"conjugated" poems
Rivers of Babylon flows on biceps
Hairly face, pin nose of unmade make up
Sparks beauty in her lonely sky face
Which suitors commit adultery in words
For wishes of closeness, I wish in millions in one day
Time only divide us, but our soul are conjugated
On a plain of misty air, how beautiful and sad it is
Our wishes drown us onto the path of loneliness
Did you see loneliness my love ?
But why I can't see it my love ?
How about our God ?
I am in your vast blue sky,
and every night I am sleeping in your warm heart
Filling the gap that resides in me
For all my breathe belongs to you
My days of soil and unsoiled cloaks you in me
I love your hands...دست های تو را دوست دارم for they are divine
In it does the words of love burn like the sun
Making the lonely persian jasmine smile
As the gulf waves secret writing on your heart
I Belteshazzar love the writing till the end of my life
Solemn steel avouch with sun and water
Yet the loose their beauty crying to the air for help
Humans without their eyes are still beautiful
So their loneliness become a persian jewelry
Written by
Martin Ijir
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 8:05 PM UTC
Malcom was fed 16 bullets because of his. A slug kissed the jaw of King Jr. and silenced him forever. Gandhi shriveled like snakeskin. Joan of Arc became Joan of Ash- so you can understand why Melle Mel was jittery scribbling it all down, on a napkin, at Lucy's Noodle Shop in Harlem. Sweat poured into his green tea. He thought Jesus hanging from the dull wood. Heard about the poet Lorca under an olive tree, shot in the back. Everyone has felt this way through, he thought, never could he have imagined what would happen when he pressed his thumbprint into vinyl. Hip-Hop was still a tadpole. The DJ had just learned to scratch a record and make sounds no ear had never conjugated. How was he to know Tupac and Biggie would follow his lead and get plugged with lead? So he wrote it down, in big curling letters, emphatic: DON'T PUSH ME
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 4:42 PM UTC
I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
stranger,
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
Yeah,
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
**Conjugated amid liberated duality,
surreptitious catharsis of
poetic revelations' flip side,
the underbelly of sentience
potentially validating perceptions'
indefinitely extended,
figuratively speaking beyond
literally unleashed metaphors
play it backwards, if you dare**
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
~
*taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line
counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles
cozy spaces
married couples
perpendicular
legs and mingled stria
one over the other
It's all conjugated
hyperbola
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year*
~
Dec 6, 2021
Dec 6, 2021 at 8:09 AM UTC
Two people walk into a bar:
A woman, early twenties, permed-up, puffed-out hair
Horn-rimmed glasses thicker than coke bottle bottoms
Fresh out the ivory tower eager to learn eager to become who she needs to be
Parlez-vous français? She does,
Her tongue speeding over conjugated verbs
Flying effortlessly through another language, she is ready
To move to Paris, la ville de l’amour,
The City of Lights, the City of Untold Possibilities
She is ready, she thinks,
To fall in love.
A man, earlier twenties, close-cropped, clean-shaven hair
Sea-green eyes and 20/20 vision-placid ocean
Fresh out Basic Training eager to act eager to become who he needs to be
Do you read me, Sir? He does,
His spine rigid from standing straight and tall,
Hand crooked at his forehead in an involuntary salute, he is ready
To build fighter jets with his oil-stained hands
To build a life for himself with his carpenter’s fingers
To build a house on the stability he thrives in
He is ready, he thinks,
To let someone in.
Two people walk into a bar:
A man, an Army graduate, an old soul
A woman, a College graduate, a kind soul
Guitar riffs floating from the jukebox drift through the air,
Playing the background music for newfoundlove story.
Two people walk into a bar:
Friends introduce them to each other,
She thinks, Those green eyes sparkle with the sun freckling his cheeks
Reddening his hair.
She thinks, Maybe he’s the one.
He thinks, That perm really works for her frames her face what a pretty smile.
He thinks, Maybe she’s the one.
Two people walk into a bar:
Sit down, have a drink,
Share some laughs, funny stories,
Break the ice with awkward questions,
Eat some food, too shy to share it
Get some drinks, guzzle liquid courage,
Dance to the jukebox buzz
Look a little silly but pretend they don’t care.
They don’t care.
Two people walk into a bar:
Maybe they leave hand-in-hand,
Maybe they hug goodbye at the door.
Maybe they think about each other and call right away.
Maybe they set up more dates, more bar trips, more laughs.
Maybe they already know that they are in love.
Two people walk into a bar:
Their history writes its own punchline.
