"blur" poems
Lipstick kisses,
we're both wearing red.
I motion her over and onto our bed.
Blood red smeared across our lips.
I keep her enticed, I straddle her hips.
Seductively playing,
I'm touching my lips.
Long acrylic nails,
for us never fails.
I show her a ***** and
she gently wails.
She's waiting,
my sweetheart,
I lust her so much.
We **** we're on fire
and I wonder,
which of us holds the power.
I, in all honesty is hoping it's her,
'cause then I'll continue this life
in her beautiful blur.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
This is for the rainy days.
The heavy days,
Blanketed under a dark silver sky.
This is an image of
Timeless days.
Where both dawn and dusk
Fail to exist,
Because the gray never went away.
This is the light drizzle
Painting your glasses
With tiny cloudy droplets
That blur-out your vision
And makes the next step a mystery,,
As you pray
For a chance of sunshine.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Life is an open book.
Time is an oscillating fan.
I've had to learn to skim-read because
before I can read more than a few paragraphs,
that ******* airhead comes circling back,
blowing pages like a medieval **********
The cool air feels nice, though.
Sometimes, when my head aches,
I let my eyes relax
and I enjoy the breeze as the words blur.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
#
*paint me
with the wet tickle
of your tongue
lingering with affection
savoring my fervent flavor
in bold strokes
of your obsession
color my essence
in heated hues
sending shivers
down my spine
in anticipation
of your warm breath
against my flesh
with every blissful caress
to ensue painted petals
of animation
with your supple lips
gently blur the lines
of my curved hips
softly stroking
the subtle shadows
of warm depth,
blushing
quivering thighs
as I gasp
of breath
plunge in
a primer coated palette
dipping your stiff paintbrush
deep within
the folds of my blanket
manipulating
a trembling image
of your voracious lust.
craze me
again and again
in breathless
****** glow,
your sensual brushstrokes
gently murmuring
layer on layer
in alla prima flow
delve deep
into my eyes
paint splattering
the passion
of my soul
drizzling silken strands
of love
in their entirety,
polishing me whole
and then
in blissful backwash
admire
the tangled limbs
interposed
of your
completed masterpiece
in smiling
sated repose*
#
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
Do I relate to the post-postmodern
True-life voodoo incomes are hard-earned
If I put a hyphen between words
Does that spawn a new one like lovebirds
Isn't love the same word that I saw
Don't crows live like bandits and outlaws
Don't they have the outlook of bourgeois
Carry stolen crackers in their claws
There's no change that I couldn't change
Every change that I change always stays the same
I wanna sing with a slingshot serenade
I wanna donate change to a masquerade
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
So give me all your red green yellow blue
If you can find a pool then I'll refract with you
You're a mirage and your favorite color's see-through
You're my fata morgana from this point of view
Are there any words for my freakshow feelings
Isn't sugarcoated terminology appealing
Wouldn't it be easier to represent the meaning
Of a hard to swallow concept with an arbitrary ceiling
Cryptic cultish crease in the catalog
Paranoia backtrack to analog
I can run much faster than I can jog
Magic circle summoning Chernobog
I can break the barrier of sound and space
With these essential elemental explanations in your face
But it doesn't matter everything I say will go to waste
Because the power of the mind is putting power out of place
Hindsight reflecting, teenagers texting
Late to the punch with the big money flexing
Let's settle this with a match in the ring
Or a match to the rope of a cannon firing
I wanna die while I'm in the spotlight
I want my death to inspire a rewrite
I want to blur the lines of insight
I want to make them think that I'm their height
I wanna hypnotize and paralyze
I wanna make them think that I'm their size
I wanna break their spirits drink their blood
I wanna **** their souls I wanna **** them good
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
I hardly remember
a ******* thing
about that day
before gazing into his eyes
once again, for the first time
rushing toward the exit
running from the baggage claim;
it was all a blur,
as walked through those doors
all I remember was the vastness
of the first sight,
stepping into the bright, unfamiliar place
& nothing else, but him
I scanned the crowd
the strange faces waiting
for loved ones
emotion thick enough to touch
in the air,
but just to my right
in the front
with his body pressed up against the metal bar,
I saw him
it was the first time I saw his face
not through a photo or webcam
in a time that was so long it ached
I think I lost my breath
did I leave my things behind when I ran?
