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"consecrating" poems
How this **** fable instructs And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers Approving chased girls who get them to a tree And put on bark's nun-black Habit which deflects All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the ****** shape In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers, Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne Switched her incomparable back For a bay-tree hide, respect's Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery Bed of a reed. Look: Pine-needle armor protects Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop Their leafy crowns, their fame soars, Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy: For which of those would speak For a fashion that constricts White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top Unfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowers Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they Who keep cool and holy make A sanctum to attract Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers, They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty Of virgins for virginity's sake.' Be certain some such pact's Been struck to keep all glory in the grip Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs As you etch on the inner window of your eye This ****** on her rack: She, ripe and unplucked, 's Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe Now, dour-faced, her fingers Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly Askew, she'll ache and wake Though doomsday bud. Neglect's Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop: Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours. Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy Till irony's bough break.
0
8.6k
Sylvia Plath
****** In A Tree
How this **** fable instructs And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers Approving chased girls who get them to a tree And put on bark's nun-black Habit which deflects All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the ****** shape In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers, Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne Switched her incomparable back For a bay-tree hide, respect's Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery Bed of a reed. Look: Pine-needle armor protects Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop Their leafy crowns, their fame soars, Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy: For which of those would speak For a fashion that constricts White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top Unfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowers Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they Who keep cool and holy make A sanctum to attract Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers, They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty Of virgins for virginity's sake.' Be certain some such pact's Been struck to keep all glory in the grip Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs As you etch on the inner window of your eye This ****** on her rack: She, ripe and unplucked, 's Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe Now, dour-faced, her fingers Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly Askew, she'll ache and wake Though doomsday bud. Neglect's Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop: Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours. Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy Till irony's bough break.
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45
A single light fractured into a billion shards of bright white energy fall like raindrops of golden emotion to the Earth. All things under the sun, sewn of the same silk and molded of the same clay. All pumping life through roots embedded in soft flesh. Consecrating acts of love, hate, and whim for they all flow from the same spring, reveling in the fact that one exists exactly as nature intended.
0
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
hepaamon
A single light
A single light fractured into a billion shards of bright white energy fall like raindrops of golden emotion to the Earth. All things under the sun, sewn of the same silk and molded of the same clay. All pumping life through roots embedded in soft flesh. Consecrating acts of love, hate, and whim for they all flow from the same spring, reveling in the fact that one exists exactly as nature intended.
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18
*we won't die for ideals we once held dear, we'll now simply die for the numbers we can simply keep, but when it comes to ourselves, we'll die to simply keep a mistook numbering in order to readdress the ideals that are no longer appreciated in our numbering a loss of a tiger's roar, and more the microscopic ant digestion auditory exploding into a h-bomb for man to imitate by number but no essential authority: since once mammoth the authority killed man, now some sub-insect (virus) can **** man.* if there's a group of people who are assumed to be possessed, then there's a group of people who are dis-possessed, and there's always the middle interval mediating sales and necessary priesthood the two polars never mediate, once the priesthood used to cradle the illiterate ones, now the priesthood uses the literacy of the once illiterate ones now literate, consecrating them with something apart from holy water, selective reading they testified to be as calm as a lake, but turbulent as a river the salmon swam against the current to spawn: the once illiterate ones now literate are taught a second illiteracy: watch the television, read the best-sellers.. this second illiteracy is worse than the original one... half of us will be water and fat... and half of us epileptic zombies enslaved by a television... i preferred the first illiteracy... at least we died for love... this second illiteracy is worth a jackal's cry and a ******* of paedophiles.
