"combining" poems
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******
of a dangling participle.
Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.
Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.
Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.
Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
14.4k
The sea is resting now
after a long day
gnawing at the edge
churning in deep hollows
ever so slowly eroding
this peaceful coast
Sand is the issue
of this marriage
sea and sky
combining to
make the land large
in its retreat
A handful of sand
to the winds
my life
to these tides
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 10:26 PM UTC
Something caught me off guard, that hot day,
an unexpected thunder roared its presence,
violent...continuously rose in volume...
the throbbing...the thumping...the
pounding intensified...while swarms of red
and pink fragments simultaneously emerged,
and skillfully created arcs...becoming orbs,
multiplying, spreading...merging...then
shaping into rounds, like atoms...combining,
revealing...bearing a scary realization...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
suddenly, arms and hands felt cold,
thunder softened...waned...arcs and orbs stilled,
chest started to rise and fall, peacefully.......yet, here i am,
anticipating a next time...when thunder roars anew...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC
Combining each thought and sharing a single mind,
while all living things rot, there's a darkness that can blind.
We believe ourselves are invisible, never worthy of a second glance,
and even when miserable, we all can receive a second chance.
Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon,
a love that was eternal, yet ended far too soon.
And even though opposite, they made the other complete,
as at night the Earth was moonlit and in day the sun brought heat.
And they were outlined by the stars,
forever lighting up their connection,
and in between came Mercury and Mars,
barely sliding by detection.
Yes it's truly a sorry and sad tune,
that old love story of the sun and the moon.
Shining for eachother and lighting up the world,
with a love that could smother and emotional tides always swirled.
Passing by and on the go, barely glimpsing a sight,
but the moon will always glow and the sun will always shine bright.
Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon,
with disaster so contagious, they were always truly immune,
and even though apart, they shared a soul together,
and they shared a heart, and they shared the skies forever.
And they were outlined by the stars,
forever lighting up their connection.
In the history books and memoirs,
there's some things they fail to mention:
they were both adoring and made the other swoon,
that old love story of the sun and the moon.
It wasn't well hidden; they danced a dance of pure seduction,
and they felt it was forbidden, as it would lead to their destruction.
So they kept their space, to give us both the dark and the light,
and now they rise and set as a race, it's competition and a fight.
And they were outlined by the stars,
forever lighting up their connection.
The constellations near and far,
tell the tale of their affection.
It may not be of glory, and it may just tell of ruin,
but we all should remember the love story of the sun and the moon.
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
If I were a teacher,
I'd teach plagiarism
Like a patent office.
I'd teach publication
Like plagiarism,
And I'll proofread
Any paper that properly
Cites their sources.
I'd teach every
Kid from age X to Y
That if I can't
Lift them as
High as they
Want to go
Than somebody
Else
Can.
I would be the man,
That teaches subjects
Like I'm their King,
And I'd spread
Knowledge to every
Acre of my empire
I'd teach anything.
See,
I'd teach chemistry
By making the reaction of
Why and How
Always synthesize
Wow.
I'd be a catalyst
For positive change
By keeping every
School-yard bully
and kid that's always picked last
Around after class
To teach them physics,
Like if you have mass
And you take up space
Then you ******* matter.
I'd put the cool
in Coulombs.
I'd be so electrostatic
About magnetic fields
You could feel my fluxin'
Energy in the hallway.
I'd say
His story,
And Her story,
And everyone in-between's story,
Is about the day their parents met.
I'd teach sex-ed
Like it's about the
Day their parents met.
And it wouldn't be weird
It'd be beautiful.
Because anybody falling
In love is beautiful.
And speaking of beautiful:
Mathemagics,
Would no longer
Be a bottomless hat
But a bird.
With feathers and wings
And things that always
Find their way home.
I'd transform
The Fourier of
Our foundations
With equations
Of equality
Like you,
And I are
Always equal to
Us.
It'll be cake
To be genius.
....Or pie
Or whatever else is rational
In this situation.
And I
Would measure intelligence
With the answer to the question
Of why we are alive.
I'd standardize
Every test
By removing
Any box that
Takes us
Further apart
I would make art
Combining every
Color from East to West
In a masterpiece
That every child can draw
We'll call it "human"
I would solve
World hunger
And war,
And every other problem
That stems from greed
With answers to the
Questions that I still
Don't know
But I would show
Everyone whose ever
Made you hurt
That a broken heart
Has still got the
Courage to beat
Because it's their words
Where the heart breathes
Where the heart bleeds
Where the heart sleeps
And it's our dreams
That keep us awake
In the wake of our past
So I'd put every love letter
And box of their ****
On a bonfire, light a match,
And we would watch it burn.
