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"buckling" poems
See the emblem waving Proudly, touted in the sky. We walk among our brethren. We recourse, resource the reason why. All, in trepidation... We cry out for separation. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all? Citizens of the nation, Before humanitarians, First comes clicks of locking doors. Equality does not endure. A man of any land should be my brother. The whole earth, to us, our mother. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all? See the burden being carried High upon laden backs, Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending. Each fear the other will attack. The words have been the same, But for intent that's not their own. For too long, have we been believed. Equality is just for some - Is just for some. Freedom is only for the free. The lines that keep the captives buckling, The doors that keep them let them go. They have no where to escape. Always there is tyranny For the landless refugee. He is no man as worthy as you. Equality is just for some - Is just for some. All the lessons that teach us to love The home of brave and free Are based on notions that could not be true, If all are not the same as you. And, are they not the same as we, Who are decorating for our holidays. Living in our plentitude, Singing songs of charity and caring - Charity and Caring? Gifts are given and received. Do we remember the lessons taught About the kind of men we are, When another is in need? Do they not rate the same concern As the presents and the tree, As we pray in  Holy Spirit, Singing songs of charity and caring - Charity and caring? See the emblem waving Proudly, touted in the sky. We walk among our brethren. We recourse, resource the reason why. All, in trepidation... We cry out for separation. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all?
0
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
cecil-miller
But, Not For All
See the emblem waving Proudly, touted in the sky. We walk among our brethren. We recourse, resource the reason why. All, in trepidation... We cry out for separation. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all? Citizens of the nation, Before humanitarians, First comes clicks of locking doors. Equality does not endure. A man of any land should be my brother. The whole earth, to us, our mother. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all? See the burden being carried High upon laden backs, Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending. Each fear the other will attack. The words have been the same, But for intent that's not their own. For too long, have we been believed. Equality is just for some - Is just for some. Freedom is only for the free. The lines that keep the captives buckling, The doors that keep them let them go. They have no where to escape. Always there is tyranny For the landless refugee. He is no man as worthy as you. Equality is just for some - Is just for some. All the lessons that teach us to love The home of brave and free Are based on notions that could not be true, If all are not the same as you. And, are they not the same as we, Who are decorating for our holidays. Living in our plentitude, Singing songs of charity and caring - Charity and Caring? Gifts are given and received. Do we remember the lessons taught About the kind of men we are, When another is in need? Do they not rate the same concern As the presents and the tree, As we pray in  Holy Spirit, Singing songs of charity and caring - Charity and caring? See the emblem waving Proudly, touted in the sky. We walk among our brethren. We recourse, resource the reason why. All, in trepidation... We cry out for separation. Could it be our own downfall, Equality, but not for all - But, not for all?
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63
When I first met you, you took me back to the 70’s, With anarchy, *** pistols and beer soaked blazers, ****** jeans and pipe dreams and your love for jumping off of tall things under the impression you could fly, You spoke to me and I felt the whole weight of my body collapse down, And to this day I thank my knees for not buckling.
0
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
wormsworms
Lovesick
When I first met you, you took me back to the 70’s, With anarchy, *** pistols and beer soaked blazers, ****** jeans and pipe dreams and your love for jumping off of tall things under the impression you could fly, You spoke to me and I felt the whole weight of my body collapse down, And to this day I thank my knees for not buckling.
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6
If I get lost, promise you'd leave me be Let me walk alone in my circles I'll find my way back...almost instinctively Through looping thoughts and scribbles If I should trip, promise you'd let me fall Scrape my knee and scream a voiceless scream Weight of the universe may seem crushing to shoulders so small I'll walk it off and regain newfound steam If I show signs of buckling, promise you'd let me collapse into nothing Let me fold into myself...into an unnoticeable speck There is solace in this space when the walls are caving Soon I would reinvent and renew from that wreck If I suffer a cut, promise you'd just let me bleed Let the black of my soul gush out Within it I would find the seed To which all of my rantings are about If I should begin to write, promise you'd read my scrawls Take them as they are and not to heart Just thoughts versus words that mean much or nothing at all They'd stitch me anew when I start to break apart If I keep losing myself, promise that you'd let me be The circles I tread are very much predictable They'd always lead me around... Don't treat me differently Just stay where you are... I'll come back round, fresh and able...
0
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
ryn
Circles
If I get lost, promise you'd leave me be Let me walk alone in my circles I'll find my way back...almost instinctively Through looping thoughts and scribbles If I should trip, promise you'd let me fall Scrape my knee and scream a voiceless scream Weight of the universe may seem crushing to shoulders so small I'll walk it off and regain newfound steam If I show signs of buckling, promise you'd let me collapse into nothing Let me fold into myself...into an unnoticeable speck There is solace in this space when the walls are caving Soon I would reinvent and renew from that wreck If I suffer a cut, promise you'd just let me bleed Let the black of my soul gush out Within it I would find the seed To which all of my rantings are about If I should begin to write, promise you'd read my scrawls Take them as they are and not to heart Just thoughts versus words that mean much or nothing at all They'd stitch me anew when I start to break apart If I keep losing myself, promise that you'd let me be The circles I tread are very much predictable They'd always lead me around... Don't treat me differently Just stay where you are... I'll come back round, fresh and able...
