"clingers" poems - Hello Poetry

**sand sculptures fashioned as balmy beach impassioned Summer love ... rationed ... soft silky fingers building sultry peaks lingers caress ... as clingers ... water fills spaces fragile sand grains erases breaking bridges bases ... structures may subside wet or dry causes landslide weakens ... tumbles ... hides ... granules recede love, like sand, infiltrates need, grows from special seed ... complex designs stand created mold ... hand in hand ... love castles in sand ...

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Dec 4, 2010

Dec 4, 2010 at 6:43 PM UTC

sweetheart

"Love Castles in the Sand"

**sand sculptures fashioned as balmy beach impassioned Summer love ... rationed ... soft silky fingers building sultry peaks lingers caress ... as clingers ... water fills spaces fragile sand grains erases breaking bridges bases ... structures may subside wet or dry causes landslide weakens ... tumbles ... hides ... granules recede love, like sand, infiltrates need, grows from special seed ... complex designs stand created mold ... hand in hand ... love castles in sand ...

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Boys and girls You haven’t escaped The confines of Our small home town 20 years old and still wearing The band t-shirts you bought In high school Ripped jeans, fading fast Aporias Unable to progress past This world you were brought into Static In our small town Lack of worldly knowledge, Independent thought Stuck So much to explore Experience Run and leave Our small home town So much more That you could do If you only left You would know How vast this world Freedom, allowance Understanding Escape and learn More than just The life The people The simplicity of Our small home town

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Apr 10, 2011

Apr 10, 2011 at 8:29 AM UTC

becky-gold

Home Town Clingers

Boys and girls You haven’t escaped The confines of Our small home town 20 years old and still wearing The band t-shirts you bought In high school Ripped jeans, fading fast Aporias Unable to progress past This world you were brought into Static In our small town Lack of worldly knowledge, Independent thought Stuck So much to explore Experience Run and leave Our small home town So much more That you could do If you only left You would know How vast this world Freedom, allowance Understanding Escape and learn More than just The life The people The simplicity of Our small home town

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We worry about our thoughts, The way we talk, the way we walk. We are too easily embarrassed by the little "fails" we make each day. When he only thinks they are funny, creating a lighter way, to look at things, on the brighter side, you feel a little better, about yourself, your flaw, all written in a love letter. I like to write, it shared my emotions, Using metaphors, and other figurative devices, techniques that are used as emotional cures. You ever wonder if what you're saying is right, or things you bring up, might give the poor boy a fright. When really, he didn't say anything to bring that thought across, just you assuming, by his ok, so you toss, you toss your heart out to him even more, convinced you're a ****** He LOVES you, you want to deny it, you don't feel you deserved to be love. R.I.L... not a typo. R.I.L , rest in love, for in love you are truly never rested enough, insatiable hunger and thirst for more, either to give or receive, you want to make sure he's sure, that you're sure. but surely one day, it shall rest, for true love, is behind the blinds, hidden in a corner, beware, beware of the emotional damaged, the psychotics, the stalkers, the late night talkers, the clingers, the criers, the touchy, the huggers, the takers, the jealous, the moody, the miserable, the laughers, the lifetime movie watchers, the imaginations, the achy ones, the ones with the weird fetish. For behind the wet paint sign, if you choose to ignore a warning, you most likely will slip and fall, fall in love. It is not something you can comprehend so quickly, but takes time to digest, through our heart and pumped out again, by one of those weird symptoms mentioned above. Well all you got to do is relax, truly sleep, kick back and relax, let the mind sore and let your inner chi ride roller-coasters, let it come back, lets wake up and sing, shrugs her shoulder it's girl thing.

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Nov 29, 2014

Nov 29, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC

perfecttruths

A Girl Thing

We worry about our thoughts, The way we talk, the way we walk. We are too easily embarrassed by the little "fails" we make each day. When he only thinks they are funny, creating a lighter way, to look at things, on the brighter side, you feel a little better, about yourself, your flaw, all written in a love letter. I like to write, it shared my emotions, Using metaphors, and other figurative devices, techniques that are used as emotional cures. You ever wonder if what you're saying is right, or things you bring up, might give the poor boy a fright. When really, he didn't say anything to bring that thought across, just you assuming, by his ok, so you toss, you toss your heart out to him even more, convinced you're a ****** He LOVES you, you want to deny it, you don't feel you deserved to be love. R.I.L... not a typo. R.I.L , rest in love, for in love you are truly never rested enough, insatiable hunger and thirst for more, either to give or receive, you want to make sure he's sure, that you're sure. but surely one day, it shall rest, for true love, is behind the blinds, hidden in a corner, beware, beware of the emotional damaged, the psychotics, the stalkers, the late night talkers, the clingers, the criers, the touchy, the huggers, the takers, the jealous, the moody, the miserable, the laughers, the lifetime movie watchers, the imaginations, the achy ones, the ones with the weird fetish. For behind the wet paint sign, if you choose to ignore a warning, you most likely will slip and fall, fall in love. It is not something you can comprehend so quickly, but takes time to digest, through our heart and pumped out again, by one of those weird symptoms mentioned above. Well all you got to do is relax, truly sleep, kick back and relax, let the mind sore and let your inner chi ride roller-coasters, let it come back, lets wake up and sing, shrugs her shoulder it's girl thing.

26

I often fill my pockets up With all sorts of stuff From breath mints to deodorant When there's a need to freshen up Along with a dime or two For those important calls When I need directions For the times that I am lost My favorite flavor of chewing gum Double the pleasure, Double Mint Which most times slides from the wrapper Where I just kindly brush the lint Undoubtedly as always There's a few string clingers on Which in wisdom I save for later For that urgent urge to floss One or two pet rocks That along the road I found I just put this part in To give you something to think about I sometimes put my hands in my pockets Though there's barely any room Still a hand sometimes need a rest If it's got nothing to do It's little wonder I fill them up With all sorts of stuff Cause don't cha know when it comes to stuff You can never have enough

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May 8, 2016

May 8, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC

mike-hauser

Pocket Stuff

I often fill my pockets up With all sorts of stuff From breath mints to deodorant When there's a need to freshen up Along with a dime or two For those important calls When I need directions For the times that I am lost My favorite flavor of chewing gum Double the pleasure, Double Mint Which most times slides from the wrapper Where I just kindly brush the lint Undoubtedly as always There's a few string clingers on Which in wisdom I save for later For that urgent urge to floss One or two pet rocks That along the road I found I just put this part in To give you something to think about I sometimes put my hands in my pockets Though there's barely any room Still a hand sometimes need a rest If it's got nothing to do It's little wonder I fill them up With all sorts of stuff Cause don't cha know when it comes to stuff You can never have enough

28

all a teacher can do is learn and live, see. Situationical, long ago, tradition Teachers tell stories, with force. Whacks and such. The reason, once, one time, the ruler to the knucks was to loosen a stuck clutch o' clingers to the edge, who knew what could be known, who were witnesses,taught to see perceiving sub til ity plowing furrows through explosions of new math, new bombs, new moms, new wars for no reasons, the edge clinger fingers let go, just before a teacher who they knew learned, as he lived, to hear whos beyond the bubble's edge. slip yet no sense {clique} Filter Heinlein through Vonnegut, squeeze the dregs, sort each bubble by whos heard. --Suess, a gain, point ought ever one, heare that? That is an echo. A bubble pop echo, in the halls of all imagined worlds redeemed by children seeing the meaning wave form on the GB scale storys are sung to. Waiting is, on the BE scale the ceiling leaks in the poet's prison, but his window faces west, so he is pleased to watch the wind he claimed bring rain. And so it goes. How long do stories live these days?, Asked the peacemaker, in the distance.

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Mar 8, 2019

Mar 8, 2019 at 11:25 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Suess is some deep psytch

all a teacher can do is learn and live, see. Situationical, long ago, tradition Teachers tell stories, with force. Whacks and such. The reason, once, one time, the ruler to the knucks was to loosen a stuck clutch o' clingers to the edge, who knew what could be known, who were witnesses,taught to see perceiving sub til ity plowing furrows through explosions of new math, new bombs, new moms, new wars for no reasons, the edge clinger fingers let go, just before a teacher who they knew learned, as he lived, to hear whos beyond the bubble's edge. slip yet no sense {clique} Filter Heinlein through Vonnegut, squeeze the dregs, sort each bubble by whos heard. --Suess, a gain, point ought ever one, heare that? That is an echo. A bubble pop echo, in the halls of all imagined worlds redeemed by children seeing the meaning wave form on the GB scale storys are sung to. Waiting is, on the BE scale the ceiling leaks in the poet's prison, but his window faces west, so he is pleased to watch the wind he claimed bring rain. And so it goes. How long do stories live these days?, Asked the peacemaker, in the distance.

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