I don't remember,
I just ran to him
it was too surreal
I can't remember a moment between
seeing his face, & kissing his lips
nor what kind of kiss it was
or how long it lasted
I just couldn't fathom it
I was really there
it was really him
& it didn't matter where we were
it was all a wonderland
to me, I was holding his hand again
everything was bright & new
it was magic, pure magic
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.
No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.
Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).
Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****
The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.
We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.
Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.
Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.
Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).
So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Life comes in waves,
Dualities, defined as;
Good and bad, happy and sad.
Blur the definitions,
Blur your perspective.
We learn through change,
We grow through pain.
Everything is as it should be,
Always, infinitely.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.
i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.
let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.
because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
i tell you that i have been to four.
names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.
let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
tragic, isn’t it.
you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.
let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.
tragic, isn’t it.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
We wear this city on our feet
Planting our roots with each step
Our shadows
cast shapes of ancient oak trees stretching out over old squares at daybreak
We grow here
with the spirit of buildings past,
present and rising like a staircase to heaven in the distance,
the plumes of white smoke from their rooftops as burnt offerings for incense,
spires for steeples,
the bundled masses of people moving beneath as the calloused soles
of our feet pounding the pavement,
Our congregation
seated in reverant silence on the R-Line hissing to a stop
Their hushed prayers filing out from within to bring the reclaimed sidewalks of Fayetville Street back to life to join this pilgramage
They march
downtown toward Capitol
holding signs for disarmament
They bar-hop through Glenwood toasting to deliverance
They move in a blur of faces that become us,
Rush at all hours through our veins
Cross our hearts and keep us breathing,
Moving
wearing the city on our minds
like the greyest pieces of their winter sky and the way it caps the peaks of Mount PNC, BB&T and Wells Fargo like hoodies over our heads
We assume monk-like appearances
in robes color-coded by season- from blue collar sweaters to cold hard sweat
We'll wear their city until we're worn out and wet,
We'll wear their dreams at night
like streetlamps flickering on beneath wired telephone poles carrying conversations about each one as far south as Florida, fears unspoken, made visible
on iron park benches too cold to sit on at this hour
We'll keep walking
and wear this city like backpacks over our shoulders
under the watch of their heavens,
the skyline
a glowing testament
of every step taken
toward someplace higher.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Put your head down
and werk.
Put your feet up
and twerk.
Run quickly
and watch the
pavement blur.
Don't ask questions.
Love you answers,
and explanations,
your valuations,
and justifications.
In the mood for pizza?
Cause the shop's on your left.
In 0.5 miles, it will be on your left.
ON YOUR LEFT.
YOUR DESTINATION IS ON THE LEFT.
Rerouting...
the protocol is exactly THIS,
not THAT.
So just do it.
checkmark.
Nike said so.
Just buy it.
we suggest it.
Just try the Quesarilla
#tacobell #mexicanfood #foodporn
#pleasegetmemoreviews
How bout a selfie
where you look miserable
and unhealthy.
But you're a celebrity.
Rub your likeness
on me and
I'll get you publicity.
#fire
#ice
#rain
What happened to real pain?
And did dissonance disappear?
Why must I hide my tears?
And be bright and happy
And ogle guys with fohawks
trimmed so carefully.
And live a lie,
of numbers and rye
bread is the worst,
sandwiched in bursts.
We all live
and we all hurt
and we all deserve
a life like hers.
who you say?
Kim Kardashian,
of course.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
*A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.
Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*
Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
I wish I could give you this beautiful pain
Its captivating to endure
To watch it unfold inch by unbeatable inch
Its long
Makes you hard and callous
And makes you grovel in gravel begging for the end
And it becomes a road
A winding, twisting road that wraps around your throat
A gorgeous asphyxiation blurs the smiles of the passengers in the cars on the asphalt
And you blur into unreality
The road ends
The film in your head stops
And your left sitting unblinkingly...