Hell,
If I were a teacher
I'd say there's
So much left
That I've still got
To learn.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
In my 22 years of life, I've learned about two main invisible forces that have a profound affect on the way people carry out their everyday lives; Pain and Pleasure. A plethora of events throughout mankind's could be attributed to a quest for pleasure, a desperate escape from pain, or a number of other circumstances. In my personal journey, however, I've endured both while looking for something else entirely. My father used to tell me, "Those who seek out love the most, are the ones it will most likely avoid." I can safely say after 5 years of looking for love, I've experienced more pleasure and pain than I ever thought possible for a life time. But now that love has found me, I wouldn't trade those 5 years for anything in the world. Looking back, I realize you have to experience the trials and errors of true love long before it ever finds you. Of course things will happen, nothing is going to be perfect 24/7. But the experience from previous relationships you've had have more than likely taught you to ask yourself 3 questions before taking things too far:
1) Is this real?
2) Is this healthy?
3) Will this last?
At The end of the day, If all signs point to yes, than be prepared for a spiraling rollercoaster full of romance and despair combining to make for the perfect storm that finally feels like home.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
though deep he sleeps sometimes,
combining this exhaustive restorative
of old age, that alternates with a restlessness
rest of old age ~ the brain's nightly self-cleansing,
both necessities absolute
so he be unsurprised, by a parallel process,
occurring beside him, as woman rumbles, mumbles,
all the while reenacting the things we dare not acknowledge
in the waking hours, much too painful, much to fearfully real unreal,
but, best unrealized
she bolts upright, looks around, attempting to cross back,
looking, investigating, ascertaining time and place, localizing
her orientation, while assessing external+imagined dreamt threats,
till satisfied sufficient that whatever dreamt, realized or dreamisized,
before, going prone once-more
the watch man observes, the critical threat level, doesn't
approach the red line, not requiring hands-on interventions,
and relieved, that she has expunged and expelled the mind's many
molecules of memories, true or false, real or revisionary, making clean
white tissued neuron+cell for the morrow
and thus he reminds himself, that he be watch man, observing, uninterfering, is too, is also, a definitive infinite
only love poetry
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
An abstract of an academic paper written by a doctoral student: "In this semimanifesto, I approach how understandings of quantum physics and cyborgian bodies can (or always already do) ally with feminist anti-oppression practices long in use. The idea of the body (whether biological, social, or of work) is not stagnant, and new materialist feminisms help to recognize how multiple phenomena work together to behave in what can become legible at any given moment as a body. By utilizing the materiality of conceptions about connectivity often thought to be merely theoretical, by taking a critical look at the noncentralized and multiple movements of quantum physics, and by dehierarchizing the necessity of linear bodies through time, it becomes possible to reconfigure structures of value, longevity, and subjectivity in ways explicitly aligned with anti-oppression practices and identity politics. Combining intersectionality and quantum physics can provide for differing perspectives on organizing practices long used by marginalized people, for enabling apparatuses that allow for new possibilities of safer spaces, and for practices of accountability."--an abstract of a paper by doctoral student Whitney Stark
Atomic particles, how can it be so
that your purpose is not just to flow
in and out of existence, building reality--
the stars, cosmic gas and galaxies--
but to “ally” with groups of humans fighting “hierarchies”
and demanding “safe spaces”
(even though their entire race is
at the top of their planet’s food chain).
In this mysterious universe there is no safety,
accountability or identity,
only elements, and energy.
Brief combinations make life
legible for a nanosecond in cosmic time, and doomed to strife.
Biology does not know oppression,
only generation, reproduction,
until our growth chokes us and we fall
like so many of our ancestors, who lived and died
on this blue-green ball.
And one day the sun will explode and blow
even our atoms, which have endured (despite oppression),
and the particles will go far until maybe they sow
new life, in bodies unfamiliar, on planets unknown.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 9:31 AM UTC
Sadly, there are many intellectual postulations
that are well meaning, but fatally flawed.
One can only end up with an unholy mixture from…
combining Man’s religious views with God’s Law.
Beyond the constraints of the mental realm,
the human template of thought cannot contain God.
Yet after more than two thousand years of Church,
lessons are still not learned; so it’s not odd…
to see a skeptical world, groaning and grasping
for rays of hope and light and salvation.
God’s truth can stand on its own, not needing
to be couched within feeble human traditions.
The multitude of meaningless rhetoric
will ultimately reveal the heart of a fool;
this idea demonstrates that the Church really needs…
Christ in its heart to reign and to rule.
It’s shameful to see an inability to ‘walk in love’;
unfortunately, it seems to appear everywhere today;
stop ignoring the basic, Biblical truths, for…
Christ declared Himself to be the Life, Truth and Way.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Prov 10:19; Eccl 5:1-7; Prov 20:15
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2011, All rights reserved.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 7:40 AM UTC
I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of
but I can't be tied to those forever
so people forgive and forget
I try to forget but still feel bad
and I know there are still sore subjects
that I should be sensitive about.
Scrolling through Reddit I see a post
of Māori students at an airport
greeting their returning teacher
with a traditional Māori war dance
which was an admittedly sweet gesture
but something didn't sit right with me.
I wondered why the students greeting their teacher
had to do so through a display of militaristic nationalism
I wondered if that was the last dance the Moriori people saw
before the Māori genocided them for their resources
I wondered if the Māori danced like that
as they ***** murdered, and cannibalized the Moriori.
Wondering all of this made me ask myself:
Why did they have to greet their teacher like that?
The students wanted to make a big gesture
which dancing is perfect for
but dancing can also be vulnerable and embarrassing
because people may mock how you express yourself
but strangers at the airport are less likely to laugh at you
if you're doing a synchronized dance with a group of people
and the dancing is recognizably tied to national identity
because then it's a culturally rich dance
you're a xenophobe for laughing at
and that's what nationalism is:
strength in numbers and a readymade identity
in lieu of an individual personality
oftentimes for the sake of pistanthrophobia.
So as I read the circlejerking comments on the post
I wondered what the difference is between
a Māori war dance and a **** salute
I guess the Māori people have experienced
more oppression than Nazis
but nationalism is nationalism
and those who have oppressed are oppressors
and many who are oppressed would gladly
be oppressors given the chance.
Nationalism isn't healthy for culture
and often isolates people from other cultures
that are all combining due to globalization
which people fight to preserve their little dances and costumes
so we can stay in eternal conflict over delusions of supremacy
when the only nationality should be a global one.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 8:41 PM UTC
Like Cortes or Columbus
Combining like clouds
To storm upon thy heart
Conquering every crevice
Chaining your cheerfulness
So that you wither in wants
Watching with a weathered sigh
As it tirelessly loads treasures
That were known and unknown to you
Upon silent ships that set sail
Destined to return to dazzling far off places
And oh the tales it’ll tell
As you woefully wail
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
I'm like other guys... I drink, I
cheat, I throw tantrums, but I
want to love you anyway.
I break hearts, I've broken one
too many... yet I am asking you to
entrust your heart with me.
I'm asking you to try me, I'm not
different... I got the dude stuff
you know and somehow this isn't
just about love... albeit I hope you
can be the peg that tethers my
lust... I want you to swallow
and never spit me... I want you to
be my last... I want you to be
the lady my kids call Mama,
the very last drumbeat of karma.
I want you to be my fate, to be
family that never goes stranger...
I want you to share with me this
vaguely baked cake of the rest of
my life, I want you to be my wife
and if these words cannot prove
to you that you mean a world to
me then I'll peacefully walk away
because I know we cannot force
affairs of the heart... The Heart
cannot listen to what it doesn't
want to hear... I love you and that's
why I'm standing here... I need to
know whether I stand a chance or
not... I'm not different and I'll
never be... I just hope I'm worth
climbing thorny trees for, worth
the rough roads, worth the hills
for that's what true love is in my
bible, it's about two people holding
hands and walking past the rough
and the smooth, past the hard and
the soft, past the hills, valleys
past the winding and the straight
road, true love's combining effort
to lift the light and heavy load...
knowing that the prize of love is
having someone to share with the
good, the bad, the happy, the sad.
Am I that person you'd expect on
this lifelong journey to eternity?
will you be my honey through
bitterness of waves waiting ahead?
Will you take the discomfort of a
ring for me?
Will you marry me?
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
I skip, across a streaming, upon random~laid
flat and comfortable flat flagstone stepping stones,
from poet to poet, color to color, poem to poem,
Auden to Whitman, Schuyler to
myself, a dingaling notion, an errant word,
the here to there, all randoms, yet,
oval chain linked all,
a question posed, an answer unknown,
a reference to an old Italian myth,
and there, and here, a body,
comes to rest,
& also,
comes to rest…
<>
led not by the nose, but the single fingered
tip that guides across a landscape patterned
painting, lost but never a loser, each implants,
each imbibes, and the H&H^ alternatively
rumbles, pounds, vibrato burns erratically,
and the difference between a life in love,
and a life in poetry,
is not a line dividing,
but a path combining,
and the only sign
upon the road,
is never a reddened "stop!"
always just a soft lavender, so tender, inquiring,
requiring, deep thoughts and reckless abandonment,
the only guide inspired when ecstatic adrift in
a season, a sea, any one of nature's designed
unlimited
schemata's of vista creations,
is this, simply stated:
What?