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24
I Half of the fellow father as he doubles His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk, Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk, Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone Bolt for the salt unborn. The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop, The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled The swing of milk was tufted in the pap, For half of love was planted in the lost, And the unplanted ghost. The broken halves are fellowed in a ******* The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep, Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep, And stake the sleepers in the savage grave That the vampire laugh. The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees, ******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide, And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs, Rotating halves are horning as they drill The arterial angel. What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air, And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble. The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw, The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew Blinds their cloud-tracking eye. II My world is pyramid. The padded mummer Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt Incising summer. My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet, I scrape through resin to a starry bone And a blood parhelion. My world is cypress, and an English valley. I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards Red in an Austrian volley. I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads, ******** their bowels from a hill of bones, Cry Eloi to the guns. My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan. The Arctic scut, and basin of the South, Drip on my dead house garden. Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn Through the Atlantic corn. The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel On casting tides, are tangled in the shells, Bearding the unborn devil, Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels. The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide Binding my angel's hood. Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour? I blow the stammel feather in the vein. The **** is glory in a working pallor. My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn, The secret child, I sift about the sea Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
0
3.9k
Dylan Thomas
My World Is Pyramid
I Half of the fellow father as he doubles His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk, Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk, Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone Bolt for the salt unborn. The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop, The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled The swing of milk was tufted in the pap, For half of love was planted in the lost, And the unplanted ghost. The broken halves are fellowed in a ******* The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep, Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep, And stake the sleepers in the savage grave That the vampire laugh. The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees, ******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide, And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs, Rotating halves are horning as they drill The arterial angel. What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air, And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble. The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw, The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew Blinds their cloud-tracking eye. II My world is pyramid. The padded mummer Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt Incising summer. My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet, I scrape through resin to a starry bone And a blood parhelion. My world is cypress, and an English valley. I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards Red in an Austrian volley. I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads, ******** their bowels from a hill of bones, Cry Eloi to the guns. My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan. The Arctic scut, and basin of the South, Drip on my dead house garden. Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn Through the Atlantic corn. The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel On casting tides, are tangled in the shells, Bearding the unborn devil, Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels. The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide Binding my angel's hood. Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour? I blow the stammel feather in the vein. The **** is glory in a working pallor. My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn, The secret child, I sift about the sea Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
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62
Malignant gazes warped the the fabric of the air around me. I couldn't do anything but tell her that to wish upon a dying star                           will never end well. The atrocity that clung to the ships hull, was no less human now than     the artificial meat 3d printed.. It taste liked chicken, but..             there were no eggs in space. Words like plasma cannons fired around me bouncing off the walls. Ok, ok listen I didn't do this to you! Your the penny that could pay the price, and this is your tarnished self pity. I wasn't having any of her grief,        though it could vacate me with ease. Standing before her I said I could less cure her than breath in space.. With that she raged in a language of ferocious exasperation. I knew that it was time to vacate her need for some sort of vengeance. I'd got the necklace on under my garments. Pointing my pistol at her, she smirked,              then a gargled laugh spat out. That toy cant harm me, is this your last stand what a pointless endeavour.. Now it was my turn to smirk,         I don't know if it was panic or confusion to why I was laughing.             like a hyena knowing that the pray had just cornered itself. With that I shot past her, like a random act, I still laughed loudly. And then a buckling ache approached. As the hull cleaved open like a piñata hit feverishly by an excited child.   As we where exhumed from our coffin, suffocating in the emptiness of my actions. I could see her fear, no matter her augmentations, nothing could survive the vacuum of space. I pressed upon my chest, my nanite suit encompassing me.             I was like a new born taking a first breath Looking at this sorrowful figure, floating in to the abyss. I knew I was partly to blame. But now was not the time for respective thoughts. This was about survival, and I used the small thrusters to edge closely to the air lock.                        Time to move on, time to breath deeply.
0
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
poetic-t
When The Past Isn't Welcoming
Malignant gazes warped the the fabric of the air around me. I couldn't do anything but tell her that to wish upon a dying star                           will never end well. The atrocity that clung to the ships hull, was no less human now than     the artificial meat 3d printed.. It taste liked chicken, but..             there were no eggs in space. Words like plasma cannons fired around me bouncing off the walls. Ok, ok listen I didn't do this to you! Your the penny that could pay the price, and this is your tarnished self pity. I wasn't having any of her grief,        though it could vacate me with ease. Standing before her I said I could less cure her than breath in space.. With that she raged in a language of ferocious exasperation. I knew that it was time to vacate her need for some sort of vengeance. I'd got the necklace on under my garments. Pointing my pistol at her, she smirked,              then a gargled laugh spat out. That toy cant harm me, is this your last stand what a pointless endeavour.. Now it was my turn to smirk,         I don't know if it was panic or confusion to why I was laughing.             like a hyena knowing that the pray had just cornered itself. With that I shot past her, like a random act, I still laughed loudly. And then a buckling ache approached. As the hull cleaved open like a piñata hit feverishly by an excited child.   As we where exhumed from our coffin, suffocating in the emptiness of my actions. I could see her fear, no matter her augmentations, nothing could survive the vacuum of space. I pressed upon my chest, my nanite suit encompassing me.             I was like a new born taking a first breath Looking at this sorrowful figure, floating in to the abyss. I knew I was partly to blame. But now was not the time for respective thoughts. This was about survival, and I used the small thrusters to edge closely to the air lock.                        Time to move on, time to breath deeply.
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52
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus. Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands. i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus. the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
0
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
mitakiharashi
OLYMPUS CORPOREATION IS A JAPANESE MANUFACTURER OF OPTICS AND REPROGRAPHY PRODUCTS
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus. Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands. i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus. the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
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8
I was moving out Parked my bike down the street With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole connected to my seat. The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down the front Vanished each car- go carrying trip of dictionaries and travel guides that could have been lumped together in boxes separately tossed into the neon green synthetic fiber rain-proof buggy Connected to my seat. I ran across the lawn, one last time Buckling the watch I found from high school remembering it’s broken and not caring then I saw men wearing polos beneath Greek symbols beneath a doorway and held my breath as they stared at me. This vacant lot held something which I carried back to find my bike was gone, replaced by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying “no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps surrounded by aquariums or tvs which comprised the store's interior. The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past refrigerators next to vending machines In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others Disconnected, hung its tires lying on the ground beside their feet and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck. “What the **** A woman got into my face “don’t use that word” ***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we got here” One man smiled. He felt bad. They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house. I saw my car down the street. I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d rode my bike Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill, to see the roommate I hated and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo but took only my one possession and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch on the top of a table beside some legos and left.
0
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
sansara-justinovich
Dream April 22
I was moving out Parked my bike down the street With a cart hinged on the bolt beneath the rusty pole connected to my seat. The yard was steep, and the stairs leading down the front Vanished each car- go carrying trip of dictionaries and travel guides that could have been lumped together in boxes separately tossed into the neon green synthetic fiber rain-proof buggy Connected to my seat. I ran across the lawn, one last time Buckling the watch I found from high school remembering it’s broken and not caring then I saw men wearing polos beneath Greek symbols beneath a doorway and held my breath as they stared at me. This vacant lot held something which I carried back to find my bike was gone, replaced by a life-sized depiction of a bike saying “no bikes--” A girl inside, explaining where I could find mine I walked down the grey spiral of handicapped access ramps surrounded by aquariums or tvs which comprised the store's interior. The last ramp faced an exit and went straight past refrigerators next to vending machines In the alley behind this office supply store were two old men Roasting my bike on a chain beside the others Disconnected, hung its tires lying on the ground beside their feet and the carriage slung aside like a bloodied gazelle's neck. “What the **** A woman got into my face “don’t use that word” ***** a perfectly good word, after all, it’s how we got here” One man smiled. He felt bad. They helped me put the bike together and I walked it back to my house. I saw my car down the street. I thought about the long trip to the interstate and wondered why I’d rode my bike Then I went back up the stairs of the blue sided hill, to see the roommate I hated and thought about stealing his SNES and stereo but took only my one possession and walked past rotting turkey bacon in a plastic pouch on the top of a table beside some legos and left.
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54
My white silk scarf keeps me warm for five minutes it slips away and i have to keep catching it My learned karate is getting sharper but my legs keep buckling after the kick My white silk scarf is pulled out of my pocket It twists and knots around my neck too tight My words rush by like rhymes trapped in rivers but my tongue gets rough once it brushes the rock My white silk scarf is tied to my ankles forever it stops me from moving towards the light It stops me from moving towards the light
0
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Mallowe
My White Silk Scarf
My white silk scarf keeps me warm for five minutes it slips away and i have to keep catching it My learned karate is getting sharper but my legs keep buckling after the kick My white silk scarf is pulled out of my pocket It twists and knots around my neck too tight My words rush by like rhymes trapped in rivers but my tongue gets rough once it brushes the rock My white silk scarf is tied to my ankles forever it stops me from moving towards the light It stops me from moving towards the light
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14
I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes. What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood. My problems are not my own. The sociological imagination has never seemed so applicable. We’ve all been dosed up On dashes of passion, splashes of intelligence and just enough anxiety and depression to approach existential nihilism and We’re fed these lies of individuality but We Know we are only products of our youth and culture, ones of many in the long production line We claim We are Art, but We Feel we’re just generated from streams of code, prepared to fight to the death for some algorithm that doesn’t even matter And so I protest I can’t just be a number I am flesh and blood, my knees are buckling under the weight of this artificial perfection. I’m not just a number, My eyes are staring at the the marks that determine my worth, knowing success is my only option i am not just a number My sanity is sinking and drowning and constantly fighting to stay afloat But I am not just a number. - My mind tells me I’m not making it-- How are these other people making it? I’m determining my worth on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust And it is with these standards i am told I am just a number. I feel like I can no longer speak because I’ve been shouting at the top of my lungs I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER But my voice is too quiet And the world is too loud. I’m so tired of trying to be heard. Yet these words still sound better when I scream them, not just scrawl them down on scraps of paper. for someone so happy I'm so very angry. for someone so happy I'm so very sad.
0
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
ian-johan-gomez
Stream of Consciousness
I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes. What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood. My problems are not my own. The sociological imagination has never seemed so applicable. We’ve all been dosed up On dashes of passion, splashes of intelligence and just enough anxiety and depression to approach existential nihilism and We’re fed these lies of individuality but We Know we are only products of our youth and culture, ones of many in the long production line We claim We are Art, but We Feel we’re just generated from streams of code, prepared to fight to the death for some algorithm that doesn’t even matter And so I protest I can’t just be a number I am flesh and blood, my knees are buckling under the weight of this artificial perfection. I’m not just a number, My eyes are staring at the the marks that determine my worth, knowing success is my only option i am not just a number My sanity is sinking and drowning and constantly fighting to stay afloat But I am not just a number. - My mind tells me I’m not making it-- How are these other people making it? I’m determining my worth on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust And it is with these standards i am told I am just a number. I feel like I can no longer speak because I’ve been shouting at the top of my lungs I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER But my voice is too quiet And the world is too loud. I’m so tired of trying to be heard. Yet these words still sound better when I scream them, not just scrawl them down on scraps of paper. for someone so happy I'm so very angry. for someone so happy I'm so very sad.
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60
I love the brilliant frenzied         stillness Earth rotating, an opaque of         beaded matters The buckling transfixiated            openings of bleeding      ground. Blue green brown blood     teeming with movement disconnecting features     rapt in water       and other lives   repeating, inserting     maelstroms of thought.
0
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
ekaj420024
brilliant frenzied stillness
I love the brilliant frenzied         stillness Earth rotating, an opaque of         beaded matters The buckling transfixiated            openings of bleeding      ground. Blue green brown blood     teeming with movement disconnecting features     rapt in water       and other lives   repeating, inserting     maelstroms of thought.
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15
Do you... Imagine my ****** expressions that match the nuances in my voice Tell me of all the attention you get from other boys Take deep trembling breaths just to hold back the tears Feel the angry tides as you swallow your fears Clutch your pillow tight and pretend that it's me Let it soak up the drops as you sob quietly Look at the moon adoringly as I do Knowing that I see the same one too Replay the words you heard me say Read my words over and over, to get through your day Cringe at the idea that we both have to hide When really we want to spread our wings and glide Sigh with despair when it all seems to fall apart Pick on life's lashing when they start to smart Picture me before sleep in bed as you lay Let me run till slumber takes you away Well up every time you miss Close your eyes shut every time we kiss Pace up and down as we share days' events Try to be strong hearing each others' laments Cover your face when you cry? Grieve over time spent apart that fly on by Take breaths in between words or in between sentences Sigh deeply poring over our wild pretences Blush red when sweet nothings you hear Bite your lip when you need me near Sing in your heart when you hear my voice Dance secretly with me as your choice Always think of different ways to sweep me off my feet Rush of blood with the quickening of your heartbeat Imagine the way I am as I do you Get breathless when you say I love you Feel a stab when we argue about nothing Wasted words when much more needed saying Weaken in the knees when for you I'd sing Find catching yourself to stop yourself from buckling Sit on the bathroom floor, Only to let the shower pour As you hug your knees to your chest Assuring yourself that it's all for the best Wish for a second just so you could see With naked eyes and not imaginatively Do you? Because I do...
0
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
ryn
Do you?
Do you... Imagine my ****** expressions that match the nuances in my voice Tell me of all the attention you get from other boys Take deep trembling breaths just to hold back the tears Feel the angry tides as you swallow your fears Clutch your pillow tight and pretend that it's me Let it soak up the drops as you sob quietly Look at the moon adoringly as I do Knowing that I see the same one too Replay the words you heard me say Read my words over and over, to get through your day Cringe at the idea that we both have to hide When really we want to spread our wings and glide Sigh with despair when it all seems to fall apart Pick on life's lashing when they start to smart Picture me before sleep in bed as you lay Let me run till slumber takes you away Well up every time you miss Close your eyes shut every time we kiss Pace up and down as we share days' events Try to be strong hearing each others' laments Cover your face when you cry? Grieve over time spent apart that fly on by Take breaths in between words or in between sentences Sigh deeply poring over our wild pretences Blush red when sweet nothings you hear Bite your lip when you need me near Sing in your heart when you hear my voice Dance secretly with me as your choice Always think of different ways to sweep me off my feet Rush of blood with the quickening of your heartbeat Imagine the way I am as I do you Get breathless when you say I love you Feel a stab when we argue about nothing Wasted words when much more needed saying Weaken in the knees when for you I'd sing Find catching yourself to stop yourself from buckling Sit on the bathroom floor, Only to let the shower pour As you hug your knees to your chest Assuring yourself that it's all for the best Wish for a second just so you could see With naked eyes and not imaginatively Do you? Because I do...
Continue reading...
45
she treads unholy ground where you have faltered shoulders broken soul to see you rise she would kiss the sacred salted waters seeking only sweetness from your eyes her knees are buckling, carrying a burden soft as love and heavier than stone lips release a sigh that's only heard when she feels safest, thinks that she's alone tenderness to touch and heal the wounded child within you hiding from the world forgiving feet walk 'round the evil you did bids you sleep, her arm around you curled she's the reason flailing poets try to grasp her gracious great unreasoned why.
0
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
joel-m-frye
unworthy
she treads unholy ground where you have faltered shoulders broken soul to see you rise she would kiss the sacred salted waters seeking only sweetness from your eyes her knees are buckling, carrying a burden soft as love and heavier than stone lips release a sigh that's only heard when she feels safest, thinks that she's alone tenderness to touch and heal the wounded child within you hiding from the world forgiving feet walk 'round the evil you did bids you sleep, her arm around you curled she's the reason flailing poets try to grasp her gracious great unreasoned why.
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14
I have been hurting for the past 3 months, I have met someone new, Her name is Molly, She introduced herself to me and I took her in, 15 minutes passed and I felt a rush, *** my knees are buckling as she is caressing me, I never felt more alive...There is a surge of life that reincarnates me, Instantley I am In Love... As I talk to her she tells me everything is going to be ok, you are with me now, I give into her and she gives me the willpower to carry on, I tell her, "Molly I trust you, please give me the strength and will power to overcome any obstacle, She says back, "Manny I will take care of you, carry on and live life with no regrets, you have me I will ALWAYS take care of you." As I entrust in her I get goose pimples, My face immediately  chooses a different character, This is the turn around for me and the beginning empire I will soon begin, As I carry on I will never forget the day of my emotional turn around, The Day that I met lovely Molly. {RP}
0
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 6:18 AM UTC
the-rogue-poet
The Story Of My Broken Heart: The Turn Around (Part 2)
I have been hurting for the past 3 months, I have met someone new, Her name is Molly, She introduced herself to me and I took her in, 15 minutes passed and I felt a rush, *** my knees are buckling as she is caressing me, I never felt more alive...There is a surge of life that reincarnates me, Instantley I am In Love... As I talk to her she tells me everything is going to be ok, you are with me now, I give into her and she gives me the willpower to carry on, I tell her, "Molly I trust you, please give me the strength and will power to overcome any obstacle, She says back, "Manny I will take care of you, carry on and live life with no regrets, you have me I will ALWAYS take care of you." As I entrust in her I get goose pimples, My face immediately  chooses a different character, This is the turn around for me and the beginning empire I will soon begin, As I carry on I will never forget the day of my emotional turn around, The Day that I met lovely Molly. {RP}
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18
This Is Something That Has Long Been Coming It Had Too Have Happened Eventually This Is Not Something You Can Stop It Has Too Come Out Or Else Anger, Vibrant, Sharp And Harsh Sadness, Slow, Liquid And Flat Pain, Bright, Acute And Rough Joy, Brilliant, Soft And Smooth The Insanity I Feel, The Craziness Of My Days The Pressure Of The World, Onto My Weak Shoulders Buckling Under The Weight Of The Mountain I Only Wish For The Feather, To Shift Only The Feather Writing Is A Way Of Release, A World Away From Reality Shifting Thought, Spilt Blood On The Yellowed Pages Browned, Once Red, The Reek Of Copper, The Taste Of Fear Blazing And Flaring, Shining Bright, Shadowed Door Duty, Heavier Than A Mountain. Death, Lighter Than A Feather Duty, The Duty To Care For Those In "Need", Helping Those Who Ask No Matter To My Own Thoughts, On These Yellow Pages, Red On White Ask Me For Help, And Thou Shalt Receive, It Is My Nature, To Help Those in "Need" My Mountain Feels Heavy, So Very Heavy, My Shoulders Straining With The Weight Burning Migraine, Weeks Now, Many Long Arduous Weeks, But Will I Stop? No I Will Not Put Down The Mountain, It Is There Forever More, Though All I Wish Is Too Shift That Deadly Feather, Let This White, Shining Feather Fall From My Broken Shoulders I Sketch This Mountain, Upon My Yellowing Pages, Years Of Pages, All Yellowed With Age, Written Agony Don't Burn These Pages, Don't Rip These Words, These Thoughts Are My Legacy, My Own Memoirs Not Much Joy, A Small Amount, That Will Grow To Be Crushed Underfoot But Those I Have Loved, Love, And Will Love Crushed Heart And Soul, My Spirit Bearing A Mountain, With A Feather On Top, The Waiting, The Impatience, The Feather Quivers
0
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
reilly-cole
Spilling Thought On The Yellowing Pages
This Is Something That Has Long Been Coming It Had Too Have Happened Eventually This Is Not Something You Can Stop It Has Too Come Out Or Else Anger, Vibrant, Sharp And Harsh Sadness, Slow, Liquid And Flat Pain, Bright, Acute And Rough Joy, Brilliant, Soft And Smooth The Insanity I Feel, The Craziness Of My Days The Pressure Of The World, Onto My Weak Shoulders Buckling Under The Weight Of The Mountain I Only Wish For The Feather, To Shift Only The Feather Writing Is A Way Of Release, A World Away From Reality Shifting Thought, Spilt Blood On The Yellowed Pages Browned, Once Red, The Reek Of Copper, The Taste Of Fear Blazing And Flaring, Shining Bright, Shadowed Door Duty, Heavier Than A Mountain. Death, Lighter Than A Feather Duty, The Duty To Care For Those In "Need", Helping Those Who Ask No Matter To My Own Thoughts, On These Yellow Pages, Red On White Ask Me For Help, And Thou Shalt Receive, It Is My Nature, To Help Those in "Need" My Mountain Feels Heavy, So Very Heavy, My Shoulders Straining With The Weight Burning Migraine, Weeks Now, Many Long Arduous Weeks, But Will I Stop? No I Will Not Put Down The Mountain, It Is There Forever More, Though All I Wish Is Too Shift That Deadly Feather, Let This White, Shining Feather Fall From My Broken Shoulders I Sketch This Mountain, Upon My Yellowing Pages, Years Of Pages, All Yellowed With Age, Written Agony Don't Burn These Pages, Don't Rip These Words, These Thoughts Are My Legacy, My Own Memoirs Not Much Joy, A Small Amount, That Will Grow To Be Crushed Underfoot But Those I Have Loved, Love, And Will Love Crushed Heart And Soul, My Spirit Bearing A Mountain, With A Feather On Top, The Waiting, The Impatience, The Feather Quivers
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28
Your taste hits my lips and I cannot help but smile I feel such joy and love when your in my life Your embrace reaches down to the pit of my stomach and you warm my body intensely Your sight alone brings anyone to their knees buckling trembling By God! I cannot live without you! Every second! Every moment! I would live off of your breath I could But since I can't I'll stick with your taste Your sweet, intoxicating taste
0
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC
CRobinson
Intoxication
Your taste hits my lips and I cannot help but smile I feel such joy and love when your in my life Your embrace reaches down to the pit of my stomach and you warm my body intensely Your sight alone brings anyone to their knees buckling trembling By God! I cannot live without you! Every second! Every moment! I would live off of your breath I could But since I can't I'll stick with your taste Your sweet, intoxicating taste
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13
Barry’s dead. I saw you dying weeks ago; An oyster shell turned empty can, Scrumpled up and finished By the past’s magnet attraction In your shakey hands. It’s just a habit now and you can hardly kick yourself. Buckets of Grolsch: My swash-buckling hero Turned slosh-slurping zero once again And shiny surfaces Never suited you. Scrub away at that black demon matter With the sole white spirit Your genius affords. A shattered socialist Posy primrose ****** That’s the story of your life – All most man. Now beneath the cowslips And the heifer’s hooves, Your saintly-thorny words without a roof: But who will speak for you? And trawl the depths As you once did in youth? Prizing open oysters… I hope that where you are Your silence brings relief. I hope that where you are You smell the borage breeze. I hope that where you are There’s ox-cheek for tea And your carbonated past Is carbonating in mute peace. Tonight the argent stars Are dulled in disbelief Tonight the slate that you’ve carved Is the hardest you will teach. Tonight the tumblestones Are falling down in grief: For Barry’s gone to rediscover Pearl And the beauty of her peace.
0
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 4:40 AM UTC
daniel-james
Rediscovered Pearl
Barry’s dead. I saw you dying weeks ago; An oyster shell turned empty can, Scrumpled up and finished By the past’s magnet attraction In your shakey hands. It’s just a habit now and you can hardly kick yourself. Buckets of Grolsch: My swash-buckling hero Turned slosh-slurping zero once again And shiny surfaces Never suited you. Scrub away at that black demon matter With the sole white spirit Your genius affords. A shattered socialist Posy primrose ****** That’s the story of your life – All most man. Now beneath the cowslips And the heifer’s hooves, Your saintly-thorny words without a roof: But who will speak for you? And trawl the depths As you once did in youth? Prizing open oysters… I hope that where you are Your silence brings relief. I hope that where you are You smell the borage breeze. I hope that where you are There’s ox-cheek for tea And your carbonated past Is carbonating in mute peace. Tonight the argent stars Are dulled in disbelief Tonight the slate that you’ve carved Is the hardest you will teach. Tonight the tumblestones Are falling down in grief: For Barry’s gone to rediscover Pearl And the beauty of her peace.
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43
He sends a peace sign emoji and that's cool I tool around the underground Morning dreaming of manipulating what seem to be good hearted girls on their way to school After classes we'd walk around her campus I'd be holding to keep the good times rolling Just to keep the good times rolling My life starts buckling and folding I feel the good times rolling But where is she going? Where is she going? I send him a peace sign emoji He says to himself "What a cool guy."
0
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
NiallPower
Peace Sign Emoji
He sends a peace sign emoji and that's cool I tool around the underground Morning dreaming of manipulating what seem to be good hearted girls on their way to school After classes we'd walk around her campus I'd be holding to keep the good times rolling Just to keep the good times rolling My life starts buckling and folding I feel the good times rolling But where is she going? Where is she going? I send him a peace sign emoji He says to himself "What a cool guy."
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21
... *"She is indeed the happiest Oracle of Leo the Lion,             born as his innocent prophet                                      of divine sunlight~ tumbling~                   spilling;                                    "eternal flower."                                                                 :to recite the amber                                                                  prophecies with                                                          the lions ~fire'tongue~                                                    in showers of orange rain. She was the king's candle;       a starlit lantern of medallion grace. She wears a dress of violet promises and peace               that tickles the wind to knock on the sky. Asking the nightfall of questions in sleeping stars~                                          "Why do I miss her?" Her words were fused with kindness and marigolds;                 to cleanse the darkest infections within                                                               a lion's soul                                                and his injured pride.                                               You are so lonely, Leonie. With your heart forgotten in the lions cave.                    Loyalty is built on your visions and bones. Yellow masks that paint the walls of your prison,               and it's a sadness that the king cannot mend.               So this isolation becomes the voice of reason. and freedom is the voice of treason. Deep within the lions den, the ceiling fell at 2 a.m, twisting~              buckling;                         demolishing,                                         :stones falling to their knees. With hope and reckless saltwater dreams                     she fled with ember feet to see the moonlight showering in. Notes of silver plucked the wind,          as ink and blue stirred the rubble There stood a girl, on cracked stone table; with a white rabbits' mask and metallic hair.          Willow vines weeping along her arms dress as deep as crow feathers;                          and the hush of a dragon's wing swinging from her neck;                         crystals throwing light in her wake. "My prophecy said you would come." futures that unravel at a white line in the dust;                            And the darkness pulled on her robes of silk;                                            while she took off the mask                               and blue eyes met golden windows                        Descending to meet the oracle in wisdom;                                a warning whispered to her                                          ties with solitude         The moon spoke with a thousand tongues that night;* "You have to roar Leonie; So the heavens can hear you." ...
0
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Skaidrum
Gold is Lonely.
... *"She is indeed the happiest Oracle of Leo the Lion,             born as his innocent prophet                                      of divine sunlight~ tumbling~                   spilling;                                    "eternal flower."                                                                 :to recite the amber                                                                  prophecies with                                                          the lions ~fire'tongue~                                                    in showers of orange rain. She was the king's candle;       a starlit lantern of medallion grace. She wears a dress of violet promises and peace               that tickles the wind to knock on the sky. Asking the nightfall of questions in sleeping stars~                                          "Why do I miss her?" Her words were fused with kindness and marigolds;                 to cleanse the darkest infections within                                                               a lion's soul                                                and his injured pride.                                               You are so lonely, Leonie. With your heart forgotten in the lions cave.                    Loyalty is built on your visions and bones. Yellow masks that paint the walls of your prison,               and it's a sadness that the king cannot mend.               So this isolation becomes the voice of reason. and freedom is the voice of treason. Deep within the lions den, the ceiling fell at 2 a.m, twisting~              buckling;                         demolishing,                                         :stones falling to their knees. With hope and reckless saltwater dreams                     she fled with ember feet to see the moonlight showering in. Notes of silver plucked the wind,          as ink and blue stirred the rubble There stood a girl, on cracked stone table; with a white rabbits' mask and metallic hair.          Willow vines weeping along her arms dress as deep as crow feathers;                          and the hush of a dragon's wing swinging from her neck;                         crystals throwing light in her wake. "My prophecy said you would come." futures that unravel at a white line in the dust;                            And the darkness pulled on her robes of silk;                                            while she took off the mask                               and blue eyes met golden windows                        Descending to meet the oracle in wisdom;                                a warning whispered to her                                          ties with solitude         The moon spoke with a thousand tongues that night;* "You have to roar Leonie; So the heavens can hear you." ...
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56
saying **** off* seems so much more easier when you're petting cats.... they just say it for you... there he is, Quarus, the operatic singer nearing sunset, 200 variations of a mulling of meow, i end up calling him Orbison Rufus, the ginger Roy of Peckham - he basically meows lazily like Roy singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras or umbrellas - counting the shadows' version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo ah-woo nagging the reflex... gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with the herding in while the dog carved a feel for religion in the translation of the Vatican from coliseum into football requirements... the movies were great in the 1950s, just after the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill... the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo in a cave to knock-on-wood... 200 variations of the knock and 12 whiskey shots downed while playing poker... 12 cowboys 1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino... i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving out smoke signals... Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed... he's Roy Orbison with the meow, pretty much lazy... looks like a murmur when he tries singing, pretty woman, trolling down the street, Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy, as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled white collars... Roy knew before Elvis... the trick came with sunglasses, and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing for subsequent mouthing it off... no amount of cheese in French could ever charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch laughing cows named Novices.... quick-melts and some said: dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot; the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic of the thumb through to pinky... i don't know how they taught counting with their complex ideograms, they never taught arithmetic give their encoding... they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
0
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
Apache Yawn Echo Imitation
saying **** off* seems so much more easier when you're petting cats.... they just say it for you... there he is, Quarus, the operatic singer nearing sunset, 200 variations of a mulling of meow, i end up calling him Orbison Rufus, the ginger Roy of Peckham - he basically meows lazily like Roy singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras or umbrellas - counting the shadows' version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo ah-woo nagging the reflex... gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with the herding in while the dog carved a feel for religion in the translation of the Vatican from coliseum into football requirements... the movies were great in the 1950s, just after the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill... the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo in a cave to knock-on-wood... 200 variations of the knock and 12 whiskey shots downed while playing poker... 12 cowboys 1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino... i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving out smoke signals... Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed... he's Roy Orbison with the meow, pretty much lazy... looks like a murmur when he tries singing, pretty woman, trolling down the street, Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy, as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled white collars... Roy knew before Elvis... the trick came with sunglasses, and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing for subsequent mouthing it off... no amount of cheese in French could ever charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch laughing cows named Novices.... quick-melts and some said: dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot; the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic of the thumb through to pinky... i don't know how they taught counting with their complex ideograms, they never taught arithmetic give their encoding... they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
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56
on the certain special ways of every single, bright new day, i who with only love left here for you, something special certain, something new and always here inside me, my soul now sings from ear to ear, i feel you holding on so dear, to every certain special kiss, our bodies mesh, i hear you hiss as my mouth makes way along your perfect, precious body's song, where choirs anthem lull to hush, our minds soar swiftly in the rush of this our union 'neath the stars and moon, where dancers dance where i feel you swoon, yet i steady you in my embrace, kiss, kiss pressing to your face my lips across your glow-red cheeks, where trails of tears begin to streak, wrapped up in the embrace of a need, your thighs, your sighs, you stoop to feed upon my life with raging fire, consumed by lust and love's desire, trading shares of pounding heat, when we as lovers, soul mates meet, making two of what was one, loving, laughing in the sun, i plunge inside you with the waves, your mossy sea-scent hunger craves, crashing, foamy, bursting sparks, erupting in the blue-black dark, screaming out with dire ecstasy, drives us to our buckling knees, where leading to the breaking day, the embers fade but do not go away...
0
May 28, 2010
May 28, 2010 at 1:20 AM UTC
d-conors
(composed this morning in one burst for M.)
on the certain special ways of every single, bright new day, i who with only love left here for you, something special certain, something new and always here inside me, my soul now sings from ear to ear, i feel you holding on so dear, to every certain special kiss, our bodies mesh, i hear you hiss as my mouth makes way along your perfect, precious body's song, where choirs anthem lull to hush, our minds soar swiftly in the rush of this our union 'neath the stars and moon, where dancers dance where i feel you swoon, yet i steady you in my embrace, kiss, kiss pressing to your face my lips across your glow-red cheeks, where trails of tears begin to streak, wrapped up in the embrace of a need, your thighs, your sighs, you stoop to feed upon my life with raging fire, consumed by lust and love's desire, trading shares of pounding heat, when we as lovers, soul mates meet, making two of what was one, loving, laughing in the sun, i plunge inside you with the waves, your mossy sea-scent hunger craves, crashing, foamy, bursting sparks, erupting in the blue-black dark, screaming out with dire ecstasy, drives us to our buckling knees, where leading to the breaking day, the embers fade but do not go away...
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38
Gray dove I see you You fly most graciously Floating in the clouds with the slow wind My toes over the edge Curled up in my shoes Fingers grip the rail White knuckled and tense I glance in your direction Your wings sweep the sky Back and forth You glide with a purpose Sweat drips from my brow Frozen with a moment of time I hear every sound of nature Leaning forward, head tilted down Purr gray dove, come my way Alone and free Flying circles around me Rest when you can I see the water below Crashing against the shore My heart beats rapidly Knees are buckling from the strain You are my friend As I see why you fly Coming my way I start to smile Can not catch my breathe I close my eyes tight Deep in sadness, I wonder No looking back Here you come ending your flight My shoulder is your resting spot Balance completely lost No more grip I begin to fall Quick descent rushes by Eyes wide open Gray dove flies again I hit the water with a thud One last scene as I see you Pushed to my death by the little gray dove
0
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
silent-screams
Gray Dove
Gray dove I see you You fly most graciously Floating in the clouds with the slow wind My toes over the edge Curled up in my shoes Fingers grip the rail White knuckled and tense I glance in your direction Your wings sweep the sky Back and forth You glide with a purpose Sweat drips from my brow Frozen with a moment of time I hear every sound of nature Leaning forward, head tilted down Purr gray dove, come my way Alone and free Flying circles around me Rest when you can I see the water below Crashing against the shore My heart beats rapidly Knees are buckling from the strain You are my friend As I see why you fly Coming my way I start to smile Can not catch my breathe I close my eyes tight Deep in sadness, I wonder No looking back Here you come ending your flight My shoulder is your resting spot Balance completely lost No more grip I begin to fall Quick descent rushes by Eyes wide open Gray dove flies again I hit the water with a thud One last scene as I see you Pushed to my death by the little gray dove
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44
You can pour love completely into a wine glass body Write heart wrenching verse pure soul poetry but when you are beat, dead, done, exhausted weary the lover beside you becomes dismantled and arranged into parts of burden temporarily. Pointy elbows drilling into spine. Rock hard knees buckling thighs. Razor sharp toenails scour ankles and calf. Sprawled limbs invading your bed half. Thieves of warm sheets and cosy duvets. Gurgling, snorting roars snoring, snoring, snoring away. Or teeth grinding piercing anvil, hammer and drum. When extremely tired Only then your love isn't as fun as and hour ago when limbs, torso and flanks eagerly woven discarding blankets, But that was then. Sleep has a stronger lure and retorting with your own elbow or *** shunt just can't end the snore. Crying for snoozeville, you can't take any more. Suddenly, a choked snuffle then blessed silence as they roll back onto their side And you sigh, “I love you,” But grateful for the stop Better off with bunk beds, one can still go on top.
0
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
david-patrick-oc
Love v's Sleep
You can pour love completely into a wine glass body Write heart wrenching verse pure soul poetry but when you are beat, dead, done, exhausted weary the lover beside you becomes dismantled and arranged into parts of burden temporarily. Pointy elbows drilling into spine. Rock hard knees buckling thighs. Razor sharp toenails scour ankles and calf. Sprawled limbs invading your bed half. Thieves of warm sheets and cosy duvets. Gurgling, snorting roars snoring, snoring, snoring away. Or teeth grinding piercing anvil, hammer and drum. When extremely tired Only then your love isn't as fun as and hour ago when limbs, torso and flanks eagerly woven discarding blankets, But that was then. Sleep has a stronger lure and retorting with your own elbow or *** shunt just can't end the snore. Crying for snoozeville, you can't take any more. Suddenly, a choked snuffle then blessed silence as they roll back onto their side And you sigh, “I love you,” But grateful for the stop Better off with bunk beds, one can still go on top.
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52
you know what undermines most urban coolios? you know what undermines the majority of urban hippies? imitations - clones - we might wear the same sneakers but at least we think different - we think different, aye-right? we do, don't we? we don't?! ah **** but that's what undermines the urban crew - (ha ha, i love the impromptu slang) - they work their ***** off and tease their ***** off with twerks - and then they package hamburgers with a squeeeeeeezes of the ol' Nutcracker - but in London so many harvesters - so many - coolio did fabric off of Bacon?! **** straight he did - bring back 1990's bling boo ya ah ICE CUBE FACE 'N' A PUFFER FISH (MINUS THE LIP) - like ghetto 1994 - yo yo - ice ice baby - white man on the Michael - leisure, leisure, leisure leisure - lacerations and a Las Vegas weekend - bro got smoked - and mm hmm - fixed up my pauper rich-man Porsche - called a dachshund Lamborghini gallop buckling a dentist's appointment; fuck's sake buck tooth, drop a gear! n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah (lost count) - hmm stirrup song evened vogue - puck'ah poo or as i shoo the airs under the carpet with an audience of one. but believe me, countryside boy says it - the cool individuals meeting a clone or a mirror outside their thought experiment and panic sets in... just another countryside boy in an urban environment fiddling with a violin like he might be shining a pair of black leather shoes.
0
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
modern jokers (n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah - hmm stirrup song)
you know what undermines most urban coolios? you know what undermines the majority of urban hippies? imitations - clones - we might wear the same sneakers but at least we think different - we think different, aye-right? we do, don't we? we don't?! ah **** but that's what undermines the urban crew - (ha ha, i love the impromptu slang) - they work their ***** off and tease their ***** off with twerks - and then they package hamburgers with a squeeeeeeezes of the ol' Nutcracker - but in London so many harvesters - so many - coolio did fabric off of Bacon?! **** straight he did - bring back 1990's bling boo ya ah ICE CUBE FACE 'N' A PUFFER FISH (MINUS THE LIP) - like ghetto 1994 - yo yo - ice ice baby - white man on the Michael - leisure, leisure, leisure leisure - lacerations and a Las Vegas weekend - bro got smoked - and mm hmm - fixed up my pauper rich-man Porsche - called a dachshund Lamborghini gallop buckling a dentist's appointment; fuck's sake buck tooth, drop a gear! n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah (lost count) - hmm stirrup song evened vogue - puck'ah poo or as i shoo the airs under the carpet with an audience of one. but believe me, countryside boy says it - the cool individuals meeting a clone or a mirror outside their thought experiment and panic sets in... just another countryside boy in an urban environment fiddling with a violin like he might be shining a pair of black leather shoes.
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32
Let it roll in The tide will be rising Watching the waves Caught in a trance Higher and higher We climb The moon is within our grasps Our dreams will finally be safe We take shelter Hiding ourselves from the lamp in the solar system Wishing to shine as bright as that sun Knowing what could've been Hang onto me as you slide Sinking deeper into the mud Fence posts buckling from the unstable ground Wishing to be a post, changing but standing still tall Hug me while we watch our dreams slip out of sight up on the hillside Walk with me as the sun steals our shelter Dive down with me as the tide rises and the waves take us down Kiss me when we go down in the mud Because I'd never try and escape from the mud if you were by my side. We'll be laying in a forest of kelp. Through the branches of seaweed, I found you. We climb higher and higher. Dive deeper, deeper. Watch longer and longer. Hide more and more. Slide quicker, quicker. As Mother Natures rolls around us. Nothing but good memories to treasure for tomorrow.
0
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 5:34 AM UTC
SoraHorizon
Between the Seaweed Branches, I found you.
Let it roll in The tide will be rising Watching the waves Caught in a trance Higher and higher We climb The moon is within our grasps Our dreams will finally be safe We take shelter Hiding ourselves from the lamp in the solar system Wishing to shine as bright as that sun Knowing what could've been Hang onto me as you slide Sinking deeper into the mud Fence posts buckling from the unstable ground Wishing to be a post, changing but standing still tall Hug me while we watch our dreams slip out of sight up on the hillside Walk with me as the sun steals our shelter Dive down with me as the tide rises and the waves take us down Kiss me when we go down in the mud Because I'd never try and escape from the mud if you were by my side. We'll be laying in a forest of kelp. Through the branches of seaweed, I found you. We climb higher and higher. Dive deeper, deeper. Watch longer and longer. Hide more and more. Slide quicker, quicker. As Mother Natures rolls around us. Nothing but good memories to treasure for tomorrow.
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30