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.
Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.
In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.
Who sees
clearer through rain.
Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.
Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.
Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.
Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
The girl behind the mask wasnt who she seemed
She made everyone fall and come to believe
That even the saddest people could be happy
Just for a while until things became sappy
The girl behind the mask tend to laugh alot
At jokes she found were funny, or maybe not
She showed everyone how lovely she could be
But in reality all she wanted was to go and leave
The girl behind the mask was bullied all day
Very few times would the kids let her play
But as the years past, this just proceded
And made her think that death should be succeeded
The girl behind the mask was soon no more
She discovered the ropes would make her soar
Through the clouds in heaven that would go so high
Now she was finally happy to really be alive
The girl behind the mask was living the dream
While everyone on earth soon began to greave
Even though she thought no one cared for her
Life without her quickly became a huge blur
The girl behind the mask looked down one night
To see that her sister had goined the flight
She came up to her and asked why she was here
And she answered this is suicidal girls only good fear
The girl behind the mask did not understand
Why her sister had goined this holy heartland
Then she realized that because of her choice
Her sister decided to leave earth to hear her voice
The girl behind the mask began to cry
She ended her sister's life so that she could come to fly
She discovered that maybe instead of having to say goodbye
She could've gotten someone to help her stay alive
The girl behind the mask soon did find
That maybe suicide doesnt help fix the bind
She went down to earth and gave it her charity
And said im sorry to all including her family
The girl behind the mask looked as she saw her mother
Clutching to the robe of her suicidal daughter
The girl had finally saw what she had done
So dont make the same mistake and dont grab the gun
(k.b)
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Oh, how I always wanted to live in an 8-bit world
Side-scrolling action
Duck hunts galore
As much currency as a first-world country
It’s hard not to love it
From Pokémon to Kid Icarus
The nostalgia nearly takes my breath away
I won’t let problems stack up like Tetris
I’m not being chased by ghosts crying,
“Wacka, wacka, wacka, wacka, wacka”
This isn’t a video game, it’s real life
When you die you don’t respawn like nothing ever happened
No, this is it. One life.
I’m placing blocks in Minecraft
Pwning n00bz in Call of Duty
Gaining headshots on Grunts like Master Chief
Gathering rings in Sonic the Hedgehog
Sneaking around like Ezio Auditore da Firenze
And delivering newspapers like Paperboy
While escaping the mysterious Slenderman
I’m living in this virtual world without danger
I don’t want to make it on these streets like Frogger
I don’t have big shoes to fill like the plumber or the blue blur
This ain’t no sandbox or first-person shooter, it’s reality
So, live it to the fullest, don’t rage quit
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
He didn't need to die to be a ghost
for years he walked these hallways, going unnoticed
he was like a blur to those who passed him
teachers couldn't remember him
No parents to speak of, one day they just never came back.
Average student, never pushing himself
never showing up on anybody's radar
going unnoticed, going unseen
no friends to speak of, no one knew he existed
He was surrounded by hundreds of people
but lived his life not seen
no one saw his tears
no one saw his art
he went unnoticed until the day he died.
Police found him
he couldn't take it anymore
ended it all
he spent his life unnoticed
but he was a brilliant artist
his art was seen
hanging up in some amazing galleries
everyone now knows his name.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
~
think again if you believe
light is but a rapid blur,
consider that the spark
that lives between
two lover-friends, is light
exchanged in slow fashion;
the slow burn of a campfire,
the sparkle of her passion,
the flicker of a candle,
whisperings of the starlight,
the way a moon beam
bends the tides,
and makes her eyes twinkle;
each my confirmation,
of light that moves
so satisfying slow,
allowing flames to ever grow
ever higher, higher,
kindling sparks into a fire,
for love that lasts
is not a spark alone...
no,
love’s passion is a bon fire,
a sunset setting sky aglow;
an ever-building slow,
to effervescent ether;
a gently flowing kiss,
a living, colored tapestry
of drifting twilight mist;
this the speed of light...
my heart’s desire,
mirrored in my lover’s eyes.
~
*post script.
love at the speed of sunsets and star gazing;
evenings spent round the campfire
with only the light of the fire,
the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes...
falling in love, all over again!*
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
To ill is scourge hazard of modern man;
The way of life which tricked you leaves you weak.
Before it pounced, prevent you must! You can,
Your visions blur, your limbs cut, your times bleak.
Avoid refined sweetness pure, you should know,
The more you love to eat the more you crave;
Your sweet tongue urged pleasures deals a cruel blow,
The more you indulge, closer be your grave.
This sickness gradual erosion of health,
Like shrinking pools merciless sun would drain.
A diabetic's woe: no amount of wealth,
Could stop the vines that binds and break the chain.
Without remedy and won't heal for good,
So sweat, please monitor intake of food.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
What if love became so overwhelming, such an inextinguishable force that its true purpose betrayed itself completely?
To the point that even the utterance of those three powerful words, that at a different junction had held such promise, now left a distinct taste of uncertainty on the lips and a ringing of insanity in the ear drum. What else does one say when the most pure form of expression and commitment echo with distain and regret?
Even as I slide into introspection, diving deep to the point of no return, there seems to be no logical path, no penance for the monster I have created. Through my own autonomous actions and neglect I have reached this dark place. Perhaps I indulged beyond a point where thoughts and actions have boundaries. A broken compass , spinning without meaning. All indicators in tact, every cog and point in place, magnetism lost to exaggerated memories, fears and regrets.
Self delusion is a drink that is best served with company. With companionship the mind tends to believe its own meddling. Delusions are mistaken for truth and biased opinions blur with reality.
All roads lead to pain. Every so often a spark jumps to the surface of my consciousness. A pin ***** exclaiming hope. It’s a glitch of my own creation. The belief in happy endings and love prevailing. That love is more powerful than any disappointment, mistake or breech in trust. My reality had been resurfaced and augmented by the media. Love stories are just that. Stories. A wave of manufactured hope, washing over the beach of the human psyche. Every grain of sand is washed back to the sea just as it has arrived.
Happiness, a flame burning on a tiny wick. Enjoy the heat while it lasts for it is going to be a cold winter. And the power is out.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
You told me your favorite color was orange at least three times, you loved everything about it. I never really liked it much, the fruit or the shade it was, it used to give me headaches. You said you loved the way it was part of the sunset, right before the sun hits the horizon and the colors start to blur, you loved the way it was everything all at once, and in my mind I thought, "just like you." I'd get married in an orange dress if I could spend the rest of my life with you, and I know it gives me headaches when I stare at it too long but you're like the orange sunset and I'd stare at you forever if you'd let me.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
will suddenly trees leap from winter and will
the stabbing music of your white youth
wounded by my arms’ bothness
(say a twilight lifting the fragile skill
of new leaves’ voices,and sharp lips of spring
simply joining with the wonderless
city’s sublime cheap distinct mouth)
do the exact human comely thing?
(or will the fleshless moments go and go
across this dirtied pane where softly preys
the grey and perpendicular Always—
or possibly there drift a pulseless blur
of paleness;
the unswift mouths of snow
insignificantly whisper….
10.6k
People kept telling her:
"you can't be this, you can't be that"
the girl pretended to listen, their words a blur
she sat there unnoticed, her face flat.
She went to school
receiving an education
she let her parents rule
keeping silent, hiding her creation.
When the nights closed in
and her parents went to sleep
she took out a notebook with a grin;
after all it wasn't theirs to keep.
She bled out words
that had stuck on her skin
outside chirped nice birds
unlike the crows she hid within.
Soon her graduation came
as she held her diploma in hand
she heard her own name
with it came the feared demand.
"You'll become a lawyer like us, right?"
the girl whirled around to see
her mum and dad standing up to their full height
she bit her lip, only wanting to be free.
"No," she told them, "I will not!"
she looked her parents straight in the eye
looking like they'd both been shot
but the girl didn't want to lie.
"I'll become a writer,"
she told them, with a light smile
her parents did not turn brighter
but that hadn't ever been their style.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC