, of deed. 'Inability' dangling
From fingertips that were bitten to the
Quick, sore from chewing on anxious..
Lyrics, repeatedly playing. I forgot
To lift the stylus and hang it up to rest
And so it played on...and on...and on
I lost touch with its hiccup....sinking
To some far off disconnection. If I try
To recall...it blinds me, my right eye
Out of focus with my left, seeing
The unseen; but if you asked me what
That meant...perhaps I'd sigh without
Knowledge, perhaps I'd smile with knowing
Nothingness, perhaps I'd scream with
Insufficient lungs, perhaps I'd sing an
Unknown melody....that repeats and repeats
......its hiccup...beatless
© Laura Susan Smith
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
I, too, can write passion poems:
(and if you were a rose I'd pick you and stick you
in water till you withered and died and
everyone would comment
on your color
and refined shape.)
so let's collide with night through our noses:
wake to your banging fist on my swinging door
and binge on bad ideas and beatless songs
till distended with poetry we grow ill and collectively
**** sunsets onto those 365 well-ruled pages
that we pray to in pews in this church of hedonists--
every book a bible, all manuals for ************
so at dawn we
criticize the sunrise, hang ourselves
from the belltower, for kicks.
or lash limbs together under covers,
those well-rehearsed kisses
a myriad of plots:
and with our bony fingers,
tie the sumblimest of knots.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
A concept to fall out of love
Was foreign to me
I thought I'd love you till the end of time
When I thought of you I'd smile
I'd remember all the good times we had together
And it would make the butterflies in my stomach
Flutter and fly
The goosebumps on my arm would spike
The beat in my heart would thump
You made me so happy
How could I ever think of you as anything else
But you showed me how
You cheated and made the caterpillars come out their
Cocoon too soon
Their wings to brittle to take flight
Just cracking and falling to the ground
You lied and made
The bumps disappear
Like a magic trick you took all the faith I had in us and made it vanish into thin air
Most importantly
You broke my heart
Like a clock that stopped ticking
My heart became beatless
The blood and the vessels still flowed
But somehow it stopped beating
And just like that
You broke the heart which had beat for you
And just like that a concept
Was no longer foreign
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC
I was walking
Through the edges of night
Whispering my wishes
To the full moon in slight
Watching carefully the clouds waving
I asked them:
Could you please stop my heart raving?
My shadow
Freezing by my breathing
Take a step away,
I found a rose fallen on the street beatless
I asked it:
Could he be mine?
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 9:57 PM UTC
a beatless heart
that only moves with
strings attached.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Here in the world of dark and deep...,
Offer me the undisturbed eternal sleep...
The harder you try but unable to peep...,
Don't want I to show you my scars and grief....
Preserve your presence as I'm unable to keep...
Lake, Ocean, Sea..tears are in all seep...,
Forgotten the present,unaware of need...
Optimization of memory and your talks that creep..,
Searching you in all dreams and deeds...
Beatless by heart, life growing reminders that feed..,
No peace, instability and and powered by oversleep...
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC
There is pain further than pain. There is a mechanical pain, a pain that hurts not hurting at all, making you go along life but missing something deep.
There is a beatless pain. There is a pain grabbing you by the throat. But silently, so you can't yell.
There is a pain not too big, it never fully seizes, but it is there.
Constant turning of the ***** that won't make you cry, but they do oppress. Obsess. Obsess. Obsess. They oppress like few things more. You cried in pain, and you discover now there are worst realities than pain: the cryless anguish, the wordless complaint, the oblivion of loss. Will you come out of this?
Most important of it all: who will come? Will you come out alive?
And the ghosts of the past, alive tonight
Me, looking at daddy's ***
Me, thinking I am a necrophile
Me, swooning over Gaspard Ulliel
Me, being free
Me, signing my death
Me, in your bed -happy like I had never been-
Me, lost in the dark convoluted corridors
Me, about to break in parts
Me, 14 in the car, daddy is telling me that if I go madder he'll get mad in turn
Me, going psychotic
Me, atonement by the flesh
And nothing could be worst than this
the past all over me
No way to flee...
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
Her pale flesh trickling rainy vibrations ,
like watching fingers ran along a piano
In the lense of an X-ray.
Goosebumps pricked and curling,
Her eyes were like self-contained half-moons upon half-moons builded on the budded rose of her lips
That split in a pink smile. The smile you have at that age, fauxly
assured and posing confidence.
Her face is ascribed to God over her mother, her father
or me.
Her faith is beatless and with a kiss soft as a wrist-binded ribbon,
She said she stores all her faith into me.
A gusto glee that's marinated in the foggy dreams of
Too many days to count, or to care about anymore.
I loved her, and for the first time I believed someone when they said they loved me back.
I could hardly wait to sleep that night with her in my arms
for the very first time.
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 9:30 PM UTC
my biggest heartbreak is still that these words were once dance:
the letters were arms, tracing invisible surfaces; the semi colons silences; the periods as fading stage lights; stream of consciousness as music, rhythm made available by choice. my choreography was a line of spirals made from bodies in diagonal formation--beatless, fleeting, smoke-like, diluted into the next move.
i had sworn my allegiance to this: the slowing of time in the practice. every breath taken lied down pulled my eyes further inside its sockets, closer to the soil under my skull - complete release of the body unto the ghostly embrace of stillness.
i let this take me.
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 6:39 AM UTC