"compacts" poems - Hello Poetry

"compacts" poems

People who are afraid of themselves Multiply themselves into families And so divide themselves And so become less afraid. People who might have to go out Into clanging strangers' laughter, Crowd under roofs, make compacts To no more than smile at each other. People who might meet their own faces Or surprise their own voices in doorways Build themselves rooms without mirrors And live between walls without echoes. People who might meet other faces And unknown voices round corners Build themselves rooms all mirrors And live between walls all echoes. People who are afraid to go naked Clothe themselves in families, houses, But are still afraid of death Because death one day will undress them.

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A. S. J. Tessimond

People who are afraid of themselves Multiply themselves into families And so divide themselves And so become less afraid. People who might have to go out Into clanging strangers' laughter, Crowd under roofs, make compacts To no more than smile at each other. People who might meet their own faces Or surprise their own voices in doorways Build themselves rooms without mirrors And live between walls without echoes. People who might meet other faces And unknown voices round corners Build themselves rooms all mirrors And live between walls all echoes. People who are afraid to go naked Clothe themselves in families, houses, But are still afraid of death Because death one day will undress them.

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I'm not a person who collects things I live a very minimalist's life But I have a bag of treasures I keep close to me day and night I sleep on an old painted daybed It squeaks softly as I lay down Most of my clothes are second hand And my shoes a little worn down But I have some precious treasures Hidden in bags of different names Fendi, Burberry and Prada Leathers and fabrics of worldly fame My treasures are hidden deep inside In makeup bags and zippered pockets Shiny compacts full of velvety colors From Paris, Milan and Rome A black cloth bag of 8 tiny bottles Protected from the sun and rain Bottles of perfume oils made in an alchemist's lab With names like Dragon's Milk, Snow White and Bliss A Christian Dior handkerchief or two Hangs delicately inside the bag In case the breeze brings on a sneeze Or I notice a tear in the eye of a friend by Mark Lj

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Aug 15, 2016

Aug 15, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC

I'm not a person who collects things I live a very minimalist's life But I have a bag of treasures I keep close to me day and night I sleep on an old painted daybed It squeaks softly as I lay down Most of my clothes are second hand And my shoes a little worn down But I have some precious treasures Hidden in bags of different names Fendi, Burberry and Prada Leathers and fabrics of worldly fame My treasures are hidden deep inside In makeup bags and zippered pockets Shiny compacts full of velvety colors From Paris, Milan and Rome A black cloth bag of 8 tiny bottles Protected from the sun and rain Bottles of perfume oils made in an alchemist's lab With names like Dragon's Milk, Snow White and Bliss A Christian Dior handkerchief or two Hangs delicately inside the bag In case the breeze brings on a sneeze Or I notice a tear in the eye of a friend by Mark Lj

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upon the Abington Station's long shearing board the feats of one shearer cannot be ignored a run of two hundred sheep he can easily shear his style with the cutting comb is without peer contractors in the district know of his pace he removes fleeces with an elegant grace the Lister wool press compacts all the long day whilst the gun shearer works tirelessly away Kelpie dogs tongue keeping his race full as Layto shears the fine clips of merino wool none are as effective with comb in hand in the regional area of the New England Layto shears the sheep cleanly and effortlessly whether the fleeces be thick or slightly oily his shearing abilities are know of near and far on the shearing shed board he's always bettered par when he hangs up the cutting comb to retire fellow shearers will of him greatly admire

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Jun 29, 2014

Jun 29, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Layto The Gun Shearer

upon the Abington Station's long shearing board the feats of one shearer cannot be ignored a run of two hundred sheep he can easily shear his style with the cutting comb is without peer contractors in the district know of his pace he removes fleeces with an elegant grace the Lister wool press compacts all the long day whilst the gun shearer works tirelessly away Kelpie dogs tongue keeping his race full as Layto shears the fine clips of merino wool none are as effective with comb in hand in the regional area of the New England Layto shears the sheep cleanly and effortlessly whether the fleeces be thick or slightly oily his shearing abilities are know of near and far on the shearing shed board he's always bettered par when he hangs up the cutting comb to retire fellow shearers will of him greatly admire

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oh undertaker a high school poet died today and they say popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye) they might **** you tonight oh undertaker how did they die last night? forced the knife of lips and lies into their minds hit by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way we hate what we see staring back, fade to black in this highschool drama scene who the **** are you? can't be me because i know myself, and this dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix i see. that kid just aint all me it might **** me tonight oh undertaker how do they die alone at night? forcing the knife of lips and lies into their minds hit by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way give me my pen it's stronger than the wings of that waterproof eyeliner you cried off in the bathroom stall last tuesday oh undertaker, you drew em back, of course sharper than a sword but twice as brittle because you hate the way they frame her eyes, and your lies too they might **** you tonight oh undertaker how did you die last night? forced the knife of lips and lies into their frozen faces crushed by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way tonight, check you faces at the door come in clear and dont check your face to see who's looking at you we all see the same screen our pores in bass-relief tombstone grief