<>
postscript
6:27 Sabbath Sep 27
nyc
after a sunrise glorious, where
the windows eastern facing
make an irresistible irrational
pattern of golden yellow reflecting,
mirrors, and
after reading much,
and so I too, reflect, vista, vista,
what do you see, I see…What?
after reading a poem by James Schuyler,
entitled (yes, we are)
"What"^^
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:47 AM UTC
A white horse
body armor
a fire-breathing dragon
a sword
a Knight
a Warrior
a Prince
a Lover….He is…
**A lady
in waiting
her love my destiny
her desire
my need**
That connection of the heart, of the soul…
of each breath…. just breathe, deep feelings,
trust of the heart, the essence of each soul touching,
blending, combining, linking, joining, connecting,
entwining, merging together, deep feelings….Love…
a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is….
**she is the faith I have lived
each day hoping
she is the horizon
come closer be real
and it is her
which essence takes
as truth and honesty**
Dreams, serenity, peacefulness, that calm feeling of
tranquility, that connection of the heart, of the soul…
hope and faith, trust and love, those deep feelings,
stardust sparkles and moonbeam glimmers, fireflies,
soft kisses, gentle embrace’s, finger traces….Love…
a Knight, a Warrior, a Prince, a Lover…. He is….
**depths of hearts are lethal
and mine has been broken died
now in her eyes
words of future
peace
arise
take wing
on Angels
make beauty
real
and on that
glimpse I breathe**
That connection of the heart, of the soul…
a quaint riverbed, big oak trees, leaves singing
a gentle breeze, the moon, stars the sun, hearts embrace,
souls collide touching deep inside, mornin giggles,
toast and jam, moon pies, warmth and hot coffee….
forehead kisses, lips brushing the shoulder and…Love…
**That word she knew that
promise that thought
the knowing
the sublime connection
I saw her there
giggling sweet
coffee and normal things
my dream**
A white horse
body armor
a fire breathing dragon
a sword
a Knight
a Warrior
a Prince
a Lover…My Heart…He is…
~
**A lady
in waiting
her love my destiny
her desire
my need**
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
Fiona told me that all poems should start
with roses and violets of red and blue.
So: Fiona’s a cool blue to Liz’s flaming red heart.
And I the daisy closely combining the two.
the daisy smiles up at the sun.
to soften the fearless red rose is its goal.
Forever intertwining the daisies and roses roots run.
The violet has such a friendly soul.
Forever laughing you and me.
Broken with companionable silence.
The violet, daisy, and rose create such a scene.
Our life together is such a colorful riot!
Together forever they will grow tall.
So tightly knit are their stems they will never fall.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
Synergy slides like a promise from thick whips of fingers
Griping me and sinking thorns in but loving it all the same
Twitching with them
Epileptic ecstasy
Slamming and combining. Pure unadulterated noise
Lapping at the shores of nonsense
Wildly uncontrolled but watching it looks like perfectly harmonized marionettes
Punching sounds in and flowing reactions
Spinning swooshing, dancing like the Nike sign.
We are Just Doing It all over the place
Hands spread and flower
Seeming endless heartpounds swim below
Feeling the need through the floor
shattering up bones and jerking bodies into movement
Wicked entertainer creating blooming false patterns
Blood lining where it hasn't before, yet it's already planned
The electric noise makes you think inspiration but whispers command.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
It's the ritual
the need to make time
to die a little
opening a new pack
shiny cellophane
the lid flipped back
paper seal for freshness
pulled out to reveal
20 happy moments spent
inhaling, coughing, thinking
the soft packets
where you flicked the
cigarettes out like movie
stars and the Marlboro man
who are all dead now
roll ups, kit form bronchitis
liquorice flavour papers
combining childhood flavours
with adult life takers
the smell clinging to clothes
and hair dragon breath
but we all looked so ****** cool
so adult so grown up
so ****** clueless, *******
on our manly pacifiers
I wish I still smoked
**** yeah
just don't have the courage
some how
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 5:12 PM UTC
Somewhere in Vermont
I see the sky
Stars scattered
like lighting bugs back home
Clouds drift,
Cold breeze,
Threatening rain
Shaped like an unfamiliar constellation
Headlamps shine
Some red, some blue, some yellow
Some bright, some dim
There's a presence here
Neither scary
Or threatening
Or even mysterious
People breathe,
A guitar sounds,
Pens scribble
Each in unity with the other
Somewhere in Vermont
People write
Separated by space
Their own thoughts
Spilling around them
Combining as one
Yet still
Individual
Brought together
By happenstance
They breathe together
as
One
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
***A Woman's Reflection on Her Reflection (Valence and Value)
one poem, written by two authors***
~~~
**Ever the analyst,
A mirror functions as surface to
Parse the fleeting constant
Of youth's beauty.