0
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
selective reading
*we won't die for ideals we once held dear, we'll now simply die for the numbers we can simply keep, but when it comes to ourselves, we'll die to simply keep a mistook numbering in order to readdress the ideals that are no longer appreciated in our numbering a loss of a tiger's roar, and more the microscopic ant digestion auditory exploding into a h-bomb for man to imitate by number but no essential authority: since once mammoth the authority killed man, now some sub-insect (virus) can **** man.* if there's a group of people who are assumed to be possessed, then there's a group of people who are dis-possessed, and there's always the middle interval mediating sales and necessary priesthood the two polars never mediate, once the priesthood used to cradle the illiterate ones, now the priesthood uses the literacy of the once illiterate ones now literate, consecrating them with something apart from holy water, selective reading they testified to be as calm as a lake, but turbulent as a river the salmon swam against the current to spawn: the once illiterate ones now literate are taught a second illiteracy: watch the television, read the best-sellers.. this second illiteracy is worse than the original one... half of us will be water and fat... and half of us epileptic zombies enslaved by a television... i preferred the first illiteracy... at least we died for love... this second illiteracy is worth a jackal's cry and a ******* of paedophiles.
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29
I stand before the sea and it rolls and rolls in its green blood saying, "Do not give up one god for I have a handful." The trade winds blew in their twelve-fingered reversal and I simply stood on the beach while the ocean made a cross of salt and hung up its drowned and they cried Deo Deo. The ocean offered them up in the vein of its might. I wanted to share this but I stood alone like a pink scarecrow. The ocean steamed in and out, the ocean gasped upon the shore but I could not define her, I could not name her mood, her locked-up faces. Far off she rolled and rolled like a woman in labor and I thought of those who had crossed her, in antiquity, in nautical trade, in slavery, in war. I wondered how she had borne those bulwarks. She should be entered skin to skin, and put on like one's first or last cloth, envered like kneeling your way into church, descending into that ascension, though she be slick as olive oil, as she climbs each wave like an embezzler of white. The big deep knows the law as it wears its gray hat, though the ocean comes in its destiny, with its one hundred lips, and in moonlight she comes in her ****** flashing ******* made of milk-water, flashing buttocks made of unkillable lust, and at night when you enter her you shine like a neon soprano. I am that clumsy human on the shore loving you, coming, coming, going, and wish to put my thumb on you like The Song of Solomon.
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2k
Anne Sexton
The Consecrating Mother
I stand before the sea and it rolls and rolls in its green blood saying, "Do not give up one god for I have a handful." The trade winds blew in their twelve-fingered reversal and I simply stood on the beach while the ocean made a cross of salt and hung up its drowned and they cried Deo Deo. The ocean offered them up in the vein of its might. I wanted to share this but I stood alone like a pink scarecrow. The ocean steamed in and out, the ocean gasped upon the shore but I could not define her, I could not name her mood, her locked-up faces. Far off she rolled and rolled like a woman in labor and I thought of those who had crossed her, in antiquity, in nautical trade, in slavery, in war. I wondered how she had borne those bulwarks. She should be entered skin to skin, and put on like one's first or last cloth, envered like kneeling your way into church, descending into that ascension, though she be slick as olive oil, as she climbs each wave like an embezzler of white. The big deep knows the law as it wears its gray hat, though the ocean comes in its destiny, with its one hundred lips, and in moonlight she comes in her ****** flashing ******* made of milk-water, flashing buttocks made of unkillable lust, and at night when you enter her you shine like a neon soprano. I am that clumsy human on the shore loving you, coming, coming, going, and wish to put my thumb on you like The Song of Solomon.
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42
“The Mass is ended, go in peace.” the aged cleric said. “Thanks be to God” said some dozen odd parishioners who then fled. The Priest dismissed his server. and had turned himself to go when he noticed still one worshiper kneeling in the seventh row. She was an older woman, her head swathed in a blue scarf. She was obviously in devotion before the Sacred Heart. He thought: “There is no need to rush” He shuffled towards the chair. which is where the Bishop sits when attending service there. The aging cleric said a prayer for the gracious soul’s repose whose generosity provided his vestments and his robes. He next prayed for his friend, a priest, who’d grown too fond of wine. He’s consecrating grape juice now the non alcoholic kind. He thought: “it now is getting well past time I need to lock the doors.” His urban church had been vandalized a scant few months before. He rose up on his arthritic hip and didn’t cry in pain He accepted this, his suffering, in Jesus’ holy name. As he approached the woman, Her head bowed as before He had a vague uneasiness He experienced fear and awe She looked up then and he said “Mother!” and fell, senseless, on the floor. His housekeeper found his body on the floor of fitted stone. The police found no evidence of foul play, The priest had died alone. The M.E. said the heart had failed Though not from shock or rage The Lord had called his servant home to grace a grander stage.