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Apr 7, 2014

Apr 7, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC

High School Poet's Eulogy

oh undertaker a high school poet died today and they say popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye) they might **** you tonight oh undertaker how did they die last night? forced the knife of lips and lies into their minds hit by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way we hate what we see staring back, fade to black in this highschool drama scene who the **** are you? can't be me because i know myself, and this dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix i see. that kid just aint all me it might **** me tonight oh undertaker how do they die alone at night? forcing the knife of lips and lies into their minds hit by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way give me my pen it's stronger than the wings of that waterproof eyeliner you cried off in the bathroom stall last tuesday oh undertaker, you drew em back, of course sharper than a sword but twice as brittle because you hate the way they frame her eyes, and your lies too they might **** you tonight oh undertaker how did you die last night? forced the knife of lips and lies into their frozen faces crushed by a train full speed before the station lights could see them in the way tonight, check you faces at the door come in clear and dont check your face to see who's looking at you we all see the same screen our pores in bass-relief tombstone grief

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mesmerized by the collected way you talk to me how your lips no longer speak into me across paled skin i slowly lower my lids i leave this ?time? i travel back ***** wooden floors gravel drives *** smoke empty bottles love made flesh bruised lips bleeding i travel BACK i see your eyes the metallic glare behind them in my arms you were soft is that why in the night i couldn't hold you? composure is everything !be vulnerable for me! you're hard you've been stamped on by the feet of god crushed into powder bone dust compacts you wear it inside you you wont let me feel it wont let me see i tried to consume wanted to drink you up eat your beautiful flesh i didn't heed the warnings i ripped through you hungrily you have a hard core a pit like a peach shards of my teeth lodge there you cast me aside collect the molars as a keepsake had i known i would have swallowed you whole and carried the blackness in me carried your love always eternally unceasingly in me

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Oct 15, 2015

Oct 15, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC

mesmerized by the collected way you talk to me how your lips no longer speak into me across paled skin i slowly lower my lids i leave this ?time? i travel back ***** wooden floors gravel drives *** smoke empty bottles love made flesh bruised lips bleeding i travel BACK i see your eyes the metallic glare behind them in my arms you were soft is that why in the night i couldn't hold you? composure is everything !be vulnerable for me! you're hard you've been stamped on by the feet of god crushed into powder bone dust compacts you wear it inside you you wont let me feel it wont let me see i tried to consume wanted to drink you up eat your beautiful flesh i didn't heed the warnings i ripped through you hungrily you have a hard core a pit like a peach shards of my teeth lodge there you cast me aside collect the molars as a keepsake had i known i would have swallowed you whole and carried the blackness in me carried your love always eternally unceasingly in me

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This time of year When the children play and cheer. Praying for those angel tears. Mother gray children white Sending her kids down through the night. Dream like they fly though the sky Hitting your face reminding you of a Cold ocean spray. The trees slowly become an army of granite white statues Still in the night. A littel boy works on a snow man an engineer of this cold white city. The snow compacts under foot Groaning as it is slowly squished. The air bites with almost a metal taste My breath comes out like a Dragons fiery blaze but cold as ice in a foggy haze. The girl a lion in the snow Waiting to strike with her ball of icy snow. The smell of smoke promising a fire Comes from the house just around the Corner.

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Dec 25, 2010

Dec 25, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC

This time of year When the children play and cheer. Praying for those angel tears. Mother gray children white Sending her kids down through the night. Dream like they fly though the sky Hitting your face reminding you of a Cold ocean spray. The trees slowly become an army of granite white statues Still in the night. A littel boy works on a snow man an engineer of this cold white city. The snow compacts under foot Groaning as it is slowly squished. The air bites with almost a metal taste My breath comes out like a Dragons fiery blaze but cold as ice in a foggy haze. The girl a lion in the snow Waiting to strike with her ball of icy snow. The smell of smoke promising a fire Comes from the house just around the Corner.