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
I try to show her the universe without a telescope
I take one of her hands-
This bracelet opened up is the Milky Way galaxy; these spheres of lace
woven so intricately
And the knitting needles are the star beams
The fabric of space is seamless;
Look, inside your eye is a wayfaring nebula
Far from it's home constellation
Our heartbeats are woven from the dark spaces
Between the conjugated matter,
Frozen into time and dimensions
Love is the singularity;
Home is where the heart is beating,
And light is the substance that sings
The background song of creation
And how we are covered with it, inside and out-
Take a breath, and then see
That you are moving only light-
I stop and kiss her hand
And her eyes light up with understanding.
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
Complex circulations of electric impulse.... firing in impulsive reaction to there own free will....Yet they do not think...and send out missions and directions to **** that which was intended to heal...Now I feel all types of unwanted **** infecting the young....Floating around in unwanted company...Hoping to gain immunity...to death...Witch is the confusion of calling it blessed....See I've seen them looking around...but the only placed being searched is the ground...CC's of un wanted foes wandering about...In incorrect form yet perfectly round about...They have placed intricate circuits through out the mind...That have been set to detonate in time...Not blow no suicide bombers here...but to carefully inject the inception...Will you be fooled...misconstrued ..deceived to believe...that this is honestly received...or manipulated...by these impulse that have conjugated...To act upon what they feel...instead of what is real..No thought process...not time to progress...Only to stay the same...spreading to brain after brain.....after brain.........are you still >THERE
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra
II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator
III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
see saw seen
dance danced danced
speak spoke spoken
wait waited waited
come came ***
wait waited waited
hear heard heard
laugh laughed laughed
share shared shared
come came ***
speak spoke spoken
smile smiled smiled
waited waited waited
go went gone
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Rainbows hugged me.
imprinted violet hues
stained heart vessels purple,
floral and diamond bits.
encrusted notations
flamed into gossamer
of hope and nonviolence,
smoothing inner vibes.
chrysanthemums mumbled
exposing petals to helium
emanating from expanding
cosmic gyrations.
sunflowers smiled
churning ocean blues.
crystallizing emotions
into mesmerizing moths.
my coppers gleam
erasing accumulated verdigris.
nibocumulus clouds
drifted along muttering.
syllables of poetry
conjugated into a floral
tribute, perfumed by
magnolias white as snow.
bumble bees whispering,
nuptial flight at dawn.
queen painted with pollen yellows
and nectar sweetened lips.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
Listen very carefully
You were never sweeter than salty
That smile you used to use
Simply left an impression, a bruise
Oh, precious hours
Once happened all the time
Young at heart, no longer a teenager
Her teardrops are anything but endangered
Now I'm the one whom is elated
Though I'm still happy we dated
This dear little heart is fated
For pastures conjugated
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Heavy meadows ran a lap around earth
And green faded (twisting) vines turned rabid and fire-fierce.
(over)turned soil spit until venomous spires were conjugated o'er the horizon.
And I, grazing on the moon's lading glare (the scent of Aconitum napellus poisoning the air)
Let myself drown in the smoke
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
This poem eats its own tail,
a serpent made of sentences,
its scales glinting like verbs
you haven’t conjugated yet.
It starts where it ends,
or it never starts at all—
just hovers,
a balloon tied to the wrist
of a stranger you dreamt.
Its metaphors bloom like sideways petals,
teeth glinting beneath their velvet edges,
biting the air until it tastes electric.
It clings to ozone,
that split-second before lightning remembers
it’s a blade meant to cut.
Each metaphor is a double-jointed bone,
bending past reason, snapping backward
into a shape that means nothing—
or everything, I mean everything.
It keeps its secrets folded
into origami shapes that collapse
when you try to unfold them.
A crane? A dagger? A heart?
All of them, none of them—
it depends on the angle of your longing.
This poem is yours only in the pause
between breaths,
mine only in the breath itself.
It ends when you stop reading.
It resurrects the moment I exhale my last.
Each line is a trapdoor,
a loaded chamber spinning,
blanks carved from silence.
You keep reading like the next word
might hold the trigger—
it’s always the one after.
It scratches itself raw
just to prove it can bleed,
then paints over the scars
in words you’ve heard before,
but never in this order.
This poem wants nothing from you,
except everything—
your eyes, your breath,
the parts of you
you didn’t know could rot so stunningly.
It will devour itself,
edges sharp with longing.