0
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
john-f-mccullagh
An Audience of One
“The Mass is ended, go in peace.” the aged cleric said. “Thanks be to God” said some dozen odd parishioners who then fled. The Priest dismissed his server. and had turned himself to go when he noticed still one worshiper kneeling in the seventh row. She was an older woman, her head swathed in a blue scarf. She was obviously in devotion before the Sacred Heart. He thought: “There is no need to rush” He shuffled towards the chair. which is where the Bishop sits when attending service there. The aging cleric said a prayer for the gracious soul’s repose whose generosity provided his vestments and his robes. He next prayed for his friend, a priest, who’d grown too fond of wine. He’s consecrating grape juice now the non alcoholic kind. He thought: “it now is getting well past time I need to lock the doors.” His urban church had been vandalized a scant few months before. He rose up on his arthritic hip and didn’t cry in pain He accepted this, his suffering, in Jesus’ holy name. As he approached the woman, Her head bowed as before He had a vague uneasiness He experienced fear and awe She looked up then and he said “Mother!” and fell, senseless, on the floor. His housekeeper found his body on the floor of fitted stone. The police found no evidence of foul play, The priest had died alone. The M.E. said the heart had failed Though not from shock or rage The Lord had called his servant home to grace a grander stage.
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56
The fluidity of words Consecrating more than A simple idea Has slipped away And what’s left are Empty hands and Silent mouths Void of sophistication
0
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
alicewilde
Where Did All the Poetry Go?
The fluidity of words Consecrating more than A simple idea Has slipped away And what’s left are Empty hands and Silent mouths Void of sophistication
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8
monk jumps trinkle ****** trane criss crossin time aboard idiocentric planes whacky Hackensack moods near my mysterioso home round bout midnight gleaning brilliant corner poems hummin blue monk blues i surrender dear Bemsha swing cast away Friday the 13th fears melancholy ruby swigs straight no chaser shots just let's cool one at the red hot 5 Spot rollins and griffin jammin hudson riverside house Weehawken royalty bows to a spiffy charlie rouse we remember mintons a vast creative flood monk be boppin on stage when in walked bud red rooster clucksters raising town hall roofs consecrating spaces playing Monk's hallowed tunes "pianos don't play no wrong notes" we heard Thelonious once say his utterances on the upright keys ingenious music maestro on display Music Selection: Thelonious Monk: In Walked Bud Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial 10/10/17 - 10/10/17 Orlando 9/28/17 jbm
0
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
james-bradley-mccallum
monk cent 10 I al
monk jumps trinkle ****** trane criss crossin time aboard idiocentric planes whacky Hackensack moods near my mysterioso home round bout midnight gleaning brilliant corner poems hummin blue monk blues i surrender dear Bemsha swing cast away Friday the 13th fears melancholy ruby swigs straight no chaser shots just let's cool one at the red hot 5 Spot rollins and griffin jammin hudson riverside house Weehawken royalty bows to a spiffy charlie rouse we remember mintons a vast creative flood monk be boppin on stage when in walked bud red rooster clucksters raising town hall roofs consecrating spaces playing Monk's hallowed tunes "pianos don't play no wrong notes" we heard Thelonious once say his utterances on the upright keys ingenious music maestro on display Music Selection: Thelonious Monk: In Walked Bud Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial 10/10/17 - 10/10/17 Orlando 9/28/17 jbm
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40
He wrote sigils of the world with air. Pursued upon every street and grove, attempts to writhe free are unwarranted; Though in what way could escape mean separation? Cast over rifts like a falling mist, paradigms lay sedimentary mediating sight as a membranous pseudo preface to the essential. This alluvium breathes, drawing inward consecrating the dreaming idol; We had found a stitch in space where mortals wield no bodies. Now subtle coagula are vessels enough So temporal wills decay. Join the aether; Through the high cascade some remember first knowing Self akin to parting breaths in absentia. This is our amniotic solvent; The cycle stops repeating; A ceaseless inception compressed upon Eternity. Our beginning remembers the end.
0
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
connor-smith
Solvent
He wrote sigils of the world with air. Pursued upon every street and grove, attempts to writhe free are unwarranted; Though in what way could escape mean separation? Cast over rifts like a falling mist, paradigms lay sedimentary mediating sight as a membranous pseudo preface to the essential. This alluvium breathes, drawing inward consecrating the dreaming idol; We had found a stitch in space where mortals wield no bodies. Now subtle coagula are vessels enough So temporal wills decay. Join the aether; Through the high cascade some remember first knowing Self akin to parting breaths in absentia. This is our amniotic solvent; The cycle stops repeating; A ceaseless inception compressed upon Eternity. Our beginning remembers the end.
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23
is it the radiation why i have been set ablaze how one feels so fortunate to be blinded by the sun for you to admire from the first word that ever truly carried any weight through your ear summer boy summer man i want to hold your summer hands and taste the winter in your skin i’ll grow flowers from your skull when you can no longer hold all the blood and bone oh to have eternity bat her eyes at us how fortunate can two beasts be consecrating you to me plucked with the gentlest touch and may the black swan never drink from our waters
0
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 9:06 PM UTC
cozyjune
May
is it the radiation why i have been set ablaze how one feels so fortunate to be blinded by the sun for you to admire from the first word that ever truly carried any weight through your ear summer boy summer man i want to hold your summer hands and taste the winter in your skin i’ll grow flowers from your skull when you can no longer hold all the blood and bone oh to have eternity bat her eyes at us how fortunate can two beasts be consecrating you to me plucked with the gentlest touch and may the black swan never drink from our waters
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22
you know why i'm not afraid of plagiarism? memes... funny, isn't it, i don't mind, or, rather, i started to not mind plagiarism... because the plagiarists have been inseminated, ***** even, i don't know whether i ever owned a puppet, but if i'm plagiarised i own a: cohort... it's nice... you can rule by ridicule rather than be ridiculed as ruling, notably the english monarchy... it's nice to have pawns who don't even think they aren't pawns... but that's the beauty of intellectual virology - an idea is like a virus, and the fact intact remains signifying: well: go ahead with it... i don't mind anonymous "credit" 4 it... you think i have i have any complacency to mind? rot the gnat and vermin... i am the one to fuse plague and language together... man was always endowed with a heart and woman with a heart, when it came to, politics... women always, meddle... how isn't punctuation important in writing, given it be necessary that equate punctuation with rhyme and consolidate prose with poetics... punctuation = rhyme - overseer? yes. - and why do i not mind plagiarism, pontius pilate... the only person worth being remembered of the new testament... oops.. why do i not mind plagiarism... i know they'll mutate, morph... but that doesn't matter... a part of me remains, and all the better should the plagiarism be otherwise be defined... but it's too late: the innocent seed competes with the forbidden fruit... i have my paupers and my puppets... for grit and gift of word, i have my: assembly... you can plagiarise all you want, all i ever gain is yet another puppeteer's string of limb annexed. i love the idea of memes & plagiarism... it means the utmost anonymous influence being exerted: how far is the puppeteer away from the necrophiliac, may i ask? thank you for a chance to not prioritise a demand for a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus, allowing me, to, ********** my meme, rather than consecrating my gene in the ******* of fake white and... the agony of what would be to come... ever wonder the mystery of autumn, when a southern wind blows?
0
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
memes & plagiarism
you know why i'm not afraid of plagiarism? memes... funny, isn't it, i don't mind, or, rather, i started to not mind plagiarism... because the plagiarists have been inseminated, ***** even, i don't know whether i ever owned a puppet, but if i'm plagiarised i own a: cohort... it's nice... you can rule by ridicule rather than be ridiculed as ruling, notably the english monarchy... it's nice to have pawns who don't even think they aren't pawns... but that's the beauty of intellectual virology - an idea is like a virus, and the fact intact remains signifying: well: go ahead with it... i don't mind anonymous "credit" 4 it... you think i have i have any complacency to mind? rot the gnat and vermin... i am the one to fuse plague and language together... man was always endowed with a heart and woman with a heart, when it came to, politics... women always, meddle... how isn't punctuation important in writing, given it be necessary that equate punctuation with rhyme and consolidate prose with poetics... punctuation = rhyme - overseer? yes. - and why do i not mind plagiarism, pontius pilate... the only person worth being remembered of the new testament... oops.. why do i not mind plagiarism... i know they'll mutate, morph... but that doesn't matter... a part of me remains, and all the better should the plagiarism be otherwise be defined... but it's too late: the innocent seed competes with the forbidden fruit... i have my paupers and my puppets... for grit and gift of word, i have my: assembly... you can plagiarise all you want, all i ever gain is yet another puppeteer's string of limb annexed. i love the idea of memes & plagiarism... it means the utmost anonymous influence being exerted: how far is the puppeteer away from the necrophiliac, may i ask? thank you for a chance to not prioritise a demand for a gene chronology on the altar of Cronus, allowing me, to, ********** my meme, rather than consecrating my gene in the ******* of fake white and... the agony of what would be to come... ever wonder the mystery of autumn, when a southern wind blows?
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85
touching, caressing our flaming bodies entwined consecrating us in loves scorching crucible a passionate rhapsody sublime and boundless
0
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
david-alexander-walker
Carnal Beatitude
touching, caressing our flaming bodies entwined consecrating us in loves scorching crucible a passionate rhapsody sublime and boundless
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6
Panic my chest beats staccato on a snare drum Fingers twitch pen skitters letters, syllables, lost Run! run far away and leave this place- there’s nothing left of your humanity. The gods embrace my tremors and their love enflames destruction. Inferno consecrating, consume the ash a phoenix (my soul sings)
0
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 1:46 AM UTC
jane-rochester
Panic
Panic my chest beats staccato on a snare drum Fingers twitch pen skitters letters, syllables, lost Run! run far away and leave this place- there’s nothing left of your humanity. The gods embrace my tremors and their love enflames destruction. Inferno consecrating, consume the ash a phoenix (my soul sings)
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18
A Mortal Love I seek, I am not stone Goddess's of past standing cold; Rome's current shore- shown godless? I have flesh, and still it clings to supple bone, veined marrow Comfort, none in promise of a heaven that still thirsts for my mortal soul, ... remorse held, holding infinite death, that love would pass from my partaking; and not (... a martyr's fate - I refuse it's claim nor seek it's place on a said judgement day)  For without it, Love...I am but formless discontent, unforgivable by any winged angel or ether, by any artisan's muse, lent full Tell what earthen grave would embrace  mortality's warmth/ expose an ashen soul to life? ...Love Mortal  itself is lone witness to all posed as vital, human and willed perfectly finite.... as moon fulled to new matched only by counted nights; Mortal?....I will bear it in joy  -  Love, as word,or turn of tarot, of fates consecrating it - immutable consecrating it - truth immortal...this Love ... Mortal...
0
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
bkmackenzie
Love Mortal
A Mortal Love I seek, I am not stone Goddess's of past standing cold; Rome's current shore- shown godless? I have flesh, and still it clings to supple bone, veined marrow Comfort, none in promise of a heaven that still thirsts for my mortal soul, ... remorse held, holding infinite death, that love would pass from my partaking; and not (... a martyr's fate - I refuse it's claim nor seek it's place on a said judgement day)  For without it, Love...I am but formless discontent, unforgivable by any winged angel or ether, by any artisan's muse, lent full Tell what earthen grave would embrace  mortality's warmth/ expose an ashen soul to life? ...Love Mortal  itself is lone witness to all posed as vital, human and willed perfectly finite.... as moon fulled to new matched only by counted nights; Mortal?....I will bear it in joy  -  Love, as word,or turn of tarot, of fates consecrating it - immutable consecrating it - truth immortal...this Love ... Mortal...
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25
Green winds from North Coins. Fertile & stable Death, rebirth it's course The Mother of Earth, her gable Air of wisdom pours from East Gusts of swords, yellow Worry, strife, ceased Breath of life bellows The Father, wands of fire From South this fecundity Burning red with desire Brings destruction & creativity Cleansing water flows from West Cups filled with healing blue Emotions & passion to behest Soft & consecrating. Divination true May the four winds fill your sails The boon of a wanderer's soul Traveling minstrel, spin your tales Be set free with all your love to dole
0
Feb 14, 2024
Feb 14, 2024 at 1:44 PM UTC
badwords
Four Winds
Green winds from North Coins. Fertile & stable Death, rebirth it's course The Mother of Earth, her gable Air of wisdom pours from East Gusts of swords, yellow Worry, strife, ceased Breath of life bellows The Father, wands of fire From South this fecundity Burning red with desire Brings destruction & creativity Cleansing water flows from West Cups filled with healing blue Emotions & passion to behest Soft & consecrating. Divination true May the four winds fill your sails The boon of a wanderer's soul Traveling minstrel, spin your tales Be set free with all your love to dole
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20
If you ever lifted stoner eyes to catch the swank of a star in the azure vaults leading to paradise, and hoped it wouldn't fleet to another party in the cosmos where the men have enough of a spine to reach for it— then you'd understand what it means to adore you; but life has made me a funny young man, and I don't know how to boldly transmute my thoughts into cosmic tongue as to draw you in the gravitational pulls of my affection just so I can enjoy the way you polish my sable tresses in an effortless manner, all the while hoping that consecrating your stateliness would entice you to indulge in the leisure of orbiting around my galaxy, branding my waiting palms with the heat of your open, fiery hands except I am petrified of being misunderstood, and it can leave a man fumbling over his words when he fears that—in fawning over stars like you— he would only be carelessly scaring you off with egocentric dreams. and I am sorry that I wait until the very last minute to grow the backbone it takes to shorten the distance between our smiles and energy—when all I want is a night to pick you out of every constellation, and know that you will respond to my inviting gestures with a beaming smile and say: “I know you don't got much— but there's something about how you're looking out for me— and I'd like to stick around for a while.”
0
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
stoop-kid
Of all the stars (you were the one I kept my eye on)
If you ever lifted stoner eyes to catch the swank of a star in the azure vaults leading to paradise, and hoped it wouldn't fleet to another party in the cosmos where the men have enough of a spine to reach for it— then you'd understand what it means to adore you; but life has made me a funny young man, and I don't know how to boldly transmute my thoughts into cosmic tongue as to draw you in the gravitational pulls of my affection just so I can enjoy the way you polish my sable tresses in an effortless manner, all the while hoping that consecrating your stateliness would entice you to indulge in the leisure of orbiting around my galaxy, branding my waiting palms with the heat of your open, fiery hands except I am petrified of being misunderstood, and it can leave a man fumbling over his words when he fears that—in fawning over stars like you— he would only be carelessly scaring you off with egocentric dreams. and I am sorry that I wait until the very last minute to grow the backbone it takes to shorten the distance between our smiles and energy—when all I want is a night to pick you out of every constellation, and know that you will respond to my inviting gestures with a beaming smile and say: “I know you don't got much— but there's something about how you're looking out for me— and I'd like to stick around for a while.”
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35
we once ponce’d carpets like it was coral, and we said: love love love rhythm - able on the broken legs with allegiance to rhyme; we once ponce’d carpet like it was coral all puff-up fluffy on the singleton’s touch consecrating a legislation of marriage of opposite materialisation to craft god’s itchy snap magic spontaneity to bulletproof the genesis fake into an exodus - and decided it was a lifelong ambition to be 29 and retire; well, enough millionaires around us to suit such ambitions - so we just pranced to striptease tunes and begot our mothers’ virginity, provided we saw the ***** and the antarctic to be less walt disney and more walter docile si si.
0
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
si si
we once ponce’d carpets like it was coral, and we said: love love love rhythm - able on the broken legs with allegiance to rhyme; we once ponce’d carpet like it was coral all puff-up fluffy on the singleton’s touch consecrating a legislation of marriage of opposite materialisation to craft god’s itchy snap magic spontaneity to bulletproof the genesis fake into an exodus - and decided it was a lifelong ambition to be 29 and retire; well, enough millionaires around us to suit such ambitions - so we just pranced to striptease tunes and begot our mothers’ virginity, provided we saw the ***** and the antarctic to be less walt disney and more walter docile si si.
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12
Arctic economy. My heart thaws out to your odyssey. Consecrating the spirits you reduce the drama for me drastically ! As we modify the weather. Your not the other half of me, but you helped me discover half of me.  I'm Sorry I need to be alone because you can't comfort me like my poems.
0
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Ahchosi
A Hero Stands Alone
Arctic economy. My heart thaws out to your odyssey. Consecrating the spirits you reduce the drama for me drastically ! As we modify the weather. Your not the other half of me, but you helped me discover half of me.  I'm Sorry I need to be alone because you can't comfort me like my poems.
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6
Melodious crackling infuses, charging static atmosphere Vibrations penetrate barriers, fragmenting celestial sphere Rational boundaries disintegrate, chaos emerges schizophrenic Spliced personalities splinter, psychotic rhythm reflects genetics Dormant heredity aroused, hysteric deranged homicide Demoniac tempo intensifies, psychopath's insanity amplified Demonic possession harnessed, traumatic obsession distorted Erroneous percussion horrendous, pernicious lunatic contorted Withering consciousness diminishes, falsified intelligence deformed Mastermind's scheme commences, cyanotic audience malformed Quivering frequency pulsates, puncturing deafening performance Euphoniums circulate methane, calamitous climatic chorus Instruments composing ballad, narration foreboding demise Anthem consecrating malice, indulged choirs cannibalize Virulent orchestra dissipates, convulsions eviscerate harmony Cavernous melody resonates, cultivating maniacal symphony
0
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 6:12 AM UTC
dillan-courtright
Maniacal Symphony
Melodious crackling infuses, charging static atmosphere Vibrations penetrate barriers, fragmenting celestial sphere Rational boundaries disintegrate, chaos emerges schizophrenic Spliced personalities splinter, psychotic rhythm reflects genetics Dormant heredity aroused, hysteric deranged homicide Demoniac tempo intensifies, psychopath's insanity amplified Demonic possession harnessed, traumatic obsession distorted Erroneous percussion horrendous, pernicious lunatic contorted Withering consciousness diminishes, falsified intelligence deformed Mastermind's scheme commences, cyanotic audience malformed Quivering frequency pulsates, puncturing deafening performance Euphoniums circulate methane, calamitous climatic chorus Instruments composing ballad, narration foreboding demise Anthem consecrating malice, indulged choirs cannibalize Virulent orchestra dissipates, convulsions eviscerate harmony Cavernous melody resonates, cultivating maniacal symphony
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16
Arctic economy.   My heart thaws out to its odyssey.   Consecrating the spirits It reduces the drama for me drastically ! Modifying the weather, codified as nature I see the SUN in all .
0
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
best-of-ochosi
Cold Resonance
Arctic economy.   My heart thaws out to its odyssey.   Consecrating the spirits It reduces the drama for me drastically ! Modifying the weather, codified as nature I see the SUN in all .
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3
There is a bridge built between the isle of me and you Seperation of the soul and heart The bridge is classified as a historical landmark Consecrating our love that stood tall- and did not fall Throughout the years, of historical architecture It is constructed of celestial materials Unbreakable in the hands of man There- Underneath the bridge a current flows An infinite supply of water That never submerges nor erodes The sacred bridge between his soul and mine In the middle of it- Stood statues and columns symbolizing the ancient roots of our eternal love But there was no boat, that had ever sailed the rocky harsh currents below It was unbreakable- The water was rough to bear Regardless, our love was rare. It is the fleeting waves and thunderstorms Beneath nights clear air. Violently gravitating one another closer and closer throughout the years The moments in time were disappearing Rapidly dissipating into the watery depths of the sea In this lifetime I fear- We will never meet Our compasses have been broken And I feel the bridge is drifting out of sight The constant I have found- Is our love will never die Our bridge will never fall Love is in us all along Forever young Growing strong © 2014 Christina Jackson
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May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
christina-jackson
Isle of love
There is a bridge built between the isle of me and you Seperation of the soul and heart The bridge is classified as a historical landmark Consecrating our love that stood tall- and did not fall Throughout the years, of historical architecture It is constructed of celestial materials Unbreakable in the hands of man There- Underneath the bridge a current flows An infinite supply of water That never submerges nor erodes The sacred bridge between his soul and mine In the middle of it- Stood statues and columns symbolizing the ancient roots of our eternal love But there was no boat, that had ever sailed the rocky harsh currents below It was unbreakable- The water was rough to bear Regardless, our love was rare. It is the fleeting waves and thunderstorms Beneath nights clear air. Violently gravitating one another closer and closer throughout the years The moments in time were disappearing Rapidly dissipating into the watery depths of the sea In this lifetime I fear- We will never meet Our compasses have been broken And I feel the bridge is drifting out of sight The constant I have found- Is our love will never die Our bridge will never fall Love is in us all along Forever young Growing strong © 2014 Christina Jackson
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61
It crawls It stalls It falls Truth, buried deep Lucid, asleep Answers to keep A journey, steep Reverse time Unwound rhyme Lies to dine Answers to find It's there, everything you seek These obfuscations reek Behind the expressions of the meek A spectacle, disillusion the weak Dig Dig Dig It's there, just waiting Truth, casually abating Under a pile of consecrating The explanation not stating So close So lost Go deeper! I can't say more
0
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 4:24 AM UTC
badwords
Dig!
It crawls It stalls It falls Truth, buried deep Lucid, asleep Answers to keep A journey, steep Reverse time Unwound rhyme Lies to dine Answers to find It's there, everything you seek These obfuscations reek Behind the expressions of the meek A spectacle, disillusion the weak Dig Dig Dig It's there, just waiting Truth, casually abating Under a pile of consecrating The explanation not stating So close So lost Go deeper! I can't say more
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26
I’ll cherish this chance meeting (I may never pass this way again), These moments, Love, are fleeting (I may never pass this way again). As gentle hearts keep beating Consecrating lives in sun and rain Unto the next I’m greeting (I may never pass this way again).
0
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 11:21 AM UTC
Rayjord66
I May Never Pass This Way Again
I’ll cherish this chance meeting (I may never pass this way again), These moments, Love, are fleeting (I may never pass this way again). As gentle hearts keep beating Consecrating lives in sun and rain Unto the next I’m greeting (I may never pass this way again).
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8