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These past few nights I've found myself Wide awake Half naked On my bed Sheets between My body And the air that compacts Itself into this box Of a room All of this Because of you I cannot go to sleep The wiring of My nerves Tingling and twitching Underneath this Summer skin That longs for the Weekends All of this Because of you And on the nights Where there is no air Between my body And yours My breathing hitched My moans all muttered Is when I get my sleep All of this Because of you It is such a risk To find a slumber Deep enough To hold me under When all I want Is you All of this Because of you

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May 17, 2014

May 17, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC

These past few nights I've found myself Wide awake Half naked On my bed Sheets between My body And the air that compacts Itself into this box Of a room All of this Because of you I cannot go to sleep The wiring of My nerves Tingling and twitching Underneath this Summer skin That longs for the Weekends All of this Because of you And on the nights Where there is no air Between my body And yours My breathing hitched My moans all muttered Is when I get my sleep All of this Because of you It is such a risk To find a slumber Deep enough To hold me under When all I want Is you All of this Because of you

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Knolls of clothing dot the rug, a rainbow of empty plastic hangers sway with every pass. Hot rollers get a little hotter, round and rectangle compacts litter the counter, waiting to give her a face to face the world. She picks up things and puts them down, making decisions and easily changing her mind. A timid little queen of a tiny kingdom, running her life within the walls of her walk-in, avoiding the subjection that waits outside the closet door.

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Aug 21, 2014

Aug 21, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC

i enjoy being a girl

Knolls of clothing dot the rug, a rainbow of empty plastic hangers sway with every pass. Hot rollers get a little hotter, round and rectangle compacts litter the counter, waiting to give her a face to face the world. She picks up things and puts them down, making decisions and easily changing her mind. A timid little queen of a tiny kingdom, running her life within the walls of her walk-in, avoiding the subjection that waits outside the closet door.

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Feel the cold crystals in your fingertips, feel the change, feel the water, feel the warmth, as your body gives, and once what was snow, takes. Feel the cold ball as you compress it in the palm of your hand, feel the change, feel it harden, feel the cold grow as the snowball compacts and becomes icy hard. Feel your heart beating put your coldest hand on your skin and chest, feel the change in heart rate, your skin fights the temperature, and your body and heart give, and what was once cold to you, warmth. ©ClemC122013

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Dec 31, 2013

Dec 31, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC

Feel the cold crystals in your fingertips, feel the change, feel the water, feel the warmth, as your body gives, and once what was snow, takes. Feel the cold ball as you compress it in the palm of your hand, feel the change, feel it harden, feel the cold grow as the snowball compacts and becomes icy hard. Feel your heart beating put your coldest hand on your skin and chest, feel the change in heart rate, your skin fights the temperature, and your body and heart give, and what was once cold to you, warmth. ©ClemC122013

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Imagine A poem Is a small room With words Walking in, And out the doors. Periods are door knobs, And symbols closing doors. Stanzas balance beneath the blank expanses In cycles. The unites compacts & splashes cascading Into the pond of consciousness at the end. The goal Is to reach homeostasis Of the heart & the inward eye. For Imagination is inking a strange cosmos one letter & blank space at a time. Poem makes It home among words that It nests in. What is, Is spoken Upon the paper Of poets.

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May 6, 2015

May 6, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC

Spoken Upon The Paper Of Poets.

Imagine A poem Is a small room With words Walking in, And out the doors. Periods are door knobs, And symbols closing doors. Stanzas balance beneath the blank expanses In cycles. The unites compacts & splashes cascading Into the pond of consciousness at the end. The goal Is to reach homeostasis Of the heart & the inward eye. For Imagination is inking a strange cosmos one letter & blank space at a time. Poem makes It home among words that It nests in. What is, Is spoken Upon the paper Of poets.

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A spastic in a cavern reverberating passions compacts patterned actions Insanity dampened A daft wit half lifted listens with intention past trending effervescence

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Oct 8, 2018

Oct 8, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC

A spastic in a cavern reverberating passions compacts patterned actions Insanity dampened A daft wit half lifted listens with intention past trending effervescence

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popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye) they might **** you tonight who doesn't hate what they see staring back, fade to black in this highschool drama scene who the **** are you? can't be me because i know myself, and this dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix i see. that kid just aint all me give me my pen, it stronger than the wings of that waterproof eyeliner you cried off in the bathroom stall last tuesday drew em back, of course sharper than a sword but twice as brittle because you hate the way they frame you eyes, and your lies too tonight, check you faces at the door come in clear and dont check your face to see who's looking at you we all see the same screen our pores in bass-relief

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Mar 13, 2014

Mar 13, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC

popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye) they might **** you tonight who doesn't hate what they see staring back, fade to black in this highschool drama scene who the **** are you? can't be me because i know myself, and this dyed hair, straight kicks, concert tix i see. that kid just aint all me give me my pen, it stronger than the wings of that waterproof eyeliner you cried off in the bathroom stall last tuesday drew em back, of course sharper than a sword but twice as brittle because you hate the way they frame you eyes, and your lies too tonight, check you faces at the door come in clear and dont check your face to see who's looking at you we all see the same screen our pores in bass-relief

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A poetic mind will never find it so hard to see the words....to feel the words... to place the words so perfectly where he or she may want them to be... In a poetic mind lays a soul....that has enough control to impose that words are never easy to let go...so they over flow....some darker than others...which smothered the un-uttered compact and cluttered words..... A poetic mind will unwind from time to time....some poems will rhyme....more often than many will not....but that won't stop that poets poetic mind....day dreams of the words that fall into place in front of faces....not leaving spaces on the paper to write another un-uttered smothered word that compacts and clutters the poets poetic mind like window shutters.... A poetic mind can never let words just be...written from left to right....its just to easy to write....a mesh of words blistering the finger tips from the pen grips...and the paper scrapes...across each line because that poetic mind will find it....so easy to grind it or engrave the words...so a poetic mind becomes a slave to the paper....blank is it? to you it may be...but on a blank sheet of paper I see....words rhyming in perfect harmony....made from the poetic part of the mind of mine..... This poetic mind won't find it hard to see....the words that I perfectly place together....whether in blue or black my poetic mind won't cut slack to the blisters on my finger tips....or let go of my pen that drips in motion that places....the words so gracious...leaving paper with no spaces to write another smothered compact un-uttered word made from a poetic mind....a mind of mine.... P.O.E.T.I.C M.I.N.D E. H. A. E T. O. T. S E. M. T. P R. A. H. I S. E. R W. I T O -Peter T. DeSpirito

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Nov 27, 2019

Nov 27, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC

A poetic mind will never find it so hard to see the words....to feel the words... to place the words so perfectly where he or she may want them to be... In a poetic mind lays a soul....that has enough control to impose that words are never easy to let go...so they over flow....some darker than others...which smothered the un-uttered compact and cluttered words..... A poetic mind will unwind from time to time....some poems will rhyme....more often than many will not....but that won't stop that poets poetic mind....day dreams of the words that fall into place in front of faces....not leaving spaces on the paper to write another un-uttered smothered word that compacts and clutters the poets poetic mind like window shutters.... A poetic mind can never let words just be...written from left to right....its just to easy to write....a mesh of words blistering the finger tips from the pen grips...and the paper scrapes...across each line because that poetic mind will find it....so easy to grind it or engrave the words...so a poetic mind becomes a slave to the paper....blank is it? to you it may be...but on a blank sheet of paper I see....words rhyming in perfect harmony....made from the poetic part of the mind of mine..... This poetic mind won't find it hard to see....the words that I perfectly place together....whether in blue or black my poetic mind won't cut slack to the blisters on my finger tips....or let go of my pen that drips in motion that places....the words so gracious...leaving paper with no spaces to write another smothered compact un-uttered word made from a poetic mind....a mind of mine.... P.O.E.T.I.C M.I.N.D E. H. A. E T. O. T. S E. M. T. P R. A. H. I S. E. R W. I T O -Peter T. DeSpirito

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The wit just drips off your words But I'm not really there My palms are wet and cusped and filled with the liquid formation of what I'm given Advice I grip onto and try to let absorb into me Try to taste it, to feel it, to see it Trying to know if it applies Something that lets me know that there is direction to this life Signs and signals I've been purposefully missing for so long Avoiding all the warning signs that leave me exhausted beyond amount Maybe they're speaking to me Desperation is all my body language has became at times like these Desperate for the period at the end in the midst of all the question marks I don't have enough words or connecting brain signals to give adequate responses to Long run and ever going An object in motion will stay in motion until stopped But all my tactics to work around things have succeeded until all the sudden everything meets in a forced crash It always meets somewhere and when it does I'm left in the rubble and aftermath Trying to sort through all of the connecting parts left unconnected that I could have kept together if only I had But I never do It all crumbles and compacts until more things are adding up that I keep apart until they eventually meet And they're all sharp Biting and unavoidable But I don't stop Focusing all of my attention on sawing one down instead of stopping the making of others but because instant gratification has always been my favorite forte I've only ever succeeded in getting nowhere but lost

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Aug 18, 2015

Aug 18, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC

selectiveparticipation

The wit just drips off your words But I'm not really there My palms are wet and cusped and filled with the liquid formation of what I'm given Advice I grip onto and try to let absorb into me Try to taste it, to feel it, to see it Trying to know if it applies Something that lets me know that there is direction to this life Signs and signals I've been purposefully missing for so long Avoiding all the warning signs that leave me exhausted beyond amount Maybe they're speaking to me Desperation is all my body language has became at times like these Desperate for the period at the end in the midst of all the question marks I don't have enough words or connecting brain signals to give adequate responses to Long run and ever going An object in motion will stay in motion until stopped But all my tactics to work around things have succeeded until all the sudden everything meets in a forced crash It always meets somewhere and when it does I'm left in the rubble and aftermath Trying to sort through all of the connecting parts left unconnected that I could have kept together if only I had But I never do It all crumbles and compacts until more things are adding up that I keep apart until they eventually meet And they're all sharp Biting and unavoidable But I don't stop Focusing all of my attention on sawing one down instead of stopping the making of others but because instant gratification has always been my favorite forte I've only ever succeeded in getting nowhere but lost

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popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye)

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Mar 13, 2014

Mar 13, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC

popularity is just relatability see them in that mirror watching you but check your compacts at the door (look them in the eye)

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Watching you withdraw into yourself Put up your walls, while all I can do is patiently wait outside of the gate Darling, look outside the window, it doesn't have to be this way People have died waiting for the glaciers in their heats to melt Their faces only memories smiling blankly back from picture frames Their families never the same again, every single heart breaks The sight of hearts breaking is the saddest sight of all No fight left, the weight compacts the size and shape of your soul The walls you build to keep out compassion will become dark and lonely prisons Please don't do this, you don't have to go through this alone You have choices and decisions and time to fight back black skies But if you lock yourself inside, then we may never see your light again You and I won't be alright again and I just don't have it in me to pretend That the walls you build are a temporary shelter from the cold Please don't go now, please don't go

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Aug 7, 2018

Aug 7, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC

Watching you withdraw into yourself Put up your walls, while all I can do is patiently wait outside of the gate Darling, look outside the window, it doesn't have to be this way People have died waiting for the glaciers in their heats to melt Their faces only memories smiling blankly back from picture frames Their families never the same again, every single heart breaks The sight of hearts breaking is the saddest sight of all No fight left, the weight compacts the size and shape of your soul The walls you build to keep out compassion will become dark and lonely prisons Please don't do this, you don't have to go through this alone You have choices and decisions and time to fight back black skies But if you lock yourself inside, then we may never see your light again You and I won't be alright again and I just don't have it in me to pretend That the walls you build are a temporary shelter from the cold Please don't go now, please don't go

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8am: Brush teeth with disposable brush And toothpaste in a tube to be thrown away Cake on makeup from compacts you’ll leave Drive car to work The landfill grows Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 11:45am: Drive car to restaurant Unwrap burger from plastic Drink from one time use cup With a plastic lid and straw Dump tray and go The ocean fills Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 3:00pm: Drive car from work To movie theatre with friends Popcorn from cardboard box Ticket printed on paper slips to be lost Put on glasses and go Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 6:00pm: Stomach growls, dinner at home Frozen peas from plastic bag Ham from the same Lettuce shipped in crates Bread kept fresh by shiny wrap Sandwich and eat Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 1am: People sleep in cluttered houses Trash is hauled away Polar bears swim for shelter Garbage Patch beings to sink The problem isn’t all that big, they think There's only a few with the sense to holler: We’re okay, for now Still on top Remember, though It seems routine, easy, normal And we forget that we’re next- -by the time we remember It will already be too late We failed the ultimate test.

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May 21, 2017

May 21, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC

8am: Brush teeth with disposable brush And toothpaste in a tube to be thrown away Cake on makeup from compacts you’ll leave Drive car to work The landfill grows Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 11:45am: Drive car to restaurant Unwrap burger from plastic Drink from one time use cup With a plastic lid and straw Dump tray and go The ocean fills Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 3:00pm: Drive car from work To movie theatre with friends Popcorn from cardboard box Ticket printed on paper slips to be lost Put on glasses and go Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 6:00pm: Stomach growls, dinner at home Frozen peas from plastic bag Ham from the same Lettuce shipped in crates Bread kept fresh by shiny wrap Sandwich and eat Routine, easy, normal Too busy in the cycle To remember we’re next 1am: People sleep in cluttered houses Trash is hauled away Polar bears swim for shelter Garbage Patch beings to sink The problem isn’t all that big, they think There's only a few with the sense to holler: We’re okay, for now Still on top Remember, though It seems routine, easy, normal And we forget that we’re next- -by the time we remember It will already be too late We failed the ultimate test.

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