While you starve,
your breath will catch—
a witness to the teeth
that hollowed you.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 11:29 PM UTC
As I look down I see the concrete rushing in and I trust it
As I see a housing market crumble and food lines fill...I see the concrete rushing in
The man @ the end of the street strangled his dog to avoid future vet bills and the local fruit market closed down due to food borne illness....I see the concrete rushing in
He says he wants to build us a wall to keep the filth out and
I say So be it!
In the name of revolution can we convey the messages of free enterprise with our fenced in resources? -...and I just allowed the conjugated verbs.
I see the concrete rushing in and I trust it
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
*I say, "I love you,"
you say, "te amo."
I wrote a poem
but it seemed hollow.*
I'm starting to see that we are not
so imperfect, but rather, only
different.
I'm still waiting to age, still learning
to gauge with the dynamics we create - you
speaking a language so foreign, it seems
that you speak sweet
to me
but I fail to believe
you say what you mean.
It's as though the weight of the phrase
"I love you"
hangs heavy with the ones
who came before you;
it reminds me of airport goodbyes, of late-night
confessions on Facebook - sleepy and
painfully honest,
it reminds me of another story,
"I love you" has significance, a ponderance, an expectation,
a manner in which I can predict
the things you think behind those unsmilingly
eyes, but "te amo"
"te amo" is Rihanna, it's an utterance on a evening
beach, it's a reflexive simple present
tense, conjugated with practice, and now
it's my haven,
my integration, you have become
engrained in my conversations.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:10 AM UTC
My mouth is a magpie.
I collect syllables like shiny things
and scream them into soup.
Alphabet in disarray.
Syntax on fire.
Verbs wearing fishnets.
I said please but it came out pyre.
I said love but it burned at both ends
and tasted like lightning bugs
smothered in saran wrap.
This isn’t poetry.
It’s a word riot.
A sentence rebellion.
A grammar glitch in God’s inbox.
I built a language out of side-eyes and stutters,
called it flinchlish.
Conjugated heartbreak like it was Spanish.
(I hurt, you hurt, we—
don’t talk about that anymore.)
Sometimes I write elegies in emojis.
Sometimes I tongue-twist psalms into punchlines.
Sometimes I just scream into Google Docs
until it autocorrects sorry to spine.
My voice is a thesaurus
spun too fast in a washing machine.
Everything comes out wrinkled,
wet,
a little more
mine.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 9:52 AM UTC
her gorgeous name sparked my attention
my dreams explored the fourth dimension
her beauty beyond comprehension
my longing in need of detention
her terms leave my soul perforated
my deep attraction vindicated
her notions highly decorated
my overture premeditated
her eyes transmit an invitation
my ticket one way to her station
her fleeting lips betray flirtation
my lust degraded to frustration
her feelings never conjugated
my perfect picture desecrated
her phone now ringing unabated
my love for her incinerated
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
I arrived barefoot
tongue heavy with borrowed syntax
eyes trained on the flicker between gestures
the way a hand hesitates before reaching
the way silence folds itself into a question.
I mistook bruises for constellations
mapped them across the skin like ancient routes
each one a pilgrimage
each one a failed translation.
I thought pain had grammar
that longing could be conjugated
into something less feral.
the heart is not a scroll.
it does not unroll neatly.
it bleeds through the margins
smudges the ink
laughs at the scholar in me
who still believes in clarity.
I touched someone once
and felt their grief like static
a hum beneath the ribs
a Morse code of everything unsaid.
I tried to decode it
but the symbols kept shifting
love became hunger
hunger became apology
apology became a door
I could not open.
I am still learning
that some hieroglyphs are meant to be lived
not read.
that some wounds speak in tongues
only the body understands.
that to be human
is to misinterpret
and keep interpreting
until the ache becomes a kind of fluency.
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 5:47 PM UTC
I am — You are — He is — She is — We are —
A populace of conjugated verbs,
All congregated like a bunch of herbs
Wrapped up in twine, with never thyme to spare —
And Basil is too busy now to care —
He roots around the meters at the kerbs
For fumbled coins lost by “them from the burbs”,
And on a lucky day he looks to share
With Rosemary a coffee and a cake,
Always a takeaway, they daren’t go in
For though their coins are welcome, not so they,
And so, like king and queen, they leave the din
And hold their court in subways to partake
Of feasting on their banquet, out the rain.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
I wanted roots
so I invented them
from other people's stories
I wanted wings
so I made them
from paper scraps and string
I conjugated a million verbs
to tell my own life story
and I witnessed things that frighten you
especially when you dream
Now you want to be me
and it makes me laugh
I don't think you've saved enough
broken string
for that
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC