"clapped" poems
Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.
A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.
I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.
Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.
Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.
Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.
Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars. Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.
And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"
All indeed, fare questions.
When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
in making Marjorie god hurried
a boy’s body on unsuspicious
legs of girl. his left hand quarried
the quartzlike face. his right slapped
the amusing big vital vicious
vegetable of her mouth.
Upon the whole he suddenly clapped
a tiny sunset of vermouth
-colour. Hair. he put between
her lips a moist mistake, whose fragrance hurls
me into tears,as the dusty new-
ness of her obsolete gaze begins to. lean….
a little against me, hen for two
dollars i fill her hips with boys and girls.
10.5k
she dances on the soles of her exhausted feet
moving her arms with grace and femininity
she kept her balance as the beads of sweat ran down her forehead
with great posture she bowed and no one clapped, so she remained graceful and left the stage
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
You said you don't even know me anymore
my moods, my personality, my characters
keep on changing like the weather
Morning when it rains
I am sweet , gentle and romantic
afternoon, when its hot and humid
I am mean, I am harsh and I snap at you
...a little grouchy
Well, I really dont know...
but here is the story...
On one sunny sky bright day
Our love story started to bloom
and the whole world cheered and clapped
to celebrate this greatest love story
When all of a sudden a dark cloud appeared
and stole the sunshine smile away
love went into coma... for a year or two
The monsoon rains and again we missed
the gentle love on wet cold nights
Inseparable in the love nest we built
Glued together the whole rainy days
It was midnight when we had a storm
Ugly weather
We were forced to build this wall
and kept our distance again
A whole year in complete vacuum
missed the love nest
but preferred the cocoon better
Today is a warmer day
The sun is coming out lazily
a little bit of warmth in the atmosphere
I tried to smile a little
and I said Hello
You grabbed my hand and told me
Never to change the weather again
I smile with tears in my eyes
reminiscing all the weathers
when we used to love and hate
How much time have we wasted?
This is me... This is you...
We are so much in love
Why must we change with the weather?
I might be Tornado in some days
or hurricane in another
but my heart beats still the same
despite the weather changes
Trust me
My love I never changed
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
i had a poetry reading
last night, well not
just me, but i read
some of my poems
it did not go well
this fellow in front
would not stop
talking into his mobile
as though everyone
wanted to know
what time his girlfriend
was going to arrive
and why she was
such a ***** in the
first place just because
he would not pick her up
when she knows that
she lives on the
completely opposite
side of town and
would make him late
late? to a poetry
reading, i thought,
why don't you hang
up the phone then
and what kind of
a woman puts up
with this **** anyway
so, i paused, and
asked him to stop
talking on the phone
people clapped, i said
that i know i am not
exactly "on" tonight
but did not think he
could do any better
i was wrong this
**** was brilliant
he stood and began
reciting with clever
lines and impossible
rhymes he did not
even stop to breathe,
well, my fault i guess
his girlfriend showed
up and of course she
turned heads as she
walked past to sit with
him, and i heard her
apologize for being late
then they left so i
just stepped off the
stage and sat down
then i left just as
soon as i thought
no one would notice
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Little girls with their hair in pig tails
old men chatting away over a game of cards
the endless clapping of heels on concrete
madness
business men in suits and ties
faces melding to iPhones
catholic priests ******* kids
they know his name
danger in a lightning flashed smile
panic in a thunder clapped laugh
they know his name
but it never leaves their tongues
he dances in the gaps of their teeth
and chips away at our heart strings
incessant whispers in our ears
telling us what we want
what we need
he stands off in the shadowed corners
of every forgotten room
in every one time family home
as we watch our worlds
crumble around us
if Christ lives inside of all
then he has one hell of a roommate
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak,
well, attire me in slavic myths and
i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too
for a helium bubble to become a comedian,
i know a jittery ******* addiction
when i see one...
if one thing the catholic schooling system
taught me was how to avoid
sniffing glue and how to recognise
a Freudian apostle - still, with all
the hippy **** you'd think
sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism
prescribed with paracetamol,
catholic education just said: no no.
**** me it's the late 90s and we're talking
post-Chernobyl antics...
but that's how i see the left, leftist politics,
the right
utilises prefixes and suffixes in the
old stance of simple pre- pro-
anti-
qua-
-so so...
the left? oh they're right in there...
their prefixes are
Marxist-
liberal-
Hegelian-
whatnot...
they don't
use abstract prefixes,
their prefixes
are concrete,
they want the porridge in their mouth
to ensure a slur that never comes,
among a range of onomatopoeias they argue
from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd,
via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech
to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother,
****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method;
i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo
experimenting, it's called experimenting with
thought rather than practising with will,
former no chance of footstep evaluation for
cult status imitable -
the left intellectual
has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro -
it has to be concrete layered and a shut off
perfect architecture without fault -
it can't be what it is -
con-
has to be conservative
pro-
has to be socialist
you once said legitimate
transparency - but you didn't say legislation -
well, the left understood it as legislation,
the right too wanted legitimate transparency -
the green party said we could have neither
but could have the replanting of a thousand
oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first
oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest...
b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye -
hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity
too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's
fingernail toothpick!
at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of
place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes!
ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding!
*** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
There was a fly who only had one eye.
He lived a simple life on the River wry.
One day the fly with only one eye began to cry.
I'm very lonely he said to himself, I feel as though I've been left on the shelf.
From out of nowhere an Elf appeared, an Elf who had only one ear.
Your not alone the Elf did shout, come on over let's hang out.
The Fly with one eye flapped his wings and said loudly so the Elf with one ear could hear, I'm going to try to fly to the other side of the river wry.
The Elf with one ear said do not fear I'll be your eyes and you'll be my ears.
But half way across the Fly with one eye gave a big sigh and said to the Elf with only one ear, I do fear that I will not finish the ride to the other side of the river wry.
Do not fear said the Elf with only one ear. With my perfect eyes I can see that half way across in the middle of a bog on a log are a frog and bee, surely they will help me.
The Elf with only one ear shouted loudly to the frog and bee, can you please help me?
The frog and the bee shouted back "gladly". But the Elf who only had one ear could not hear the reply from the middle of the river wry.
The Fly with one eye heard the reply and shouted as loudly as he could muster "the frog and bee have agreed gladly to help you and me"
The Elf with one ear was relieved to hear this and set about outlining his plan.
The Fly with one eye would flap his wings and start his trip across the river.
The frog would jump up and down on his lily pad and make a noise which sounded like ribbit, ribbit, the Fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would use the frog for direction, tuning into it.
Once the Fly with one eye had passed the frog by the bee would set about buzzing loudly, the fly with one eye and the Elf with one ear would follow the buzzing to the edge of the river.
The plan worked the Fly with one eye gave a shout hip hip hip hooray.
The Elf with one ear gave three cheers and the frog and the bee clapped merrily.
Hooray said the Fly with only one Eye and the Elf with only one Ear, let's get all our friends together and bake a cake to celebrate.
The Fly with one eye looked at his friends and knew that life would never be quite the same now he could count on his new found friends, the Elf with one ear and the frog and the bee were like one big family.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 5:40 PM UTC
Every day
I'd see them headin aff
in that clapped oot old banger.
He'd nivver get it looked at -
thocht it'd run
on positive energy and a kind word.
If that were true
my fower year apprenticeship
and six year in the garage
wouldny be worth ocht, would it?
But would he come tae me?
He would not.
There they'd go -
the exhaust gruntin lik a vexed rhinoceros
an the fan-belt scraichin lik a banshee.
Ah couldae sorted that in unner an hour.
Ah seen him workin on it wance, mind -
thocht he wis fin'ly gonny change thae bald tyres
But naw,
he wis paintin' ****** flooers on the bonnet!
Ah kin see them yet.
Headin up the hill,
weans in the back,
cloods ae black smoke pechin oot the pipe.
Ah couldae fixed it.
Ah couldae telt them.
But ah didnae.