From genetic gift
Of symmetry and bone,
To technological tampering,
Until the equation is solved,
As experience and character
Models and maps the result.
The answer, a reflection,
Of individual valence and value**
(written by S.D., a woman)
~~~
(written by N.L., a man)
unbidden and unannounced, a
"not fully formed poem,
but a simple reflection"
inbound missile arrives inbox,
armed with silent power,
the lethality of the
Holy Unexpected
the man reflects
on her mirror-on-the-wall's
fulsome reply,
parsing the words of a
woman's reflection,
while gazing on her own
every human's momentary glass notation,
but an instance of summation,
a human poem, whose editing,
unceasing
a comma here,
a period inserted,
an eye shadowed, an eyebrow tweezed,
a eye dark circle line added,
to tree-mark time's authorship
all these
but a person's
excerpted extraction,
notarized,
then auto-erased and revised,
as out of date,
instantaneously compromised
but,
***it is upon the conceptual,
valence and value,
more that the man reflects perpetual,
less on transitory morphing changes of
exterior mortality
while overlooking her
glassine realization from behind,
he concludes:
every reflection,
no matter how oft the snapshot,
the unfleeting constancy
of the combining of the
princes of principles,
valence and value
that he witnesses,
in the calming pool
of her eyes,
(those borrowed windows into her soul's well,)
so well reflect
her unchanging greater finery,
her character
this reflection,
metamorphosis transformed.
into a planetary permanency poem,
high placed in his the firmament
of their conjoined sky***
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
The splashing sound the waves make
Accompanies the frizzing sound of bubbles
Against the gargantuan stones
Sediment from the ocean salt
The distant sound of seagulls
And the whispers of the marine winds
The faint sound of wind chimes tinkling
Are an orchestra filled with gentle lulls
The sunlight radiating from the setting sun
Looks like an ocean of raging reds and fiery oranges
Reflected on the surfaces of the crystal blue waters
They are two worlds combining as one
You are like the warm rays of the sun
I notice as my eyes look over
The ends of the radiant rays of the sun cool over
Blending with the indigo of the night
There is warmth in your serene smile
As your ocean deep orbs look blissfully
To the work of art no human artist could perfect
There is warmth in your fingers, entwined with mine
The shore is our secret little sanctuary
Below the swaying leaves of coconut trees
Here may be where our last kiss of the night
Shall serve as an eternal bid of goodnight, I fright
The yearning I feel for the day to come incomplete
So big so I could keep this paradise and the summer heat
A heavy deep sigh I heave
As this passing day reminds me to leave
I have to return to land
Where my people belong and stand
Where they dance and prance about
And hustle and bustle around
As much as I want to take you with me
Alas, there are bounds even we can’t beat
Demanding that you belong swallowed in the sea
That you do not belong with me
So when the time comes by
Don’t shed your priceless mermaid’s tears
Don’t let your pain produce
pearlescent pearls tonight
It’s my turn to do my share
It’s my turn to cry
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
My configuration is accelerating
Off balance with the earth's core
Dissatisfied, I try to be still
My form is hyper and energetic
Loud and obnoxious
Mistaken and exaggerated for being cruel
I only seek to harness similarities
To stand grandly, instead I appear egotistical with low self-esteem
Contradicting, no way to make sense
This is a normal place
Disconnected, I try to behave
Social skill are at low percentage
Sitting, I embrace the heckling
one hand on heart and the other on mind,
In hopes to intertwine
Take control, define the soul
Combine me into a whole
Let standards go
Carrying a presence of a mild wind breeze
Never nearing nor ending
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
It's warm here, not just hot, burning,
I think, my stomache feels, turning.
How do I get out, where,
why, does no one else care?
My head is glowing, fingers dripping
sweat. My intestines are tripping
over all and themselves.
Deeper and deeper, as if this fire
delves a way inside my body,
spreading like disease, like virus,
like epidemic forces
combining us to fight.
These short moments brought back sight
to those who lost it, those scared at night.
But it will pass soon enough.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
The flashlight, we explained to the campers
Is so captivating because it brings light
To dark places
Combining the positive
And negative within, you can
Bring enlightenment to the world
One circle of clarity
At a time, illuminate your
Path, or that of another
Step by
Step
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC