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"constelation" poems
I exhaled and watched you go as the smoke cleared your warmth remained a constelation of condensation the essence of me caught on the window I traced your name and thought... window pain
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Window Pane
found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
0
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
liquid werther's original
found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
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64
Your feet taps around the grass Hop and jump, melodic dance Girl across the forest stands Look upward the sky, cries What would she recalled at Her finger flow, points to the constelation far beyond her open arm And she hop around Found A Broken Bone On The Sacred Zone Then she go to the new home A place to lay, play and sway Back to the place Of Abandonned Lake Dance around the sky The melody sing Harmonic of the rotten wood Smell of the love, she never had And Run The Entire Savanah Bare Foot Slide Down Fall Into A Rabbit Hole. Am I should Be amazed To the feet Of a girl Who slept In His constelation?
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Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
Constelation
Everytime I touch someone, my hand turns into a gun. Bang Bang, you can hear it now my love, Bang Bang, Just for fun. Silence, although the starlight slow dances. I wish I could get you to see Our confinement is a constelation Hiding in the trees. I call a truce, Let's end as friends. It’s you and me until the end. The night’s at it’s hilt and the sun’s rising against it, We’ll fall asleep just for the heck of it. -------------------------------------- Your Turn! https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiw3omB-tDlAhWsUt8KHYOdCFYQjRx6BAgBEAQ&url=%2Furl%3Fsa%3Di%26source%3Dimages%26cd%3D%26ved%3D2ahUKEwjXoIaA-tDlAhVyiOAKHe_mCjIQjRx6BAgBEAQ%26url%3D%252Furl%253Fsa%253Di%2526source%253Dimages%2526cd%253D%2526ved%253D2ahUKEwiQhKv--dDlAhUBmuAKHRdOB1cQjRx6BAgBEAQ%2526url%253D%25252Furl%25253Fsa%25253Di%252526source%25253Dimages%252526cd%25253D%252526ved%25253D2ahUKEwjQ0Pb7-dDlAhUETt8KHSjjDt0QjRx6BAgBEAQ%252526url%25253Dhttps%2525253A%2525252F%2525252Fweheartit.com%2525252Fpastelereri%2525252Fcollections%2525252F106170309-kawaii-aesthetic%252526psig%25253DAOvVaw2TgUbo_zSKV1osQTKMfHPh%252526ust%25253D1572968903157247%2526psig%253DAOvVaw2TgUbo_zSKV1osQTKMfHPh%2526ust%253D1572968903157247%26psig%3DAOvVaw2TgUbo_zSKV1osQTKMfHPh%26ust%3D1572968903157247&psig=AOvVaw2TgUbo_zSKV1osQTKMfHPh&ust=1572968903157247 Make a poem for each part of the image! Good luck. Tag: #PastelPoemChallenger
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Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 11:17 AM UTC
Pastel Poem Challenge
The constelation has collide in In its the final or the begining But hustler is a hustler She keep running She still dont believe it She still bring a bullet for release and go This might looks or sounds stupid But this hustler found another side to step up One side is just like the rest Everlasting lust life on her youth soul The other side beging her God To help her fight with her big enemy An old enemy If its not constellate to nirvana, please break us apart in your galaxy strom and wind If you want us to compose, let us have a luminance and create our own nirvana
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Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
No
I've been writing a lot, putting about everything that I got into the lines that should help me deal with my mind, so nowadays everything is filled with rhymes, half of the time I'm bound to see the words combined, and still hurt; still got my feet in dirt, still feeling anxious and burnt. I got candles all over the place, but the light is too weak I turn on the lightbulbs but but they're all too dim, sometimes I want to scream but the walls are too thick and I don't have the energy to get through them, so I'm sick, and my throat is ripped, so I can't speak Walking around like I lost direction, always looking for connection But never taking action to connect the dots, I'm facing the ego annihilation, never been too mainstream, that's too basic Sadness in your faces, happiness impatient, It must be out there waiting in a different constelation, Feelings that I'm chasing, are a bunch of dumb sensations In this living session, always searching for compassion But we turn into the ashes, our smoke becomes a message Now play the essence of the feelings like a radio station
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Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC
Radiostation