An they nivver made it hame.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 5:06 AM UTC
Divine Minds Transcend
(First experience with N,N-Dimethyltryptamine also known as DMT)
Breathe in..Breathe out
Suddenly a rushing river of colorful static bounced off my chest
instantly a wounded soul I gasped vigorously
A count down so unfamiliar
I panicked and thrashed unwillingly
but there was nothing to hold on to
I feared it was to late
to deny this life full of fear
to accept I was afraid
Little did I understand
today I was about to see things clear
A violent pulsating thunder clapped loud
on my left the guides voice rang
"It's time to let go now"
on my right a gentle voice sang
"It's alright, breathe slow"
Peace fell on me for I was not alone
so I finally let go
and opened my minds eye
then vanished into the rabbit hole
The room fluttered, pulsated then streaked past me
A billion nuclear bombs inside my right eye
a warm embrace from death in my left
My mind and soul began to stretch
I was staring into a shattered void
A blazing spectacle terrorized with fear
stuttering shivers of a twinkling vortex
Wrapped in a celestial glow
the heavens reflected my thoughts like a mirror
I lost all sense of time
as new energy began to flow
Two alien beings sitting by my side
A vast ocean glow bright with radiant illumination
all thoughts transfigured
Godlike creatures basking in creation
Melting clusters of a constructed lie
mesmerized by the universe light
then life like a new born star
flickers in the imagination and dies
Looking inward, turning inside out
a darkened soul stands in place
The illuminated seed is planted now
but I will never be the same
I land gently inside my body
time to close the circle and pray
Grinning and smiling at my companions
I wave goodbye to the rabbit hole
and see the world with clarity
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:24 AM UTC
...As one we
clapped and laughed
at the things that
others might cry upon
We drank and got drunk and
feasted on what we thought was
forever
It took seven days to
get rid of the hangover
but we knew it was worth the
pain and shame to walk
blindly into the night
We talked about things that
didn't make sense but we
never cared as long as the
fire burned
And burn it did the rumors
like bushfire,
yellow and orange and
wild
So we panicked and ran and yelled
towards the sun with
a smile...
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.
It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.
As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.
And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.
"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.
Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.
The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.
"Two steps from hell," she sings.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
Enticing us in, sugar coated doors
for sticky fingers,
Doors of mystery, keep out, staff only
nettled in barbed wire.
Half open doors full of promise,
chocolate soft centred
Exciting doors, silk covered
in lace suspenders
Inspiring doors, Leonardo bold italic,
uppercase only
Lonely doors all shuttered in silence,
cobweb covered
Sad doors, tear stained
and umbrella wet
Happy doors,
candy striped in laughter
Forbidden doors, Pandora boxed,
best kept locked
Revolving doors covered
with the same sticky mistakes
Trap doors crocodile sprung
to catch you out
Doors that slide on tram like runners,
buffered into walls with imprint of face
Secret doors of camouflaged chameleon
Troubled doors
thunder clapped in turmoil
Doors enticing us.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Nature teaches us our tongue again
And the swift sentences came pat. I came
Into cool night rescued from rainy dawn.
And I seethed with language - Henry at
Harfleur and Agincourt came apt for war
In Ireland and the Middle East. Here was
The riddling and right tongue, the feeling words
Solid and dutiful. Aspiring hope
Met purpose in "advantages" and "He
That fights with me today shall be my brother."
Say this is patriotic, out of date.
But you are wrong. It never is too late
For nights of stars and feet that move to an
Iambic measure; all who clapped were linked,
The theatre is our treasury and too,
Our study, school-room, house where mercy is
Dispensed with justice. Shakespeare has the mood
And draws the music from the dullest heart.
This is our birthright, speeches for the dumb
And unaccomplished. Henry has the words
For grief and we learn how to tell of death
With dignity. "All was as cold" she said
"As any stone" and so, we who lacked scope
For big or little deaths, increase, grow up
To purposes and means to face events
Of cruelty, stupidity. I walked
Fast under stars. The Avon wandered on
"Tomorrow and tomorrow". Words aren't worn
Out in this place but can renew our tongue,
Flesh out our feeling, make us apt for life.
3.4k
"CALL down the hawk from the air;
Let him be hooded or caged
Till the yellow eye has grown mild,
For larder and spit are bare,
The old cook enraged,
The scullion gone wild.'
"I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.'
"What tumbling cloud did you cleave,
Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind,
Last evening? that I, who had sat
Dumbfounded before a knave,
Should give to my friend
A pretence of wit.'
