"bjork" poems - Hello Poetry

write at midnight. edit in the morning. write on a mountain. edit on a beach. write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality. write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones. edit in the cold dawn light without excuses. write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains. edit in silence. write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon. edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog. write inside, cozy under a blanket. edit naked, cold on the front porch. write asking questions. edit demanding answers. write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty. edit bespectacled or with a monocle. write like a mass ****** edit like a suicide. or better yet write like a homicide. edit like a detective. write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you. edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest. write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty. write during a fit of hyperventilation. edit during mammoth exhalation. write with complexity. edit into simplicity. write, as Hemingway did, drunk. edit, not sober, but hungover. see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache. write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion. write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus. edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground. write during violent collision. edit during calm separation. write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower. edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater. write among raucous laughter & banging skillets. edit in secret while the kids are asleep. write like a sadomasochist. edit like a psychiatrist. write while running on your tip-toes. edit while lying flat on your back. write in several languages with abandon. edit beside a translator dictionary. write as you are engulfed in fire. edit with an extinguisher. write with careless fluidity. edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee. write with a full bladder, standing up, jitterbugging, squeezing the tip of your ***** closed--urgently squirm & trickle your ideas onto the porcelain page.

0

Jan 10, 2016

Jan 10, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC

david-badgerow

on writing (hemingway)

write at midnight. edit in the morning. write on a mountain. edit on a beach. write inside a dream. edit & exist in reality. write in a fever pitch as starlight kisses your cheekbones. edit in the cold dawn light without excuses. write loudly with Bjork screaming into the curtains. edit in silence. write as the clouds gather around the gibbous moon. edit as the sun crests the hill & burns away the fog. write inside, cozy under a blanket. edit naked, cold on the front porch. write asking questions. edit demanding answers. write blindfolded with your fingers waltzing across the qwerty. edit bespectacled or with a monocle. write like a mass ****** edit like a suicide. or better yet write like a homicide. edit like a detective. write toward the open sky with your legs outstretched before you. edit facing a clean white wall with your knees against your chest. write because you are innocent. edit because you are guilty. write during a fit of hyperventilation. edit during mammoth exhalation. write with complexity. edit into simplicity. write, as Hemingway did, drunk. edit, not sober, but hungover. see your flaws in the sharp mirror of a headache. write during sloppy explosion. edit during precise implosion. write with your head in the clouds gnawing at the cumulus. edit with your feet firmly planted in the ground. write during violent collision. edit during calm separation. write with a pencil on soggy paper in a hot shower. edit with a red pen sitting in tepid murky bathwater. write among raucous laughter & banging skillets. edit in secret while the kids are asleep. write like a sadomasochist. edit like a psychiatrist. write while running on your tip-toes. edit while lying flat on your back. write in several languages with abandon. edit beside a translator dictionary. write as you are engulfed in fire. edit with an extinguisher. write with careless fluidity. edit without assistance from amphetamine or coffee. write with a full bladder, standing up, jitterbugging, squeezing the tip of your ***** closed--urgently squirm & trickle your ideas onto the porcelain page.

54

Ben Sanders sat in his final days By his cottage, up on the bluff, He’d spent his life as a rover, and He said, ‘I can’t get enough! The sea, the sea, the lure of the sea, It whispers at my front door, And calls to me, here up on the bluff, ‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’ ‘But I can’t go down and I won’t go down For I daren’t go down, you see, Not since I was caught in the maelstrom When the seabed beckoned to me, My mate had clung to the mast, while I Had lashed myself to the rail, And he went down to the stony ground Along with the yards and sail.’ ‘I hear the sound in my ears still The roar of the whirling pool, I’d cried, ‘Let go of the iron chest, But he’d not let go, the fool. It was filled with gold and pieces of eight, Dubloons and precious stones, It carried him down to an awful fate Is spread, all over his bones.’ ‘But I clung on ‘til the turn of the tide I could almost touch the ground, My head was spinning, deep in the pool As the ship whirled round and round, But then the tide began to subside And I said goodbye to Bjork, For then the ship rose up to the lip And popped right up like a cork.’ ‘We’d sailed forever the Spanish Main The ship, Bjork and me, And searched the atolls of rocks and sand Of the Caribbean sea, We found the treasure that Blackbeard hid In a shaft, six fathoms deep, Then Bjork had pined for Norwegian lands, Said, ‘What we’ve got, we’ll keep!’ ‘The further north that we sailed, the sea Grew surly in its ride, The waves crashed over the foredeck and They tossed us, side to side, The squalls came in and the rain came down And we had to reef the sail, The water rose in the bilge, until I thought we’d have to bail.’ ‘But then one night it was flat and calm And the water lapped below, I heard the voice of a siren then That whispered, sweet and low: ‘Come down,’ she said, ‘you can rest your head And give up your earthly seat, But lie instead on a seaweed bed With a mermaid at your feet.’’ ‘I think of Bjork on the ocean bed Though I don’t know where he lies, His bones are covered with precious stones With two dubloons for his eyes, I’ve never been back to the sea since then For I fear it, more and more, As still it whispers on moonlit nights ‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’ Ben Sanders sat in his final days By his cottage, facing the sea, He seemed remote, but a final note That he wrote was left for me. ‘My days of watching the sea are done, I think that I’ve had enough!’ And then he strode as the tide arose And walked, right over the bluff. David Lewis Paget (Inspired by E. A. Poe’s ‘A Descent into the Maelstrom).

0

Sep 25, 2013

Sep 25, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC

david-lewis-paget

Home from the Sea

Ben Sanders sat in his final days By his cottage, up on the bluff, He’d spent his life as a rover, and He said, ‘I can’t get enough! The sea, the sea, the lure of the sea, It whispers at my front door, And calls to me, here up on the bluff, ‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’ ‘But I can’t go down and I won’t go down For I daren’t go down, you see, Not since I was caught in the maelstrom When the seabed beckoned to me, My mate had clung to the mast, while I Had lashed myself to the rail, And he went down to the stony ground Along with the yards and sail.’ ‘I hear the sound in my ears still The roar of the whirling pool, I’d cried, ‘Let go of the iron chest, But he’d not let go, the fool. It was filled with gold and pieces of eight, Dubloons and precious stones, It carried him down to an awful fate Is spread, all over his bones.’ ‘But I clung on ‘til the turn of the tide I could almost touch the ground, My head was spinning, deep in the pool As the ship whirled round and round, But then the tide began to subside And I said goodbye to Bjork, For then the ship rose up to the lip And popped right up like a cork.’ ‘We’d sailed forever the Spanish Main The ship, Bjork and me, And searched the atolls of rocks and sand Of the Caribbean sea, We found the treasure that Blackbeard hid In a shaft, six fathoms deep, Then Bjork had pined for Norwegian lands, Said, ‘What we’ve got, we’ll keep!’ ‘The further north that we sailed, the sea Grew surly in its ride, The waves crashed over the foredeck and They tossed us, side to side, The squalls came in and the rain came down And we had to reef the sail, The water rose in the bilge, until I thought we’d have to bail.’ ‘But then one night it was flat and calm And the water lapped below, I heard the voice of a siren then That whispered, sweet and low: ‘Come down,’ she said, ‘you can rest your head And give up your earthly seat, But lie instead on a seaweed bed With a mermaid at your feet.’’ ‘I think of Bjork on the ocean bed Though I don’t know where he lies, His bones are covered with precious stones With two dubloons for his eyes, I’ve never been back to the sea since then For I fear it, more and more, As still it whispers on moonlit nights ‘Come down, come down to the shore!’’ Ben Sanders sat in his final days By his cottage, facing the sea, He seemed remote, but a final note That he wrote was left for me. ‘My days of watching the sea are done, I think that I’ve had enough!’ And then he strode as the tide arose And walked, right over the bluff. David Lewis Paget (Inspired by E. A. Poe’s ‘A Descent into the Maelstrom).

74

it’s spring world growing into something different iceland volcano ash interrupting european flights dream of new worlds better life happiness new architecture language love everyone wants something different god’s eyes see through gazillion eyes each center of universe why do i cry so easy flinch at sight of blood violence what is love happiness sunday morning volcanic ash persists we are all inter-connected sweet little freezing cold iceland dominates world life is crazy too crazy where is bjork this morning drinking grog coffee laughing i’m so different from you unaccountable chemistry go away it’s hot i’m sweating stink i wish for your smell so bad jasmine basil lavender female scent ticket home to nowhere we are all such liars over-reactionary sensationalists well on my way yes i choose horse with wings house-boat floating up river mountain top glass conservatory filled with plants clouds girlfriend i wish for way back wiser choices more content result

0

Apr 18, 2010

Apr 18, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC

michael-reid-rubenstein

4/18/10

it’s spring world growing into something different iceland volcano ash interrupting european flights dream of new worlds better life happiness new architecture language love everyone wants something different god’s eyes see through gazillion eyes each center of universe why do i cry so easy flinch at sight of blood violence what is love happiness sunday morning volcanic ash persists we are all inter-connected sweet little freezing cold iceland dominates world life is crazy too crazy where is bjork this morning drinking grog coffee laughing i’m so different from you unaccountable chemistry go away it’s hot i’m sweating stink i wish for your smell so bad jasmine basil lavender female scent ticket home to nowhere we are all such liars over-reactionary sensationalists well on my way yes i choose horse with wings house-boat floating up river mountain top glass conservatory filled with plants clouds girlfriend i wish for way back wiser choices more content result

1

my heart comes undone [i] carry my joy on the left how beautiful to be. [i] carry my pain on the right while you are away state of emergency is where i want to be [i] thought that i could organize freedom our love in a ball of yarn there's definitely no logic to human behaviour

0

Oct 9, 2014

Oct 9, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC

james-christine

pagan poetry ( a reconfiguration of bjork lyrics)

my heart comes undone [i] carry my joy on the left how beautiful to be. [i] carry my pain on the right while you are away state of emergency is where i want to be [i] thought that i could organize freedom our love in a ball of yarn there's definitely no logic to human behaviour

11

Mejores actores: digamos 20 años Asexuales Bisexuales Neosexuales Bipolares Antipolar Polar Indiscreto Discreto Masturbador Elocuente Tiene Pegue No tiene Pegue Tiene Gato Tiene perro Oye Música Odia la Música No tiene Amigos Tiene un chingo... Habla Español Odia Francés Come Sushi Come oatmeal Cama grande Cama chiquita Vive en Mexico Vive en Japon Sabe mover sus pies Sabe mover sus manos Escribe de... Nunca Escribe Odia el Baño Siempre en el Baño Odia Ropa Ama la ropa de otras personas Nunca nacio Sigue Naciendo Toma agua sin parar Toma Vino Hace el amor a la cerveza Lee Poesía LatinoAmericana Lee Poesía Francesa Lee Poesía Inglesa Tiene diez carros todos feos Tiene motto Odia la pizza en restaurantes Odia La música en domingos No tiene Anteojos Usa Wipes Toca la electrónica Toca la acústica Lee libros de adultos Lee manga Le encanta el arte gótica Le encanta el arte expressionista Toma Tazo Toma Harmless Tiene ojos Azules No tiene ojos blancos Tiene ojos verdosos Sueña con Ojos No tiene tele Tiene diez teles Ama los muebles Odia los restaurantes Compra libró todos los días Ama la poesía Corre de gente extraña Uye de librerías mal iluminadas Toma ginger ale Toma Sake como campion Toma vino como idiota Tiene muchos sombreros No tiene uno Nunca a tomado té blanco Nunca a oído a Bjork Odia a Bach Uye desnudo de Otros compositores Ama el aguacate No sabe hacer guacamol Lo a picado un insecto Odia las abejas No sabe quien es Kidman Respeta a Tarkosvky o no lo entiende A ido a Panajachel Nunca a fumado motta Colecciona motta Se enamora todos los días Nunca anda enamorado Fue Pobre en sus años Sigue Pobre Juega video juegos Nunca a comprado uno Odia películas en otros idiomas La ama a todas de su propia principia El piensa en tercer persona Nunca a ido a un play en la cuidad Simpre lee Ama fiestas Sólo en peliculas Ni en peliculas Ni pal Tigre

0

Jun 25, 2021

Jun 25, 2021 at 11:13 AM UTC

Borges

Mejores actores: digamos 20 años

Mejores actores: digamos 20 años Asexuales Bisexuales Neosexuales Bipolares Antipolar Polar Indiscreto Discreto Masturbador Elocuente Tiene Pegue No tiene Pegue Tiene Gato Tiene perro Oye Música Odia la Música No tiene Amigos Tiene un chingo... Habla Español Odia Francés Come Sushi Come oatmeal Cama grande Cama chiquita Vive en Mexico Vive en Japon Sabe mover sus pies Sabe mover sus manos Escribe de... Nunca Escribe Odia el Baño Siempre en el Baño Odia Ropa Ama la ropa de otras personas Nunca nacio Sigue Naciendo Toma agua sin parar Toma Vino Hace el amor a la cerveza Lee Poesía LatinoAmericana Lee Poesía Francesa Lee Poesía Inglesa Tiene diez carros todos feos Tiene motto Odia la pizza en restaurantes Odia La música en domingos No tiene Anteojos Usa Wipes Toca la electrónica Toca la acústica Lee libros de adultos Lee manga Le encanta el arte gótica Le encanta el arte expressionista Toma Tazo Toma Harmless Tiene ojos Azules No tiene ojos blancos Tiene ojos verdosos Sueña con Ojos No tiene tele Tiene diez teles Ama los muebles Odia los restaurantes Compra libró todos los días Ama la poesía Corre de gente extraña Uye de librerías mal iluminadas Toma ginger ale Toma Sake como campion Toma vino como idiota Tiene muchos sombreros No tiene uno Nunca a tomado té blanco Nunca a oído a Bjork Odia a Bach Uye desnudo de Otros compositores Ama el aguacate No sabe hacer guacamol Lo a picado un insecto Odia las abejas No sabe quien es Kidman Respeta a Tarkosvky o no lo entiende A ido a Panajachel Nunca a fumado motta Colecciona motta Se enamora todos los días Nunca anda enamorado Fue Pobre en sus años Sigue Pobre Juega video juegos Nunca a comprado uno Odia películas en otros idiomas La ama a todas de su propia principia El piensa en tercer persona Nunca a ido a un play en la cuidad Simpre lee Ama fiestas Sólo en peliculas Ni en peliculas Ni pal Tigre

102

I wish I was the kind of person that liked Bjork. Alas, I am not. The Pixies are cool, and I like every band Glen Danzig has ever been in, but that isn't fashionable. I really did turn into a Martian though. Lately, its been all Vic Chesnutt with his 2 good fingers and delicate warble. **** I miss that guy. Remember delicate warbles? Neither does Bjork.

0

Feb 26, 2016

Feb 26, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC

BusbarDancer

On Your FM Dial

I wish I was the kind of person that liked Bjork. Alas, I am not. The Pixies are cool, and I like every band Glen Danzig has ever been in, but that isn't fashionable. I really did turn into a Martian though. Lately, its been all Vic Chesnutt with his 2 good fingers and delicate warble. **** I miss that guy. Remember delicate warbles? Neither does Bjork.

10

Believe it Bjork just whispered sweet somethings to my ear That little magical creature of music just whispered There goes my heart again I think I'll stay a while love it up here Violently happy Björk Immortal Believe it

0

Jan 11, 2019

Jan 11, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC

emmanuel-phakathi

Walking on bjork's bridge of constellation.

Believe it Bjork just whispered sweet somethings to my ear That little magical creature of music just whispered There goes my heart again I think I'll stay a while love it up here Violently happy Björk Immortal Believe it

12

Several years have passed, Since I entered last, It all went by too fast, But what is past, is past, To roll down one's cheek, Like a little blue streak, To be all but meek, About being chique, To fall in love with a boy, To tease and be coy, To be bored out of your mind, and to play with a toy, To move and relocate, The urge to populate, To quietly suffocate and, To want to defenestrate, To tap and to pop, And cafeteria slop, Ask about a sad mop, And to epicly rock, To create a playlist, and to tease balled fists, To hide amongst swollen mist, And not to have time on your wrist, To drop a spork, and to study a cork, In order to work, And to stalk Bjork, Which brings us to now, And I don't know how, With the time I'm allowed, Through these lines, I quickly plowed,

0

Oct 19, 2014

Oct 19, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC

gypsy-bard

Several years

Several years have passed, Since I entered last, It all went by too fast, But what is past, is past, To roll down one's cheek, Like a little blue streak, To be all but meek, About being chique, To fall in love with a boy, To tease and be coy, To be bored out of your mind, and to play with a toy, To move and relocate, The urge to populate, To quietly suffocate and, To want to defenestrate, To tap and to pop, And cafeteria slop, Ask about a sad mop, And to epicly rock, To create a playlist, and to tease balled fists, To hide amongst swollen mist, And not to have time on your wrist, To drop a spork, and to study a cork, In order to work, And to stalk Bjork, Which brings us to now, And I don't know how, With the time I'm allowed, Through these lines, I quickly plowed,

32

it hits me in waves funny to think that one day someone who's there suddenly isn't you wake up and keep living, yet they don't and it isn't fair i see her face in photos, in memories we go through the motions trying to find a mundane sense of normality people don't realise it's the little things that'll get you walking through the door, seeing her shoes never to be worn again the postman, obliviously dropping a harsh reality through the slit in the door i look around seeing reminders of all i've lost etched everywhere in everything my fathers home is my mothers creation heart and soul blatantly poured into all, an unknowing invasion every nook and cranny every angle and decoration it SCREAMS the loss of her humanity it's funny that songs frequently heard throughout my life suddenly resonate with my pain their lyrics fill me with a remembrance of you no longer do i take their words for granted joni mitchell, belting carey and a case of you paul simon, my first concert at hyde park, the sky clear as crystal blue bjork, in all her raw beauty, confirming all that i was certain i knew do you remember us singing till our voices cracked desperate with the need of wanting more? you taught more lessons than you saw i remember the sentences that lead to the end of your story your tired lips, they tried so hard to mumble nonsensical spatters of loving farewells as you slept me sat by your side your hand in mine unable to shake the feeling of certainty that we would never meet again and god, did it break my heart when my doubt proved me right i took your hand and i cried **** lord knows part of me died i tried so hard to clutch on to the memories we'd never have the possibility of all that wold never be as i heard you mutter your last goodbyes your last words were 'you're such a good girl, i love you so' and at least i know that you know my love for you has no bounds and i hope at least in some universe, and in some way you'll finally be reunited with faye your soul and the energy it provides or whatever it is that we are made of will finally lay itself to rest cos **** life **** its unwarranted test all we can do is try our best and that's what you've shown me to do so, mum, i guess this is how i'm trying to say my lord how i'll miss you

0

Nov 28, 2020

Nov 28, 2020 at 1:50 AM UTC

elinroberts

untimely demise

it hits me in waves funny to think that one day someone who's there suddenly isn't you wake up and keep living, yet they don't and it isn't fair i see her face in photos, in memories we go through the motions trying to find a mundane sense of normality people don't realise it's the little things that'll get you walking through the door, seeing her shoes never to be worn again the postman, obliviously dropping a harsh reality through the slit in the door i look around seeing reminders of all i've lost etched everywhere in everything my fathers home is my mothers creation heart and soul blatantly poured into all, an unknowing invasion every nook and cranny every angle and decoration it SCREAMS the loss of her humanity it's funny that songs frequently heard throughout my life suddenly resonate with my pain their lyrics fill me with a remembrance of you no longer do i take their words for granted joni mitchell, belting carey and a case of you paul simon, my first concert at hyde park, the sky clear as crystal blue bjork, in all her raw beauty, confirming all that i was certain i knew do you remember us singing till our voices cracked desperate with the need of wanting more? you taught more lessons than you saw i remember the sentences that lead to the end of your story your tired lips, they tried so hard to mumble nonsensical spatters of loving farewells as you slept me sat by your side your hand in mine unable to shake the feeling of certainty that we would never meet again and god, did it break my heart when my doubt proved me right i took your hand and i cried **** lord knows part of me died i tried so hard to clutch on to the memories we'd never have the possibility of all that wold never be as i heard you mutter your last goodbyes your last words were 'you're such a good girl, i love you so' and at least i know that you know my love for you has no bounds and i hope at least in some universe, and in some way you'll finally be reunited with faye your soul and the energy it provides or whatever it is that we are made of will finally lay itself to rest cos **** life **** its unwarranted test all we can do is try our best and that's what you've shown me to do so, mum, i guess this is how i'm trying to say my lord how i'll miss you

59