3.2k
My life was black and white
A colorless canvas that stood barren
Color was never essential
It was never a necessity of mine.
Yet somehow in my own dull perception
A dot had formed right in the center
A bright dot to say the least...
A peculiar thing I had never seen before
It grew slowly, little by little
A storm of color emerged with each inch
Brown, Yellow, Blue, Purple...
So many different colors
My canvas was no longer colorless
In fact it was the complete opposite.
It was not plain and it was not normal
It was now a work of art.
People gawked at its odd style
Praised it for its unusual strokes
A bizarre spectacle to most
And a quite unexpected transformation for me...
"Who painted this strange piece?"
Before I knew it people were staring at me.
Puzzling eyes that clapped in my direction
"Congratulations on your success"
Words that made me realize I was the painter
I was the one holding the brush
The ****** who painted my own path
The one who put color into my life
"Sign the painting" They all cheered
But now that I know I'm the painter
My work of art is not finished yet
I have unfinished business in my life
I cannot quit now.
Knowing that I still haven't found the right colors
The right mix of red, green or blue to solve my problems
I cannot call this a masterpiece...
My life is still a canvas
But it's not colorless anymore...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning.
Grandma's hands played the tambourine so well.
Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,
She'd say, “Billy don't you run so fast,
Might fall on a piece of glass,
Might be snaked there in that grass,”
Grandma's hands
Grandma's hands sooth the local ***** mother
Grandma's hands used to ache sometimes and swell
Grandma's hands used to lift her face and tell her,
She'd say, “Baby Grandma understands,
That you really loved that man,
Put yourself in Jesus' hands.”
Grandma's Hands
Grandma's hands used to hand me piece of candy.
Grandma's hands picked me up each time I fell.
Grandma's hands, boy the really came in handy
She'd say, “ Mattie don't you whip that boy.
What you want to spank him for?
He didn't drop no apple core,”
But I don't have Grandma anymore,
If I get to heaven I'll look for
Grandma's hands.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
It was orange -
spherical symphony of segments
I liked to
cut
up,
peel off the skin,
lick the surface
while you
stared
and
shouted
and
clapped your hands
and called it Art.
We both devoured it
anyhow.
I spat the seeds into the air,
you waited for
gravity
to catch them in
your wastebasket.
I noticed the sour
before-taste
dripped into
sweet
-bitter
so our fiction of
pulp
melted on the
tongue
into facts of juice
running down our chins
until we were
hollow-hungry
no more.
Facts like
frightening
words -
you may decide which.
It was orange
like
the globe
of irrational truths
some people pray to.
Dropped out of a tree
into our mouths
but we bit into
everything
but
nothing.
It was orange.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
When midnight comes a host of dogs and men
Go out and track the badger to his den,
And put a sack within the hole, and lie
Till the old grunting badger passes by.
He comes an hears—they let the strongest loose.
The old fox gears the noise and drops the goose.
The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,
And the old hare half wounded buzzes by.
They get a forked stick to bear him down
And clap the dogs and take him to the town,
And bait him all the day with many dogs,
And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.
He runs along and bites at all he meets:
They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.
He turns about to face the loud uproar
And drives the rebels to their very door.
The frequent stone is hurled where’er they go;
When badgers fight, then everyone’s a foe.
The dogs are clapped and urged to join the fray’
The badger turns and drives them all away.
Though scarcely half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for hours and beats them all.
The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray,
Lies down and licks his feet and turns away.
The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold,
The badger grins and never leaves his hold.
He drives the crowd and follows at their heels
And bites them through—the drunkard swears and reels
The frighted women take the boys away,
The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.
He tries to reach the woods, and awkward race,
But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chase.
He turns again and drives the noisy crowd
And beats the many dogs in noises loud.
He drives away and beats them every one,
And then they loose them all and set them on.
He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men,
Then starts and grins and drives the crowd again;
Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies
And leaves his hold and crackles, groans, and dies.
3.1k
for Mr.Cole's "Magic" assignment
The Magician
Moments of wonder
performed with theatrical pazaz
A prolonged instance of dumbstruck amazement
---
A slight of hand
or a glittery distracting explosion
creating a captivated audience screaming for *More!
More!
More!
Fool us again
Test our I.Qs
See if we're sane*
---
But to perform...
---
I need more money the magician boldly insists
Our hands ****** into our pockets, to our wrists
---
But wait...
Silence...
Then a collective gasp
There on the table under lock and clasp
---
All of our wallets
Plain to see
And the future money of each baby
---
Did we clap?
Oh, how we heartily clapped
And cheered and laughed like we were handicapped
---
Then the show stopped
But we still clapped, stamping our feet
As the Magician strode off stage back to 10 Downing Street
TA DAAA!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
You are not original
You are not unique
There is nothing special about you
You are every step taken
By every sole
Of every shoe
In the history of shoes
You are every vein
On every maple leaf
That has ever fallen
And every one that has
Grown as replacement
Everything
Everything
You are every joke
You are every stroke
Of every painbrush
Every pencil
Every pen
Every primitive crayon
Against a cave wall
You are every sightless
Creature in every cave
You are every speck of dust
Stuck to every speck of dust
In the cosmos
You are every diaphragm
Contraction
Of every laugh ever laughed
You are every
Perverted thought
In every brain,
You are every measurement
Of time
Of weight
Of temperature
Of character
You are every pressure wave
From every pair
Of clapped hands
You are every pigment
In every premature obituary
You are every hair follicle
On every bison
You are every decision
God or bad
Or wise or naive
You are every influence
Every force
Every imagined deity
Every word ever spoken
Every word you are reading
You are every sunset
On every satellite
Of every star
You are every villain
Every success story
Every tragedy
Every spark that has
Birthed a flame
You are every set
Of rolled eyes
Every kernel
On every ear of corn
Every oxidation
Every drop of alcohol
Ever consumed
You are heaven
You are every molecule of water
In every hot spring
Every strum
Of every guitar
Ever played
You are condensation
You are every witch trial
You are every frown
Every school of skipjacks
Every byte of data
On every hard drive
You are every meadowlark
You are every broken arm
From every fall
Off a bicycle
You are the way Autumn smells
The way he looks at you
The way she makes you smile
The way earthworms
Escape the mud
when it rains
You are every passing car
Every glimmer of hope
Every plane crash
Every time math fails
Every swift defeat
You are everything ugly
And everything beautiful
You are nothing
You are everything
Everything you've done
Has been done before you
You are every paradox
You are beautiful when you sleep
You are me
We are nothing.
Everything,
Everything.
We are everything
We're not.
We are nothing we are.
The snow has fallen,
Terrible is the sound.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
I clapped my hands
& heard
the porpoises calling.
They sung to me
in a secret language,
it sounded like laughter,
certainly not imminent disaster.
It seemed ethereal
as I stood and wondered
how many heads rolled
next to the temple
& how many clapped
to hear the dolphins laugh,
above the din of brutality.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC
The chicken baulked, "Phaulk!"
Before Latin chose to roll around,
And the "Librarian's sound, it"
Has been through pursed lips
Oedipus was clapping cheeks,
Long before Middle English clapped any,
When lions and tigers and bares
Were the prime predators
Even in The Garden,
Snake said as,
As snakes say as,
Where the language of choice I know,
Not to be English.
And if your dainty, sky-locked eyes soul and mind,
Remain unfazed by kid killers, or rampant rapers,
But try to censor my ******* ****
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
I saw a glimpse of her the other night
In a split second and she vanished
Into the thin air
Her movement was swift..
Just like the wind...
And she was gone...
I neither saw nor heard about her again
Not after long when ...
A little bue bird started to sing
Juliet’s Secret love affair was revealed... hot stories!!
Crude people clapped their hands,
Rumours was fastly circulated ,
Juliet was exposed as Romeo’s lover,
Secret meetings, messages exchanged,
Between the two forbidden lovers..
Talk of the town, disgraced to her family...
Devastated she couldn’t reach Romeo...
A pang of disbelief... a slap on her own face
Her hero escaped , deserted her..
He has betrayed her , called her unfaithful instead...
Juliet a sinner... people shouting in the streets...
Juliet’s heart sank... hopleless she was...
Where is Romeo .. the hero of her heart?
She fell to the ground... a sharp knife in her hand
Should I die for love she asked?
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC